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Pardonnez-moi, Monsieur!- Solivan brugmansia x Yan!G.N Reader! (Part 3!)
The kid at the back is a 18+ visual novel Minors don't interact!
Words: 10000
Genre: Yandere-(Self aware yandere won the poll)
(Reader is G.N)
Summary: Youâve become consumed by your obsession with Solivan Brugmansia. What started as innocent curiosity quickly spiraled into a fixation. He started it and you began to stalk him, learning every detail about his life. You felt a sick sense of satisfaction in making Solâs world safer while growing increasingly delusional about your connection with him. Your love for him deepens as you fantasize about the future, convinced that you are the one who truly understands himâbetter than anyone else. Despite the line between reality and obsession blurring, you remain certain: Sol is yours, even if he doesnât know it yet.. You're his and he's yours...
Trigger Warning: This content contains themes of obsessive behavior, stalking, manipulation, mental instability, and delusional thinking, Drugging, Yandere?, Hopeless in love for attention Please read with caution.
Obsessive behavior: The reader becomes dangerously fixated on someone, bordering on stalking and delusion.
Manipulation: The reader engages in schemes to control or harm others, often through deception.
Mental illness: Delusional thinking, possible dissociation from reality, and unhealthy fixation on someone.
Violence: There are references to bullying, physical harm, and emotional manipulation.
Emotional abuse: Both in terms of how the protagonist manipulates others and how they might internalize toxic behaviors.
Stalking: The reader watches and follows the person they are obsessed with.
EXTRA: He's a character from a game named The kid at the back!! Note, The relationship presented here between sol and reader is extremely toxic!! In no way, Just because I'm writing doesn't mean I support this kind of toxicity. Note, It's okay to like sol if you know the flaws and don't be a blind eye on them! Again, I don't support his actions etc! If you hate sol ignore this.
Somehow you managed to talk with Sol, Thank Hyugo- THO, He tried to kill you.
Of course, you're gonna complain.
You managed to strike up a normal conversation with Sol, and now heâs explaining the so-called assignment Mr. Professass (Professor) gave.
âLetâs use your face as an example,â he says with a sly grin.
âThere, youâre making a cute expression right nowâthat can be considered expressionism.â
You blinked at his compliment, momentarily stunned. Sol seemed to know a lot about art, effortlessly weaving the concept into the conversation.
âOh! Expressions! Thatâs easy! I used to draw a lot of yoââ You stopped mid-sentence, coughing to cover your sudden slip. Sol raised an eyebrow at you, his expression a mix of curiosity and mild amusement. How could he act so normal, like nothing ever fazed him?
âWas your friend good at art?â You asked, smoothly steering the conversation.
âFriend? Oh⌠you mean Hyugo. He ditched me at the last minute for some family business. He never talks about them, and I donât pry.â
You nodded, a flicker of endearment softening his sharp features despite the faint annoyance in his tone. âHe seems loud.â
âHe did say sorry for dragging me into his messâmaking me take his place and all.â You waved it off with a small smile. âBut honestly, heâs a good guy. The best wingman, really.â
For a brief moment, you observed Sol closely. He rambled on about Hyugo, shaking his head as if exasperated, but there was a lingering warmth in his voice that betrayed his true feelings.
âOur first meeting wasnât exactly ideal,â you said suddenly, cutting into the moment.
Sol paused mid-thought and tilted his head. âOh? ThatâsâŚâ His cheeks reddened slightly.
âI didnât mean that chair situation,â you teased, leaning back. âIâm talking about your blue Jolly Rancher of a friend. That little menace tried to kill me with a pocket knife.â
The confession spilled out so quickly you almost laughed, but the expression on Solâs face turned from confusion to shockâand then worry.
âWait, seriously?â he asked, leaning closer. âAre you okay?â
You nodded, trying to downplay it. âItâs fine, really. Iâm sure he wonât do it again.â
But Sol wasnât convinced. His expression darkened slightly, an uncharacteristic seriousness in his voice. âIâll talk to him. Thank you for telling me, Y/N. Iâll make sure he doesnât pull anything like that again.â
âThereâs no need for that!â you insisted, waving your hands in reassurance. âIâm sure itâs all water under the bridge now.â
Even so, Sol didnât look entirely convinced. His determination to address the issue was kind of⌠cute. Watching him brood over it made your heart skip, a warmth pooling in your chest.
You pulled out your sketchpad on a whim and began doodling Solâs expressionsâthe way his brows furrowed when he was deep in thought, the subtle pout tugging at his lips.
âWould you believe me if I told you Hyugoâs one of the top students in the entire class but is always missing in action?â Sol asked suddenly, breaking your focus.
âProbably busy with⌠uh⌠family stuff?â you guessed, barely glancing up as your pencil danced across the page.
âYeah, something like that,â he muttered before noticing your scribbling. His gaze shifted to your sketchpad, and he leaned in curiously.
âWait, were you drawing me this entire time?â Sol asked, his voice laced with both surprise and suspicion.
âMe? No, of course not!â you lied, trying to shield the sketchpad from view.
âLiar,â he said with a pout that nearly made your heart combust.
âAww, come on, itâs not a big deal, Sullivan!â
âAs in that monster fromâŚ?â
âSorry, Sol.â You grinned sheepishly, attempting to cheer him up, but his exaggerated pout only grew more dramatic.
And for the millionth time that day, your heart had died from his unintentional charm.
You found yourself lost in the moment, staring at your sketchpad and then at Sol. A small, almost creepy smile crept onto your lips as you tilted the page toward him.
âYouâre really cute,â you said softly, almost absentmindedly.
Sol blinked, his mouth opening slightly in shock.
You leaned closer, pointing to one of the sketches. âLike, look at this one. That little furrow in your brow when youâre annoyed? Adorable. And here!â You flipped to another. âThis one, where youâre mid-smirk? Itâs like youâre plotting something, but itâs so soft at the same time. And this oneâŚâ
You kept going, your voice trailing into near-obsessive detail about every single expression youâd captured. The way his lips curved when he was amused. The slight tilt of his head when he was curious. The barely-there pout when he was annoyed. Each word only made the lovesickness in your voice more obvious.
You caught yourselfâbarelyâand let out a sheepish laugh, trying to backpedal. âI mean⌠Sol, youâre just⌠really cute, okay?â You smiled, hoping to play it cool, but the way your heart pounded in your chest wasnât helping.
Sol stared at you, his face quickly turning an intense shade of red. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words just⌠werenât coming.
Instead, he sat there, completely speechless. His ears burned red as he glanced between you and the sketchpad, frozen in place.
You leaned back, smirking as you tried to hide how flustered you were. âWhat, no snarky comeback? Cat got your tongue?â
Sol looked away quickly, burying his face in his hands with a muffled groan.
Your heart sank as you realized you might have overdone it. Sol was still red, his hands covering his face, and for a moment, he seemed smaller than his usual confident self.
âAh, Iââ you stammered, your voice softer now. âSorry. I didnât mean to come off, uh, intense or anything.â You rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly, looking down at your sketchpad like it was a guilty accomplice. âI just⌠got carried away. Youâre really cool, Sol, and Iââ
You cut yourself off, biting your lip. You didnât want to scare him off. Sol wasnât like this when he was around other people. It was rare to catch him vulnerable like thisâunguarded. And now you were worried you mightâve ruined it by being too much.
âI didnât mean to make you uncomfortable,â you added quickly, your voice almost a whisper.
Sol finally lowered his hands, his expression unreadable for a second. His gaze flickered to you, then to the sketchpad, and back again. He blinked a few times, his blush still lingering.
âYou⌠didnât scare me,â he said, his voice quieter than usual. âI just⌠wasnât expecting that.â
You froze, not entirely sure how to respond.
He glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck this time, mirroring your earlier nervousness. âI mean, itâs not every day someone⌠notices things like that about me.â
Your heart skipped a beat. He wasnât mad. He wasnât pulling away.
âStill,â you said with a soft chuckle, trying to lighten the mood, âIâll tone it down. Promise. Youâre just⌠interesting to draw, thatâs all.â You paused before adding, âAnd, uh, to talk to. If that wasnât obvious.â
For a moment, the awkward tension melted away. Sol leaned back slightly, still blushing but less defensive now. âJust⌠donât let Hyugo see those sketches, okay? Iâll never hear the end of it.â
âDeal,â you said with a laugh, relieved that the moment hadnât ruined anything. If anything, it felt like youâd taken a step closer to understanding himâthe real Sol, beneath all the bravado.
Sol leaned back in his chair, his usual cool demeanor cracking just a bit. "Alright, who's going first? You sketching me, or am I sketching you?"
You grinned, already pulling out your sketchbook and a charcoal pencil. "Guess that answers your question."
He raised a brow. âWant me to pose or something?â
âNah, just sit however you want. Itâs fine.â You waved him off casually, but your focus sharpened as you scanned his face, taking in every detail.
The way his jet-black hair fell in a soft cascade over his shoulders, streaked with green that caught the light just rightâit was mesmerizing. His bangs framed his face, that one streak cutting down the middle and drawing attention to his eyes. And those eyes, with their burning orange inner ring fading to crimson at the edges, like embers glowing in a dying fire, they were impossible to look away from. His jawline was sharp but not harsh, balanced by the soft curve of his lips, which always seemed to rest in a mix of a pout and a smirk.
He was... handsome. And you couldnât help but stare.
Too long, apparently.
Sol turned his head suddenly, catching you red-handed. His expression twisted into something flustered, and he turned away,
"Eyes on me!"
Sol blinked, jolted out of his daze. âOhâsorry. Iâm, uh, not used to staring at someone for that long.â
You tried to laugh it off, but your voice came out awkward. "âYou know, just your boring face and all.â I got it! My face is boring!"
Sol turned back toward you, his cheeks tinged pink as he gave you a shy glance. âYour face isnât boring,â he muttered, almost too softly for you to hear. âItâs⌠more⌠beautiful.â
Your heart slammed against your chest. Heat flooded your cheeks, and for a moment, you felt like you might combust on the spot. You stared at him, utterly frozen, the charcoal pencil trembling slightly in your hand.
Oh my god, Iâm dying. This is it. Iâm dying. Again. For the millionth time.
You tried to recover, puffing out your cheeks in mock frustration to defuse the tension. âNope. Not doing this. Youâre not allowed to be cute while Iâm trying to work.â
Sol smiledâreally smiledâand it was devastating. Soft, genuine, and just shy enough to make your heart stutter.
And then, as if to finish you off completely, you almost missed the way his eyes lingered on you. They were hazy, love-drunk, filled with something dangerously soft and unspoken.
Oh, you sick bastard, Sol, you thought, trying not to let your face give away the chaos in your head. I love you for that.
You started sketching, letting the charcoal glide over the paper with care that bordered on reverence. Each stroke of the pencil became a quiet obsession, capturing the slight arch of his brow, the curve of his jaw, the sharp bridge of his nose that added so much character to his face.
Your fingers moved instinctively, but your mind was a storm.
This wonât be enough.
You paused, glancing up at him again. His face was relaxed, but there was a faint curiosity in his eyes as he tried to stay still for you. That softness in his expressionâit was the kind that sent a thrill down your spine. It wasnât just a face you wanted to draw; it was him.
Your chest tightened. No amount of sketches could ever capture him fully. His little mannerisms, the way his lips twitched slightly when he was lost in thought, how his lashes cast shadows across his cheekbones when he glanced awayâhow could charcoal and paper ever do justice to that?
No drawing will ever be enough until I get you. All of you.
You swallowed hard, your pencil slowing for a moment as you scanned his face again, letting your gaze linger just a second too long. His expression shifted slightlyâwas that a flicker of unease? Or maybe curiosity?
You smiled softly, trying to mask the possessive edge in your thoughts. âSorry. Just trying to get it perfect.â
Sol tilted his head, his lips twitching into a small smirk. âTake your time. Not like Iâm going anywhere.â
Oh, youâre not. Not now, not ever.
The thought burned in your chest as you leaned closer, focusing on the details. The dip of his collarbone where it peeked from his shirt, the way his hair caught the faint light from the window, framing his face like a portrait already waiting to be hung. Your pencil moved with an almost feverish precision, each stroke pulling you deeper into your fixation.
And yet, it still wasnât enough.
You let out a shaky breath, glancing up at him one more time. He caught your gaze this time, and his eyes softened. âHowâs it going?â
âFine,â you murmured, your voice quieter than you meant it to be.
But in your mind, a different answer screamed: Itâs not enough. I need more.
You quickly looked back at your sketchpad, your cheeks burning, hoping the intensity of your thoughts wasnât plastered all over your face.
The bell rang, slicing through the quiet moment between you and Sol. You startled slightly, realizing how much time had passed, and quickly closed your sketchbook.
"Alright, weâre done for now," you said, tucking the pencil into your bag.
Sol leaned forward, his curiosity practically radiating off him. âWaitâcan I at least peek?â
You shook your head firmly. âNope.â
âBoo,â he said, pouting in a way that almost felt illegal. The exaggerated downturn of his lips, the wide-eyed pleading lookâit was devastating.
You sighed heavily, knowing you were no match for that expression. âFine. Just a peek. But no judging, alright?â
He grinned triumphantly as you opened the sketchbook, angling it toward him. His gaze settled on the page, and for a moment, he didnât say anything. He just stared.
âWow,â he finally breathed, his voice low and almost awed. âYou⌠you drew this? Like, just now?â
You tried to play it off, shrugging like it wasnât a big deal, but your heart raced. âYeah, itâs just a rough piece. Nothing special.â
His eyes didnât leave the sketch. âNothing special? Are you kidding me? Itâsââ He paused, his brow furrowing slightly. âItâs perfect. You captured⌠everything.â
Your chest tightened at his words, but you fought to keep your expression neutral. Instead, you just smiled weakly and looked away, your thoughts a whirlwind. Of course, I captured everything. Iâve drawn you so many times, Sol. In my mind, in my journals. Youâre practically etched into my soul.
âItâs not that great,â you muttered, trying to dismiss his praise.
He blinked at you, his expression shifting from awe to disbelief. âNo. Itâs good. Actually, itâs better than good.â
You opened your mouth to argue, but he shook his head, cutting you off. âItâs better than anything Iâve ever drawn.â
Your eyes widened. âGet the fuck out.â
âNo, Iâm serious!â he said, looking at you earnestly. âItâs amazing, andâwait, you think Iâm talented?â
You froze for a split second, and then words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them. âI mean, yeah. Your portrait which I stâuh, think!âis really good.â
You coughed mid-sentence, your throat suddenly dry as panic set in. Solâs eyes widened, and he immediately jumped up, grabbing a bottle of water from his bag. âHey, you okay? Here, drink this!â
You took the water, your hands brushing briefly as he handed it to you. His concern was palpable, his orange-red eyes scanning your face. You quickly gulped some water and waved a hand to reassure him. âIâm fine! Just⌠choked on my words. Literally.â
He frowned, clearly not convinced, but let it go.
You cleared your throat and tried to steer the conversation back. âAnyway, weâve still got two more works to finish for this project. Letâs⌠exchange numbers so we can plan things out?â
Sol nodded, pulling out his phone. âYeah, good idea.â
The exchange was quick, and within moments, your phone buzzed with a message.
Sup.
You stared at it, blinking, before a laugh bubbled out of you. âYou type so differently than you talk.â
Sol raised an eyebrow. âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
"Nothing."
You glanced at Sol, who was now scrolling lazily on his phone, and a thought hit you like a freight train. He was so intriguing, so magnetic, but also⌠so misunderstood.
You couldnât stop yourself from blurting out, âYâknow, I bet a lot of people mistake you for someone youâre not.â
He looked up, tilting his head curiously. âWhat do you mean?â
You hesitated, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze. âI mean⌠you come off as this super confident, kind of aloof guy, but youâre⌠more than that. People probably donât take the time to really get you. To understand you.â
His brows furrowed slightly, and you felt your chest tighten. You hadnât even planned this conversation, but now you were tumbling forward without brakes.
âAnd I⌠I want to be that person,â you said, your voice wavering. âI want to understand you, Sol. I want to know the real you. I want us toâŚâ You paused, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. ââŚto be friends.â
The word friends fell from your lips like a rock, heavy and jagged. It sounded so wrong, so painfully inadequate for how you felt. You wanted to claw it out of the air and burn it before it could reach him. But what else could you say? You couldnât just ask him to marry you on the first day youâd truly spoken.
Sol blinked, his expression softening. For a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of something deeper in his eyes, but then he smiled.
âSo,â he said, leaning forward slightly, âletâs make today the start of something. The start of a wonderful friendship. What do you think, Y/N L/N?â
Your heart shattered into a million pieces.
Friendship?! FRIENDSHIP?! Your inner voice screamed, but outwardly, you managed a bright, almost too-cheerful nod. âYeah! Of course!â
The smile on your face didnât match the agony in your chest. You were happy to be close to himâreallyâbut it wasnât enough. Not when you wanted so much more.
Sol leaned back, his casual demeanor unchanged, you felt your heart breaking all over again. And yet, as painful as it was, you told yourself it was a start.
Iâll take this. For now.
But deep down, you couldnât ignore the ache that wouldnât go away. The way the word âfriendshipâ echoed in your mind like a cruel joke. You wanted more, and the thought of settling for less was unbearable. Still, you smiled at him, masking the pain, determined to be patient.
Even if it killed you.
As you stood up, preparing to leave, a strange weight settled in your chest. Solâs words echoed in your mind, the promise to see each other tomorrow. It was enough to make your heart ache, to feel something stir inside you that you werenât sure how to handle. The idea of friendshipâjust friendshipâwith him made everything seem so much harder.
You gave him a smile, even though it felt like your insides were twisting in pain. âWill we see each other tomorrow? And⌠if itâs possible, could we hang out?â Your eyes were a little too soft, a little too vulnerable, and you couldnât bring yourself to look him in the eye for fear of what would spill out.
His expression shifted, that familiar lack of emotion, the calm mask he wore all the time. It was hard to read, hard to decipher, but you didnât need to. You already knew the answer. His expression was now full of...surprise, he answered faster than you expected!
âAh! Yes, of course! See you tomorrow.â He gave a small nod, his voice reassuring but distant. You were sure he didnât feel the same urgency, the same burning desire that you did.
You patted his shoulder, your fingers lingering for just a second longer than necessary. The sensation of his warmth sent a shockwave through you, and you fought to keep your cool. âSee you tomorrow, Sol.â
You turned and left.
Your footsteps echoed in the hallway as you walked away, a slight frown pulling at your lips. The walls around you were decorated in some half-hearted Halloween themeâstreamers, fake cobwebs, jack-oâ-lanternsâbut it all felt like a blur. You didnât care about the decorations or the meaningless chatter around you. Everything felt muted, distant.
Then, as you pulled your phone from your pocket, a text from Crowe appeared, and your stomach twisted.
Crowe: "Waiting for you outside the gate."
It hit you like a punch to the gut. Crowe. Your friend. The one youâd always relied on, the one you cared about deeply. But now⌠you were torn. Torn between Crowe and Sol, between what had always been familiar and what was now irresistible, unsettling. You couldnât lie to yourself: having a friendship with Sol was so distracting. Every time you saw him, you couldnât focus, couldnât think. It was overwhelming. And it was dangerous.
You cared for Crowe, too, didnât you? Of course you did. He had always been there for you, your anchor in a sea of chaos. But⌠when you thought of Sol, when you remembered his gaze, the way he spoke to you, how he looked at youâhow he made you feelâyou couldnât deny it anymore.
You stopped in the hallway. Your breath caught in your throat. The truth had become too real.
Iâm choosing Sol over Crowe.
The thought was like a blade, cutting deep into your chest. It wasnât that you didnât care about Crowe. You did. You always had. But this⌠what you felt for Solâthis strange, insatiable need to be closer to him, to know him, to feel something more than friendshipâwas undeniable. Crowe had always been there, but Sol⌠he was different.
But now, you had a problem. A big problem.
You loved Crowe. Or, at least, you thought you did. And you couldnât bear the thought of losing him, of him hating you, of him finding out about the way your heart raced when Sol was near. It was so unfair to Crowe, but you had to do it. You had to.
It was painful, but there was no other choice.
You took a deep breath, shaking your head as you walked toward the exit, your heart heavy with the weight of what you had to do. You couldnât think of Sol anymore. You couldnât let yourself be distracted.
You had to push Crowe away.
And the only way to do that was to make him hate you.
As the thought settled in your mind, you could feel your stomach churn. It hurt. It really hurt. But this was the only way to make sure you wouldnât be distracted. To make sure you could stop yourself from falling any deeper.
You reached the gate, and Crowe was standing there, leaning casually against the wall. He looked up as he saw you approach, a smile lighting up his face. It made your chest tighten.
You hated what you were about to do. But you had no choice.
No one ever said love was easy.
It wasn't just for that.
He's watching, He's always is.
Crowe stood there, radiating his usual easygoing confidence. His bag was neatly placed on the ground, his posture upright and casual, arms held behind his back as he tapped his foot in quiet anticipation.
You felt like you were walking in a dreamâor maybe a nightmare. Each step toward him was like dragging yourself through thick, suffocating fog. You were broken. Pieces of your heart scattered, and you didnât even know how to piece them back together. You didnât know what you were doing, what you even wanted anymore.
You finally reached him, forcing your voice to sound steady. âCrowe⌠whatâs the work?â
Crowe blinked, clearly surprised. âWork?â His eyebrows furrowed, a flicker of concern crossing his face. âNo, Y/N⌠I just wanted to hang out.â
The words stung like a slap, and a pang of guilt twisted in your chest. Just wanted to hang out.
But the words shouldâve been comforting, right? Crowe was always like thisâsweet, casual, like he cared. He never made things complicated, never put pressure on you, just wanting to spend time with you. And yet⌠there was that feeling gnawing at you. A feeling you couldnât shake, no matter how hard you tried.
âI was thinking of taking you somewhere,â he continued, his voice lighter now. âThereâs a neat park nearby. Itâs a bit quieter. I can lead you there if you want.â His face lit up with excitement, and for a split second, you thought you saw something more.
Why was he so⌠excited?
Do you thinkâŚ? No, it canât be right.
You looked down at your feet, the weight of the situation sinking in. Regret gnawed at you, but you still smiled, trying to push the discomfort away. âYeah⌠that sounds nice.â
Crowe grinned, his eyes bright with that familiar warmth. âGreat! Letâs go then.â
Take his hand
TAKE HIS ARM
HAHAHHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA
You bit your lip, trying to find an excuse, any excuse to create distance. You didnât want to be close to him right nowânot when your heart was torn between him and someone else. Not when you couldnât stop thinking about Sol, and the pain of choosing between them was suffocating.
And then, a solution hit you.
âIâll carry your bag,â you said quickly, as if the words could erase the guilt already creeping in. You didnât wait for his protest, picking up the bag and holding it in your hands, keeping it between you and Crowe like a barrier.
He frowned, about to say something. âNo, Y/N, you really donât have toââ
âI insist,â you cut him off, your voice firmer than you felt. âItâs fine. Really.â
You couldnât let yourself touch him, not right now. Not when your thoughts were so clouded with confusion and desire. You couldnât let the connection between you two grow any deeper. You had to keep distance, even if it was just a simple gesture like this.
Crowe sighed but didnât argue, following you with that same concerned look in his eyes.
This is the only way to make sure you wonât get distracted.
You tried not to think too much about how wrong it felt to avoid him like this, but every time you looked at Crowe, your heart sank a little more. He was your friend, your best friend, but the truth was, your feelings were too complicated, too mixed up now.
you walked side by side, the silence between you two felt heavy, suffocating. You tried to focus on the road ahead, telling yourself that this was the right thing to do.
Every step felt like you were walking further away from the person you used to be, a person who hadnât been so consumed by obsession, by him.
How had it gotten this dark?
You couldnât ignore the ache in your chest, the constant pull toward Sol. You kept thinking about himâhis face, the way his eyes met yours with that unreadable expression, the way your heart had thundered when he leaned in closer, the way he seemed perfect. You hadnât been able to stop thinking about him, not even for a second, and nowânow everything else seemed to fade into the background.
You could almost picture it clearly: Sol, leaning down toward you, his lips just inches away, his eyes so intense as if he could feel what you were feeling. You felt your breath quicken, your heartbeat escalating, imagining the moment you would kiss him, desperate for his touch, for something realâsomething more.
But then, just as you were about to lose yourself in the fantasy, something yanked you back to reality.
Croweâs hands were suddenly on your arms, pulling you back from the abyss of your thoughts. His grip was firm but gentle, as if afraid you might break under the weight of your own mind.
âY/NâŚâ he said, voice low, laced with concern. His eyes searched yours, his gaze soft but full of worry. âYouâre⌠youâre making a really concerning expression right now.â
You blinked, feeling a strange, almost drooling sensation, like you were half there and half lost in some other world. You realized youâd been staring into nothing, your mind completely consumed by the image of Sol.
You couldnât believe it. You couldnât believe what was happening to you.
âY/N, youâŚâ Crowe hesitated, unsure how to put it into words. âYou look⌠almostâŚâ He trailed off, his voice a little shaky. âDisgusting?â
His words hit you like a bucket of ice water. Disgusting?
You felt a pit form in your stomach. What was wrong with you?
But Crowe didnât leave it at that. He could see the confusion in your eyes, the hurt behind your forced smile, and he gently squeezed your arms. âNo, Y/N. Nothing you do is disgusting, okay? Nothing.â
His words were meant to reassure you, but they only added to the chaos in your mind. It was almost like you wanted to believe him, but the truth was too overwhelming. You were becoming obsessed with Sol.
No shit sherlock!
You looked at Crowe, barely able to meet his gaze.
You kept walking, but something inside you pulled back. You felt like you were drifting away, each step carrying you further from reality. You heard Crowe's footsteps pause behind you, and when you turned around, his worried expression stopped you in your tracks. His brow furrowed, his mouth set in a firm line as he studied you.
Without warning, he grabbed your hand, his grip gentle yet insistent.
âI wanted to talk about you maybe trying out with our new friends,â Crowe began, his voice a little too calm, too measured. But there was something in his eyesâa flicker of concernâthat made your stomach twist.
But he didnât stop there. âBut I wonât ignore the fact that youâve been different for the past couple of months⌠somethingâs wrong.â
You froze, your heart racing. The evening sky had turned dark, the sun dipping below the horizon. Shadows stretched across the empty street as the quiet evening began to feel suffocating. You didnât want to hear this. You didnât want him to see through you.
âIchabod,â you said, your voice barely above a whisper, as you tried to brush him off. "Youâre wasting my time. I told you, I wanted to hang out. I came out for you." Your words sounded cold, distant, like you were trying to push him away. You werenât sure anymore if you were trying to hide yourself from Crowe or from your own feelings.
Croweâs eyes hardened, his jaw clenched as anger began to brew beneath the surface. âTell me whatâs really going on.â His voice was tight, almost accusing. âYouâve been acting off for weeks now. Somethingâs wrong, and you wonât even talk to me about it.â
His words dug deep, and you felt that same uncomfortable pressure in your chest.
You opened your mouth to say somethingâanythingâbut nothing came out. The thoughts in your head were too chaotic, too tangled.
âYouâre just tired, right?â Crowe asked, his tone softening, but there was still an edge to it. âThatâs why youâre being so cold, so distant?â
You didnât answer. You didnât know how to. You were exhaustedâmentally, emotionallyâbut that wasnât the only reason you were like this. The real truth was something you couldnât even admit to yourself, let alone him. You couldnât talk about it. You couldnât say it aloud.
Without waiting for your response, Crowe let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. âLook, weâre heading to the same place, but⌠this isnât just to hang out. Iâm not going to ignore the fact that youâre acting strange.â
Your heart sank. He had already figured it out.
Croweâs words were sharper now, almost impatient, as if he was done pretending like everything was fine. âWeâre going to talk. Not just waste time. Weâre going to talk about whatâs going on with you.â
Your body tensed. You felt the pressure of the moment building. You didnât want to face this. You didnât want to confront what was happening inside you, because the truth was far more complicated than you were ready to admit.
âIâm fine,â you said quickly, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue.
But Crowe wasnât buying it. His expression was unreadable, but his grip on your hand remained firm, guiding you forward. You could feel him watching you, analyzing every movement, every word, trying to figure out the truth.
You stood there, staring up at the night sky, your thoughts drifting once again. The stars above were beautiful, too beautiful for what you were feeling. It felt like everything around you was so peaceful, so perfectâbut inside, you were falling apart. You couldnât stop thinking about Sol, the image of him haunting your mind as you pictured him in every corner of your thoughts.
You had to get home. You had to go back. You wondered if he had drugged the food yet, the thought making your stomach churn with an odd mixture of excitement and dread. Sol⌠you thought.
Why was I always thinking about him?
You chuckled softly to yourself, a laugh that didnât feel like it belonged to you. The sound was hollow, almost insane in its desperation, and you had no control over it. The more you thought about him, the more you couldnât stop imagining all the what ifsâwhat if you could be with him? What if you could make him yours?
You closed your eyes for a moment, the image of Solâs face appearing before you, his expression warm, inviting, even though it was a fantasy.
You opened your eyes, and it was like you were in a trance. There was Crowe, standing beside you, watching you intently, his gaze sharp and focused. You didnât notice him at first, lost in your own world, but when you did, you were startled by his expression. He was just standing there, his posture stiff as he watched you with a mixture of confusion and something darker.
His eyes narrowed, almost like he was trying to understand what was going on in your head. It was as if he saw something in you that you didnât want to admit.
You couldnât even hide it anymore. You were obsessed. You were lost in thoughts of Sol, and now Crowe could probably see it. He was watching you closely, almost like he was analyzing every move, every flicker of your gaze.
Crowe was silent for a moment, closing his eyes as though trying to calm himself down. He didnât say anything, and neither did you. There was something heavy hanging between you two, something unspoken that made the air feel thick and suffocating.
You felt like you had been caught, but it wasnât just about your actions anymoreâit was about the part of you that was slipping away, the part of you that was losing its grip on reality. The part of you that was getting too close to Sol. Too obsessed.
You couldnât even bring yourself to explain it. You couldnât bring yourself to admit that the only thing on your mind right now was him, and you couldnât lie to Crowe. But you couldnât stop.
You were spiraling deeper into this madness, and the more you tried to pull yourself out, the further you fell.
Crowe didnât speak, but his eyes were still on you, studying you with such intensity. The silence between you two was deafening, and it felt like you couldnât escape from the weight of the moment. You didnât know how much longer you could keep pretending everything was fine, because inside, everything was breaking apart.
Finally, Crowe sighed, his voice low and heavy. âY/NâŚâ
But you didnât want to hear it. You didnât want to hear him lecture you about your behavior, about how wrong you were, how obsessive you had become. Because you already knew. You already felt it. And the worst part was that you didnât care.
You were too far gone.
Crowe coughed, a forced sound that echoed in the silence between you two, and the moment was ruined. The image of Sol, the one you had been fantasizing about just moments before, began to fade as you were pulled back into the present. You clenched your jaw, an unfamiliar anger bubbling up inside of you.
âWhat?â you snapped, your voice sharper than intended. The irritation was there, raw and unfiltered. He had broken your daydreamâyour escape.
Crowe, startled by your sudden outburst, looked away, his eyes betraying a hint of confusion and concern. âY/N⌠what happened to you?â he asked, his voice softer now, but still laced with that underlying worry.
You immediately shut down, wanting nothing to do with the question. âNothingâs wrong,â you muttered, your gaze already shifting back toward the stars, seeking refuge in the familiar expanse of the night sky. You sat down on the grass, trying to drown out the noise in your head.
Crowe didnât stop. He sat beside you, his presence heavy as he continued to ask questions, trying to piece together the puzzle of what was going on with you. But you didnât want to hear it. You didnât want to think about it.
You buried yourself in the task of picking at the grass, mindlessly drawing out Solâs name in the dirt with the tips of your fingers. Sol...
Your eyes softened as you traced the letters, the feeling of love and obsession creeping in once more. You didnât care if it was unhealthy. You didnât care that you were losing it. In that moment, Sol was everything.
Then, Croweâs voice broke through again. âY/N⌠Iâm talking to you.â
You snapped your head toward him, your patience thinning. âShut up,â you muttered, the words slipping from your mouth before you could even register them. He had ruined it again. He didnât understand. He couldnât understand.
Crowe went silent, and when you looked at him, you saw that his expression had shifted. He looked hurtâsurprised, even. But that wasnât what caught your attention. It was the way he was looking at you, as if he had just realized how different you had become.
Your heart skipped a beat. You knew. You saw it in his eyes, in the way he now regarded you. You were scary.
You suddenly felt that weight pressing down on your chestâthe guilt, the realization of what you had just become. Your eyes, the same ones that hadnât slept properly in days, were dark and haunted. You could feel the darkness inside you swirling, pulling you deeper into this obsession.
You felt the regret hit you like a wave, and without thinking, you..
Croweâs eyes softened, and there was a painful hesitation in his voice. He looked at you, trying to piece together the person in front of himâthe person you used to be. âWhat happened to you...?â His voice was tinged with sadness, something you had never heard from him before. It was like he was watching a stranger before him, and it made you feel... uncomfortable, uneasy.
You cocked your head slightly, feigning confusion, though deep down you knew exactly what he was getting at. âWhat do you mean?â you asked, your voice quieter now, as you tried to keep your emotions under wraps.
Crowe ran a hand through his hair, a sigh escaping his lips before he spoke again. âItâs just! Look at you! Youâre... nowadays sleep-deprived, always walking away... One of the students even complained to the council that you were... laughing a lot in the restroom. You threatened them to be silent... This isnât like you...â His voice faltered at the end, as if he were afraid to say too much, afraid of pushing you further.
You shrugged, trying to dismiss it. âAh, so what?â You could feel the coldness creeping into your tone, but you couldnât stop it. It wasnât like you cared anymore.
âIâm not sure who you are anymore...â Crowe's words were heavy, like each one was a weight being pressed onto you. âYou used to be a quiet, caring, bookworm artist who liked to listen... and a good child who cared about their father getting their land back. But now...â He trailed off, his voice thick with concern.
You stared at him, your expression hardening. âIchabod, stop it... Crowe, whatâs with you? What are you trying to say?â Your voice cracked slightly with frustration, but you didnât let it show too much. You werenât going to let him make you feel guilty, not when everything inside you was already breaking apart.
âYouâre not yourself anymore,â he said, his voice quiet now, almost pleading. âIs there a reason...? Youâve become so... cold. Toward me too... You used to...â
The words hit you like a punch to the gut, but you refused to show any sign of weakness. You didnât want to hear it. âYou only know me for what you think,â you said through clenched teeth. âYou donât know me as a person. You donât have the right to complain.â
Croweâs face twisted, the hurt evident in his eyes as he took a step closer, his voice trembling. âComplain?! Y/N! Iâm someone who cares about you! Iâm worried about you!â
You couldnât stop the bitter laugh that escaped your lips. âCared?â you spat, the word leaving a bad taste in your mouth. âDonât make me laugh, Crowe. Didnât I just say? Friend... friend... friend...â The word felt like a poison on your tongue. You hated it, but you said it anyway.
He was taken aback, the raw emotion in his face faltering as he blinked at you, unsure how to respond. âThen... What am I to you?â His voice was shaky, desperate for an answer.
You looked at him, almost broken, as the answer came to you, something so twisted and bitter you couldnât help but say it. âYou WERE MY savior,â you said, your voice hollow. âA friend.â You looked away quickly, trying to hide the sinking feeling inside you. What have I become?
Crowe stood there for a moment, processing your words, before he shook his head slightly. âThen I guess... I donât really know who you are anymore, Y/N. What you are...â His voice cracked. "Iâm sorry for ruining your day.â
You didnât know how to feel anymore. His words had hit you harder than anything, but you couldnât bring yourself to show it. âYeah, you donât,â you whispered. Crowe was about to..leave but he held your arm.
Croweâs grip on your arm tightened, his voice sharp and laced with panic. âWhatâs wrong with you?â he demanded, his face flushed with a mix of confusion and frustration. âWhy are you acting like this? What happened to you?!â
His desperate eyes were searching yours, but all you could feel was anger and suffocating tension. You had enough of his questions, enough of his concern. You had too much of him in your life, and it was beginning to tear you apart. You couldnât breathe in the face of it anymore.
"Shut up!" you screamed, the words ripping through the silence. "Shut up, Crowe! Just... shut up!"
You yanked your arm away from him, the fire in your chest growing. This wasnât you, not the person he thought you were. Not anymore. You had changed, and he needed to accept it.
Croweâs eyes widened in shock, but you couldnât care less. He didnât understand. He wouldnât. You were done trying to explain yourself to someone who couldnât see the chaos inside your mind.
Suddenly, you grabbed him by the collar, pulling him closer with force, your body trembling with the anger you could no longer suppress. âYOUâRE THE PROBLEM!â you screamed at him, your voice cracking. "YOU distract me, away from my life. You make everything so damn complicated! I want to focus on something, but you keep getting in my way! You make everything harder!"
Tears welled in your eyes, but you fought them back, gritting your teeth. âI DONâT WANT FRIENDS! LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE!â
Your breath came in shallow gasps as you shoved him away, forcing yourself to take a step back. You grabbed your bag, clutching it tightly as if it were the last thing keeping you grounded.
Crowe stood frozen, his face pale, looking as if your words had physically struck him. But his voice was quiet, almost resigned. âHave fun with the group of people youâre trying to fix,â you spat bitterly. âBut stay the hell away from me. Iâm done.â
You turned sharply, your heart hammering in your chest as you walked away, the cold night air hitting your face, but you barely felt it. Your legs carried you without thought, away from Crowe, away from the situation you had created.
âHave fun with your new friends. Iâm telling you this now... if you want to live happily... Stay with them. Iâm done for.â
And with that, you walked away, your heart torn in two but your mind resolute. You didnât look back. You couldnât afford to.
You made it home, the door slamming shut behind you as you staggered into the dimly lit living room. The emptiness felt like it was swallowing you whole, but it was the kind of emptiness you had grown used to. The kind that didn't scream for attention, just quietly gnawed at your soul.
You collapsed to the floor, pulling your knees to your chest as your body shook. The tears came like a dam breaking openâheavy, hot, and relentless. It wasnât just from the fight with Crowe, not just because of the raw pain in your chest. No, it was because you had to do it. You had to push him away, had to convince yourself that you hated him. You had to protect him.
It wasnât like you didnât care about Crowe; it was the opposite. You cared too much. And that kind of care was dangerous when you had someone like Sol watching you from the shadows, his jealousy like a burning fuse ready to snap at any moment. You had seen it, the way he watched Crowe, the way his eyes hardened whenever his name was mentioned.
Sol could never find out about Crowe. If Sol knew, he would kill himâyou were sure of it. And that couldnât happen. Not while you still had this insane, twisted obsession with Sol. The last thing you wanted was to lose the only person who made you feel something in this chaotic mess of emotions.
and to be peaceful with sol.
You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, taking a shuddering breath as you reached for the small pile of things you had been hiding in your bag. It was a strange collection: a piece of bandage you had stolen from the nurseâs office, a pencil Sol had left on his desk, a scrap of paper with a doodle of hisâjust things, little things. But to you, they were treasures. They were all you had left of him.
Hugging them to your chest, you buried your face in the soft bandage. His scent lingered faintly on it, something sharp and comforting. The smell of Sol. The smell of everything you wanted. It calmed the storm inside your head, at least for a moment.
Your mind wandered, thoughts growing hazy as the delusions crept in. You imagined Sol with you, imagined him loving you, imagined a life where he saw you as something more than just an object of desire. But that was all it would ever beâdelusion. And yet, it felt so real, so comforting in that moment of weakness.
You clung to the bandage tighter, your tears soaking into the fabric. You couldnât stop it. You wanted to scream, to let it all out, but the sensation of holding onto somethingâanythingâwas a distraction. It kept you from falling apart completely.
And in that moment, despite the overwhelming sadness, you felt a twisted sense of gratitude. âThank GodâŚâ you whispered, your voice cracking. You didnât even know what you were thankful for...
You sat there in the darkness of your room, the weight of the bandage pressing against your chest as you clutched it tighter, your fingers trembling with a twisted sense of ownership. The smell of Sol was still faint on the fabric, but to you, it was everything. It was him, in your hands, in your arms, in your mind.
A sick, deranged smile stretched across your lips, creeping its way into your expression as you hugged the bandages closer. The soft, comforting scent of Sol's presence made your heart race, and every thought felt like a desperate plea to keep him to yourself, to make him yours. It didnât matter that you knew how wrong it all was; it didnât matter that you were sinking deeper into this madness. In this moment, you were consumed, body and soul, by the idea of him.
You could almost see himâfeel himâright next to you. The way his eyes would soften when he looked at you, how his voice would whisper your name in that quiet, gentle way, if only he knew how much you loved him. The fantasies played in your mind like a twisted film reel, each scene more vivid, more real than the last.
âSol...â you whispered, barely able to keep the name from slipping off your tongue. âYouâre mine, arenât you?â
Your voice was soft, almost reverent, but there was a madness in your eyes. Your pupils dilated as your smile deepened, the corners of your mouth stretching until it felt like your face couldnât contain the longing and obsession.
The bandage in your hands was no longer just a piece of cloth. It was a symbol. A symbol of the twisted bond you had with him, the bond you were building, even if he didnât know it. You felt your chest tighten, your breath hitching in your throat. You imagined what it would be like when he finally realizedâwhen he finally saw you, truly saw you, not just as a fleeting moment in his life, but as the one who loved him the most, the one who would never let him go.
Your mind raced, wild and untamed, thoughts spiraling in a whirlpool of desperation. What would you do if he knew? Would he ever love you back, or would he push you away like everyone else had? No. You wouldnât let that happen.
You could feel a twinge of possessiveness, something dark and primal clawing at your insides, as you pressed the bandage to your face, inhaling deeply.
I need him. I need him so muchâŚ
A bitter laugh bubbled up from deep within your throat, a hollow sound that echoed around the room, dark and twisted. âIâll make sure no one takes you from me. Not anyone. Youâll be mine, Sol. Forever...â
You closed your eyes, your fingers clutching the bandage as if it were the most precious thing in the world. A tear slipped down your cheek, though it wasnât from sadness. It was from the overwhelming need, the obsessive desire that consumed every corner of your heart.
You smiled again, slower this time, as you whispered to the empty room, âYouâll see... Youâll see, Sol. Weâre meant to be. You have me in your order already.."
The sudden buzz of your phone broke through the fog of obsession, pulling you back to reality with a jolt. Your heart skipped a beat as you saw Croweâs name flash on the screen. You felt a rush of panic that surged through your chest like ice-water.
Shit.
You quickly unlocked your phone, your fingers trembling as you read his message. "Hey, can I add you to the group chat with the others? Just thought itâd be fun to hang out more!"
You stared at the words, each syllable clawing at you.every interaction with Crowe felt like another chain around your neck, pulling you further away from Sol, from the delusion of him.
Your heart raced, a sick, suffocating feeling creeping up your throat. You couldn't afford to keep Crowe close. He was a distraction. The more you interacted with him, the more dangerous it became. Sol was always watching, always simmering in the background, and you couldnât risk him finding out about Crowe. No more distractions.
Before you could stop yourself, your fingers moved faster than your mind. You typed the word ânoâ before deleting the message, quickly following up by erasing his contact entirely.
Done. Thatâs it. No more Crowe.
You breathed a sigh of reliefâfor now. You thought you could relax. You thought you could get back to your twisted little world with Sol, without anyone else interfering.
But then it happened.
The sickening realization hit you like a brick to the chest.
SHIT.
Crowe had added you to the group chat before you deleted his contact.
Your heart sank. You cursed under your breath, panic bubbling up inside you. You immediately opened the group chat, only to be greeted by a flood of messages. His name was there, right at the top of the list, and your chest tightened as you saw a few of the others already chatting away.
The chat was buzzing with messages about the Halloween party at school this Friday. The excitement was palpable, everyone discussing costumes, plans, and what to expect. You couldnât help but feel a twinge of anticipation in the air as you scrolled through the messages, catching bits and pieces of the conversation.
Your mind drifted, and a thought struck you suddenlyâmaybe I should ask him to come with me.
Without a second thought, you quickly snapped a screenshot of the party announcement that Deryl had sent earlier, one with all the details. You attached it to the message and sent it in the group chat, but you couldnât shake the feeling that maybe you werenât just sharing the information with the others.
Almost immediately, your phone buzzed with a response from Sol.
âA Halloween Party hosted by the school?â he asked, his message clear and direct, as always.
You felt a small spark of hope rise within you. Maybe this could be the perfect chance.
You sent another message, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you typed, asking if Sol had eaten yet. It felt like a random question, but your mind was racing, eager for some kind of connection.
You kept sending little questions, almost aimlesslyâanything to keep the conversation going. It felt like you were trying to fill the silence, but deep down, you knew what you were really doing.
You were craving his attention, his responses. You couldnât help it.
"I'm not quite into parties," Sol replied after a moment, his words calm but distant.
"Oh... Well, that's alright, just asking, that's all," you quickly typed back, trying not to sound disappointed, though a part of you was.
Then, to your surprise, another message came in almost immediately.
"Wait."
Your heart skipped a beat.
"If you're coming, then I'm coming as well."
The words sent a wave of excitement through you. Heâs coming?!
"Really?!" you typed, almost too quickly, feeling a smile tug at your lips.
"Really," he replied, and for a moment, you felt your stomach flip.
"Do you plan on dressing up?" you asked, the curiosity getting the best of you.
"I don't know. Do you?" he responded.
"I mean, it's a costume party. Why not?" you replied, enthusiasm creeping into your tone.
"I'll think of something then," he said, and you could almost hear the slight smile in his words.
You hesitated for a moment, not sure whether to push Sol into the idea of going to the party. It felt like too much pressure, so you decided to soften your approach.
"Itâs fine if you donât want to come..." you typed, trying to make it sound casual. You didnât want to make him feel obligated, but you couldnât deny the ache in your chest at the thought of being alone at the party.
"Pardon?" he responded quickly, a bit confused. You could almost picture the raised eyebrow from him, a slight shift in tone.
"I mean, itâs Friday, so itâs the weekend, right?" You continued, trying to hide the vulnerability behind your words. "We could still hang out without going to the party. I just... didnât want to be lonely."
There it was, the truth spilling out, but also a part of you knowing it was a perfect excuse for your real intentions. You needed Sol close. You needed him to understand that Crowe was out of the picture, that no one else could get in the way.
He was quiet for a moment, then typed: "Do you want to hang out with me?"
Your heart skipped. You didn't even hesitate.
"Yes," you typed, without a second thought. It was like you were dropping the last of your guard, exposing the raw, desperate need for his presence.
But deep down, you also knew you were playing the game just right. You were making sure to look like you were alone, like you didnât have anyone else in your life. Crowe was out, and now Sol could see how easy it would be for him to sweep in. Heâll understand, you thought to yourself. Iâm the fresh rabbit, and heâs always watching.
Your thoughts wandered to your conversation. You knew Sol liked horror films, heâd mentioned it before. You felt a surge of inspiration.
"What about a horror movie?" you asked casually. "You know, something fun, something we can watch while hanging out?"
There was a slight pause before he replied. And then it came.
"I guess I could do that...," he typed, and for the first time, there was something different in his words. It was as if he wasnât just dry and indifferent anymore. He sounded... slightly interested.
It made your heart flutter. Heâs cute, you thought to yourself, smiling as you typed.
You slipped into the kitchen, eyes scanning the food you had prepared earlier. You opened the containers, one after another, heart thudding in your chest. But it wasnât touched. Not a single bite.
Your chest tightened as you checked another batch, and then another. The seals were intact. Nothing had been opened.
Heâs not coming tonight.
You felt the realization hit you like a wave. The silence of the empty space was deafening, and you wanted to scream, to cry, to lash out at the crushing disappointment. But instead, you swallowed it all, letting the heaviness settle deep within.
Grabbing something quick to eat, you barely tasted it. The food turned to ash in your mouth as you moved to your room. The quiet was unbearable. You needed to do somethingâanything to distract yourself from the longing, the ache that refused to go away.
You sank to the floor, pulling your sketchbook and supplies toward you. The charcoal pencil felt familiar in your fingers, a lifeline. You began to draw, the lines forming without thought, your hands moving like a machine. Stroke after stroke, his face emerged on the paper. Sol.
His soft, yet piercing eyes. The way his lips held a hint of mystery, the curve of his jawlineâstrong but refined. Every detail you etched felt like worship, your devotion spilling onto the page. You poured yourself into the drawing, the room around you fading away until there was only him.
When it was done, a small, trembling smile tugged at the corners of your lips. You stared at the portrait, your sleepless eyes red and raw, but filled with an almost manic satisfaction.
Slowly, you hugged the portrait to your chest, clutching it as though it were him. The paper crinkled slightly under your grip, but you didnât care. You kissed the charcoal lips on the drawing, your own trembling, tears sliding down your cheeks.
"Please... just be mine already," you whispered brokenly, your voice trembling with desperation. "I canât wait anymore, Sol. I... Iâll do anything, just tell me what you want. Tell me, Please."
You stared into the lifeless eyes of the portrait, waiting for it to answer, to give you some sign. But of course, it was silent. You begged again, your tears smudging the edges of the drawing.
"Say something... please," you choked out.
But the portrait didnât speak. It remained still, just like the real Solâalways so close, yet so far.
Curling around the paper, you let out a soft, pained sob. The ache in your heart felt unbearable, but you couldnât stop. This obsession, this needâit had consumed you entirely. And no matter how much it hurt, you didnât want it to stop. You wanted to push yourself with work.
The laundry room was quiet, the steady hum of the machine and the rhythmic sloshing of water the only sounds accompanying your thoughts. You moved mechanically, pulling clothes from the hamper, sorting them into piles, trying to ignore the lingering haze of obsession that clouded your mind.
I canât keep going like this... you thought to yourself, folding one of your shirts. I need to focus on normal things. Normal people do laundry. Normal people donât... donât...
Your train of thought derailed as your hands brushed the fabric of a familiar piece of clothing. You frowned slightly, realizing something was missing. The set wasnât complete. You glanced at the piles, searching, your hands moving faster, more frantic. Something wasnât right.
Quickly, you abandoned the laundry, heading to your cupboard to double-check. You rifled through your drawers, tossing clothes aside until you found what you were looking forâor rather, what you werenât finding. One of your shirtsâyour favorite, the one you wore at homeâwas gone.
At first, you froze, confusion flashing through you. Then, slowly, your lips parted into a soft giggle. Your face flushed as the realization dawned on you.
Oh, Sol...
A hand flew to your mouth as a giddy, almost delirious laugh escaped your lips. Your knees buckled, and you sat down in front of the cupboard, staring at the empty space where that clothing shouldâve been.
He took it again. He stole it. That adorable little thief... How cute.
Your blush deepened as you thought about it. He canât help himself, can he? Itâs unfair... You glanced toward your bed, where the collection of his things was hidden away. He gets to take my clothes, and I only have his bandages and a pencil. Itâs not enough.
You hugged your knees, staring dreamily at the laundry pile. The fabric, the scent, the soft feelingâit all reminded you of him. You let out a small, love-struck sigh, the flush on your face deepening.
"Oh, Sol," you murmured to yourself, your voice barely above a whisper. "When will you realize you already have me entirely like this? And yet, you still sneak and steal like a kid... Youâre so cute."
For a moment, the world outside of Sol ceased to exist. Crowe, the laundry, your day-to-day lifeâit all faded into nothingness. There was only Sol. Your heart raced as you stood, your movements purposeful now. You opened the cupboard and pulled out the box where you kept his thingsâyour most precious treasures. The bandages, his pencil, a tiny doodle of his youâd swiped from class. All of it.
You sat on the ground and opened your journal. The familiar pages greeted you, filled with sketches, notes, little scraps of his life that youâd painstakingly collected. Each page was a testament to your obsession, your devotion.
But this journal was full now, the last page crammed with your thoughts about him. There was no more room to document the all-encompassing love you felt. You smiled softly, running your fingers over the cover before carefully placing it into the box with the rest of the treasures.
"Time for a fresh start," you whispered to yourself.
You pulled out a new journal, the pages pristine and blank, waiting to be filled. You grabbed a pen and carefully wrote "Sol" on the first page in your neatest handwriting.
"Yay!" you said aloud, a childlike excitement bubbling up as you hugged the new journal to your chest. You tucked the box away in the cupboard and stood, a sense of accomplishment warming you. This is perfect. Itâs all for you, Sol.
The dayâs events had left you feeling drained, but for the first time in what felt like months, it wasnât a bad kind of exhaustion. It was the sort that pulled you to the ground with a soft, irresistible weight. You lay down, clutching the sketch of Sol youâd finished earlier, holding it close like a lifeline.
You stared at it for a moment, tracing the lines with your fingers. His eyes, his lips, his hairâit was all there, captured perfectly. You pressed a kiss to the paper, your eyes fluttering closed.
"I love you," you whispered to the drawing, your voice barely audible. "One day, itâll be real..."
The tears that slipped down your cheeks werenât sad this time. They were soft, almost sweet, as you hugged the drawing closer and allowed your exhaustion to take over.
For the first time in what felt like forever, you drifted into sleep, clutching Solâs likeness to your chest. Your dreams were filled with him, his presence warm and consuming, just like always. But this time, there was a strange comfort in it. The kind that made you feel like you were exactly where you were meant to be.
#the kid at the back vn#tkatb#tkatb sol#tkatb x reader#visual novel#solivan brugmansia#solvian x reader#sol x reader#the kid at the back sol#the kid at the back x reader#tkatb crowe#tkatb vn#sol brugmansia#the kid at the back
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Advocacy and Art (PSA)
As somebody who was around during the AIDS crisis, I have a lesson to share. It's very short, and very simple, and very brutal.
Consuming art is just consumerism. Making art is the only real advocacy.
(obviously also advocacy is advocacy, I'm speaking in particular about fandom 'advocacy')
I learned this at museums, watching people discuss so many artists' final pieces of art. I learned this at clinics, when we ran campaigns to try and get support from the public. I learned this at the AIDS quilt, listening to people comment on how pretty some squares were.
Most of all I've learned this from the way I am still treated. If consuming art was advocacy that changed people's minds, then we wouldn't have dealt with the neglect and the active ignoring of the HIV/AIDS while it got worse and worse.
But art is only advocacy if you're making it. Consuming art is not advocacy.
Consuming shows, movies, and art made by others is not advocacy. Awareness is a very limited form of advocacy only needed for things people are actually unaware of beforehand.
Thus, for queers, the only advocacy possible through art is making your own. Consumption is not activism.
#queer stuff#we learned that people who watched our struggles were unreliable#and only those who engaged without ego and with humility in the depth of the experience came out of it changed#consuming the art did nothing but raise awareness#and awareness isn't advocacy unless people don't know about something#people been knowing about faggots since caveman days#so awareness is not advocacy for queers#anyway this is your call to make something#fanwork or not
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â artrick and camgirl!reader ŕŠâĄËł
moodboard
it began as just a quick way to make some extra money during college and nothing more than that. you were a bit apprehensive at first, aware of the risks and consequences of someone finding you, but eventually, you started to find joy in it, especially because you received a lot of attentionâ even more than the other girls on the same website. people, who where mostly older men, started to like you, and money began to pour in like never before. but no matter what, you had to keep it a secret from everyone.
yet, patrick who scours the whole internet for porn that matches his specific taste, managed to unexpectedly find you while you were live. he almost couldnât believe his eyesâ his best friend, with her legs spread wide as she touched herself and loud moans escaped her mouth. and god, the way you moaned sounded so angelic, with your pretty, soft lips parted in ecstasy. he simply had no other choiceâ he had to tell art.
âi swear to god patrick, i donât wanna see those golden shower porn videos again.â âjust, trust me, youâre gonna wanna see this.â patrick insisted as he opened his laptop. he glanced at the time. 10 pm. that was usually when you came online on thursdays, because yes, patrick had already watched you so many days in a row, he memorised your streaming schedule. âwho are these girls?â art questioned with a raised brow, puzzled as to why patrick would show him random camgirls, until he noticed he noticed youâ fully naked while you held a vibrator against your swollen clit, causing his eyes to widen as he leaned closer to the laptop screen. âholy⌠fuck.â âyup. i know.â
and thatâs how it all began. now, every day right before you would come online, patrick and art would sit impatiently next to each other on the bed, eagerly waiting for you to go live. âyou think sheâll use that pink dildo again?â art asked patrick with clammy hands resting on his knees. âgod, i hope so. that oneâs my favourite.â and when you finally appeared on screen, a smirk spread simultaneously across both boysâ faces as they stared mesmerised at the screen, quickly adjusting their positions as their pants grew uncomfortably tight.
it was somewhat oddâ it almost felt like video calling with you, as if you were touching yourself just for them, until they were hit with the harsh reality of the comments and countless men thirsting over you. the wave of comments flooding in during your streams, especially when you would interact with them, evoked a complex mix of emotions in patrick and art. they were consumed by jealousyâ they wanted you for themselves, and they hated the fact that others could see what they saw. âjesus, these men are fucking desperate.â art exclaimed while reading the quick-paced comments with an unamused face. patrick shook his head in disapproval as he let out a chuckle. âi bet theyâre all jerking off while watching her, fucking creeps.â
and ultimately⌠they found themselves becoming what they once criticised the most, as theyâre now shoulder to shoulder in artâs stanford dorm room, hands tightly wrapped around their throbbing erections as they pumped it quickly. âthis, uhm⌠this isnât weird, right?â art questioned, his breaths coming in quick pants as your moans echoed through the shitty speakers of his cheap laptop. âno, no⌠i mean, weâre looking at her, right? nothing weird about that.â patrick reassured art as his eyes stayed fixed on your movements, and art nodded in agreement.
and even now, as they masturbated not only on their own to you but together, while watching you strip and bring yourself to your orgasms over and over again, they still hung out with you as usual. you noticed a change in their behaviour thoughâ you couldnât quite pinpoint what it was, but they seemed more, nervous around you. you brushed it off quickly though, thinking it was just you. but little did you know they were indeed nervous to be around you now, as their eyes scanned every inch of your body covered in clothing, knowing that they had seen all of itâ all of you, naked.
âdo you⌠do you think we should tell her? that we know?â patrick asked art as they were once again, sitting in artâs dorm room, their hands lazily pumping their cocks. soft fucks and oh my gods slipped from your lips and resonated through the room along with the buzzing sound of your rose toy, which was the usual on fridays. âi mean, yeah, we should, eventually. maybe⌠uhm, next week⌠or something.â âyeah, yeah. next week.â
ŕŠâĄËł
đˇď¸ tags: @maizweig @swamp-box @oceandriveab @starkeysprincess @unhingedbanks @imawhoreforu @mcugirl @skylerwhitwyo @maybankswifey @hearts-4-kai @takaosin @imbabycowboy @badesire @parkerloves @diorrfairy @jizzlle
#⼠ariâs works#camgirl!reader#camgirl!reader au#art donaldson#patrick zweig#challengers#challenger smut#art donaldson smut#patrick zweig smut#art donaldson x reader#art donaldson x you#art donaldson x female reader#art donaldson x fem!reader#art donaldson x patrick zweig#art donaldson blurb#art donaldson drabble#art donaldson imagine#patrick zweig x reader#patrick zweig x you#patrick zweig x art donaldson#artrick#patrick zweig x female reader#patrick zweig x fem!reader#art donaldson fic#art donaldson fanfiction#art donaldson fanfic#patrick zweig fic#patrick zweig fanfiction#patrick zweig fanfic
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ăâĄă The Remarkable Machine Who Learned How to Love
⥠featuring: toji x f!reader
⥠cw/tw: none, a little angst but a whole lot of fluff! wc: 1.6k+
notes: i was thinking about this all day and decided to whip up somethin in a couple hours. hope u like :P art by manuel_juju on twitter! comments and reblogs are appreciated!
In a kill-or-be-killed world, Toji reached the top of the food chainâunfortunately, staying at the top is a thousand times harder than the climb. And when he looked down, there was no one to catch his fall. Â
Before Toji met you, he was as aimless as a speck of dust, carried endlessly by an unpredictable tide of winds. He followed the cracked and crumbled path bespoken for lost souls like himself. Destined to be nothing but a vessel, a hollow man of sturdy muscle who worked himself to the bone, filthy jobs common men wouldnât dare consider, because who was there to stop him anyway? Was there anything left for men birthed from hopeless circumstances, raised by broken homes to turn to lives of criminality? He couldnât find an answer. He wasnât equipped with the empathy to understand why guilt gnawed at his conscious; why whenever he ate takeout in his dimly lit apartment, it spilled out the chasm in his chest. Â
It was much easier to complete the task, to trudge to a check cashing facility to retrieve money he couldnât care less about. Perhaps heâd walk this earth alone forever, constantly watching over his back from a fear of daggers shooting from every direction, waiting to strike at his most vulnerable. It was only a matter of time. Â
Or maybe heâd allow his sins to surpass him. Accept the peaceful release of death and pay the price of a vacant funeral service. Â
It was all but irreparable, until he walked into his usual convenience store and encountered the new clerk at the register. It was past midnight, and Toji placed the quick meal on the counter. When his tired eyes panned up from those frozen noodles, his heart reset, a part he thought died amidst the torment. It skipped across his ribcage, stopped until a fleeting breath pulled him back to reality, to the intense fluorescent lights and your warm welcoming smile. There wasnât a single altercation that stole the air from his lungs the way you did. Â
Life hadnât torn you apart yet. Â
Your eyes didnât break away, unexpected, as Toji was used to people hanging their heads near him. Heâs aware of his threatening stare and intimidating stature; itâs what keeps him alive. And you were unbothered. You scanned his item, and flashed those pearly whites that sent a nosedive straight to his stomach, âIâm a big fan of this brand!��� Â
Toji remained tight lipped, unwilling to sift through difficult emotions and experience a feeling he believed himself to be undeserving of. He nodded, and somehow you continued, âShouldnât eat so late, though. Messes with your stomach.â A puff of wind pushed from his nose before he could stifle it. âAre you a doctor in the daytime?â You chuckled and bagged, âSorry, slow day.â Â
He arrives the same week, searching for a couple of beers to bring back to his apartment. You were in an obviously dangerous position, with one foot off the step ladder as you attempted to push a bottle of cleaner onto the highest shelf. It was a fight between gravity, and the opponent nearly won before his hand grabbed the handle. âOh! Thank youâ you smiled. It was sunnier than the last and reopened the stitches heâd been struggling to sew since that moment. Â
Toji suddenly had countless excuses to go to the convenience store. Sometimes heâd enter for a snack, and youâd discuss your favorite chips, other times he pretended to need items just to hear your voice ramble about a niche topic you knew too much about. When his heart thrummed off kilter, and his mind became consumed with thoughts of the pretty night-shift cashier, a piece of him demeaned. How embarrassing it was, to be attracted to the scripted kindness of a service worker. Toji barely recognized he had favorites, let alone desires. So why did he have such an unwavering desire to see you? Â
Heâd snatch a pack of noodles one day, a subconscious grin at the joining of your eyes. It didnât matter if the twinkle in your gaze wasnât exclusive to him; for a second, it felt like someone cared, and it was fulfillment he couldnât shake. Â
You leaned over the counter on your elbows, âDid you know thereâs over 35,000 ramen noodles restaurants in Japan?â Â
âI didnât, but that sounds like a lot of options.â Â
âMhm, you should try one. The real thing is way better.â Â
âIâm sure. I donât really go out to restaurants often, soâŚâ Â
âMe neitherâ, thereâs a lengthy pause, and you finally blurted, âmaybe we could go together!â Â
He was stunned. Lost for words, really. It wasnât possible, a girl as beautiful as you who wants to be seen with a stone-cold machine in public. It had to be a prank, a fabrication by fate to taunt him. You grew an anxious smile, âHah, sorry, I overstep-â Â
âI want to.â You stiffened, and he found solace in your shared nervousness. âO-oh! Great!âÂ
Tojiâs first date with you had been a disaster, though. Heâs heavy handed by design, and itâs no different in his daily life. His strength leads to instances of clumsy behavior. He expected you to be appalled, disgusted, or at least judgmental. Â
You never shunned him. When he held your hand too tight, you slightly unclasped it. He wanted to retreat, to stuff them in his pockets and remain at a safe distance. But you interlocked hands and spoke soft, âIt's okay, just try not to hold so tight.â Â
He swung the door open for your entry and almost shattered the glass door on the opposite wall. âI appreciate your enthusiasmâ you giggled. Â
He was afraid to even hug youâhe might underestimate his strength and crush your sternum. Toji walked you back to your place and turned to leave. âIâll see ya around.â Despite that, you guided his calloused hands around your waist, slinked into his broad body, and embraced him. Every aspect of you, foreign but comfortingâlittle breaths fanning his shirt, fingers brushing along his back, sugary perfume wafting in his nose. Â
It was heaven on Earth. Â
Now years have gone by, and instead of bleached walls and silence greeting him as his eyes crack open in the morning, he smells the familiar scent of pancakes, pans clattering on the stove. He waltzes into the kitchen in a hazy state and admires the aching back of his very pregnant wife. You have a hand assisting your lower back and another on the wooden spatula scrambling eggs.Â
Toji dropped his past for you after the engagement. He cashed his last check and disappeared from the underground circle without a trace. He was aware if he continued the path he was heading, the result awaiting him was six feet under. The outcome was unimportant, however, youâthe image of tears streaming down your face at his poor volition, your figure keeled over his gravesite under dewy grass and wailing for his return to no avail. He couldnât stomach it. He had to protect you and commit to the next stage of his life. Heâd never tell you about his previous work. It was for the best. Heâd be selfish, just this once.Â
One sock is different from the other, wearing loose shorts and a random shirt sitting above your massive belly. Itâs his preferred version of you. Your stomach and thighs adorned in stretch marks, shaped like tiger stripes that declare your strength through each dip and curve; It's his greatest honor. Youâd take on the complications, unending exhaustion, and hormone imbalances to bless him with a child. Toji hasnât let you lift a finger since you got pregnant, opting to handle all the household tasks, borderline subservient to the mother of his child. So, his mouth twists when he sees you up so early. Â
He stands behind you, hands trailing from your upper thighs to your stomach, then the small of your back. You lean into him while he massages circles and whisper a tiny âGood morning.âÂ
âYa couldâve woke me upâ Toji mumbles, kissing your temple. He wraps around to the underside of your belly, mindful of his muscle, and lifts it carefully. His respect for you increases tenfold with the heavy weight on his palms. You hum a pleased noise, sudden relief from your back. He carries it and smooths his thumbs over the taut skin.Â
âYouâre a late sleeper, and I havenât made breakfast in a long time.âÂ
âYa donât have to do a thing, yâknow.âÂ
âI know. But I wanna do this for youâ, and he grins. Itâs quiet, standing in the warmth of your bodies, sunshine glowing through the window to cast an angelic gleam on your face. Â
Then he feels an imbalance of pressure along his fingers and mild wriggling within your tummy. Toji traces the movements, seeking to play a game with his unborn child. Sometimes it scares him, to bring new life into a world that almost smothered his light. He worries that heâll end up on the same road as him or he wonât be a good enough father. The journey of parenthood is a long, laborious one. Youâre always learning, and Tojiâs still processing the basics. Itâs complicated, he trips and falters; yet youâre there to support him, through thick and thin, sickness and in health. Â
What was he if not for youâhis pillar, his source of happiness and comfort. Youâd given him everything to wish for and infinite reasons to stick around. An iron criminal, bested by no mortal, chipped away by compassion and gentle hands.Â
âYou can let go if itâs too heavy.âÂ
I can stay here forever.Â
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#FFxivWrite2023 - Day 16: Jerk
The Crystal Exarchâs head jerked upwards as the aetherial chain around his neck pulled taut. Emet-Selch, who for gods-only-know what reason still wore the garb of Emperor Solus, walked into the room with a cool nonchalance.
âSorry, am I intruding? I had hoped you might indulge me with a little chat,â the Ascian said.
Gâraha simply stared with a calm, patient loathing. He needed to conserve what little strength he hadâand hopefully even recover a little more, if that was even possible. It would be difficult. He was so very far from the tower. Coming to that, he did not rightly have an idea where he actually was, besides âa long way awayâ.
The surrounds were amenableâalmost hospitableâbut huge, built for beings several times larger than anyone he knew. He felt he saw faint hints of design that one might see in Garlean architecture, but this felt warmer. Richer. Less consumed with constantly brandishing a fist of iron. More invested in art and enlightenment. Were it not for his aetheric restraints, he would be quite eager to explore.
Of course, he had made all of those observations between when he had regained consciousness, and now. He was a bit preoccupied with other matters at the moment.Â
Emet-Selch was by no means the first dangerously-powerful madman heâd faced. So he knew he must stay stoic and focused. Maintaining composure was absolutely essential for not talking oneâs way into a trapâdoubly so when dealing with one of the Paragons.
It also tended to drive said dangerously-powerful people to utter distraction, which was always a bonus.
âNo?â Emet-Selch sighed, feigning disappointment. âShy, are we? I would have hoped for more from the, what was it again? âAdjudicator of sacred historyâ...?â
The subtlest smirk tugged at the corner of Gârahaâs lips. The Ascianâs tone had clearly been intended to mock how low he had fallen. But he took it as a heartening sign. He had gotten to him.
Emet-Selchâs face registered the briefest flicker of irritation. But he shrugged and shook his head. âI had thought to use your chosen title to be polite. But if it no longer suits youâŚâ he knelt to the Exarchâs eye level, who was bound, seated, against the wall. âThen perhaps you would prefer I use another term. Tell me, what should I call you?â
ââCrystal Exarchâ will suffice.â
âHmm. I think not, Gâraha,â the Ascian replied. He was only the second person in a hundred years to use his true name. Gâraha did not appreciate it. Emet-Selch wryly continued, âOh yes, I did indeed hear your champion as you were trying to draw that light out of her. What a pity you did not have the strength to see the deed done in the end. What a torturous, agonizing transformation she must be undergoing. Perhaps even as we speak!â
To any who did not know him well, Gârahaâs utter non-reaction would have come as a surprise. One might conclude he did not seem to care all that deeply for the Warrior of Light after all.
But of course, the truth was simply that nothing Emet-Selch could say would be worse than what he had berated himself with already. He remained quiet. He did not break eye contact.
The cavalier air started to fade. Emet-Selchâs gaze grew hard. âSo, Gâraha. You are clearly from the Source. But who are you?â
âNo one you would ever need be aware of.â
âWell, obviously,â he said, rolling his eyes, âElse we would not be having this conversation. How came you to know such unique applications of the tower?â
âDo you not find its workings simple enough?â he answered dryly.
âQuite so. And what you have done should not be possible. âŚAnd we have had this conversation before, so let us cut right to the chase. How did you do it?â
âImpossibly, it would seem.â
Emet-Selch raised his hand, and with a quick turn of his wrist, the aetherial shackles wound around the Exarch tightened. He gritted his teeth against the pain, but made not so much as a sound.
âDo you know how easily I could kill you?â the Ascian asked.
âWith very little effort, Iâd imagine. âŚBut you wonât.â
Another squeeze of the constraints. Emet-Selchâs voice was low, nearing a growl. âI would advise you not to tempt me otherwise.â
Both men stared at each other, waiting to see who would balk first.
Suddenly and without warning, Emet-Selch straightened up with a start and looked off into the distance at nothing. He appeared as if he had heard something. Gâraha couldnât tell what.
But whatever it was, it allowed Emet-Selchâs infuriatingly casual facade to slip back into place. He released his intangible grasp on the chains, and Gâraha slumped, gasping a quiet breath of relief.Â
The Ascian stood. âAh. Forgive me, adjudicator, but business calls me away. Do have a think about what we discussed while I am out, would you?â
âAnything for you,â he replied, allowing himself a parting barb of sarcasm.
Emet-Selch smirked. He walked away with a halfhearted wave. âTry not to dally too much. After all⌠the forthcoming rejoining is back on schedule, and it shall wait for no man.â
As the heavy door swung shut, Gâraha hung his head and tried to breathe deeply. If he had any desperate last chance to make things rightâhowever slimâhe must focus.
With every onze of his senses, and quietly whispered incantations, he began attempting to decipher a way to dispel his bonds.
#FFxivWrite2023#FFxivWrite#Shadowbringers spoilers#Crystal Exarch#G'raha Tia#Emet-Selch#two old men have a staring contest
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3/8 Detournement : Activism's Anti Art
"An Artistic practice conceived by the situationists for transforming artworks by creatively disfiguring them" (Buchanan, 2010)
Where did it start?
Situationist International were an organisation of revolutionaries, avant-garde artists, writers and poets formed in 1950s Italy. Lead by French philosophers Guy Debord, the Situationists aimed to break down the division between creators and consumers, and fight to make cultural production mainstream.
Examples of Detournement
These types of Detournement are used by anti-consumerist protestors, art forms that often revise commonly recognised brand advertisements. (E.g. McDonalds, Nike, Apple)
Adbusters' "Subvertisements"
Culture Jamming
Detournement derives from the critical theory of the Frankfurt School. The critical theory in question analyses the influence of mass media and advertisement in how they help to shape our attitudes, expectations and social behaviours through subconscious tactics like culture jamming.
Dadaism
Created by a small group of avant-garde artists in the early 20th century, Dadaist art sprung from the distaste for rising capitalism and the horrors of war the rest of society seemed to be celebrating and romanticising.
As a way to challenge Capitalist culture, artists began to explore new forms of "Anti-Art". Through their creative expressions, Dadaists began to ask important questions about the role of art in modern society, but disguised it in humour and sly quips.
How is it relevant to digital activism today?
Looking again at Adbusters, their most recent Instagram campaign, 'Buy Nothing Day' ,uses the catchphrase "Participate by not participating" to raise awareness around overconsumption and breaking away from capitalism with the simplest of means. Whether that be bringing your own lunch to work, or not buying your regular overpriced iced venti caramel macchiato. Adbusters, when first founded in 1989, were already way ahead of the curve before social media even existed. By using memes, inside jokes and the clever ability to poke fun at modern society, groups like Adbusters and even the Situationists were just the kickstart to a whole new format of detournement and eventual digital activism.
References:
What is Dadaism, Dada Art, or a Dadaist? (2022) Available at: https://magazine.artland.com/what-is-dadaism/ (Accessed: 30.11.22)
Situationist International (2019) Available at: https://www.tate.org.uk/art/art-terms/s/situationist-international (Accessed:30.11.22)
Cole, N.L (2021) Understanding Culture Jamming and How it Can Create Social Change. Available at: https://www.thoughtco.com/culture-jamming-3026194 (Accessed: 30.11.22)
Buchanan, I. (2010) dĂŠtournement, A Dictionary of Critical Theory, Oxford University Press
Debord, G. and Wolman, G.J. (1956) A User's Guide to Detournement, Les Lèvres Nues, Brussels
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"art isn't art until someone says it is." "IT'S ART!" - Mona Lisa Smile, 2003
This is my first little post on here so, take it easy on me. please.
A couple months ago I was watching Mona Lisa Smile (I'm an educator and got bit by the School Film Bug and this is one of my favorites) when I suddenly thought, "Gosh, I wish someone would have added in a little gay sub plot."
And it hit me. Maybe someone did!
I cannot be the only person on this earth that looked at Betty and Giselle and went, "yea, that would make a KILLER enemies to lover story!"
And, dear reader, I was not alone!
I logged onto AO3 and BAM! There it was... well there were only 6 but there they were! Real, written and (as far as I am aware) completed works on my favorite little pairing in my favorite little teacher film.
And I read them all in one sitting. I have no self restraint.
And I told my partner, "You know what, I will make a tumblr and I will review these 6 fics as my first real post!" That was months ago and today felt like a good day to make that happen!
Disclaimer to all: I am not someone who considers themself a "great writer/reviewer" but I will say that I enjoy consuming media, especially movies. And I enjoy thinking about how to make things gayer SOOooo, here we are!
Let's do this thing!
I do not want to rank these as I review. I did at first but in doing so I felt like I was doing these all a disservice? It would feel like I was pitting them against one another and these is so little wlw things in media that to rate fanfic against one another feels... bad? haha so here we go.
!!SPOILERS FOR THESE FICS UP AHEAD!! (you've been warned)
In order of links as they pop up in the search:
#1 - Future Homemakers of America (100 Words)
This fic is 100 words and it BROKE me yall... I was devastated by the last little paragraph. I mean even the summary kills me. I did think a lot about the movie, The Hours, when reading this for some reason... (I know the reason, I'm just going to get sad and will not elaborate ha!) Overall, great for 100 words!
#2 - Not All Who Wander Are Aimless (3,478 Words)
This is 7 chapters of Betty coming to terms with who she is and it is done... SO artfully! I love reading about her being imperfect and trying to change despite how her mother raised her. Powerful and beautiful! This one has spicy scenes, nothing too smutty if I remember correctly! The comp het is also so real ah. The way it is written/formatted, is also very well done. It feels more like you're reading a poem than a fic and I really enjoyed that. The voice in it draws you in, ah!
#3 - The Spark of Enduring Flame (2,584 Words)
Oh this one is a little steamy, haha. I enjoyed this one more for the setting and pace of it all! Having them get cold during a snow storm is a classic little rom-com moment and I was all here for it! The smut is small but it is there and it is gentle. Also, the opening line and then the candles being done after their night, p o e t r y.
#4 - Repentance (1,065 words)
A very different twist here. Betty taking on Spencer in court is just what I needed after those credits rolled! No relationship for Betty and Giselle BUT we do have Giselle getting a partner and still being a steady friend for Betty, and that's still solid! The mention of Amanda Armstrong (first but not last in our list of fics) was exciting and then got real sad. Having Betty go to apologize at her grave for what she did to her feels like a good step for Betty.
#5 - The Girls in No. 8 (3,377 Words)
OKAY, this one charmed me so much haha. The author has a series where they are telling stories in this apartment building and (if I remember correctly) have some OCs they add in. In this one, Betty and Giselle move in across this apartment of Nurses and they all think the two girls are dating. Anyways, Amanda Armstrong shows up at one point and it just ties everything together in a way I never expected?! I was so charmed and pleasantly surprised by the setting and the back and forth between the apartments. A genuinely fun read! (Also, the author has another smaller fic about Miranda Priestly from The Devil Wears Prada, being the lady that hires Angel, from RENT, to play until the dog jumps and that was silly and a crossover I didn't expect but made sense aha!)
#6 - Calico Girl (5,401 Words)
This one threw me a bit, I wont lie, but it led to a whole new ship for me haha. The premise is really interesting and follows Giselle getting a crush on an OC the author made. Now, this I will admit is my own bias, but if I was putting an OC into a fic, I would have her fall in love with the character I had picked from the show. I was a bit thrown when all the build up between Giselle and the OC ended sour. The build up of community and realization is still really good and worth the read because then we get Giselle and Connie?! And, honestly, I'm upset I didn't consider it until I read this one... cuz now, like what if I find more fics under that pair?! ah, it is still gorgeously written and broken up into small sections that keep drawing you in. So worth the read. Also, the kiss Connie gets is the best ha!
AND THAT DOES IT, I think...
I really just wanted to share some thoughts. And I did, so I'm done? I might do this again if I find another pair with less then 10 fics to their name haha.
Please give the movie a watch if you haven't seen it! It really is one of my favorite teacher movies. I watch it at least once a year and can't get enough of it. The soundtrack is also so good! Tori Amos is on it, iconic.
Anyways, thanks for reading this, if you read the fics, let me know what you think!
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People's fashion choices, gender presentation, linguistic makeup, artistic production, their actions, reflect the experiences they were subjected to, their morals, their relationship to conformism, the economical status, the systems that dictate their thoughts, the biases they're set it
This doesn't mean you can just assume you know everything about people just from exterior presentation obviously. But for exemple, I am nb because my identity makes me conceptualize gender as more complexthan than mainstream binary, I have long hair as a man because I reject the idea men must have short hair, I dress low effort punk in shit I make myself or get secondhand because I despise capitalism, it's outsourcing of labor and wasteful consumerism, I buy the food I do I talk and write this exact way in this language because I was raised french in predominantly white circles of higher middle class cishetss, i have the political ideals I do because I was raised vaguely leftist and did extensive work to deconstruct the gender essentialism and was taught, I do my best to be anti racist, ani ableism and anti fatphobia and learned English through specific media and internet content that too hold biases, I could go on. There's a reason there's jokes about terf bangs, lesbian haircuts, transfem hobbies, etc. You have to be careful because this is also how racial stereotypes are constructed but there common denominators creating certain mental pathways and pushing towards the adoption of certain codes leading to aesthetic and ideological consensus (like nb people and dyed hair)
There is political meaning in everything especially what's deemed neutral and normal and stereotypical. Nothing we ever do it neutral and people who pretend to neutrality are just dishonest about having biases
We all need to be aware of all these layers of biases, rhetorics, distribution methods, cultural context, and the techniques involved when you u approach literally anything be it art or images or political content or talking to someone, in your dating life or making consumer choices if understanding between people of differing experiences and beliefs is ever to be reached
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Random bit of writing because I need practice so why not write (totally not procrastinating on drawing, what, why would you even imply such a thing, how dare you)
Darkness. It was what had consumed the world in the past decade. They had let it progress this far, and now it was too far gone to fix. At least... That was what everyone kept saying. But she wasn't about to give up on it.
A flash of light and a burst of magic, and the next door slid open. God, her spells had gotten so difficult--Ever since the sun had died, magic had become harder to wield by the day. But while she still had it... She had to do *something,* right? It was better than sitting with her grandmother, reminiscing about the days when the sun shone its brilliant, vibrant light upon the land.
Then again... Was it?
She had no time for that train of thought, so she discarded it. For now, her energy had to be focused elsewhere. And even as she refocused her mind, she could feel it. She'd come into this crypt with nothing but a battered sword, her spellbook, and a pack of supplies, and she'd hardly had to use any of it. Child's play, really, it'd been so far. But now... There was a presence with her, and she was immediately aware of her surroundings. The room she'd broken into was a large burial chamber, exactly the room she'd been looking for. Beautiful art lined the walls, silver and gold dancing among cloth tapestries with fine inks and paints along their surfaces. The stone floor, carved into intricate patterns that ran the course of the room.
But... What was that thing here with her? Almost as though of its own accord, her left hand raised, firing off a pulse of magic just as an arrow flew from the darkness. It ripped it to pieces, turning the wood and steel to dust in an instant. Such was the way of magic, really; Her surprise was less at the arrow simply vanishing into the blast and more at how quickly she'd reacted. All those hours training under Hector had clearly paid off.
"Who's there?" She asked, holding both hands out. Purple energy wove between her fingers, but already she could feel the strain of just that simple display. Sure, sure... She could vaporize steel, but God forbid she make a light show, right? And so the magic fizzled out almost as soon as it had begun, a figure emerging from the dark.
A black robe, underneath which scarlet eyes shone. Once, the Vampires of the world were starving beasts, desperate for their next meal. Nowadays, though, they fed easily, and their senses had long since returned. Not to mention this slow death of magic had reduced their hunger. It had been years since the last person had died to a vampire attack. But still, something about those eyes... It terrified her.
It did not respond, however, raising the bow that it clutched in its hands. Another arrow was pointed at her, readied to release. And slowly, its voice rasped out what sounded almost like words, almost like the desperate attempts of a damned soul to take another breath.
#idk what this is but here you go#have a piece of writing#yeah so uh#bada bing bada boom i don't know what happens next#why does the vampire breathe tho#its literally dead#just be dead bro
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   HER FAMILY WAS DAMAGED,  had been since the day her mother had died. and her father truly lost his reason, for pretending to be good. and she herself had lived her life, bowing to his commands. committing the dark arts he asked of her [ ... ] to simply survive. which was why she wasn't truly grieving the death of that father. she was grieving the death of the father, who had supported her career, had understood her reason for leaving. and had spent as much energy as he did committing crimes, to protecting her. that was who she was missing. ( who she had cried for !  ) but still what she had learned, from all the contacts she'd gone digging too. had felt like a punch in the gut. one she wasn't sure she'd recover from. she'd tried her hardest to deny it [ ... ] to convince herself that it was wrong. but the proof was there. SOMETHING UNDENIABLE. that no excusing it could make it go away. and it was the reason for her rage. oh she knew she'd had issues with him, had maybe felt a bit of rage before. when they'd been enemies. but this rage was something worse. something dark and consuming.  and she was truly scared of it. as well as the tornado of emotions she felt inside. her heart was torn in many directions. and it was making her head swim and she just didn't know. which way was up any more.
          â  my real name is cassandra richards. so trust me I'm on a list fucking somewhere for the shit I've done. especially now with the digging I had to do .....  â  she shouts. this time her anger has multi layers. most of it at his flippant disregard for what she had asked. he wasn't confirming nor denying he'd have killed her. if the job had asked it of him. but also she was angry at herself. for once more making those who wanted her dead, aware of where she was. of who she was. and soon she'd be hunted. by people like him. merlin she wouldn't be surprised if he is the one who gets the contract. finish the whole family off. wipe them from the face of the earth.  (  away from hurting anyone else again !  )  her look is incredulous as she looks at him, not even truly believing he had said those words to her. and It takes her a moment to truly comprehend what it was he had said. staring with nothing but pure anger burning in her eyes. but there was also a twinge of pain. and it shows in the way her lip was threatening to wobble. to give into her urge to cry. to let out a loud scream. to let loose the catastrophe of emotions that she felt inside. still she scoffs slightly, as an eyebrow raises. fighting through her emotions. â  and what, I'm supposed to just fucking live with the knowledge. that the man i fucking love, yes love, is the one who murdered my father and brother. what do we just play happy families as though fuck all has happened. just because you made sure they didn't suffer !  â  the delivery of her words is vicious, as she growls them into the air. her eyes burning into him, as though daring him to speak out against that. daring him to once more come up with an excuse. something he could shrug off. as truly she knew they had secrets, but she never once, expected this.  Â
Andrei never asked questions with the targets he'd been given. He was paid by Wenwu to do them, to work for him, accept the contract he found and offered to the larger Romanian. And he did what was asked him of, did the jobs because Wenwu trusted him to do them without question. To Andrei he owed that man everything so why would he deny what was asked of him? He hadn't know they were her family, didn't know any relation was there when he followed through on the contract and ended the lives of her father and brother. The names were different, no information of the family having a sister. The only reason he knew was because of the picture he saw, the evidence in the home. And how he kept that information from her for so long, not wanting to tell her that he was the reason she cried that night in his arms. Andrei knew how bad it would have looked if he said something, how his secret would be revealed and yet here it was already revealed by her own revelation and not his own words. Maybe that was worse, no it was worse. The rage sent in his direction was so much worse than if he had said anything, not that it wasn't deserved. He had witnessed his own family killed in front of him and now he had killed her family and she had walked into the destruction. Still, he stood his ground despite knowing she was right.
His jaw tensed at her question, knowing he hadn't answered and he needed to collect himself before answering. A deep breath taken but his harsh gaze never leaving. "That's different, that's not the same." Andrei replies. "Your name wasn't on the list." It's half mumbled out because he knows even then it isn't exactly an answer. But he knows this is different, she hadn't been angry like this before at him. Her tone, her look, all of it screamed hate at him for what he had done and truthfully? Andrei couldn't blame her one bit. In all honesty he had fully expected her to do something with this knowledge outside of words, that she would harm him and use what magic she had to cause him to suffer for his sins but then never came. And maybe having this happen instead was much worse. Once more his jaw tensed as he swallowed and he looked away. She knew it wasn't but then again what good person did what he did? None. ".....No, but I couldn't tell you it was me." Once more mumbled before gaze moved to meet her fiery eyes burning into him. "I know you don't want to believe it but I do care about you, it's why I tried to comfort you anyway. I couldn't turn that down. Would you prefer someone else did it? Someone who hated them? They didn't suffer at my hand, I did my job and left. That was it."
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Legs
Pairing | Brie Larson x reader
Summary | your housemate Brie wants to be left alone so that she can focus on doing yoga, however, you want her to pay attention to you.
Warnings | includes smut, tribbing, sexual tension, mouth spitting, swearing
Requested âď¸
Quick link to my masterlist, if youâre interested in reading more of my crap đŹ
Situating her leg into a stretched position, Brie strained her muscles upon the yoga mat, positioning her arms in front of her, as her air pods played her playlist for these particular workouts.
Though, with her music blaring directly into her ear canal, she could not hear your footsteps streak through the hallway, as you carried the bag of groceries.
As you peeked into the living room, you licked your lips at the sight of your roommate, there was sweat straining in the dips of her muscles, and she absentmindedly licked some that was resting on the top of her lip.
Brie looked good, it had always been clear that she was fuelled by her work and career to stay in shape, but damn.
Tilting your head, your heart almost jumped out of your chest as her face turned towards you, surprised by her blatant expression that had seemingly sensed your presence all along.
Shaking your head, you left the room, going to put away the groceries, and take a cold drink of water, to cool yourself off, despite the lack of exercise that you had committed to.
As you were gulping and quenching your thirst that the sight of your roommate had brought on, you heard the kitchen door open, and in policy, you turned, watching as Brie damped her towel, and patted her forehead with it. It was as though she has forgotten that there was a bathroom just the room beside.
âItâs rude to stare y/n.â She cocked her brow at you, watching as you tensed up at her words. âIf you wanted me to teach you yoga, you could have just asked.â
A smirk riddled its way onto her face, causing your breath to hitch, knowing that she was teasing you, and was getting a hell of a kick out of it.
âYeah, thatâs what I wanted.â You bit your lip, feeling your veins flush with surpassed embarrassment. âI have groceries to put away though, so maybe another time.â
âOr you could join me afterwards, and I can show you the way to bend your body into the correct positions. But if not, then I suggest you donât disturb me again, otherwise it wonât be worthwhile.â
She reached into the paper bag, pulling out an apple, biting in it, before walking away with it in her hand, leaving you once more to your lonesome.
Altogether, her exit was a relief and a displeasure. You pondered on her previous words as you grabbed each individual item, putting it where it belonged, before you concluded yourself to a great decision.
You would accompany her in the ways of bodily art, and learn how to cope with seeing so much of her skin and restraining from doing anything rash.
You hung your coat up by the front door, before going to your room to change into more flexible attire. Brie did not seem surprised in the slightest to see that you had indeed taken her up on the offer, and chosen to join her.
âWhat do I do?â You asked her, paying much attention to the way she splayed her strong legs far behind herself, managing to balance her weight with their self forced partition.
In attempt, you tried to shadow her movements, copying them with your own limbs, you could only imagine how awkward you looked whilst doing so.
There was no coordination within your movements, which caused Brie to incessantly roll her eyes at you.
That made you more aware of what you were doing, and thus, you tried to change the direction of your knees, causing the blonde to audibly sigh.
âLet me help you, then we might actually get somewhere.â The actress insisted, collapsing her form so that she could sit beside you, as she grasped at your hips, roughly moving them to tilt upwards.
The action on her part caused a moan of emotional surrender to pivot out your lips, and once you realised what you had just done, your eyes went wide.
However, Brie remained the same, still touching you as she stroked her marvellous hands across your waist, that was slumping under her physical pressure.
âYou have great structure, if you had been silent for the last few months, maybe Iâd have noticed. Perfect for doing more than yoga.â
âAre you hitting on me?â The question came out as a sonorous gasp, Brieâs hands raking down to drag over your ass, causing you to lose your balance, and flop against the floor.
If the situation was any different, you were sure that youâd feel embarrassed though right now, you were more focused on how tentative she was treating your body.
It was no secret, that when you had first decided to room within the same residence, the two of you happened to clash. At first, you had thought it to be your personalities repelling each otherâs, yet after time, it became clear that the two of you easily managed to frustrate the other.
And soon it became clear that such annoyance has turned into a sexual categorisation of stress, it flowering like a budding rose, naturally consuming itself in the air with its scent, although, the affects pricked like the rope of thorns, leaving you with a false facade of resentment towards the beauty of your twoâs relationship.
âAlways so naive, and I think instead of bracing me with various, pointless and dumb questions, you should do as I say, and keep quiet, unless you are moaning for me. Am I understood y/n?â
Biting back a whimper, you nodded, bracing yourself on your forearms as you rolled over to be on your back, closely watching her and whatever she had in mind.
âTake that sports bra off, itâs doing nothing for your figure.â Her tone was more of a snap, her penetrating eyes scouring into you as you did as she asked, lifting the article of clothing over your head, and tossing it onto her yoga mat.
Next your leggings were told to be dismissed of, causing you to become very aware of how you ahead decided to forgo panties, having priorly thought of how you it had entered your mind that it would be easier to move into tight and confusing positions if you were bare underneath.
And in some way you had been right, considering that you were being told to strip anyways. It seemed that Brie seemed rather impressed to see your cunt uncovered.
She licked her lips, and for a moment, you thought that she was going to move forwards, and eat you. But you found yourself to be rather wrong, when she pushed you down, and straddled you.
Her head moved down, suffocating your mouth with her own. Using her tongue, she pried past your lips, enforcing you to moan within her mouth, frowning as she leant back, only to grasp the sides of your mouth, and drop a bead of spit into it.
Without any hesitation, you swallowed, hardly keeping your mouth closed as she trailed her fingertips down, only to rub circles upon your clit, making your body writhe from the stimulated sensation. âBrie- fuck.â
âWant me to show you my favourite position?â She asked endearingly, and for just a second, you were confused, thinking that the two of you had moved past the concept of yoga.
And then you realised, when she unclothed herself, leaving you in a state of admirable awe, what the position was. Brie pushed your legs to acquire her body between, turning it to the side, as she raised her cunt directly over yours.
Slowly she lowered herself, situating her pussy against yours, both of your clits evoking a wave of sincere pleasure out of you. Her leg went over the top of your thigh, planting it on the ground beside, rutting her hips to blend your juices in a sweet matrimony.
âI always knew youâd feel this good.â Brie huffed, placing her hands upon both of your tits, one on each, to aid herself with leverage for her movements.
A slight sound could be heard, induced by the pressing of your cunts, as she rode your cunts, your lips spread open by her own. It coaxed noises of complete euphoria out of you, as you tugged on your own hair, almost pulling a few strands out.
âHoly shit Brie, so fuckinâ good. Mmm.â A light scream stumbled out of your moth afterwards, being a say all to you being close to reaching your peak.
âBe a good girl and cum. Cum you annoying bitch.â She squeezed your breasts harsher, bringing you somewhat pain, as you fell over the edge. âGood girl baby, so wet.â
She ground harder, until she too released upon your pussy, giving a couple more fluid motions until she moved off of you, pulling her juicy cunt away from your own, and rolling beside you, going to tug her clothes on. âWe may have to practice yoga together more often.â
âYeah.â You muttered, finally upholding your tight grasp upon your hair. It was a definite consumption to satisfy your frustration with her again, after all, you were roommates, and that meant plenty of opportunities.
#brie larson smut#brie larson imagine#brie larson x reader#Brie x reader#Brie smut#gxg imagine#gxg smut#imagines#imagine#xreader#marvel x y/n#marvel imagines#marvel x you#marvel x reader#marvel cast fanfiction#marvel cast smut#marvel smut#marvel cast x reader#marvel fanfiction#captain marvel smut#carol danvers smut#carol danvers x reader#carol smut#carol danvers x y/n#carol danvers x female reader#carol danvers x you#captain marvel x reader#captain marvel x female reader#captain marvel x you
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Have I Known You 20 Seconds or 20 Years? â Nikolai Lantsov Series
Chapter 1: Devils Roll the Dice, Angel Roll their Eyes
Chapter 2: You Did a Number on Me
Chapter 3: You Could Call Me Babe for the Weekend
Chapter 4: The Best of Times, The Worst of Crimes
A very short summary: Y/N has been working with the crows for a few years. Her life feels complete until she meets the insufferable Nikolai Lantsov. She finds herself forced to work with the King of Ravka on one of Kaz Brekkerâs crazy schemes.
Word count: 2.5k
A/N: I finally finished chapter 4. It is a bit longer than the others. I should probably mention that I have never picked a lock or broken into a safe before so it might not be accurate. I tried my best, though!
Chapter 4: The Best of Times, The Worst of Crimes
âSo, how often do you break into councilmenâs houses, exactly?â His curious voice resonating, barely louder than a whisper, in the dark empty corridor.
She was crouched down in front of the office door, kneeling on the thick burgundy carpet. Her nimble fingers, holding the picks sheâd slipped from a hidden pocket of her dress, working quickly to get the door open.
She smiled, âOften, enough.â Does he disapprove? She wondered. Probably not. Heâs breaking in as well, after all. The lock finally clicked. She let out a deep sigh of relief. Kaz may have trained her well, but she knew he was a better lock pick than she could ever hope to be. He was always so calm. Unfortunately, her nerves threatened to get the better of her every time she had to use this particular skill on a job. She was glad the first hurdle was behind her, but she knew cracking the safe would prove to be even more daunting.
âLetâs go,â she said, standing up and placing the picks back in her hidden pocket.
The door opened silently revealing an elegant office. Ornate woodwork decorated the lower half of the walls. Tasteful art pieces were scattered around the room. Kaz would love this, she thought, looking appreciatively at a DeKappel mounted on the wall behind the cluttered desk. If we have enough time, Iâll take a quick peek at these documents. There might be something interesting in there.
âAccording to Brekker the safe should be behind that bookcaseâ Nikolai gestured to a tall bookcase in the left corner of the room before swiftly making his way to it. âThere should be a mechanism somewhereâŚâ He was looking for it, moving his fingers around the back of the piece of furniture. A loud click resonated. The bookcase swung on its hinges, revealing the door to a steel safe. Nikolai turned back to her, wearing a wide grin. âThis is fun! Maybe I should take a page out of your book.â
She raised a questioning brow, looking in his direction, making her way to the safe. âWhat do you mean?â
He let out a low chuckle. âI think Iâll start breaking into Zoyaâs room, move stuff around. Maybe leave a note or two. Itâd be a good way to annoy her.â
âWhy would you risk your life like that? I mean I donât know her well, but I have a feeling sheâs scary when pissed off.â She thought of Zoyaâs blazing blue eyes. She must be gorgeous too.
âYou have no idea how absolutely terrifying she can beâ he mused. âbut a King needs entertainment.â His grin was utterly wicked. Y/N felt her heart skip over a beat.
She smiled back. The idea of Zoya trying to murder the king amused her to no end. âWell, itâs your funeral,â she replied, shrugging her shoulders. âNow be silent, I need to focus.â She took a seat on the floor facing the safe.
She reached for the combination dial, gently resting her fingers on it. She breathed in deeply. Contact points. This is the easy part. She slowly spun the dial listening for the telling sounds. Click. A bit more. Click.
There we go. Park the wheel. Okay. Now I need to figure out the number of wheels. Sankta Lizabeta, please, donât let there be too many.
She started turning the dial slowly again. First turn. Click. Second turn. Click. Third turn. Click. Fourth turn. Nothing.
She let herself breathe again. Three wheels. Three numbers. Six possible combinations. She could do this.
She quickly turned the dial to the right, letting it complete multiple turns before stopping at zero. She rolled her shoulders. No time to waste, she thought, here I go. She spun the dial slowly to the left. Click. More. Click. She repeated the process over and over, starting from a new number each time. She knew lock manipulation was time consuming but Saints this was taking way too long.
She found herself wishing sheâd brought paper with her. This wouldâve been a lot easier if she couldâve graphed her findings as she went instead of having to memorize them. Wylan is brighter than I am. He should be in here, helping.
She finally narrowed it down to three numbers: 12, 13, and 89. Six possible combinations. She was already behind schedule. She had to try them quickly.
She tried the first combination holding her breath. It didnât work. She could feel Nikolaiâs gaze on her. She heard him fidgeting by the door.
Saints, it wouldâve been so much easier if I couldâve just drilled through this damn door. Weâre screwed if I canât get it open in the next minute.
âFuck, I wish Kaz had sent Jesper in.â She was starting to panic. Second combination? Not this one either. This was taking too long. She was too slow. She was going to fail Kaz. Even worse, she was going to fail Nikolai.
She tried the third combination to no avail.
âWhy would a sharpshooter be useful right now?â He sounded mostly confused, somewhat curious, and maybe a bit anxious.
Her fingers worked quickly, turning the dial following the sequence of the fourth combination. She groaned. It hadnât worked.
âWell, a Fabrikator would be a lot more efficient at cracking a safe,â she said simply. Only two combinations left to try. This has to work.
âOh, thank the Saints!â she exclaimed leaving no chance for Nikolai to reply. The penultimate combination had worked. 13-12-89. This Saints forsaken sequence of numbers had finally opened the safe. She had been lucky the safe wasnât one of the more recent models. This one had already been difficult enough to crack.
She grabbed the blueprints, quickly rolling them up. She pulled her skirts up her right thigh and slid the precious documents in the sheath safely tied there. Nikolai closed the safeâs door and locked it. They were already late. âCome on. We have to go.â She was moving towards the door as soon as her skirts had fallen back into place.
Nikolai followed suit, quietly closing the door behind them. He quickly moved aside, giving Y/N access to the lock once more. She was already holding her picks.
Her hands were shaking slightly making it difficult to lock the door. She couldâve sworn the small click of the lock was the most beautiful sound sheâd ever heard. She had never been more relieved. She rose quickly. She was ready for this night to be over.
Footsteps rang out in the hallway. Someone was coming up the stairs. It would be hard to explain what they were doing in the deserted hallway. They couldnât be discovered here. She looked around hurriedly but there didnât seem to be a good hiding place anywhere close.
Nikolai turned back towards her, âDo you trust me?â
âI ââ Nikolai hadnât given her a chance to answer, his lips already pressing against hers in a passionate kiss. His fingers gripping her waist tightly. She felt her back hit the wall with enough force to knock the breath out of her lungs. Nikolai deepened the kiss, tilting her head slightly to the left. His lips brushing against hers, his tongue sweeping her bottom lip. Her lips parting slightly into the kiss. His hands were moving up her back, pulling her closer to him. It felt like his hands were everywhere. His pleasant, intoxicating smell filling her nose, dulling her brain. His body was now pressing her hard against the wall, the doorframe digging painfully into her back. Her fingers, now tangled in his chestnut locks, had somehow found their way to his hair. She felt is fingers caress the skin at the back of her neck. All rational thought was completely erased from her mind. It was too much. It wasnât enough. A small moan escaped her throat. Her heart was racing or maybe it was Nikolaiâs? She couldnât be sure.
A small cough reached her ears.
His lips left hers, drawing a plaintive whimper from her, only to attach themselves to her neck. She was fully aware of the next moan that escaped her, loud and breathy.
Someone cleared their throat next to them. A guard was standing there, staring at them. He looked somewhat amused but mostly uncomfortable.
Oh, it dawned on her, Nikolai is giving us a cover. It felt like a cold bucket of water had been poured on her head. She tried pushing him away, but Nikolai didnât release his grip on her waist. Her cheeks were still flushed. She had to find a way to get her wits back. She was Ainsley Ă Ceallaigh. Not Y/N Y/L/N. It hadnât been Nikolai, King of Ravka, kissing her. It had been Eoin Ă Ceallaigh, her husband.
âMy apologies. I certainly donât mean to interruptâ the guard was sporting a crooked smirk âbut this part of the mansion is closed to the guests.â He didnât seem to suspect anything was amiss.
âNo need to apologize for doing your job, my friend,â Nikolai told the guard, his tone warm. âThis is all my fault. You see I just couldnât resist my wifeâs beauty.â He pulled her in to place another kiss on her lips. Nikolai was playing his role to perfection. âWeâll go back to the party. Wouldnât want to inconvenience you any further.â Nikolaiâs hold on her waist loosened, his palm sliding to the small of her back. He used it to push her gently towards the stairs.
âHave a good nightâ the suggestive tone of the guardâs voice sent a fresh wave of blood to Y/Nâs cheeks.
They heard the door rattle as they started walking down the stairs. The guard was checking it was locked. He would be able to report to the councilman that no one had entered the office. By the time Van Verent would realize documents were missing, Ainsley and Eoin Ă Ceallaigh would be long gone.
-----
Nikolai kept his hand pressed to Y/Nâs back. She hadnât said a word since heâd kissed her.
He knew most Grisha in Ketterdam were indentures. He had even seen the pleasure house tattoo on her left arm. Kaz had told him she was now exclusively working for the dregs but her tattoo from the House of the Blue Iris was still visible. âShe keeps it as a reminderâ Kaz had said. A reminder of what, though?
Heâd probably crossed a line by kissing her like that. Not even giving her a chance to consider his plan. Time had been short. They didnât have any other options. He only hoped that he hadnât caused too much harm.
Nikolai guided her through the crowd, smiling and nodding at various dignitaries until they reached the doors leading to the garden. They should be meeting Jesper and Wylan by the porcelain cabinet, but he needed to make sure Y/N was alright first. He could feel how tense she was, her muscles stiff under his palm.
The cold air seemed to bring her out of her daze. âWhat are you doing? We shouldnât be here. We should ââ he could hear the insecurity in her voice.
âI know exactly where we should be.â He rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. âAre you alright?â he couldnât quite keep the concern out of his voice.
âIâll be perfectly fine once we get back to the planâ she spat at him. He was surprised to see how quickly she had gone back to acting as if he was the bane of her existence. He had really thought they were making progress and had almost become friends. At least, thatâs what he had hoped.
She needs time. âFine, letâs find Jesper and Wylan.â His voice was cold, perfectly controlled. He offered her a hand. He didnât want to push, but they still had to play their part. He felt her cool fingers close around his hand.
------
Wylanâs eyes were wide, probably in surprise. They were late and they werenât supposed to be coming from the gardens. She only hoped her lips werenât bruised from the kiss. She didnât want Wylan to think they were late because they had been unprofessional. She knew heâd have to report it to Kaz. Wylan was by far the worse liar of the crew. He couldnât keep anything from their boss.
If Kaz thought Y/N was compromised, that she couldnât do her job⌠She knew he wouldnât send her back to the Blue Iris. Or did she? Kaz was known to be ruthless after all. If she fucked up the job? If she wasnât useful anymore? Sheâd been with the crows for a long time now. She thought of the crows as her family. But did Kaz really think of her that way too? Sheâd like to believe Kaz loved her the way the same way she did. She couldnât be sure. She was spiraling. She had to get a grip. They still had to play the part.
Jesper raised a questioning eyebrow at her. She ignored it and plastered a smile on her face. âHello,â she had to keep herself from grimacing. Her voice had been all wrong, way too high. She tried correcting it. âI donât believe weâve met.â
She saw the look of absolute confusion in Jesperâs eyes. Wylan looked more concerned than confused. This is bad. âKetterdam has the most surprising weather, doesnât it?â Wylan smiled. This was the phrase they had agreed upon to convene the success of their operation.
-----
The party had settled down about an hour later. The number of party guests dwindling steadily. Jesper and Wylan had taken their leave about 15 minutes before Y/N and Nikolai, keeping up the pretense of only having met that night.
They were now safely back at the Hendriksâ house, standing around the table in the dining room, examining the blueprints.
âEverything go according to plan?â Kaz inquired.
âKindaâ her voice was unsure. She knew it was better to tell Kaz now. She fiddled with the hem of the tablecloth.
âWhat do you mean âkindaâ?â His face wouldâve been unreadable to most, but Y/N could see the apprehension there.
She felt Nikolai tense up by her side. Her mind kept travelling back to the feeling of his lips on hers. She needed to focus. âIt took me too long to open the safe. We were behind on the schedule and a guard came back to the hallway before we could leave.â She met Kazâs eyes. âDonât worry, the door was locked.â
âHow did you explain what you were doing in a part of the house clearly closed to guests?â Zoya sounded curious.
Nikolai was the one to answer her, âWhat could a handsome man and his gorgeous wife possibly be doing in a deserted corridor in the middle of a party?â The sarcasm that laced his voice painting the picture clearly for everyone.
Y/N lowered her eyes, the blueprints suddenly very fascinating to her. She felt her cheeks flush once again.
âQuick thinking. The guard believed it?â Kaz didnât sound mad. She risked a peek at him. He was looking directly at her. From the look he gave her she knew they werenât done talking about this.
âNo need to worry, Brekker.â Of course, Nikolai couldnât leave it at that. He had to make it worse. âWe made it believable.â He winked. âAlso, Y/N is way too modest about her acting abilities.â
tagged:Â @power-of-words23
#nikolai lantsov#nikolai lantsov x reader#nikolai lantsov x you#nikolai lantsov fanfic#nikolai lantsov fic#nikolai lantsov imagine#kaz brekker#wylan van eck#jesper fahey#leigh bardugo#grishaverse#grisha#nikolai series#my fic#ari's fic#have i known you 20 seconds or 20 years
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Looney's Sister - Harry Potter x Fem!Lovegood!Reader
That's right bitches, bros, and nonbinary hoes. I'm back. I'm so happy that I finished a oneshot. AAAAAAHHHHHHHH! I'm sorry I've taken so long to post. But, it's here now!
Harry didn't know when his fondness for Luna's sister, Y/N, started. He just knew that he liked her a lot. They were quite good friends, actually. A few years ago, she saw him struggling with herbology, which just so happened to be Y/N's strong suit. It quite convenient honestly, especially when you consider the fact that Y/N was have issues in Defense Against the Dark Arts.
He knew from the start that his feelings for her were more than platonic. What he didn't expect was for him to fall so hard. But, how could he not when she was so perfect.
Her bubbly personality was so inviting and warm. Her eyes made e/c his favorite color. He adored her laugh; it sounded like a beautiful melody. Her smile was just as stunning.
Godric, I'm whipped, he thought. There was one issue, though. He couldn't for the life of him ask her out, ironic for a Gryffindor. What if she doesn't like me? How do I ask her out?
His mind would race into the late hours of the night, wondering how he would work up the courage to ask her out. He knew she wouldn't like something big and extravagant, for she had trouble processing lots of information at once, much like her sister. Her sister!
Harry wondered how he never thought of asking Luna before. I mean, their personalities mirrored each other almost perfectly. He quickly ran to the forbidden forest. Luna spent most of her time there.
"Hello, Harry." A dreamy voice called to him.
"Hello, Luna."
"Is there a reason you are here?"
"Umm... yeah." Harry's face became very hot suddenly, a stark contrast to the nippy weather that morning. "I-uh. I should probably come right out and say it, shouldn't I?"
"Yes, that would be most appreciated." Luna responded. Harry couldn't tell if she was sarcastic or not.
"I've fallen deeply in love with your sister, and I was wondering if you knew how I could ask her out."
Luna was clear shocked by this revelation. She thought for a few minutes before replying, "I appreciate your honesty, however I cannot say that I am too pleased with it."
Harry's face fell slightly. "What does that mean?"
"Harry, she's recently had her heart broken by another. I'm sorry, but I do not trust you with her love."
-*-*-*-
He knew he shouldn't be over thinking this. He knew that it was pointless. He knew it was only going to give him stress, but he couldn't stop as much as he tried. Who would dare hurt her? Her? The most caring, beautiful person in Hogwarts?
Needless to say, Harry's eyes were sporting some serious under eye bags the next morning.
"Harry, what's wrong?" Asked Hermione during breakfast, noting the discoloration under her friend's eyes.
"Nothing. I'm fine."
"He was up late last night." Said his best friend and roommate, Ronald Weasley.
"No, I wasn't, Ron."
"Okay. Fine. You went to bed at a reasonable time." Ron said before turning to Hermione and mouthing No he didn't. Harry was about to retaliate before a small body sat down next to him. A dreamy voice rendered his speech effectively useless as a flush filled his cheeks.
"Hello Hermione, Ron. Good morning, Harry." She addressed each individually, as she always does. "How are we this morning?"
Ron smirked a small bit at his friend's face. "Oh, I'm splendid." He remarked, chuckling slightly at his friend's state. "What about you, Harry?"
Y/N seemed to perk up at the name. Her head turned to him, only now noticing the rosy hue on his cheeks. "Oh dear, you don't look so well." Her voice was distinctly quieter, almost as if she only wanted him to hear. Her hand slowly came up to feel his forehead. "You're absolutely scalding! And it's clear you haven't gotten any sleep."
She panicked slightly.
Ron tried to hold in a laugh. "Oh, yes. Harry was hacking and wheezing last night. It was horrible."
Harry's eyes were about the size of saucers. "What are you doing?" He whispered.
"Trust me." He mouthed back.
"He's in no shape to go to class. Someone must take care of him." Harry just realized what Ron was trying to do. Wanker.
"I would, but Hermione and I have a test first period." Hermione nodded too, quickly becoming aware of his scheme. "Looks like you're going to need to take care of him. I really wish I could help."
Y/N's eyes never left Harry's face. "Be sure to tell the teachers about Harry's predicament." She said as she dragged him out of the great hall, despite his protests. She knew the password was as she was a frequenter of the Gryffindor common room. He was led to his dorm and was forced onto the bed.
"Y/N, I'm gonna tell you one more time. I'm not-"
"Shhhhhh." She cut him off. "Harry, relax. I can't remember the last time you did." She did have a point. He couldn't remember the last time he had a stress free hour, much less day. "I'm going to go to the kitchen and whip up something. Get some rest, alright?" He nodded his head. His eyelids slowly fluttered and closed. He didn't really dream, but he felt a sort of presence. It felt like a giant hug.
He didn't know how long he had been asleep, but he woke to the sound of Y/N closing his bedroom door. "I made a soup with some clowort root mixed in. It should help with your symptoms." She said. "And, there is some water to wash it all down."
"You never cease to amaze me." He said rather bluntly in his sleepy delirium. He took a spoonful of the soup. It tasted quite like the food in the great hall, but there was something distinctly different from it. There was an unmistakable taste of... home. He quickly went for more.
"Slow down, Harry!" Y/N's volume raised ever so slightly. "Consuming large amounts of clowort root can lead to some unwanted side effects."
"Like what?"
She gestured for him to lead forward, as if telling him a secret. "People tend to make quite irrational decisions when copious amounts of clowort are in their system." She pulled back and gave a stern yet loving gaze.
"I don't know. I've eaten a decent amount and I don't feel a thing." He said indifferently. She simply rolled her eyes and looked away from him.
"Hey. I uh... I heard from Luna that you had some trouble with a boy and I'm here if you need to talk or anything." He knew that he probably shouldn't invite his crush to talk openly about a romantic partner she had, but he would listen to her talk about anything and everything just to hear her voice.
"Oh. It's nothing. Just a stupid fling that hadn't even lasted a month." Y/N said, her eyes becoming more solemn looking.
"It's just... if I had a girlfriend," especially one as perfect as you, "I would treat her better than that."
"I can see the brash decision making has already taken effect." Y/N jokes lightly, but only was laughing at it.
"I'm serious, you know." He said, grabbing her hand and lacing her fingers through his.
"Harry, you're not thinking straight-"
"Ever since we met each other and you helped me with your helped me with my homework. You were so kind."
"Harry, please don't-"
"I understand if you don't feel the same way, I wouldn't be so keen on falling in love someone who nearly dies every other weekend either, but I needed you to-"
"Harry." Her voice was ferm enough to cut off his incoherent ramblings. Her thumb brushed against the back of his hand. "You're not well. You're saying things you don't mean-"
"No, I'm not-"
"Harry, I can't have my heart broken again." Her eyes held a certain glossiness to it that he hadn't seen before. Her voice was almost breaking. "You are amazing and sweet and beautiful and... well, words can hardly describe how much I admire you. But," Her eyes darted around the room, trying to avoid eye contact. "You're just doing this because you're sick and under the influence. You don't mean it-"
"Yes, I do!" Harry giggled slightly. He was getting a bit frustrated at this point. "What do I have to do to prove it to you?"
She looked deep into his emerald eyes. They say eyes are the window to the soul, and they weren't lying. Every emotion, every thought running through his pretty head, everything could be seen in them. It was so intense, she could only make eye contact for a few seconds.
"Nothing." Y/N whispered. Harry's head snapped to her. "I believe you, Harry." They sat in silence for a while, processing the revelation that just took place. It was a bit awkward. Okay, very awkward. The apprehension of the unknown was creeping upon them. Now what? Where do we go from here?
Harry was the first to make a move. He held his arm out, inviting her join him on his, rather small in hindsight, bed. She happily accepted and curled into his side. She was practically on top of him due to the size of the bed, yet he couldn't be happier. Neither could she.
Bonus:
"HARRY JAMES POTTER, WHAT ON EARTH DO YOU THINK YOUR DOING?" Y/N was positive that Luna's cries could be heard throughout the entire castle.
"Luna, please calm down-" She tried to console.
"GET AWAY FROM MY SISTER!"
#harry potter#harry james potter#harry potter x reader#harry potter x y/n#harry potter x you#harry potter fluff#luna lovegood
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Hello Everyone! I've been conspiring with @sammy-jo1977 to create a new series of sorts. We want to explore all those characters that started us on our journey into Fandoms, large and small.
This series will be a place for those ladies and gents who haven't had a lot of attention recently, are old favorites or the ones you can't seem to shake. If you would like to contribute a chapter to this guide, please send me a message! We want to have a full and accurate guide, so we are hoping you'll hop in with your character of expertise!
As an example, I'm posting our first story... I'd love to get your thoughts! With Love - Your WordyNerdyGurl
In The Stacks - A Rupert Giles Story
Authorâs Note: This story is due, in large part, to my beta-bestie @sammy-jo1977 and it is part of the afore mentioned series. This character might be off television, but his fiery spirit lives on!! As always, reblogs/ shares are encouraged as are comments and love!
Pairing: Female Reader x Giles (Buffy The Vampire Slayer Series) Summary: You get up to mischief with the librarian, in the stacks. Warnings: SMUT ahead. General Buffy knowledge might help, but is not required. Thereâs a moment with a bit of blood, but hopefully nothing too triggering for anyone! I hope you enjoy!
âMr. Giles?â âJust a moment!â You heard the clipped British voice answer before being drowned out by the heavy thumping of falling books and the rustling sound of shifting papers hitting the floor. As you stepped further into the Sunnydale High library, you werenât surprised to see the familiar faces of Buffy, Willow, Xander and Cordelia huddled around a small table. The friends were practically inseparable and clearly close. You found their kinship adorable and couldnât help smiling at the group as you drew closer. âHello to some of my best students! And of course, to you Mr. Harris. How is everyone today?â
Willow, stalwart student and overachiever, smiled broadly, âPretty good. I did ace my math quiz and got an A on my English paper⌠but, well, I only pulled a B on my Bio test and I just know that I could have done better.â Offering her friend a consoling pat to the shoulder, Buffy sighed, âItâs ok, Will. Youâll get those cells next time!â âTune in next week as Willow passes her AP Biology test with flying colors, on âAs Sunnydale Turnsâ!â Before anyone could counter, Giles came around the corner carrying a sturdy stack of texts which he dropped onto the table as gently as the large load allowed, âAs always, you four are the best assistants a librarian could ask for.â âCome on Giles! You know I only hang out here for the beautiful ladies!â Pinching the bridge of his strong nose, Rupert Giles sighed, âI am well aware of where your interests lie, Xander.â âPlease, he can hardly handle being with one beautiful girl.â That was from Cordelia who pouted prettily, her hand mirror open as she fixed her hair. âMy girlfriend, ladies and gentlemen! Thanks for that, Cordy.â Snapping the case shut, staring down her beau, she smiled, âYouâre welcome.â âUh, Mr. Giles, if I may?â You hated to interrupt but you had come in with a purpose and you meant to see it through. âYes, of course, how can I help?â Shuffling your feet, a bit nervous now with the asking, you smiled shyly, âI asked at the local library but they were absolutely no help. You see, Iâm looking for a specific point of reference and I was led to believe that you could help me.â âOh! Is it something for our Inner Vision collage boards? I love working on mine, only⌠Itâs not my fault that I only see dark clouds and blood when I close my eyes.â âWell, Miss Summers, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And the best art challenges us to see that beauty.â âI hate to tell you what I see when I close my eyes.â Xander retorted. âAh, Mr. Harris, your collage certainly showcases your, ahem, cultured world view.â âHey! The Simpsons are fine art, ok? Just because they donât live in a museum doesnât mean they arenât culture.â Giles, unable to stand by any longer griped, âXander, I am almost positive that cartoons do not count as culture.â You started to answer but Buffy cut you short, adding, âDonât mind Giles. If it doesnât come out of some dirty, dusty old book it canât be culture.â âItâs pop culture! The entertainment of my generation!â It was your turn to cut in, turning to the tweed clad gentleman, âActually, Mr. Giles, Xander has a point. Cartoons and animation in general are all increasingly seen as valid forms of art. No matter what your tomes might tell you.â Smirking a little, he appraised your answer before replying, âBe that as it may, Mr. Harris, the amount of television you consume is corrosive.â Raising his hands in defense, Xanderâs head swiveled between the two of you as Willow chimed in, âGive it up, Xander. You know youâll never win and besides, Iâm pretty sure that animation and art are different. Wait. They are, arenât they?â âWhen I was in Rome last summer, the very attractive, very Italian tour guide told us that theyâve found painted graffiti on the Coliseum. It only goes to prove that times change but people donât.â âCordyâs right! About the art, not the dishy Italian. And they didnât paint it, they carved it.â Bouncing her blonde hair decisively, Buffy made her declaration.  âWouldnât paint be easier? I mean, who wants to carry a chisel in order to deface a wall?â âOh! Oh! I know this! The kind of paint needed to last for centuries hadnât been invented yet!â Willow, lifting out of her seat in the excitement of academic excellence, was giddy. âYes, Willow, that is correct. In fact, a lot of the graffiti is simple and very crude. Mostly of the phallus, if memory serves. Iâm sure I can find a documented case in Agrippa if youâll all just-â And you watched as everyone rolled their eyes as Giles trailed off, lost now in the hunt for a specific volume which could be sited, should further proof be needed. âEw. Pass.â âIâm with Buffy here, Giles. Keep your Grecian graffiti out of my brain.â âIâll stick with the Simpsons, thank you very much.â âYes, well. Itâs not Grecian at all, is it? Itâs Roman-â Smiling broadly, Buffy hopped off the table, âGiles is right. The Greeks were more into orgies!â âBuffy!â Willowâs shocked response made you cover a laugh with a fake cough. â-Of course, cites are rare. Very difficult to find documentation.â Giles, typically, hadnât given up the search. Cutting through the chatter, louder than it ever needed to be, the period bell sounded. "Ugh. Gym class for me. Why is this even a thing?" "I don't know Buffy, I thought you liked showing off in your little shorts and beating the boys at basketball." "Cordy, that's enough. And while us boys do love looking at you, Buff... we don't love the beatings you regularly deliver." "Well, I have a free period Giles! Do you want me to stay and -" Snapping shut the leather book he was gripping, Giles caught your eye and turned to the peppy student, "Uh, no Willow, I don't think so. I believe I need to see what our Art Department is in need of at the moment." With a shrug, Willow began packing up her belongings as Xander slung his back back over his shoulder, "Will, you can come with me. I'm going to find a nice little corner, under a tree, and sleep away my study hall." âBut, I⌠I could help find the Agrippa? Or⌠some other old Roman book?â Xander wrapped an arm around Willow and took Cordeliaâs open hand, âBut why do that when nothing calls?â "Another fine example of your scholastic aptitude, Mr. Harris", was your parting shot at the foursome as they walked out the door. "Well. Mr. Giles, now that weâre alone⌠Could I talk you into helping me out?" âOf course, of course.â Pushing his glasses further up his nose, fixing his light eyes on yours, âWhat are we looking for?â Sighing deeply, knowing the chances were slim, âI was hoping we would find some examples of Pre-Columbian deity carvings.â Pausing, his look serious, Giles peered at you, âInteresting. Anything in particular?â âYes, actually.â Again you flushed, more than a little flustered at what you were really looking for, âIâm researching fertility icons.â Raising his eyebrows, Giles started, more than a little outside of his comfort zone, but you had to give him credit. He recovered from the shock rather quickly, âOh⌠I⌠I see. Well yes, Iâm sure we can find⌠something. If youâll follow me, please.â âIâm right behind you.â Biting into your bottom lip, you smiled to yourself. Right behind Mr. Giles? What a place to be. Giles led the young art teacher through the deepest stacks of the library, pausing once or twice to confirm that she was keeping up with him. He was ashamed to admit that he had lost travelers a time or two as he stalked through his overstuffed shelves, knowing instinctively where to find the book he needed most. For her, watching the tweed covered bottom of Mr. Giles was no hardship. True, he was older and tad bit reserved in the best British way, yet she had the sneaking suspicion that underneath all the wool and starched cotton was the heart of a wild man poet. "Uh... just a bit further, I'm afraid. Books like this, well, I keep them at a greater remove." "It makes sense. Don't want the kiddos getting a hold of anything too tantalizing." "Of course not. As you well know, they don't need much help in the libidinous response department." You chuckled softly, nodding as the air around you grew stuffier, "Too true! You should see what some of them turn in and call art. It would make a blind man blush." And at the mention of blushing, you were shocked to see a rosy hue grow on Mr. Giles' cheeks. You liked it. It reminded you of the high color in a Vermeer painting. You couldnât help the flutter in your belly at the thought, "Mr. Giles, have you ever seen a South American fertility statue?" "I can't say that I have... have... have you?" Something about the idea of you examining an ancient artifact directly connected to sexual congress made his body stir. "Hmm... Oh, yes. I was able to study in Mexico for a semester. Some of the art work is just incredible and the carvings, they're truly magnificent. Carefully made. Usually stone or..." swallowing hard, your throat suddenly dry, "hard wood." Breaking fast at the implication in your words, Giles froze in place which caused you to press directly against his broad, vest covered back. You had a second to register the soft scent of his aftershave; something spicy and masculine, which made your mouth water. Moaning quietly, you offered a weak apology, âOh, I am so sorry, Mr. Giles.â Offering you his profile, the bookcases too cramped for him to turn around fully, you saw his sweet smile, âThatâs⌠thatâs quite alright. In fact, weâre here.â Stepping out of the way, you pushed back against the opposite wall, the shelves digging into your spine in the confined space. Giles bent over, giving you a great view of his backside, as he extracted a slim book from the bottommost ledge. When he stood up, directly in front of you, the narrow, book covered alcove caused him to stumble. Gilesâ chest collided with your own, forcing the air out of your lungs. Instinctively, you lifted a leg, curling it over the swell of one trousered hip and lifting the hem of your knee length plaid kilt. Nose to nose in a compromising position, you exhaled a shaky breath as Mr. Giles inhaled, âClose quarters around here.â Shifting under his deceptively hard figure, it was difficult to ignore all the places that were firm to the touch, especially when you could feel so much through the thin barrier of your cotton panties. Bracing one arm on the obliging shelf biting into your shoulder, Giles pushed back a bit, lifting his weight off of you without making any other attempts to move away. He was so close now. Close enough to feel your fuzzy sweater and all the soft skin that trembled beneath it. Close enough to see the pound of your pulse in your throat. Close enough that when you licked over your bottom lip Giles could almost taste it too. And why shouldnât he? âGiles?â Your voice was whisper soft, fanning hotly over the face of your colleague. âUh⌠yes?â âIâm stuck.â Blinking behind his thick lenses, it took the normally quick witted Brit a second to process your words, âYouâre stuck?â Nodding slowly, your hair curling over your cheek, âMy⌠My skirt. Itâs⌠uh, caught. Caught on something behind me.â âGood heavens! Iâm so sorry, let me help you.â Slowly, Giles lowered your bare leg to the floor, his hand lingering for a second longer than absolutely necessary. He was still in your space. Still incredibly close to you. You arched away from the bookcase in an attempt to free yourself with a groan that sounded heady in the stuffy stacks. All you managed to do was force your sweater covered dĂŠcolletage into Gilesâ chest. Stammering, a wave of sweat breaking over his brow, âAllow me?â The way your skirt was caught pulled the bright plaid lower on your waist than you would normally consider decent. It meant that you had a fleshy strip of skin exposed along your tummy and Giles raised his eyebrows by means of asking permission to touch you. âYea, yes. Please!â Tentatively, gently, you felt the strong fingers of Rupert Giles circle your waist and shivered at the unfamiliar familiarity of his touch. Your chin rested on his shoulder as he worked and you couldnât help sighing when he opened his hands and pulled you closer. Under other circumstances you might have misunderstood the embrace but you were both professionals. Not that you hadnât considered the handsome book guardian a time or two before. âI⌠I think weâre almost there. If youâll just, maybe to the right?â âUm, sure.â Following his directions you twisted in his arms, trying hard not to tear your outfit or rub against Giles. All the close contact and talk of fertility gods had you feeling a little aroused and it wouldnât do for your colleague to learn that fact. With a triumphant grunt, Giles set you free, only for gravity to kick back in. The momentum created by your falling took the gentleman and the entire Grollierâs Gothic Almanac collection with you. A cascade of papers, scrolls and dust rained down on you both. Coughing, aware that you were laying on something softer than the floor, you struggled into a sitting position, swatting away clouds of disintegrated pages, âRupert? Are you alright?â From beneath you a rumbling grumble that sounded like, âYes quite⌠you?â was heard. It was then that you realized exactly where you were. Straddling your friendly neighborhood librarian, surrounded by debris, but safe, all the same. âOh my! Iâm so-â âNo, No. Please, donât apologize. Iâve been meaning to reorganize this section and well, now it seems Iâve got no choice.â âYouâve got a bump. Right hereâŚâ Just over his right eye a small bruised egg, the color of lilacs, was starting to rise and you gingerly touched the swelling spot. âThen it will match the one on the back of my head perfectly.â âPoor Giles! All of this injury in the name of research!â âNo one ever tells you the dangers one might encounter in the library.â His dry British wit sent you both into giggles and suddenly nothing could be funnier than the moment you were in with Mr. Giles. Looking up at you, his fingertip traced over your cheek, suddenly serious, âIâm not the only one with a war wound, it appears.â âOh?â Your hand covered his as you realized that you had a small cut, bleeding just a little, over the apple of your jaw. Smoothing his thumb over your injury, Giles soothed you, saying, âHush now, I think youâll live.â And you watched as Giles sucked the drop of scarlet from the pad there, his green eyes on yours, daring you. Something about it was so⌠sinful. So dark. So alluring. Then his lips were on yours, suddenly and savagely. Hands, firm and capable, slid under the fluff of your sweater along your spine as you tangled your own in his dark hair. Giles, drawing you near, was satisfied only when you were splayed over him, writhing between the piles of text and stacks of piled paperbacks, as his tongue plundered your mouth. Trapped by his bent knees at your bottom, Giles helped center you over the firmness of his excitement, teasing you as you moaned, âOh, oh Rupert!â âCall me Ripper.â Before the word had left your throat, Giles was sloppily kissing over your neck, sucking lightly on the skin revealed by the v-neck of your top. Sitting up quickly, you lifted the soft sweater over your head, tossing it away from you without concern. Like one of the teenagers you might chastise, you then hugged your lover tight, gasping when you felt the nip of teeth over your bra. âGiles⌠Uh, Ripper! Please, go easy?â With a hard grip on your upper thigh and one hand on the back of your neck, Giles held you still, smirking, âIf you wanted easy you shouldnât have come looking for fertility icons, my dear little art teacher. And if this particular article of clothing-â He paused long enough to pinch at your hardening nipple before continuing, â-is dear to you, take it off.â Clenching your abdominals at his crass language, more turned on that you could remember, you reached behind you. Unhooking the pretty scrap of lace and satin, you shyly covered yourself, biting into your bottom lip, âFine⌠Ripper. Should I be worried for my virtue?â âAbsolutely.â Without waiting for permission, Giles pulled your arms away, exposing your bare body to his blazing gaze, âYou have nothing to hide, you know? You are-â âJust shut up and kiss me, Ripper.â And he did. Grinding your hips into his, it was impossible to ignore his hardening manhood, even through the fabric of his pressed trousers. Giles cupped your bottom, under your skirt but over your panties, bouncing you in place as if he was already inside of you. For your part, you tried to unbutton his pin striped shirt, but the force of his kisses was proving too distracting. âOh, dear! Poor thing been kissed senseless?â He was teasing and cruel, but in the sexiest possible way. Red cheeked and huffing, you nodded, âYes⌠let me touch you!â âTsk⌠you didnât say âpleaseâ.â âPlease! Please, Ripper! Oh god, please let me!â Unseating you slightly, Giles leaned up on his elbows, cocking his head to one side as he took in the mess he had made of you, âGo ahead then. Unzip my pants.â âWhat?â Removing his glasses, eyeing you darkly, âYou heard me, I think.â Swallowing hard, your hands shaking with excitement, you reached for Gilesâ belt. Watching him, and only him, you slowly slide the leather from itâs buckle. When you popped the button of his pants and let your hand drag over his hardened length, Rupert groaned and tossed his head back, âYes. Keep going.â Slowly, agonizingly so, you lowered the zipper as you were ordered to do, âWhat now, Ripper?â âTake me out. I want you to feel what you do to me.â âI can do that.â You played it cool, but the saucy words being said in that clipped British baritone did things to you. They made your thighs tighten, your belly flutter and your breath catch.  Trailing a hand over Giles' barely exposed hip, you moved closer to the prize, your prize, as it pulsed with need. Wrapping your hand around the meaty girth of Rupert's member, you couldn't help stroking the silky hot skin, so vital in your palm. That it caused the man beneath you to moan your name only added fuel to the fire of your desire. Slick and sorely wanting, you licked your lips, ready to savor the flavor of your book stacking beau but he stopped you, saying, "Last chance to run back to the studio." "No way⌠Ripper." And you felt a rough jerk as your panties were removed by force, the air cool on your overheated core. Another kiss, full of needful things, distracted you as Giles parted your lower lips with his nimble fingers. Pumping into you, once, twice, just to ensure that you were ready, Rupert swiftly stretched your center. With your small hand guiding his shaft, you lowered yourself onto the engorged tower of his power, crying out a ragged, "Oh God!" You thought you were capable of handling any man, but the delicious spread Giles' fine form forced you to endure was more than you expected. Clutching at his bunched up sweater vest, your back arched tautly as Rupert dragged your hips down onto his unrelenting hardness over and over.  In your head, a rhythmic, tribal tattoo that made you think of ancient fires and curved statues took hold and you rose and fell against Giles on the beats vibrating through your brain. He sensed it too, alternating his stroke, slowing down and speeding up in time with the thrumming pulse only the pair of you could hear. "I want you to cum for me. Do you understand? Tell me you understand." "Yes! Yes! I'm so close, Ripper! So close!" "Good. That's very good."  Tingling now, your muscles tensed, ready for the release Rupert would provide. You flung yourself onto his swollen sex without thought or reason, merely searching for the pleasure he had promised. His thumb, so thick, so clever, pressed against your sensitive clit and your world imploded. Rupert felt it. The moment your body and his melded together was forceful. It tore his pleasure from his loins in grunting gasps as he experienced your ecstacy at his hands. Limp and listless, you draped your half nude body over his, dazed and drained. Who knew screwing the librarian would feel this good? In your post coital haze you started to laugh.  Giles, his hands roaming over the sweat soaked skin of your back, heard your chuckles and joined in. It was another release, of sorts, and you found it almost as intimate as the act you had just committed. Folding your hands under your chin, flashing Rupert a wide smile, "Ripper, huh?" Sliding his glasses back into place and carding a hand through his hair, Giles grinned, "Oh, uh⌠yes. Ripper. My nickname in London." Toying with the collar of his shirt, "I'd love to hear about London sometime⌠Ripper." At the sound of that name in your voice, Rupert flexed inside of you, "Call me that again and you'll miss last period." Gasping against him, nodding weakly, "Hmm⌠promise?" That made him smile broadly as he handed you back your sweater, "We can't have a repeat of last week, can we?" "It wasnât my fault you didn't hear the bell ring, Mr. Giles!" Sitting up, you fastened your bra and shrugged into your sweater before asking, "Did you have to destroy my undies?" "I'm afraid I did. Although I told you to remove anything dear, didn't I?" "What am I gonna do for the next hour, Giles?" Pushing his glasses up, "I would advise you not to bend over." Swatting at him playfully, you used one of the sturdier shelves to stand, adjusting your skirt and fluffing your hair. Looking around at the absolute mess created by falling books, embarrassed, you asked, "Can I help clean this up?" "No, I don't think that'll be necessary. After all, Willow will be in-" "Along with Buffy and Xander and Cordelia. Got it." Standing himself, Giles chuckled as he fastened his trousers and set himself to rights, "Precisely. Now-" he bent over to retrieve a slim volume, "- The book you asked about. Fertility iconography in Meso-American subcultures." "Thanks. Ya know, I always enjoy coming to the library. I'm surprised more people don't." Walking with you, his hand on your lower back, nuzzling into your neck, "I enjoy you cumming in the library." It was on the tip of your tongue to say something fresh when the overly loud bell clanged. Lifting up on tiptoes you pressed a kiss to the goose egg over Giles' eye, saying, "I hope that makes it feel better!" Snagging you into a tight hug, Giles stared into your eyes before kissing you deeply, "That. That makes it feel better." And then the library door swung wide on the four students who called the library a second home, "Um⌠are my eyes deceiving me or is Giles sporting a black eye? I was only gone for an hour, big guy, what happened?" "If you must know, Xander, a shelf collapsed in the back. We were fortunate enough not to be badly hurt but, there were some bumps and bruises." "A shelf! Oh no⌠which one?!" Giles turned to Willow solemnly, "I'm afraid all the Grollierâs⌠and most of Crentist." "On it. Come on Xander. You can help me sort!" "Aw, gee. That sounds like fun." As the pair trotted off, you turned to Giles, whispering low, "Dinner? My place? You can tell me about London, your childhood and why you love tweed." Eyeing Buffy, who was distracted and a distraught, Giles answered, "Tonight? UmâŚ" "He'd love to! Say 9 o'clock? And, he'll bring the wine."
Spinning on your heel, surprised that Buffy was your champion, you grinned, "Great! Awesome! I will see you then."
As you left you heard the bubbly blonde doling out instructions, "No Giles. You can't wear that outfit to dinner! You need to look nice. Nicer than you do now. Also, why is there so much dust in your hair?" If Giles answered you didnât hear it over your big yawn. You had a lot to do between now and 9 oâclock. Rupert Giles was coming over for dinner and you could hardly wait.
------ Fin ------- Iâm tagging my minxes, even though this is specifically NOT a Loki story. I do want you guys to send me stories that might fall under the âHot Charactersâ banner though!  Minxes:  @scrumptious-finicky-illusionâ @iamverityâ @mizfit2â @sammy-jo1977â @wolfsmom1â @jessiejunebugâ @iluvsumbuckyâ @unadulteratedwizardlove @procrastinatinglikeabitch @shxdowofdarknessâ @nonsensicalobsessionsâ @ahintofkiwistrawberryâ @alexakeylovelokiâ @rorybutnotgilmoreâ @crystalizedcaramelâ @lokislittlecornerâ @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81â @caffiend-queenââ @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhoreââ @jenjen8675309ââ @that-one-personââ @roguewraithââ @toomanystoriessolittletimeâ @vodka-and-some-sassâ @just-random-obsessionsâ @brokenthelovelyâ @lots-of-lokiâ @thefallenbibliophilequoteâ
#giles#rupert giles#rupert giles x you#giles x you#hot characters you forgot about#rupert giles smut#giles smut#buffy fanfiction
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Off The Train
Thanks to @mertronus for tagging me in the HPRomione Discord Popcorn game thingy! The prompt she gave me was: "I can finally see you."
I'm tagging @acnelli with the prompt: "You can't just keep pretending things are fine!"
***
ďťżâI canât wait until you get off that train,â says Ron, his voice low and lazy with fatigue, âand I can finally see you.â
Hermione shifts in her bed so sheâs lying on her side, mirror held out before her. This way, she can pretend - if she squints a bit, and ignores the crimson hangings of her four-poster bed - that heâs lying next to her, and not hundreds of miles away in London.
âWhat do you mean, âfinallyâ?â Hermione, too, keeps her voice quiet. It wonât do, in her final days as Head Girl, to be waking her dormmates. âYouâre looking at me right now.â
âYeah, but itâs not the same. I can see you, but I canât touch you, or...â The corner of Ronâs mouth twitches up into a crooked smile. âOr do anything else for that matter.â
âRight. Well,â she says, trying to infuse positivity into her voice, despite the weeks since the Easter holidays dragging into what felt like months and years, despite missing him so much that itâs like a heavy fog surrounding her. âItâs only a couple more days, right?â
âCanât it be now?â Ron looks like heâs reclined in bed too now, his fiery hair stark against the deep navy of his sheets. âJust get to Hogsmeade, then you can Apparate-â
âYou know full well that I cannot,â she replies briskly, even though itâs tempting, really tempting. âItâs-â
â-behavior unbecoming of a Head Girl,â Ron finishes her sentence. âI know. I just miss you, thatâs all.â
âI miss you too.â
âI love you,â he adds after a momentâs silence, before his eyes widen with inspiration. âOh, Iâve got it. What if I Apparate to Hogsmeade, and then walk to the castle - I bet Hagrid would let me through the gates-â
âItâs only two days, Ron.â
He sighs. âFine.â
âAnd I love you too.â
He grinned. âYeah, I know.â
â˘â˘â˘
Pigwidgeon is the last owl to fly into the Great Hall, his little wings beating wildly to keep him aloft. With a scrap of parchment clutched in his tiny talons, he struggles over to the Gryffindor table before somersaulting down into Hermioneâs lap.
Hermioneâs heart sinks, and not just at the sight of the exhausted little bird currently burrowing into the crook of her elbow. Their two-way mirrors mean they donât usually have to resort to writing letters. Not unless...
Hermione, the parchment reads when she unfolds it. Got called on an emergency mission. Iâm not allowed to tell you where or why or even how long but Iâm hoping it wonât take too long. Iâm still going to be there at Kingâs Cross, because Iâm dying to see you and I canât wait until all this is over and we can just be together. Anyway, I love you and try not to worry too much. I promise to do my best not to die.
Ron
âOh, good,â comes Ginnyâs voice from beside her, and Hermione turns to see her peering intently at the parchment. âHeâs promised not to die, thatâs a relief-â
âHeâll be there,â interrupts Hermione, tucking the note in the pocket of her robes before Ginny can further infringe upon her privacy. âIf he thinks itâll only take a day, then I believe him.â
Ginny blinks. âI never said he wouldnât be.â Plucking Pigwidgeon from Hermioneâs lap, she offers him water from her goblet. âIâm sure he knows what heâs talking about.â
âItâs probably just a quick day trip,â Hermione rationalizes, eyes focused hard on Pigwidgeon as he drinks so she doesnât have to see the sympathy she knows is etched on Ginnyâs face, âand he just wanted me to know in case - well-â
âIn case he dies?â
Ginnyâs attempt at a joke falls flat.
âWell, just in case, you know, something were to - to happen,â Hermione stammers, âand anyway, itâs just good for me to know - I like to know what heâs up to - not in a controlling way or anything, just-â
âOf course,â Ginny interjects bracingly. âIâm sure he just wanted you to know, thatâs all. Iâm sure heâll be there.â
Hermione picks up her mug of tea and holds it close to her face so the steam washes over her. She knows what theyâre both thinking but are unwilling to say: that in the year Ron and Harry have been Aurors, neither has had a mission run shorter than a week.
â˘â˘â˘
And so Hermione sits with Ginny and Luna on the train, watching the Scottish Highlands slowly transform into the low, tidy hills of the English countryside outside her window and hoping against hope that Ron will be there on Platform 9 and ž. But she hasnât heard from him since that first letter, and his mirror has gone dark. This doesnât worry her - not for his safety, anyway - but it does make it difficult to share in Ginnyâs gleeful anticipation as the train pulls into Kingâs Cross.
She busies herself with tending to Crookshanks, who is furious about his prolonged confinement in his basket, as Harry and Ginny embrace on the platform. Itâs not that sheâs upset, not really. Ron is doing what he needs to do, and she would never want him shirking his responsibilities just so he can kiss her on a train platform for the first time since April. She just wishes things could be different.
After Harry and Ginny depart for Grimmauld Place, she flags down a taxi and rides alone to her parentsâ home. The family car is parked in front, which is unusual for a weekday, but when she goes inside, she finds her parents have been eagerly awaiting her arrival and can hardly let her set down her trunk before whisking her away to an upscale restaurant in South Kensington.
âSo, tell us about school,â says Mum with an eager smile once theyâre seated at their candlelit table. âHow were your exams? I want to hear everything.â
âI will later,â Hermione replies, raising her brows and tipping her head pointedly in the direction of the waiter currently pouring red wine into their glasses.
âOh, right, right, of course. Well, anyway, dear,â she begins as the waiter sets down menus and strides away, âyour father and I have a little surprise for you.â
Itâs foolish, she knows, but her mind leaps instantly to Ron. Maybe all of this business with his mission has been a ruse, and heâs here in London after all, and sheâll be able to come up with an excuse to spend the night at Grimmauld PlaceâŚ
Until she notices that her parents are still talking, and thereâs no tall, lanky, red-haired wizard to be seen in this high-end French restaurant, but there are three Eurostar boarding passes laid out across the tablecloth.
âSorry,â says Hermione, shaking her head to clear away the daydream, âwhatâs going on?â
âWeâre going to Paris!â announces Mum with delight. âWe thought it would be so lovely to spend time together since youâve been away for so long, and youâre about to start your new job - and I know youâve always wanted to go there. Weâve got ten whole days, and everythingâs booked, so all youâve got to do is pack.â
âThat - thatâs - thatâs brilliant,â Hermione musters, forcing her lips into some semblance of a smile. Her parents beam so brightly back that itâs almost difficult to look at them. âErm, so when are we leaving?â
She crosses her fingers under the table, praying theyâll say August, or her birthday in September, or Christmas, anything but-
âThis weekend!â
Of course.
â˘â˘â˘
Paris is beautiful. It exceeds every single one of Hermioneâs expectations. She and her parents consume copious amounts of bread, cheese and wine, they visit museums and cafes and old bookstores, they ascend to the top of the Eiffel Tower and take in the view. She thinks of Ron constantly as she walks the cobbled streets, as she crosses the Pont des Artes and sees the countless locks affixed to its railing. Before she left, she sent Harry an owl to tell him that she was leaving, so Ron would know where she was if he returned home before she did. As they canât communicate when sheâs staying in a Muggle hotel, she truly has no idea where he is, but she tells herself that heâs still on his mission. It feels better that way, imagining that even if she stayed in London, there would still be obstacles keeping them apart.
On their last day, she nearly empties out a patisserie buying eclairs and macarons for Ron, and then they board the Eurostar back to England. Nervous anticipation grips her stomach as the train barrels through the tunnel (idly, she wonders if Ronâs dad is aware of this train that travels underwater, and makes a mental note to tell him), because she has no idea what awaits her back in London. What if Ronâs still away? Or worse - what if somethingâs happened to him, and sheâs been off enjoying a holiday while heâs been suffering?
The train canât move quickly enough. Hermione can focus on nothing - not the paperback romance novel her mother has loaned her to read, not the Muggle newspaper that her father is engrossed in, not even the argument of the couple seated across the aisle from them. Itâs only a two-hour trip, so why does it feel like itâs taking days?
She checks her mirror, but itâs still dark.
âYou go ahead, sweetheart,â says Dad when the train finally rolls to a stop in St. Pancras station. âWeâll get the cases.â
Hermione looks up at the luggage rack over their heads, then at her parents. âAre you sure? Iâll bring mine-â
âWe can manage. Go on ahead, get some fresh air.â
She doesnât bother reminding them that train station air is hardly fresh, and instead heads down the aisle with just her purse and the box of pastries in tow. Truly, sheâs not sure why her parents have sent her off the train without them; with the station as busy as it is, theyâll surely lose track of each other.
But then she sees him. Standing a head above the crowd, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, his bright blue eyes scan the throngs of travelers. At first, she doesnât believe her eyes. Surely, sheâs just become so desperate to see him that sheâs actually begun hallucinating.
But as she draws closer, he doesnât ripple into nothingness, he doesnât fade away. Heâs really, truly there, his red hair curling behind his ears, one knee jiggling with pent-up energy the way it always does when heâs particularly impatient. As he turns his head, still surveying the crowd, their eyes lock and the rest of the station recedes into the background. Finally, theyâre within sight of each other after months of hushed mirror conversations and stolen moments borrowing Professor McGonagallâs Floo. Hermione picks up speed, nearly skipping across the concrete in her haste, and flings herself into his waiting arms.
She fits against him perfectly. The fabric of his faded t-shirt is soft against her cheek as she breathes him in, and for the first time in recent memory, words fail her completely.
The box of pastries thuds to the ground.
âHi,â he mutters, lips brushing her skin and sending chills up her spine.
âHow - how did you-â
âHarry told me where youâd gone.â He presses a kiss to her cheek, and then, at long last, their lips connect. âItâs not that hard to look up train schedules.â
As reluctant as she is to pull away from him, she leans back just enough to look up at him. Behind the freckles scattered across his face, his cheeks have gone pink. âYouâre amazing,â she tells him, rising on tiptoe for another kiss, unconcerned with the passersby and the blast of nearby train whistles.
Ron lifts one shoulder in a casual shrug when they break apart. âHad to meet you on a train platform somehow.â
#hpromione discord#romione#ron weasley#hermione granger#romione fanfic#ahhh I missed writing about these two dorks#also message me if you want to join the discord!
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Business Trip: Pt 43 - Crazy
Youâd been with your share of women who liked rough sex - Seulgi, Chaeyoung, occasionally Momo and Seolhyun. But those girls had always been interested in kinks that were at least somewhat consistent with their personalities. It wasnât much of a surprise that Seulgi was into rough, occasionally painful sex; likewise, Chaeyoungâs preference for zip ties and name calling didnât strike you as being out of character with the type of person she was outside of the bedroom.
Miyawaki Sakura was either lazy and airheaded or intense and intimidating, depending on what she was doing. Before you were made aware of this new facet of Sakuraâs personality youâd only seen such duality before in Sana; but Sanaâs personality swings didnât surprise you like Sakuraâs did, nor was the difference between her two poles nearly as extreme as that of the Japanese police officer.
Sakura was altogether different from those girls. She was two sides of the same constantly flipping coin, it seemed. At the moment you were finding out that this duality extended to her sexual pursuits, where she flipped between being an overly friendly, sugary sweet girl to a woman with very specific, very unique kinks on a minute-by-minute basis.
âIâm so sorry about earlier,â she states, the tone in her voice sounding much more pleasant than earlier in the day, especially as it echoed against the cold shower tiles. âI was in the middle of re-reading the Fate series. Did you know the third movie is coming out this summer? Iâm sooo looking forward to it. Are you familiar with the Fate series?â
Speaking proved exceedingly difficult given the ball gag in your mouth, and so you settled for nodding.
âSheâs going away for awhile, donât you worry.â
âShe better be,â you answer. âI just hope she leads us to the other three members of Blackpink before they lock her up - or that Canadian officer takes her overseas. Did you have a chat with Officer Miyawaki about this?â
âIâve told her we want time with Rose before sheâs extradited and Officer Miyawaki has promised to raise the issue with her superiors, but she hasnât quite gotten around to it yet,â Nayeon answers.
You both peer into the interrogation room through the one-way glass. On one side of the table sits Rose, her head in her hands. In her prisonerâs jumpsuit and messy hair, she looked outright miserable - a far cry from the dolled up look she sported at the event two days prior. Gone is the haughty, arrogant air that she wore about her like perfume - now she looked small, afraid, almost as if the cold reality of what was about to happen to her had just recently set in.
She hadnât said a word since she stepped into the room. The young, nervous looking YG-appointed lawyer seated next to her rebuffed all of the questions directed to her client by telling her that she didnât have to answer anything, as was her right. Roseâs body language, though, told you all you needed to know about her state of mind.
On the other side of the table are Jihyo and Somi Douma, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer who had arrested Rose at the event. Both of them are placing piece after piece of evidence onto the table in an attempt to get something out of the Blackpink member - to no avail so far, thanks to her lawyer. The looks of frustration on the two young officers has been steadily building, but it is tempered somewhat by the fact that much of the evidence was simply indisputable. Roseâs silence today would do nothing to keep her from spending a lot of time behind bars when the time came.
The other two occupants of the room, sitting in a smaller table by the exit, are Mina and Officer Miyawaki. The former is diligently jotting down notes from the meeting into an iPad, the latter seemingly engaged in something important on her phone - but given her known predisposition for playing video games on the job and the fact that her phone was horizontal, you decided she was likely playing a game.
âSakura was super intense at the event,â Nayeon says, as if reading your thoughts regarding the young Japanese police officer. âWhen she showed up with Jihyo and Somi to arrest Rose, she had her game face on. It was almost scary. She wanted to see layouts of the building, possible exits and escape routes, dossiers on who might be there and who they might be with. She looked ready to take down every bad guy in the entire restaurant, all on her own.â
âI saw,â you agree. âShe walked in there like she owned the place. Roseâs bodyguard tried to stop her, but whatever she said to him made him look like a whipped dog afterward. She destroyed that guy.â
âAnd now here she is at a major interrogation involving multiple international parties and sheâs on her phone playing Among Us,â Nayeon scoffs. âItâs like she has an on and off switch when it comes to her job. I donât get it. To be honest, I find it a little odd that the precinct would bury someone with her on-site skills in the record keeping department and not out in the field walking a beat.â
You take a moment to consider Nayeonâs point. She was right; surely the Tokyo PD could make better use of Sakura by constantly keeping her in the field, where she clearly excelled, instead of the records department where she was buried under paperwork she had little interest in. There had to be a reason behind it all, but you currently had more pressing issues on your mind than the Japanese liaison officerâs career prospects.
âWe need to make sure she gets us that time with Rose. Preferably without her lawyer present.â
âThat would be against the rules,â Nayeon says, hesitantly. She knew what you were implying and while she knew you werenât going to hurt Rose or do anything stupid, she felt she had to tell you anyway out of obligation.
âThereâs nothing illegal about me having a chat with a lovely young Australian woman I met at an event a few nights ago,â you reply with a sly smile.
Nayeon smirks, but understands your implication. âIâll remind Officer Miyawaki,â she says.
In the room, Sakura lets out a sigh, rolling her eyes back into her head - her spaceman was likely just bitten in half by an impostor. Next to her, Mina frowns and shakes her head, a look of plain disapproval on her face.
âNo, donât worry about it,â you say. âIâll remind her myself.â
---
It didnât take long to find Sakura later that day. She was absent from her desk, but a nearby colleague told you she was on her lunch hour - even though at that point it was nearly three in the afternoon. While your time with Nayeon and Jihyo had informed you that law enforcement officers saw lunch breaks as a rare luxury, you also knew that Sakura didnât conform to the usual expectations of this particular line of work. With your limited Japanese and a healthy amount of hand gestures, you were able to ascertain from her colleague that she usually took her lunch breaks on the roof of the building.
The precinct proved to be a little bit of a maze, but you eventually found your way to the roof, which, like many buildings in Asia, was open to access and was often used as a kind of recreational space for the buildingâs inhabitants. After your time inside the cramped interior of the building you were happy to be outside again, enjoying the fresh air and the sunny, crisp winter afternoon.
Sitting on a bench in one of the corners of the space was Sakura, legs crossed, her nose buried in what looked like a manga. The small pile of convenience store sandwich containers and empty candy wrappers that occupied the rest of the bench confirmed that she was indeed on her lunch break. The volume of the trash, however, implied sheâd been there awhile, leading you to wonder just how long her lunch âhoursâ usually lasted.
âOfficer Miyawaki,â you say as you approach her, âIâm sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if-â
You are stopped mid-sentence by a raised finger. Without taking her attention from the manga, Sakura reaches for a half-full bottle of Pocari Sweat next to her on the bench, which she brings to her mouth to take a sip. Eyes working quickly, she finishes the page she was reading before turning the page and devouring that one as well. With brows furrowed and eyes narrowed with concentration, there is a clear look of complete and utter intensity on her face that youâd seen only once before - when she was confronting Roseâs bodyguard and putting him in his place.Â
When youâd first been introduced to Miyawaki Sakura youâd wondered just how she had managed to keep her job given her obvious laziness and what seemed to be an utter lack of interest in her duties - or even in maintaining the false appearance of an interest. But her role in the events of two nights prior, and the seriousness with which she carried herself while on-site, answered that question for you. It became clear that her superiors kept her around because when the chips were down and the game was on, she could put on a game face that almost scared you with its intensity. When that happened, she was almost a different person entirely.
The question then became why her superiors had assigned her to the record keeping department. Was it a demotion? Did they think she was too unstable or unreliable for field work? There had to be a reason.Â
She goes on for three more pages, consuming the art and text within the manga like they were some sort of life-giving energy source that she could not go a moment more without. You are left to stand there, awkwardly, a little taken aback by the speed and ease at which she had silenced you - but unconsciously, a little afraid of what might happen if youâd insisted on interrupting her reading.
Finally, after reaching what seemed to be a chapterâs conclusion or some other boundary within the manga, she retrieves a bookmark from her bench and marks her place before finally acknowledging your presence.
âYes?â she says, a look of undisguised annoyance on her otherwise soft, adorable features.
âI, well, I was⌠um, hoping we could have a quick moment of your time, Officer Miyawaki,â you answer, suddenly unsure of your words, your tongue having turned into stone in your mouth. Youâd expected a fast and easy chat - you usually had no problems charming your share of pretty young women - but your resolve had faltered unexpectedly under the piercing gaze of the young officer.
âAbout?â she asks, plainly, even though you knew what you wanted to talk about must have been obvious to her. What else could it have been, if not Rose? Did she just want to hear you ask for something? Did she want to hear you beg and grovel?
âAbout the girl, uh, the woman that Officer Dou- I mean, you, you placed in your custody a couple of nights ago,â you answer.Â
âYes, and, what about her?â
âI was hoping I could have a chat- er, maybe, some time, with her. Alone, before she, they, sheâs, well... taken away.â
âAnd what would you want to speak to her about?â
âWell, you see, umâŚ. weâre kind of after her colleagues - three of them. Theyâre in this team, er, corporate espionage group - theyâre called Blackpink. I, well, me, my team and I, we were hoping she could lead us to the other three.â
Sakura takes a moment to weigh your request, her large, deep eyes boring into yours. You were a little ashamed to admit you were faltering a little bit under the intensity of her gaze. While you were sure her current demeanor was borne from you so rudely interrupting her reading and not from any malicious intent, it did little to keep you from withering under her look.
Eventually Sakuraâs eyes leave you, and you find yourself releasing an inward sigh of relief to be free of her gaze.Â
âI can arrange something,â she says as she opens her manga again. âBut it will cost you. Helping you and that foreign officer during that arrest resulted in a lot of extra paperwork for me.â
You are about to say something about her job and the amount of work she actually had to do, especially given the fact that she was in the middle of what seemed to be a three hour lunch break, but an unconscious fear of being put under her gaze once more meant that your response died in your throat.
âWhat exactly⌠can I do f-for you, Officer Miyawaki?â
âSakura is fine,â she says under her breath as she finds her place in her manga. âMeet me in the precinct showers in two hours. Cancel any appointments you may have this afternoon.â
You are left a little stunned by her demand, and what it might have meant. The possibilities run through your mind at a million miles an hour; what did she mean-
âYou can leave,â Sakura states, and not wanting to risk her ire by lingering any longer, you quickly turn and leave.
---
Youâd been with your share of women who liked rough sex - Seulgi, Chaeyoung, occasionally Momo and Seolhyun. But those girls had always been interested in kinks that were at least somewhat consistent with their personalities. It wasnât much of a surprise that Seulgi was into rough, occasionally painful sex; likewise, Chaeyoungâs preference for zip ties and name calling didnât strike you as being out of character with the type of person she was outside of the bedroom.
Miyawaki Sakura was either lazy and airheaded or intense and intimidating, depending on what she was doing. Before you were made aware of this new facet of Sakuraâs personality youâd only seen such duality before in Sana; but Sanaâs personality swings didnât surprise you like Sakuraâs did, nor was the difference between her two poles nearly as extreme as that of the Japanese police officer.
Sakura was altogether different from those girls. She was two sides of the same constantly flipping coin, it seemed. At the moment you were finding out that this duality extended to her sexual pursuits, where she flipped between being an overly friendly, sugary sweet girl to a woman with very specific, very unique kinks on a minute-by-minute basis.
âIâm so sorry about earlier,â she states, the tone in her voice sounding much more pleasant than earlier in the day, especially as it echoed against the cold shower tiles. âI was in the middle of re-reading the Fate series. Did you know the third movie is coming out this summer? Iâm sooo looking forward to it. Are you familiar with the Fate series?â
Speaking proved exceedingly difficult given the ball gag in your mouth, and so you settled for nodding.
âAh, thatâs good!â Sakura exclaims, âIâm such a big fan. I totally ship Shirou and Saber, although Iâm also a fan of Shirou and Sakura - I bet you can guess why! I like both couples, though; it really depends on what mood Iâm in! Sometimes I- whoops, is that too tight for you?â
It was. The girl knew how to tie a neat, tight knot (which itself raised several questions) and the thick nylon rope dug painfully into your wrists as she tied them behind your back, but you gave your head a shake nonetheless. The black cloth blindfold sheâd tied around your head was similarly a little too tight for comfort and was beginning to give you a headache - not that you were willing, or even able, to tell Sakura as such.
Even if you could speak, you werenât sure you would stop her from proceeding. You were equal parts terrified and aroused by the sharp, unexpected turn of events this afternoon had taken, but the thought of stopping the young woman hadnât yet occurred to you.
âGood, I donât want to hurt you. Anyway, yeah, Iâm sorry if I came off rude this afternoon. I just donât like to be interrupted during my lunch hour. Thatâs when I get all my reading done! Because the rest of the day Iâm so busy with work, you see. Anyway⌠youâre all set!â
You obviously couldnât see her through the blindfold, but the loud click-clack of Sakuraâs high-heeled shoes against the shower tiles tell you she has stepped in front of you. The next few moments of silence provide no audible clue to tell you what she is doing, but you knew she was likely giving you a good long look from head to toe, as if enjoying the sight of you sitting on a stool, gagged, bound, and blindfolded.
âItâs time to begin, I think. Are you ready?âÂ
Her tone reminded you a little bit of any of a hundred anime voice actors, particularly those that voiced the sugary sweet and cute characters. And Sakura was nothing if not cute, although she also seemed to have a bit of a crazy side to her - a side it seemed you were about to get to know intimately, whether you were ready for it or not.
You nod, because there wasnât much else you could do.
âGood! Letâs start!â she says, sounding a bit like an announcer for a game that involved Italian plumbers and dragon/turtle hybrids racing go-karts - and not like she was about to engage in a sexual act with very particular, very specific kinks.
So when she straddles you on the stool, her long, thin legs suddenly on either side of your waist and her small frame atop your lap, you were a little unsure about how to react to the juxtaposition between her tone and her actions. With other women you would have enjoyed the weight of her body on top of yours and the promise of impending pleasure. But with Sakura you were a little hesitant - and as much as you hated to admit it, almost a little afraid.
âSo as I mentioned earlier, Iâd be happy to set up a meeting with you and that Australian chick,â she says, her voice dripping with sugar even as you feel her trace random patterns with her fingertip on your jawline and chin. âBut Iâll need to get something out of it.â
You are unable to manage anything more than a muffled groan, and so you settle for nodding your head once more.
âGood.â
Sakuraâs hand drifts lower, her fingertip never breaking contact with you as it drifts down your neck and chest, eventually reaching the buckle of the jeans you wore. Her fingers work quickly, and before you know it she has your button undone and the zipper lowered, your quickly hardening shaft aching for its impending release from its cotton prison.
âOh! You are quite eager for us to begin, I see.â
You nod.
âWell then, letâs see what youâre hiding under here.â
Sakuraâs tone continues to be that of a cute, sweet girl. Her actions, as she frees your nearly fully hardened shaft from your boxers, are altogether the opposite.
You feel the breath leave your lungs in a rush as she grasps your cock in her small, dainty little hands for the first time and gives it a few small, exploratory pumps. It would have been utterly arousing at any other time. But now, wrists bound behind you and with your eyes and mouth rendered useless, it almost felt like your sense of touch was heightened - and it felt utterly sublime. It wasnât long before you the Japanese police officer had brought you to full, aching stiffness.
âI see now why your team is full of those women,â she observes, a slight hint of edge appearing in her tone. âI bet they love taking turns being filled with this.â
âMmmghmm,â you answer.
âWhatâs that? You fuck them on a daily basis? I bet you pump their thirsty mouths and wet little pussies just full of your cum on the regular, donât you? Maybe those tight little asses too?â
âYughhhm.â
âI bet they love it, too, donât they? I bet you have them all bent to your will like the obedient, needy little fucktoys that they are. Is that right?â
âMmmahghg.â
âI knew it. I knew all of those girls were filthy little sluts the second I saw them.â
To hear such filth come out of Sakuraâs mouth - out of a girl whom youâd pegged as being adorable and cute if a little airheaded and lazy - was more than a little bewildering. Each of her words dripped with sweet sugar tone even if the actual content of her words was dirty and nasty. Two sides of the same coin. Two faces of the same girl.
âWell, I think itâs time for us to play a game. Do you want to play a game?â
For a second you are frozen as a shiver of fear crawls up your spine - youâd seen enough horror movies to know that nothing good ever followed that question. But you had to admit that it both frightened and aroused you. Part of you wanted to submit to her every whim, and part of you suddenly wanted to run away as quickly as you could.Â
You nod.
âGood! Iâm happy. Letâs lay down the rules. Hmmm⌠well, thereâs actually only two! Are you ready for them? Are you paying attention?â
It was a little difficult to do so, truth be told. She hadnât stopped pumping your cock, at an almost lazy pace, with her slender, soft hands. She had begun to squeeze on the downstroke and loosen on the upstroke, causing a delicious little jolt of pleasure to shoot right to your brain every few seconds.
You nod.
âOkay! Rule number one - every time you make me cum, I remove one item of your choice: your blindfold, your gag, or the ties at your wrists. How much time I give you with the Australian girl depends on how good you fuck, I guess! Iâll make the judgement at the end. Rule number two - you donât get to say anything aside from a âyesâ or a âno.â Pretty simple, huh? You understand the rules, right?â
Despite laying down the ground rules for what would likely be a filthy sexual act, Sakura sounds a bit like a voice actor reading the script to the tutorial level of a Mario Party game. The prospect of regaining your ability to see, touch and taste her was appealing, and with the ball gag filling your mouth you couldnât exactly voice any objections to her rules even if you had any.
You nod.
âGood! Then letâs begin!â
Without giving you much time to ready yourself, Sakura presses her body forward on your lap - and almost immediately you feel the wet heat of her pussy pressed against the base of your shaft.
Before she put the blindfold on you, the police officer had been wearing a short blue skirt and black heels along with the blue blouse that formed her uniform. Had she removed her panties somewhere along the way? Was she ever wearing panties at all?
Your brain had little time or bandwidth to answer those questions - not as Miyawaki Sakura began to grind herself against the underside of your cock, her hips swirling up and down, finding and trapping your shaft between the splayed lips of her pussy and moving, slowly at first, up and down its length. She is absolutely dripping. Her flesh is hot and warm against your cock. Were your mouth not gagged, you would have let out a long, wordless moan - but it escapes your throat as a wet, guttural sound instead.
Sakura, her own mouth unbound, lets the first outward sign of her arousal escape her lips in a long, drawn-out gasp. The entire process - binding you, teasing you, explaining her rules to you - must have turned her on immensely. The slick, warm juices that coated your cock in a thick, glistening layer with each grind of her hips were clear indication of how turned on she was. You found yourself impressed that she was able to hide her need for so long behind her sickly sweet tone.
âMmmm, that feels so good!â she gasps. âMmm, youâre so big, and youâre not even inside me yet!â
You nod.
And so for a few delicious minutes you are content to let the small Japanese girl grind herself harder and harder against your cock, her slick, hot pussy pressed against the underside of your shaft, sliding up and down, up and down, up and down. The small shower room reverberates with the soft squeaking of your stool on the tiles, and the soft, pleasant moans of pleasure that leave Sakuraâs throat.
âMmm, fuck, Iâm gonna cum already, fuck, youâre gonna make me cum so quickly, mmmmm, your cock is so hard! Do you like the feel of my pussy? The feel of my clit on your cock? Hmmm? Do you want to be inside me?â
You nod.Â
You are surprised by how quickly she was coming to her first orgasm, even if the heat emanating from her splayed pussy lips as she grinds them against you, combined with the sheer amount of the juices that were now running down your balls, clearly indicated how needy and wanton she was even before she first touched you.
âD-Do you want me⌠oh, fuck⌠do you want me to-to cum all over your hard cock?â
You nod.
Sakuraâs response is to orgasm.Â
Youâd been with plenty of women before, witnessed the many forms of the female orgasm and the differences in the bodies of each woman when she finally reaches her peak. Each was unique. But even given that fact, you knew that no other woman on Earth orgasmed like Miyawaki Sakura did.
She felt a little bit like she was being jolted with electricity - every fibre of her being quivered and shook like she had a thousand volts coursing through her veins. It was almost unnerving, in a way, and from the way her small body trembled atop yours you were worried that she had hurt herself somehow.Â
Even the way she orgasmed was far from the norm. The more you knew about Miyawaki Sakura, the more and more you were frightened of her.Â
But the same things that frightened you also aroused you.
It seems to last forever, her orgasm. When her body finally winds down, the loud breaths that leave her throat and the fact that she has slumped forward onto your chest imply that she is somewhat drained by the experience.
âThat was pretty good!â Sakura exclaims once she has regained her energy, sounding once more like she were some sort of video game announcer. âAs per the rules of our game, you get to remove one item. What would you like it to be?â
Your options run though your head, each with their own merits. You wouldâve loved to finally lay your hands on the young woman, and the thought of watching her cum obviously appealed to you, but the opportunity to taste her won out.
âMowwffth,â you manage to mumble.Â
âYour mouth? You want to get rid of the gag? Are you sure?â Sakura asks, sounding the way a video game does when you decide to overwrite a game save and it wants you to be sure of your decision.
You nod.
âOkay! Away it goes!â
Sakura reaches behind your head and you feel the ball gag loosen before she rips it none-too-gently from your mouth. A drip of saliva spills from your mouth - one that Sakura is quick to lick off your chin with her tongue.
Her tongue, feeling long and particularly flexible, traces a path up your chin until it finds your lips. She crushes your lips with hers in a torrid, passionate kiss that had little affection but plenty of need, her hands quickly reaching behind your blindfolded head and pressing your head against hers as she sticks her tongue as far into your mouth as she could. Your tongue wrestles with hers, but she quickly gains the upper hand, and it is all you can do to sit there and submit to letting the young woman explore your mouth at her whim.
When she finally tears her lips from yours she lets out a satisfied sigh.
âMmmm, that was a good choice. Youâre a good kisser! And it will definitely help you when it comes to the next way youâre going to make me cum. Are you ready?â
âYes,â you say, finally happy to be able to speak.
âGood. Get ready!â
Sakura climbs off your lap, and you lament the loss of her warm body for a split second - until you hear the snap of her foot meeting the stool you were sitting on, followed by a sharp thud of your butt hitting the floor as she kicks the stool out from under you.
You are about to groan in pain at your hard, unexpected landing, about to protest at the way she was treating you - when you hear Sakura step over your body, her crotch just inches from your face. She must have been lifting her skirt to get it out of the way, because when she presses herself against you, you find yourself face to face with her pussy.
There was no doubt in your mind now. Miyawaki Sakura was crazy.
But you werenât in a position to complain, not with the girlâs juicy, slick, hot pussy suddenly and fiercely pressed against your face, her splayed lips immediately smearing your nose, lips and chin with her juices. By instinct your tongue darts out, almost like a defensive measure. You begin to lick her slowly, hesitantly, still caught a little wrong footed by her ridiculous aggressiveness - but Sakura was having none of that, and she quickly grasps the back of your scalp with one hand and presses it against her warm, wet folds.
âYou can do better than that,â she says, her tone still that of the video game announcer, as though she were encouraging a kart racer who had fallen behind. âEat my pussy like the hungry little fucktoy you are.â
You follow her orders, as much out of fear of upsetting her as the need to finally have your fill of the needy young womanâs body. You start by giving her long, slow licks from the bottom of her pussy to the top, ensuring to add a little swirl of the tip of your tongue around her engorged clit as you reach it. Sakura moans in pleasure as you drink of her, enjoying the pleasant, sweet bitterness of the girlâs plentiful juices on your tongue.
When you decide that the steadily rising volume of her moans and gasps, enhanced by the echoing off the shower roomâs tiled walls, has reached a high point, you quickly switch up your technique, latching your lips as best you could around her clit before swiping at it in broad, strong strokes with your tongue. You begin with strokes that begin and the bottom and end at the top. When she begins to quiver and shake, you begin to trace random patterns around her taut little bud.
âYouâre doing so great!â Sakura moans, âIâve never felt anything like that!â
You are almost annoyed now with her tone of voice - not that you were in a position to complain, not while her wet, slick lips were sweet upon your tongue and lips. You continue to swipe at her clit with your tongue, using the flat of it now to ensure maximum contact with the taut bud. Sakura begins to grind her hips against you, almost crushing her pussy against your face in an effort to draw every ounce of pleasure from your tongue as she could.
What a sight it would have been for anyone walking into the precinct showers at that moment. A man sitting on the floor, blindfolded and with hands bound behind his back, while Miyawaki Sakura stood over him, one hand pulling her skirt up and another gripping the back of his skull, pressing his helpless face against the wet, slick lips of her pussy.
Sakura grinds her face against you. You almost struggle to breathe - every time you come up for air, she presses you against the hot, slick flesh of her pussy with the hand grasping the back of your scalp. It was frightening. It was almost too much to handle. But it was also intensely, perversely arousing.
âAh, stop, I need you inside me right now,â she snaps - the first time sheâd broken her tone and shown the slightest hint of losing her composure. âAre you ready?â
âFuck yes, Sakura. I want-â
Sakura silences you with a raised finger to your lips, just as she did earlier that afternoon on the rooftop.
âJust a yes or no, remember?â
âY...yes,â you answer, suitably chastised.
âGood. Now sit there and be a good little cock for me to fuck.â
Sakura drops to her knees, straddling you once more. With your hands still bound behind your back you are unable to lie back fully, and so you settle into a sitting position as she sits on your lap. You wouldâve given anything to get your hands on her hips, particularly as she adjusted herself for penetration - but you had to admit, not being able to see her or touch her beyond what she allowed your mouth and hips to do only heightened the intensity of your other senses.
She wastes no time. You felt her slim fingers on your cock for a moment, aligning your tip with her entrance, before she drops her hips and takes you inside her for the first time.
You both sigh out loud - loud, breathy sounds that echo off the tile surrounding you. Sakura gasps as you fill her completely, your crotches finally meeting as she fills herself with your stiff shaft for the first time. For a second you regret your choice to free your mouth and wish youâd freed your arms instead, as it would have allowed you to lie on your back and thus let Sakura penetrate herself more deeply - not that you were actually upset at being finally inside the needy, mewling young police officer.
âOh my,â Sakura sighs, âyouâre so fucking big inside me! Now I see, ohh! I see why those other girls keep you around! But now itâs my turn. My turn to use you as a fucktoy. Do you like being a fucktoy for me? Do you like being nothing more than a toy cock for me to fuck myself with?â
You want to argue with her, put her in her place, spit the same vulgarities and names right back at her. But there is a sharp, edgy undertone to Miyawaki Sakura, a kind of fierceness that made you fear what would happen if you did.
You decide to let her have her way - for now at least.
âYes.â
âGood! Then get ready!â
Any misgivings you may have had about Sakura, about her double-sided personality, about her lack of professionalism when off-site and intimidating intensity when actually in the field, even about the way she spoke so casually and vulgarly about your relationship with your team - they all flew right out the window as she began to ride you. Every muscle in her small, lean body seemed devoted to driving your stiff shaft in and out of her body, each of her movements propelling her up and down as fast and hard as she was able.Â
For all her faults and almost frightening instability, Miyawaki Sakura knew how to ride a cock.
You supposed you shouldnât be surprised by the lack of build up to the way Sakura rode you. It was all you could do to grit your teeth and attempt to stay upright as her tight, lithe body rocked up and down, threatening to tip you over and onto your back, which, given your bound hands, would have been quite uncomfortable. Thankfully Sakura quickly grips onto your shoulders, helping keep you upright as she used them for more leverage, driving you in and out of the hot, wet flesh between her legs again and again.
âOh, oh fuck, youâre so fucking big!â Sakura moans, seemingly barely able to turn her thoughts into words before she abandons the thought of speaking altogether, relying instead on a wordless string of gasps and sighs to articulate the pleasure coursing through her veins.
You grit your teeth, relishing the feel of her tight heat wrapped around your cock as she continued to ride you with fierce abandon on the shower floor. Eager to do something more than merely hold on, you lean forward, searching for and then finding her upper chest, pressing your lips against the small patch of exposed skin at the top of her blouse.Â
Sakura catches on to what you were doing, and the next thing you hear is the sound of buttons ripping from fabric as she quite literally tears the blouse open.
Were any other girl to rip open a button up shirt to give you access to her chest, you would have been surprised with her recklessness - but with Sakura it was simply par for the course.
Your hungry lips press themselves against the newly revealed skin of her upper chest, greedly pressing against her pale, vanilla skin, licking and kissing and tasting. Soon you find her neck, latching onto the warmth you find there, sucking hard enough to bruise her and leave marks on her otherwise perfect skin. Sakura hugs you tightly against her body, not lowering her pace at all, still riding you fiercely, her hips not ceasing for a moment in their desire to fill herself over and over again with stiff, hard cock.Â
The minutes pass as the tiny little police officer fucks herself on your stiff cock, the small shower space filled with your wordless moans and the wet slap of flesh hitting flesh.
The entire experience was torrid, fierce, intense. Sakura was so unpredictable, so unreadable - and that was even not counting the fact that you were blindfolded or had your hands bound. Her personality seemed to flip from moment to moment, and while a part of you missed the stability and predictability of your other partners, you would have been lying if you had said Sakuraâs sheer craziness didnât also turn you on in its own unique, special way.
When Sakura cums, her body turning into the same shaking, quivering mess she was when she came the first time, you are thankful - because you were close behind. Her flesh tightens and pulsates around you even more than youâd thought possible.
âIâm gonna cum, Sakura,â you hiss, forsaking for a moment her rule to limit your speaking to simple yesses or nos, and being thankful she was so far lost in the pleasure overtaking her senses that she was unable to pick up on that particular rule violation.
âFucking fill my tight little pussy with your hot cum, you little fucktoy!â
Helpless to do much else, you allow yourself to finally fall over the edge, letting a deep, low groan escape your throat as your cock spasms and begins to spurt thick, hot cum inside the still-quivering Japanese girlâs wet, slick pussy. Even as your cock fills her with semen Sakura doesnât stop, still riding you fiercely, still impaling herself with what was left of her energy, pushing your cum even deeper inside of herself with each thrust of your spasming cock.Â
Itâs almost painful the way she slams her entire weight onto your crotch and the cold, unforgiving floor beneath it. You wouldâve given anything to just hold her down by her hips and savor the feeling of your orgasm, the feeling of filling a young womanâs pussy with your cum for the first time. But what you wanted didnât matter. You were in no position to tell her what you wanted, and she probably wouldnât have cared even if you were.
When she finally stops it is almost a mercy. You are drained of energy like youâd never been before - utterly physically and mentally spent. Your cock still embedded hilt deep inside her, she reaches up and finally slips the blindfold from your eyes. You spend a few seconds blinking rapidly, your eyes unused to the sudden brightness.
âThat was a great job! You have one hour with Rose,â she says, her face bright and cheerful, as though she were congratulating the first place kart racer and wasnât currently impaled with a recently orgasmed cock, filled to the brim with its fresh, hot semen. She grabs you fiercely by the skull and gives you a final, fierce kiss.Â
âWill an hour be enough?â she asks when she finally tears her lips from yours. Able to see now, you lock eyes with her, and while her eyes are large and bright, you notice now that they are laced with more than a little crazy, brimming just below the surface.
It occurred to you at that moment just why Miyawaki Sakura had been buried in the records department of her precinct by her superiors.
She was a little crazy.
Too spent to come up with anything resembling a verbal response, you resort to following her rules once more.
You nod.
---
âIâm sure Officers Park and Douma have informed you of the charges that will be brought against you, and that your lawyer has conveyed the gravity of the situation youâre in,â Momo states, matter-of-factly. âThe evidence is indisputable. Your future doesnât look bright, Rose.â
âIâm aware that Iâm fucked, yes,â Rose replies, making a dismissive gesture with her hands from the interrogation roomâs table, where they are handcuffed to the thick metal bar in the middle of it. She had appeared to become even more of a mess since you saw her last at yesterdayâs interrogation, with darker bags under her eyes and frazzled, messy hair. âSo if Iâm as screwed as you say I am, then why are you still here? Come to gloat, have you?â
âYouâre here because we want to offer you something,â Momo answers.
âYou? Offer me something? Hah! Unless itâs a ticket that lets me walk out that door a free woman then Iâm not interested. What could you possibly have to offer me?â
Momo leans back in her chair. She had predicted that Rose would react the way she did during your preparation for this meeting. It was almost as if she had written a script for it - and it was your turn to speak your lines.
âRevenge,â you state, leaning forward on the table.
âRevenge? The fuck do you mean by that?â
âLet me ask you, Rose: how do you think we knew youâd be at that event a few days ago?â
âI dunno. Fucking cops have probably been tailing me from the second I touched down,â she spits with a dirty look towards the one-way glass, even if you knew there was no one on the other side. Sakura had made sure this conversation was strictly off the record.
âNope. Itâs because we received a tip - from one of your friends in Blackpink.â
Rose is unable to hide her reaction, her eyes going wide with surprise.
âYouâre fucking lying. Why the hell would they give me up like that?â
âI donât know, and I donât care,â you answer. âMaybe you pissed one of them off. Maybe they decided they didnât need you anymore, getting caught doing shit overseas while they did the real hard work here in Japan and Korea. I donât care. But if you help us find them, then maybe we can make sure theyâre just as fucked as you are. If youâre especially helpful, maybe we recommend a lighter sentence for you.â
âYou want me to rat on them? Give up my team?â
âYes,â Momo answers. âRemember - itâs because of them that youâre going to be behind bars for a very long time, while theyâre out there free as can be, living the life. This is your chance to take them down with you.â
âYou must have had a safehouse or a base of operations here in Japan,â you add. âGive us the location of that base and weâll make sure we take them down, without them being any the wiser that it was you who gave up their location.â
Rose bites her lip, staring intently at her own hands as she weighs her admittedly small range of options.
âIf I give them up, you get me a lighter sentence? Thatâs it?â
âThatâs part of it,â you answer, as Momo retrieves mugshots of the two Red Velvet members and from her briefcase and places them on the table. âWeâre also tracking two fugitives from Korea that you might have heard of - Kang Seulgi and Kim Yerim. Do you or anyone in Blackpink know anything about them?â
Rose takes a quick glance at both photos, but there is no hint of recognition in her eyes.
âNo, I donât know either of those two. If itâs Koreans youâre looking for youâd best speak to the others. All my work was done overseas, as illustrated by your giant pile of indisputable evidence.â
Momo gathers the mugshots before taking a pad of paper and a pen from her briefcase and places them in front of Rose.
âWe need you to write down the location of Blackpinkâs safehouse,â she states.Â
Rose takes a last moment of thought before she reaches for the pen.
âI want your word that Iâll get a lighter sentence for this. And that theyâll never know it was me that gave them up.â
âYou have it. We canât guarantee that the judge will honor our request, but I promise you theyâll be aware of your cooperation,â Momo replies.
Rose scribbles an address down on the pad of paper before sliding it across the table to Momo. Momo takes out her phone and opens her map app to confirm its validity. Satisfied, she gives you a nod.
âYouâve made the right decision,â you tell Rose as you stand up and get ready to leave. Momo packs up her things and follows closely behind.
âThrow those bitches into a hole and let them rot,â Rose hisses as you leave the room.
In the outside hallway, Sakura, wearing a garishly pink hoodie now given that sheâd torn the buttons off her uniform blouse earlier that afternoon, raises her head from her phone as she notices you and Momo have left the room. Giving Momo a polite, cheerful smile and shooting you a suggestive wink, she enters the interrogation room, presumably to return Rose to her cell.
Also waiting in the hallway, sitting on a bench, are Nayeon and a third woman, who begins to speak as soon as Sakura has closed the door to the interrogation room.
âDid she believe it? That it was Blackpink that gave her up?â
âYes, you answer.â
âYou got the location of their safehouse?â
âYes.âÂ
âWhat about Seulgi and Yeri? Did she know where they are?â
âNo. Iâm sorry, Irene.â
There is a flash of something resembling sadness and disappointment in Ireneâs features. It is short and fleeting, but unmistakable. Soon it is replaced with the look of quiet determination that she had worn since the moment sheâd joined you in Japan.
She rises from her seat. The short leggings she was wearing did little to hide the bulky tracking device around her ankle, but at least now her hands were free of the handcuffs she had on the last time you saw her.
âUnderstood. Letâs go - we have work to do.â
---
Authorâs Note: Not my best work, I know, but I just wanted to get across how wild (in a good way) Sakura was during sex and I found it kind of difficult to get across that she was good crazy but not insane lol. Not sure how well I did or how clear everything came across as Iâd never written anyone quite like her with those kinks. I always want to try writing new things and improving my writing, though. Let me know what you think. :)
#kpop fanfiction#kpop fanfic#kpop smut#male reader#pov smut#izone#izone fanfic#izone sakura#miyawaki sakura#izone smut
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