#even having just read and internalized the word the ability to write it escaped me. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

notnctu · 4 years ago

Text

push & pull | kim doyoung

❀ slytherin!doyoung x hufflepuff!femreader ❀ genre - SLOW BURN, smut, fluff, a bit of humor (idk not rlly) ❀ details - hogwarts!au, fwb to lovers?, y/n is a player lol, jealous doyoung, mutual pining, doyoung is a lil mean ❀ word count - 9.7k ❀ warnings - explicit language, possessiveness (a concept of marking), dom!doyoung, angry sex?, slight dirty talk, penetration, fingering, praise kink ❀ synopsis - in which a prideful slytherin and an oblivious hufflepuff play a clueless emotion game of tug of war.

❝I thought Hufflepuffs are to be loyal, so why do you sleep with other men?❞

❝People say Slytherins are ambitious, so why didn’t you pursue me?❞ ❀ a/n - i changed the plot a little bit as i was writing lol but hopefully it still fits everything! i said this in the teaser, but i want to preface and say that the magic/marking is not canon to harry potter, and that the only thing im using are the sectional houses/subjects. besides that, everything is made up LMAO also pls b lenient with me, i read hogwarts!au but writing it is very out of my comfort zone and am very bad at creating anything magical

READ NEXT PART

Kim Doyoung, the Slytherin boy of your dreams, mindlessly and imperfectly steals glances your way across the dining tables and under several hundred floating lit candles. He sits huddled with his few posh friends that wear the same green and silver tie situated so tightly underneath their necks. And you, just looking as dazzling as ever, with your yellow and black tie hanging loose and a few buttons undone from your dress shirt.

He hates how easily you catch his attention and his ability to spot your figure in a dense crowd. You barely even look his way in public now, often distracted by a broad Gryffindor that tries to make flirtatious advantages at you. And when he thinks it can’t get any worse, it does… as you’re flashing your bright beautiful smile back at him and the shift in your body language.

“You’re staring again.” Yuta flickers between his friend and the subject of his focus.

Doyoung clears his throat, smooths his tie and physically turns his body away from the horrendous scene. “It’s very hard not to stare when she’s flirting with other men in front of me.”

“Does she do it on purpose?” The silver haired boy raises a questionable eyebrow and Doyoung reacts before he can speak.

He perks up and narrows his eyes at Yuta. “Purpose? Like to make me jealous?” Doyoung scoffs, laughs almost at the ridiculous thought. “The answer is no. We’re not exclusive, we’re nothing.”

“If you two are nothing, then why are you acting like you two are something? Get a grip, it’s practically sickening watching you fume over a ditzy Hufflepuff.” As Yuta prepares to bite into his delicious soft bread roll, it flies out of his grip, down the long table and onto another person’s plate.

Both boys are quick to stand to their feet and face each other chest to chest. Neither one of them is intimidated by the other, but their other friends around them are rather shocked by the sudden discrepancy.

Doyoung forcibly brushes off an imaginary dust off his good friend’s shoulders and draws a perfectly strained fake smile, knowing that others may be watching and he is a Prefect after all. But most importantly, you could be watching. “Call her that again, and your dinner won’t be the only thing that’s thrown across the table.” His threat is loud enough solely for Yuta to hear.

Yuta, with glaring eyes, picks up his dinner tray and walks off with his chin held high and a brisk in his stride. Doyoung clears his throat in the midst of the brief silence and out of habit, fixes his tie back in place. He takes a seat back down and the chatter at the table resumes, but he’s beyond embarrassed and disappointed at his loss of temper that everything drowns out.

Almost everything. He feels a light tap on his shoulder and out of annoyance, he spins around hastily and sharply snarls, “what?” But his eyes land on your fearful wide eyes and the slight cower in your stance, knowing that you caught onto his bad mood. And he’s half in disbelief that you’re approaching him right in the center of the Great Hall, that you’re standing so beautiful a foot away from him.

Instant regret and guilt fills his chest, his sharp eyes soften at your pout and the concerned furrow in between your brows. Nonetheless, he doesn’t have any words to say… he can’t get himself to apologize for his behavior.

“Do you want to walk to Herbology with me?” The quiver in your voice made you seem so small, so desperate for him, that he can hear the reactions of his friends. They’re laughing, at him, at you, at the whole scene that’s unfolding. He feels mocked, being a laughing stock isn’t something he’s very fond of.

His lips form a tight line, and in a snarky tone, “you don’t know your own way, Puff? Mind you ask your own Prefect to guide you.” Fuck. He tried to find the nicest way possible to brush you off, but his friends laugh a bit louder and intensely. And you didn’t like that one bit.

Your lips part slightly in a frown, an eyebrow raised and a hand on your hip. You look as if you’re ready to attack him, to jinx him, to probably pinch at his skin. But he knows you, and you’d do none of the above. Instead, you say the one threat that causes his heart to sink into the pit of his stomach, “don’t talk to me in class.” You’re slipping away from him as you pick up your pace, exiting all the commotion in the Great Hall.

He tries to hide the disappointment that stems from his chest, and his heart beats with an inexplicable dull pain. All he can think about is the twist of your expression and he’s gathering his things rather quickly to follow after you, without even a bid goodbye to his clique.

Without any knowledge of what you two do behind closed doors and the complex history that you two share, one may view your relationship as practically nonexistent; you two are strangers, barely passing acquaintances.

Doyoung does not approach you in the halls, in anywhere that necessarily has many witnesses. You smile at him, maybe even a wave depending on your mood, but no one questions it … as you wave at almost everyone who passes by you.

Classmates might see interaction during the one class you two share, if they pay attention close enough. However, you and Doyoung are much more to each other than passing acquaintances. Although he’s starting to see himself as another name on your list of individuals you sleep with, you are much more to him than you could ever know.

He’ll never forget the first time you two met. He was patrolling the halls for anyone lurking past curfew with his nose dug deep in his heavy book on magical creatures, when you walked right into him and caused the both of you to fall to the granite.

He was beyond ready to dock off points for whoever the rule breaker may be, but you took his breath away when you hovered above him and clasped your palm over his mouth before he can scold anyone. You looked a bit frazzled as your hair was all over the place and he noticed your minimal amount of clothing in the middle of a cold winter night.

He saw the signature Hufflepuff badge on your thin sweater and the sound of your voice completely threw him off his tracks.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper at the stunned Prefect underneath you, whose body feels warm against your own. But your eyes remain frantically on the lookout for anyone else passing, despite the lack of light in the cobblestone hallway. You most definitely do not belong in this wing of the castle and knocking down a Prefect caused more of a problem in your escape route.

Quickly standing up, you lend your hand out for him to take. His long fingers accept your hold as he pulls himself up and dusts the dirt off his robe. His green emblem glows in the dim light and you’re internally screaming at the mess you just made for yourself. But you recognize his features: the sharpness in his eyes, the small curves of the corners of his lips, his neatly parted black hair.

“You’re in some deep---”

“---Kim Doyoung.” The boy freezes at the sound of his name and he blinks at you, curious as to where you know of him. Being a Prefect has its small perks of popularity, but he didn’t expect for it to go this far. “Y/N, we had brooms together.”

As he repeats your name and examines your pretty features, a light bulb goes off in his head. “The clumsy Hufflepuff that fell off her broom in the highest altitude?”

“If that’s how you remember me by.” You smile proudly, and he scoffs at how someone could possibly hold pride in something so silly. “It’s nice to see you around, you’re a Prefect! Wow! That’s incredible.”

“And you’re still as clumsy as you were a year ago. Falling all over the place.”

“Unfortunately, some things don’t change! But you certainly have.” Doyoung looks at you with hooded eyes and a cautious gaze, but you’re so outlandishly bold despite swaying with your hands behind your back. “Please, don’t take that the wrong way. I meant it as a compliment! I used to have a tiny crush on you, baseless, but you helped me catch my broomstick and I’ll never be able to forget that.”

Doyoung, unknowingly, lights up at your shameless confession and takes another good look at you. You're much more mature now, and if he stared into your alluring gaze any longer, he’d be completely mesmerized without the need of a love potion. “So you liked me over a meaningless chivalrous act?”

“I liked you because you were charming and yes, perhaps I am someone who finds attractiveness in men who are chivalrous. There’s nothing wrong with that.” You bat your sweet eyelashes at him so endearingly, and he’s a blushing mess all over the place.

Doyoung has had anonymous love letters passed on from his friends, but they were all Slytherins who yearned greedily to be associated with his status. So knowing that a Hufflepuff, with an innocent youthful approach to love, festered some form of infatuation with him does flatter him quite well. “I’ll let you go.”

You’re about to exhale an exasperated sigh of relief until Doyoung continues, “under one condition.”

“Okay, I’ll do anything.” Your gleaming eyes sparkle like stars paired with the night sky.

He rolls his eyes at you, “don’t be so quick to jump at conditions without hearing them first.” Doyoung groans and you passively brush off his comment.

“If it’s harmless, I’ll do it.”

And in the dead of the night, where only you two stand in the middle of an empty cobblestone hallway, Doyoung requests, “I want to see you again.”

Although that night marked the beginning of your friendship, public interactions were still scarce and this was mainly on the fault of Doyoung. The times you met were late nights past curfew where he was stationed at and he grew to enjoy your wondrous personality. This boy grew up in a Slytherin bubble his whole life, no one outside of his house ever dared approached him … at least, not with the warmest smile as yours.

You were everything he was not, but he liked it so much. You were a half that completed his whole, and there were growing pains he couldn’t confide in anyone else. Surprisingly, you knew his imperfections more than he did himself and yet, you still wanted to be around him to encourage him. Not to mention, you had a sudden growth in other parts of your body and formed into your features very beautifully.

He wasn’t the only one who noticed, as there were more male counterparts who smiled at you, talked about you, fawned over you. And he felt something heighten inside of him along with his existing romantic feelings, and that he began seeing you in a new light.

With you experiencing new things, like hand holding and being showered by love letters on Valentine’s Day, it was wrong of him to fester such envy over the ones who publicly adorned you. He was so blinded by his hot headed rage that he completely missed the fact that you never accepted anyone who confessed, maybe the hand holding, but everyone else was a complete rejection.

All this time, you had been waiting for him and when you two shared your first kiss together, you had an assumption that Doyoung was going to finally confess that he felt the same way. But he never did. You two did, however, further your relationship into something more intimate and taking each other’s virginities opened a whole pathway of possibilities --- none being one where you two end up officially together.

He was the first to sleep with someone else, that was his first of many mistakes that he was going to make in his relationship with you. It also became the drop of the needle for you to start seeing other people as well, to explore what Doyoung couldn’t offer, to rid yourself of the feelings you had for a boy that didn’t seem like he wanted anything more.

Chivalry was dead and Doyoung believed that the innocent youthful Hufflepuff love had disappeared from within you.

As his present day runs after you, you’re abruptly stopped by a Ravenclaw for a small chat. Damn you Hufflepuffs for being friendly and social. So, he rushes past the two of you and into the classroom to await for your arrival. The quick shade of green flashes by your side and you’re fuming incredibly at how Doyoung continues to play you like a harp.

When you slide into your assigned seat next to him, he goes off like a canon. Doyoung starts spewing backhanded excuses and endless shameless rambles about his behavior. “I told you. Don’t talk to me during class or I will jinx you. Won’t be able to talk with your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.”

“You’re not going to jinx me.” With a subtle flick of his wrist, your chair is pulled closer to his. “And if you were to do so, you wouldn’t do something so cynical.” Yelping at the abrupt usage of his magic, you’re irritably pressing your ink into your journal with a newfound annoyance.

“You’re right. I’d turn you into a duck, so at least, you’re still cute to look at.” The mindless scribbles on the paper make no sense in your head, as you’re primarily zoned in on the disrupted energy you have about your Slytherin companion. These ill feelings make you almost sick, wanting to shut out any bad replay of the moments before and forgetting about the attention you seek so much from Doyoung.

“For you to successfully cast a jinx on me, you must make eye contact first.” His finger lifts your chin and you’re eye to eye with his lustful dark stare. Doyoung licks his lips, a shine shimmers from his saliva, and he’s tempted to bring you into his chambers for an intimacy he’s been craving. “My, oh my. You’re looking very charmed today.” A grin curves up and taunts you, and you’re blinking away down at the table.

“Doyoung, we’re in class. Please, focus.” Your desperate whisper turns into a whine once his cold hand slyly smooths over your bare knee.

“Are you free later tonight?” Doyoung peers over at your side profile and your skin feels soft at his fingertips. He’s imagining your intoxicating scent mixing with his sheets, your light playful kisses along his neck, and gripping onto every naked part of you. For a whole minute, he’s forgotten that he’s in class with other no name individuals and a boring professor. He has tunnel vision whenever he’s with you.

“I have an arrangement.” The grip on your knee tightens at your quiet answer. An arrangement.

“The Gryffindor who had leafy greens in between his teeth?” Doyoung treads lightly, because you’re both well aware he’s made harsher insults than that. He retrieves his hand and picks up his pen as if he’s never touched you.

He sees your head shake out of the corner of his eye, you’re rolling your lips together sheepishly. There’s something odd about your stance and he’s growing a bit more curious…. A bit more spiteful at how closed off you are being. There’s something you’re hiding from him. “Then, who?”

“Is there something you’d like to discuss with the class, Mr. Kim? If not, I’d like for everyone to head over to the greenhouse.” As the class slightly snickers and the classroom empties, you and Doyoung are stopped by your professor.

Professor Sprout, wearing her worn out Dragon hide gloves and a thin lined smile, shoves a potted plant into Doyoung’s hands, “behave, you two. Your conversations are never very secret when spoken aloud.” She gives both of you a warning before proceeding out along with the rest of the class.

Doyoung scoffs at the absurd encounter and rolls his eyes. “Ah, you’re getting me in trouble with you now.”

“I’m sorry, Doyoung. It’s better that you don’t know.” You say this every time, when will you realize that keeping your hookups a secret only causes him more agony? He catches your wrist as you both exit the corridors, he barely ever has you alone now. And to say the least, he fucking misses you.

“Spare me some of your time after class.” He’s disgusted by himself, knowing that his eyes are begging for you to say yes. Him, a highly admired Slytherin, has settled for scraps and if anyone knew, they’d never let him live.

Your hand gently clasps over his and when you look up with your starry eyes, something inside him feels at peace. “Did you miss me?” He gulps at your question and blinks at you like a deer in headlights. If said by anyone else, he would not hesitate to snap his fingers into a malicious spell. But you ask the million dollar question so sweetly, there’s no taunt… there’s no mockery in your tone. It’s full of genuine curiosity.

So, he answers you with part of his heart that you know too well. “Unfortunately.” His body falls slightly in defeat, and suddenly the potted plant is alive in his hands. It’s wailing a dangerous and annoying loud cry, completely ruining the moment.

Doyoung quizzically ponders the monstrous green plant and its magical capabilities puzzle him, possibly reminding him to pay more attention to the actual curriculum than on your unbuttoned shirt.

Moreover, your giggle surprisingly calms him in this stressful situation and you lightly pat his hand that’s still gripping your wrist. “I’m all yours after class.”

Taking the wretched plant, you hurry off toward the greenhouse to find someone to diffuse the crying creature. Doyoung laughs in disbelief at your comical animated figure running around with a pot over your head and shouting for any student to help you. So you’re not paying attention in class either?

Doyoung takes you to your favorite place, despite the rule that you’re not allowed access to it. The Prefect Bathroom remains spotlessly clean and fresh paired with an immediate scent of rosewater and wild honeysuckle. The white polished marble gleams prettily under the twinkling diamond chandeliers and you’re twirling enthusiastically in the center of the large undressing area.

He observes and smiles widely to himself at the sight of your happiness and cute giggles. It’s always a risk to have you use their bathroom, but he is always abusing his privilege to seek your enjoyment that he truly doesn’t care about anything else. Your morality has beaten him enough and he’s heard plenty about his wrongdoings, yet here you are… sweetly dancing in the one place that’s absolutely wrong. Perhaps, you two have rubbed off a little too much on one another.

“I can never get sick of this place.” As you plead to Doyoung to cast a bubble bath, you’re already stripping out of your skirt. He shields his eyes to give you some privacy and recites the charm to run hot dazzling water in the ginormous pool. A nice soothing bath is exactly what you two need after a stressful day playing in the dirt.

“This is your favorite place.” says Doyoung with a matter of fact edge to this tone.

“It’s my favorite place because I only get to come here with you.” You jump on his back and he hoists you up by your thighs. His heart skips a happy tune. “I refuse for you to tell me the password, even if you do wish for me to enjoy the simple pleasures of a bubble bath.”

“You and your right and wrongs.” With eager hands, you’re loosening his tie from around his neck. “You stripped so fast that you’re going to get a cold.”

“It’s going to get steamy really soon. Plus, I know you like me best without any clothes on.” Your hot breath tickles the shell of his ear and a blush scatters across Doyoung’s cheek. Button after button, his open shirt exposes his toned build. He sets you on the edge of the elevated step before the bath.

Doyoung smirks at your nakedness and your hot lustful expression. Leaning in until he’s practically breathing against your lips, he stares straight into your eyes. “My Puff knows me best.” And dives into you with all his soul. Fruitful drags of his lips along yours, his long tongue enters your mouth. His large hand carefully caresses your cheek to pull you further into the kiss, noses pressing into skin and with a desire to never part.

His heart swells lovingly, kissing you feels like the best thing in the world. There are no tricks, no spells, no recited charms, but you are more than magical. The same surge of energy runs through his veins, but unlike his impressive ability as a notable wizard, he can’t control it. You make him lose control. As meticulous and cautious as he is, you’re the first thing he doesn’t think through.

Your needy hands push off his dress shirt and he hurriedly unbuckles his belt. When you break the kiss, he automatically pouts and pulls you back in for one more lingering peck. “Are you going to scrub my back for me?” You smile, dragging him closer to the overflowing bathtub.

Large puffs of white bubbles spill from the rims and disappear with your every step. It reminds you of sea foam that washes upon the shore, with a floral fragrant that fills your lungs. “That’s quite an intimate gesture, but yes.”

After removing all his garments, he joins you in the large pool of glossy bubbles and the clouds of steam that rises from the water suffocates him warmly. He sits with his back against the wall and eyes unwavering on your alluring expression.

The bubbles do a great job at covering your breasts, but his sneaky hands snake under the water to grip them. Doyoung grabs a full tit and thumbs over your erect nipple, all while he holds the most sensual gaze with you. Slowly, you naturally end up in his hold and your wet back relaxes against his chest.

The beating of his heart is too loud and surely, you can feel the way it jumps out of his chest. Doyoung attaches his lips on your skin and as you’re melting at his harsh suckling. However, you perk up and snap out of your dazed arousal at the realization of his purposeful licks. “You’re trying to mark me?”

His hand continues to rub and twist your aching nipples. The sensation stimulating the growth of pleasure to sprout below and your mind to wander.

“Possibly.”

A lovers’ mark is the ultimate testament of mutual love. Engraving the skin with your beloved’s Patronus, wherever the giver chooses to mark. Love emblems are meant to be something sacred to the couple, a way to make someone completely untouchable to everyone else. Not only does the symbol glow with an iridescent shine whenever love is felt, it also numbs any romantic feelings for all others besides the partner.

Besides the use of possessiveness, it’s a beautiful way to discover one true love since the engraving of their Patronus shows up on the skin under the conditions that both individuals must be madly in love with one another. And if it doesn’t end up forming, the receiver is left with a bright, sparkling star hue in its place before fading away completely. If it does appear, it fades when both fall out of love.

“Doyoung--” His name falls from your lips as a moan and he’s running down to explore the beauty between your legs. “--can’t do that unless you actually want to commit to me.”

“I am committed to you.” The more your neck cranes off to the side and exposed to him, the more he wishes to etch the symbol of his love for everyone to see. A hand is hooked under your thigh to keep your legs spread open and you’re gasping at the slight pressure from the water.

“Romantically committed to me.” You remind him, but your train of thought is cut fairly short as Doyoung begins rubbing circles on your needy clit.

“You’re afraid of it showing up?” He’s lathering your breasts with bubbles and dragging his long finger along your slit. His greediness overtakes him and with wandering hands, he’s gripping every part of you that they can reach. Doyoung’s guilty pleasure is always going to any form of physical affection from you specifically. When he finally gets ahold of you, it’s hard for him to let go.

Your warm skin is delicate and smooth beneath the very tips of his fingers and every exploration of your terrain makes him feel inexplicable explosions of fondness. Perhaps, you’ve captivated him and although he believed it would take something as extreme as the Amortentia to have him falling for someone, you did it as easily as being yourself. His better half.

So, he’s impressed by your genuineness and how he’s willing to give up parts of his reputation to unapologetically be himself around you. No one else matters, nothing else matters, but why must it be so difficult to tell you that?

“I’m afraid of it not showing up.” You’re more than convinced that Doyoung has confused his strong sense of lust with love and there would be no possible way his Patronus would appear. It’s better to save the embarrassment for the both of you.

Spinning in his arms, the water twirls to the curves of your body and he’s admiring parts that expose above the surface. He’s matched with your beauty before him, resemblance to the stained glass window that situates above the large bathroom.

However, the doubt in your statement finally reaches his ears and he’s grabbing your ass as you settle over his thighs again. His furrowed eyebrows bring together a rather upset expression --- lip pout and all.

“Why wouldn’t it show up?” Doyoung puzzles, bringing your arms to wrap around his neck. Leaning into him, your pruney fingers trace his smooth chin and he notices your quick flicker between his eyes and his lips.

While your gentle kiss reassures him of your subtle endearment, your next words do the opposite. “You tell me.” All you do is push him away with your vague doubtfulness, like you’re constantly testing him and using his poor guessing skills to your own advantage. He can pull you close after any altercation he wants, but you push him away in any emotionally romantic sense.

“You’re rather mischievous and mysterious today,” Doyoung squeezes your ass and smacks it lightly, causing ripples in the water. “I liked it better when you told me everything you felt.”

Suddenly, his fingers poke at your entrance and his other hand drops in between your legs again. Your mouth opens in shock when his long fingers enter slowly and he enjoys the pleasurable contour of your reactions. “Like this, for example.” The pad of his fingers working rapid flicks against your sensitive bud. “How does this feel?” His whisper dances across your shoulder, landing a kiss at the end of his question.

Your moans echo in the lavish bathroom, bouncing off the marble walls and encouraging Doyoung to keep a steady pace. There’s no worry about how loud you may be, Doyoung charms every room before every lustful encounter. This allows you to let go, let free, let him know how he makes you feel.

He curves his fingers into you, pumping and dragging into your tightness until you’re practically screaming. He only has one thought, as his eyes trail down your intoxicated needy figure, how beautiful you are as a moaning mess under his control. Your head is thrown back, eyes are squeezed shut and opening them to see nothing but tiny yellow starlight.

Dainty kisses line your exposed neck line and his ego swells with so much pride. Doyoung has mastered every flick of his wrist to have you under his trance, spewing nonsensical words and forgetting anyone else that exists. He gives your erect nipples harsh licks and with a faint drag of teeth, the sensation pushes you to your end.

Sporadic pleasurable convulsions cause your legs to close around Doyoung’s hands, but the strength of his knee keeps them apart. “Doyoung… I’m going to free fall.”

Leave it up to you to beautifully announce your climax. He snickers, applying more pressure on your clit and a rubbing motion against your walls. “I’ll catch you.”

Moon crescents embed into his skin as you’re holding onto him with your whole life. As your scream hits every octave, the massive collection of bubbles that cover the surface of the bath fly and splatter every corner of the pristine room.

White and wet bubbles drip down from the walls, falling from the diamond chandeliers, and coating every steamy mirror. Doyoung’s eyes light up from the chaos, making sure you’re riding out your high for as long as he can provide.

Your body trembles with euphoria, falling forward into Doyoung’s chest and squeezing around his lazily pumping fingers. For a brief second, your mind is wiped and nothing in the world feels better than being in this perfect moment with the one person who’s Patronus you hoped would etch your skin.

If one possesses feelings that are practically unbearable to contain, one should confess… right? For all your life, you’ve lived by this statement. Friends do not hear the end of it and most surely, one should follow their own advice… right?

So why do you yearn for Doyoung in your gaze as he stands across the Great Hall as if he doesn’t know of your existence? As if he wasn’t kissing you in the Prefect bathroom a few days prior?

It’s not an understatement to say that you catch the attention of almost every person in the room, but the one head that refuses to turn your way… the one who’s looks you wish to steal… is the one person who looks right through you.

Feelings have become a nuisance ever since the first time you confessed to him and it was worse than landing on cobblestone after falling off your broom. The reason why you’ve buried them deeper than any chamber is that you’re positive that the prized Slytherin would rather be with another, preferably one from his own house.

While you try to remain optimistic and playful for the time being, you’re simply replaceable to him. He can barely care to acknowledge you in public when Gryffindors boast about you in their arms like winning a trophy. You’ve kept good relations with every Ravenclaw you’ve slept with. You’ve kindly rejected every romantic gesture another Hufflepuff has offered.

But if there is one thing you’ve learned about him is that he’s lived in his Slytherin circle for as long as he lives. And it will stay that way. You’re his sweet Hufflepuff that he’ll push away at no cost, then pull you back in secrecy.

Now if one feels as if they’re wasting their time, one should leave… right? Wrong. Kim Doyoung has skewed with your morality… and your feelings remain loyal to him since the day he confessed to see you again.

“Lemon-drop, I’ve been looking all over for you.” An arm slings around your shoulders and the notable red and gold tie is the first thing you see. Jung Jaehyun, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, flashes his deep dimples at you. “Walk with me.”

He extends his palm out for you to take and your friends painfully elbow your sides to wake you from your hesitation. Taking his hand, you get up from the dining table and follow him out the Great Hall.

Doyoung sees the scene unfold before him and rolls his eyes at how Jaehyun’s dimples are all it takes to have you wandering off with him. Despite every wicked intent to follow you two, he heads out in the direction of the dormitories to fume in his room.

“It’s such a nice and sunny day today.” Jaehyun runs a hand through his luscious brown locks. You both exit into the front courtyard as other students are scattered on the lawns mingling with one another. When you peer up at the sky, the sun is barely seen past the layers of clouds.

“Jaehyun, is there something you needed to speak with me about?” His laughter roars, full of hefty song and amusement.

“Listen, lemon-drop. I like you and I have a feeling you feel the same way. I want to mark you if you’d let me.” Jaehyun smirks and just as he brings your hand up for a kiss, you gently let go. “Am I coming off too strong? We don’t have to do it today, I just wanted to see if it would show.”

“Jaehyun, you’re going to find an extravagant person one day. A person who is going to know all your favorite castle balconies to swing from and how you like to be kissed on the nose.” His ears grow a bright red and for once, his gaze drops to the ground. “I am, unfortunately, not that person for you so I must kindly reject your confession.”

As you turn on your toes, Jaehyun lightly holds your wrist to stop you. “But, you know all those things about me. Is there anything I can do to prove that we belong together?”

“I know them because I care enough to remember things you tell me, not because I loved you enough to observe these things about you. I give you my word that there is nothing you can do to prove me otherwise.” The corners of his lips dip downward and you’re running to the one person that will erase this sad rejection from your memory.

When you’re scanning the Great Hall for any sign of him, he’s not there and it leads you to his only hiding place. Doyoung loves to shut himself out from the rest of the school whenever he gets the chance. However, a lost Hufflepuff wandering outside the entrance of the Slytherin dormitories is rather an odd sight to see and you haven’t had the chance to form many connections from this house.

The sparse amount of Slytherins you know aren’t going to be passing by, unless with some stroke of luck, someone will be kind enough to open the door for you. Every person passes by you with questionable stares until a silver haired boy blinks at you with wide eyes.

“Who is it that you’re trying to see?” He asks abrasively, but softens his tone when he realizes that you mean no harm.

You bid him a small grin, “your Prefect.”

“And what for?”

“There is an urgent matter that involves him and he’s practically unreachable when he’s hiding away in his private room.” The boy narrows his eyes at you, but beckons you to follow him down to the Slytherin dungeon.

Excitedly, you hurry behind him and whisper over his shoulder, “what’s your name?”

“Nakamoto Yuta. No need to tell me yours, I’ll doubt he’d want me to know.” He spits and then, mutters the enchanted password to reveal the large green common room. “Come this way.” He leads up the boys’ dorms and walks briskly. Although you never mentioned a name, Yuta seems to already know who you’re here to see and it makes you wonder how he must know.

“Open up.” Yuta stops and knocks at the wooden door, Kim Doyoung written in a fancy penmanship on the center. “You have a guest.” He looks your way before rolling his eyes at Doyoung’s irritated tone through the other side.

“Tell them to leave.”

“He wants you to leave.” Yuta repeats, mostly to satisfy Doyoung’s nag.

“That’s fine. Thank you for bring---” The door swings open abruptly and Yuta almost loses his balance. Doyoung frantically turns his head side to side to comprehend what he is seeing. His ears felt deceived, hearing your voice through the door, he had to make sure it wasn’t you.

But you stand before him and Yuta. Here you are approaching him whenever he least expects it. “What are you doing here?”

“I came by to see you. I’ve been here plenty of times.”

“What are you doing bringing her in?” scolds Doyoung and the other boy shrugs carelessly.

“What was I supposed to do? Let her bat puppy eyes at several other Slytherins and have her telling everyone who passes her that she came here to see our Prefect? It was also getting cold out.” Yuta mumbles, but finds great entertainment at seeing how frazzled Doyoung has gotten by your presence.

“It was a bit chilly.” You admit and Doyoung groans, pulling you into his room and shutting the door on Yuta. “Thank you, Yuta.” You whisper through the crack between the door frame.

“It’s too risky for you to be searching for me around other Slytherins.” Doyoung paces the room and you notice his tie is loose and shirt is unbuttoned around his neck. “Why are you here?”

“A Gryffindor blew me off. I thought I’d come and see you with all the free time I can get.” Taking a seat at the end of his neatly made bed, your legs swing adorably and Doyoung almost doesn’t hear you.

“Jaehyun? Does he think he’s too good for you or something? That cocky dimple Gryffindor, with the draw of my wand---” Doyoung whips out his intricately customized Dragon Heartstring, and you’re on your feet to calm his temper down.

“Will you put that thing away? I’m here for you.” Your giggle warms his tight chest and puts out the fueling flame for anyone who dares to hurt you in any way. “It’s not a big deal and it’s not the first time it has happened.”

Doyoung uncomfortably clears his throat and withdraws his wand. Buttoning up his shirt, he fixes his tie back in place. To say the least, your words erupted his festering jealousy and this may have been a small tipping point.

Before you had entered, he was so frustrated with himself and you. You can just walk away with another man without a second thought, in front of him too. He remembered the soft feeling of your body and how he’s not the only one who’s needy hands ran their course over you. That may be the one pain he can never get rid of.

“I never understood why you give other men the time of your day when they just brush you off undeservingly.” He stings and you’re slightly surprised at his sudden attack. When you respond in silence, he continues.“I thought Hufflepuffs are to be loyal, so why do you sleep with other men?”

Crossing your arms, your weight is barred on your left leg and there is a shift in your overall mood. With an eyebrow raised, you sass him back, “People say Slytherins are ambitious, so why didn’t you chase after me?”

Doyoung swallows hard and blinks at you speechless. A clammy hand runs through his black strands as he tries to find any possible explanation without confessing his feelings. If he had a plan to confess, it would never be in the middle of an inquisition with you.

“I guess you didn’t think before acting on your desires.” And how he hated how correct that statement is. He doesn’t ever think whenever he’s around you. All his actions are conducted with his emotions and the feelings that overtake him.

Doyoung scoffs, rolling his eyes at your rash comment. “Aren’t you supposed to have the strongest morality among all the houses?”

“Sleeping with multiple men isn’t morally wrong. There’s nothing wrong with it…” The slight hurt from his question is difficult to ignore, but you must remember one thing if you want to protect your heart on your sleeve. This is nothing serious to be bickering over. You two aren’t anything serious, so why feel the need to squabble over nonsense? “... it would only be wrong if someone liked me and wished to commit to me.”

Your eyes meet and Doyoung blinks at you with wide eyes. His Adam’s Apple bobs as he gulps again, completely whiplashed at how the conversation has turned. “And if that’s the case and you like me, would that make you jealous, Doyoung? That’s why you’re trying to poorly attack my character?” He’s never heard such a strong taunt in your tone and he’s baffled by it, slightly aroused, but shocked.

“I don’t like you.” His voice is small and he pouts his lips at you. Doyoung crosses his arms and perhaps, his sad expression reveals a little more than it should have. Your heart softens at his ridiculously cute response, had you expected something much more angry and vindictive.

“Then this conversation is over, right? I’ll be on my way now. I have herbology.”

“We have the same class.” He grumbles, grabbing his robe from his desk chair.

You open the door to make your exit, “but since you don’t want to be seen with a Hufflepuff, I’ll go ahead first.” When you stumble out into the hallway, a recognizable face brightens at your appearance.

“Haechan! Hello, I haven’t seen you in a while.” You’re cheering and Doyoung chews the inside of his cheek. His pride is left at the door and along with all the things that hold him back from you, he doesn’t want to push you away anymore.

“My favorite Hufflepuff, are you just leaving?” Haechan walks up to open his arms, wishing to embrace you in the longest hug. However, Doyoung quickly takes you by your hand and rushes past him.

“She came to walk with me to class. Bye Haechan.” And Haechan is left standing in the middle of the hallway, confused and watching your backs as you’re both briskly walking out the common room.

Doyoung looks back at you, “you think I’m going to let you walk out of my room and have another Slytherin walk you to class? Don’t be so foolish.”

But you are foolish. Your heart beats foolishly and loudly for Kim Doyoung. And may you be foolish enough to wonder if his heart does the same for you.

And it does. Foolishly. Loudly. Lovingly.

You both wonder if this vicious cycle will ever meet its end. Doyoung pushes you away by ignoring your existing relationship, but pulls you back into his embrace as if it never happened. You push him away by running off with other men, but come back to him as if he’s the one person you’re loyal to.

But on this particular night, after mass circulation of rumors reaches the ears of the lovesick Slytherin, Doyoung is pulling you away from your huddled group of friends in the middle of the long corridor hallways. Without any greeting, any spoken words, he’s dragging you to his room right in front of everyone to see. His hand around yours like it was two days prior, but with an expression so grave on his sullen face.

The silence between you two brings no comfort, but you don’t dare say the first words. Doyoung, finally, approached you first in public and it is possibly for a greater reason. Perhaps you’ve done something horribly wrong, and the moment you two step into his room that you’ll hear a mouthful.

However when he closes the door to his room, your hand immediately drops from his embrace and he turns to face you. There is a darkness in his eyes, one that light cannot touch, and his lips are tight in a line.

There is an eerie silence that fills the dark room and the murky windows paint the area an ominous green. Doyoung focuses on your confused, yet adorable expression. “Why did you lie to me?”

The door catches your slight stumble and you’re blinking cluelessly at him. “About what?”

“Jaehyun.” He breathes the name in spite and aggressively loosens his tie. “He didn’t blow you off. You rejected him and he’s telling everyone it's because you’re in love with someone else.”

You scorn at such a ridiculous rumor and for the fact that it’s even made its way around to Doyoung. Another realization hits you. All it took for him to approach you in public is a meaningless rumor.

So in response, you laugh and it mocks him further. “This is not a laughing matter, y/n.”

“I’m sorry, but why are you so upset at that? Fine. I did lie to you, but I never told Jaehyun I was in love with anyone else.”

“Are you in love with someone else?” Doyoung says with balled fists at his side. There is a mixture of anger and sadness running through his veins and he’s so sick of feeling this way.

Your hesitation speaks for you, “It’s better that you don’t know.”

“You say this every time and it does nothing to ease my conscience.” Doyoung throws his hands in the air and stares at you with sharp eyes. “Is that why you were afraid that my emblem wouldn’t show up? Because your heart belongs to another. Yeah, I heard Jaehyun wanted to mark you too.”

Men and their constant want to prove something to themselves with their marks. Everyone has a twisted reality of markings now. There have been many others who have tried to mark you, feeling as if lust would be enough to suffice its appearance. As one's Patronus is special to their own protection, a beloved’s Patronus mark holds the same value.

You’re quite at a loss for words, “I was afraid that it wouldn’t show up, not because of myself, but because of you.”

Doyoung points at himself in disbelief. Him? He loves you more than anyone he’s ever encountered, even if you didn’t know it. “I wouldn’t have almost tried it if I wasn’t sure of myself.”

“You don’t love me, Doyoung. I don’t even know if I can even say you romantically like me.” Those words hurt the both of you and it lingers in the room for longer than you’d like.

“Do you think I fuck you meaninglessly like all those other losers you sleep with?” Doyoung steps forward, pulling you into his chest and admiring everything he’s fallen in love with. A pain spreads across his heart as he thinks of you with another person, of someone else kissing you, of someone else making you happy.

“You really don’t feel it in the way I kiss you?” He asks once more and your own stare drops to his shoulder, a bit ashamed to maintain eye contact with such pained eyes.

“And if I did? How would you explain that? That you are actually in love with me?” Your questions pelt him like rocks. As he pushes you on his bed, you pull him down with his tie.

Doyoung drinks you up like fresh water, a crisp and refreshing love that encourages him to reach heights. His hand cups your face and his feather touches reminds you of his gentleness. Your lips taste like sweet honey, dripping and coating him with a sticky sugar.

He’s happier with you and he’s the happiest kissing you. Perhaps, it’s hard for him to express with words, but he’d always hope his actions speak louder. So, his lips press against yours with a whirl of passion and every good feeling that grows in his chest.

The collar of his shirt is wrinkled in your fist and you’re holding him as if you’re afraid of him letting go. Doyoung runs a hand down your torso and lifts the end of your skirt up. A warm hand pushes your legs apart and a finger presses your clit through your cotton panties.

Your mouth opens into a moan and he takes this opportunity to shove his long tongue inside, lapping with your own. As a wet spot forms on your panties, he pulls them to the side and gathers the slick to gently rub your erect clit. His name is lost and muffled in the kiss, but you tap at his chest.

When he breaks away and halts all movement, he looks down over you with a fire burning in his dark orbs. And a confession falls from his swollen lips, “may I mark you?”

“And if it doesn’t show up?” Though, you’re wishing to the most powerful wizards that it does or else your heart would shatter into a million pieces beyond repair.

He bites his lip and every possible outcome scatters his thoughts. It’s too hard to concentrate, so he doesn’t at all. He focuses on your pretty lips and the way you look at him like he’s the only person that matters. “Then, we’ll deal with the consequences later.”

With your quick nod, Doyoung attaches his lips to your neck and harshly sucks at your skin. For the most part, it’s a pleasurable feeling and sends a shiver down your spine. So, he licks and nibbles until he can barely breathe. Your faint scent of patchouli and ginger intoxicates him, wraps him up in a fuzzy coziness that is unmatched.

Your hands unbutton his shirt and a final gentle bite seals his mark. If the love is reciprocated, the emblem would take a moment to form. Doyoung is rather hopeful and excited, as he’s never seen his Patronus before. “You look beautiful.”

“And you look dazed as if someone charmed you.” You giggle and kiss his red lips.

“You’re quite the powerful one, my Puff.” He smiles against your jaw before proceeding to your mess down below. He gives your aching clit a few licks, which cause your body to twist and turn at the sensitive sensation.

“Please, I haven’t felt you in so long.” Whining and tugging at his hair, Doyoung leaves a lasting kiss and gets up to remove his pants.

“Did you miss me?” Doyoung raises a suggestive eyebrow and cocks his head to the side in mockery, a smirk growing on his face.

You reply with a silly response that only he knows and causes him to chuckle, “unfortunately.” And he’s finding every way not to confess his endearments for you.

His dick stands tall and proud against his abdomen, giving it a few jerks as he watches you strip out of your own clothes. You turn around and sit on your knees, with a slight tilt forward and the arch in your back to accentuate your ass.

Doyoung rolls on the protection as quickly as he can. His hands lightly smack your cheeks and slowly enters your dripping hole. His hands grip your hips as he slides deeper into you, both being moaning messes at the delicious feeling.

“Have you always been this big?” You look back at him and to which he devilishly smiles at you.

“You know just the way to fuel my ego,” when his length is fully buried inside of your tight walls, he wraps an arm around your waist and a hand on your tit. “After all the times you’ve been fucked, your pussy is still as tight as ever.”

Doyoung slams hard into you, showing no mercy and causing you to jolt up. He takes every frustration, every feeling of anger, every ounce of jealousy into his thrusts. “But you take me so well, darling. I’ve never seen someone as pretty as you.”

His compliments cause your heart to soar, despite the soreness you’re beginning to feel in your pussy. He’s relentless, bottoming out until his tip is practically in your guts. “Just like that, baby. You’re the only one who fucks me this good.”

He blushes under the low light and leans forward to kiss the top of your head. “My Puff, you’re so sweet to me.” The loud squelch of your tight pussy gripping his dick fills the hot room, “and so wet.”

You’re shamelessly dripping on his green velvet blanket and Doyoung picks up his speed. Your knees give out as you fall face forward into the mattress, hands in fists from the incredible pleasure of every hit. Your ass now in his full view and every tingle of magic lights up in his veins.

Your throat is raw from screaming and moaning, Doyoung holds your hips steady to thrust into a new angle. Automatically, your body twitches as his tip hits your special spot and he’s well aware that you’re close to releasing.

And with his fast thrusts, he asks you an intimate question that is fueled by envy and rage. “If I fuck you the best, then why do you sleep with other men?”

There are no thoughts in your mind to even give him a white lie, to mask the truth of your actions. He’s fucking you into an oblivion that it’s hard to even focus on anything besides pleasure. The books on his shelf begin to tremble as you’re crying out, “I- I don’t know! Fuck, please… ! I’m tipping over.”

“Answer the question or I will stop.” He’s absolutely cynical and you have every reason to believe his threat. Doyoung lifts your limp body upright, against his torso and an arm secured around your middle as before. His hand snakes to your clit, rubbing feathering circles over the neglected bud.

Nonetheless, his single action paired with his tip grazing harshly against the particular spot causes your legs to tremble. “Do you want me to stop?” His threat rings in your ears when you still left him without an answer.

You’re so close, you’re starting to see white. So, you say what your heart tells you and the truth falls from your lips in a loud confession. “Because I wanted you to love me instead! I fucked them to forget about my love for you… fuck, I’m--”

“I’ve got you. Let go of yourself, baby.” Doyoung slows his hips when your walls squeeze around him sporadically. Every book flies out and hits the opposite wall, clattering the floor with heavy academia. However, he repeats your proclamation endlessly in his mind and his heart surges with the most intense romantic desires.

“I do love you, y/n.” He whispers, cumming into his rubber and simply holding you tightly. He lets go of every prideful arrogance in his body, tossing the lame reputation he always tried to hold onto. He didn’t need that if it meant losing you. Doyoung chuckles to himself for being an obvious cliché, announcing one’s love in the midst of a lustful act. He pulls out and gently tucks you into the covers.

Breathless, you’re finally realizing his confession. “You do? Are you sure?” Any subtle movements has your aching lower half in pain, so you settle with resting on his plush pillows and await for him to join you in bed.

All this time, from beginning to now, you’ve been oblivious to his yearning looks across the Great Hall. The intensity of his kisses had been lost upon you completely as you had convinced yourself that he was incompatibly of loving you back. Even now, as you lay in slight doubt, you’re wondering how you managed to have everything fly over your head.

When he discards his used protection and with a quick flick of his wrist, every book finds its original place on the shelf again, he enters the warm covers. Your arms wrap around his neck and you’re admiring each other’s expressions in the low light. He spots the notable twinkle in your eyes and his thumb lightly rubs your cheek.

“If the symbol of my Patronus doesn’t show, I promise to love you harder until it does.” Doyoung leaves the softest, most loving kiss on your lips. He’s more than thankful for the lack of light as he’s bashfully red all over his cheeks.

“Usually, people just give up.” Your voice is harsh, possibly from the deafening screaming of pleasure prior.

Doyoung shakes his head. He’s made too many mistakes in this relationship with you. Sleeping with another. Ignoring your existence. Being too prideful to be seen with another house. All these incidents have made him feel nothing but ugliness and distraught, and pushed you away further than how much he is able to pull you back.

He loves you. He’s in love with you. He’s fallen for you recklessly as you did off your broom the first encounter. You’re everything he’s never been and never will be, yet you don’t care. You’re by his side, despite his spitefulness and you never miss a beat. That innocent youth approach to love, oh how he wishes it never faded, and though he thought it did, it didn’t. You remain true to your character when he fights with himself internally.

“That would be a mistake and I can’t afford to keep making them.” A glossy sheen over Doyoung’s regretful eyes, but you pull him closer and you refuse to let his eyes wander.

A tired harmless sigh escapes your lips and a dreamy haze overcomes you. Besides the reminder of needing to use the bathroom flashing in your mind, there is nothing else you want to dissect. Feelings are too complex to discuss at the moment and the resolve has already passed.

Regardless of the marks appearing, you’re content with the night and for the rest of your days. Kim Doyoung, the Slytherin boy of your dreams, loves you back and the power of that alone beats any spell in those dusty old textbooks.

“Why can’t we lay here forever?” Your heavy eyelids fall slowly and your voice grows small.

Doyoung kisses your shoulder, then your neck. “That’s impossible. I can’t give you forever.” He mumbles against your skin, sending vibrations across your throat.

“You are my forever.” Doyoung halts and is left speechless as a white glowing entity catches his eye. And the absolute perfect outline of his Patronus sits underneath your jaw, brightly shining with iridescent brilliance --- he makes out the outline: a White Swan, representing his love for you. Doyoung smiles to himself and hopes for it to never fade. Perhaps, he can give you forever.

some fun critical questions to think about hehe -

why do you think y/n lied to doyoung about jaehyun confessing? why do you think yuta helped y/n enter the Slytherin dormitories? what is the meaning behind the White Swan Patronus? Why do you think y/n continued to like doyoung after all this time?

there are no right or wrong answers, just something fun to have you thinking a little more about the fic haha if you want, you can send me an ask about it :) but overall, no pressure and thank you for reading! please leave me some feedback if you can! happy new year!

4K notes · View notes

abimess · 3 years ago

Text

There's a grain of truth in every jest

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Masterlist || Upcoming Stories

Summary: You and Wanda have an internal pickup line competition. But when this innocent banter ends up in something more, you seem to be the only ones surprised about it. [1.483 words]

Warnings: fluff (Read on AO3)

Surprise story? That's right! Hahaha today is the birthday of a friend I recently made, so I couldn't let the date go by. @aquamarinescarlet when I think of you, I can only think of pickup lines, so I couldn't write about anything else, am I right? I hope you enjoy it! And I hope this story also makes up for the last one I posted lol Happy birthday, love!

Good reading, everyone!

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

Today is training day, so you head to the gym with a smirk on your face.

Three months ago, Nat and Steve decided that you and Wanda could not rely only on your powers in battle. Honestly, you didn't understand the reason for the lecture very well, since even though you had teleportation abilities you still used melee techniques. But when your mentors so energetically instructed you and the witch to train hand-to-hand combat techniques, you didn't see a way out of it.

But Wanda is as stubborn as you are (in fact, you would say she is even more so, though she vehemently disagrees), so right from the beginning you engaged in a competition to see who was better at combat.

Being used to hand-to-hand fighting, you had a certain advantage over Wanda. But the witch learns fast, faster than you would like, so she soon becomes an equal opponent.

Having similar techniques and combat skills, you needed to appeal to another disarming technique. And the technique chosen was: pickup lines.

You have no idea how or who started all this, but one of you always used some pickup line on the other, and that was enough to make the other waver in defense and soon go down to the ground.

The dispute became more and more frequent, and what started as an innocent joke started to make you feel somehow different. It was very gradual and discreet, and by the time you realized it, you were already seeing Wanda with new eyes, your heart floating toward her.

Not that you were going to talk to her about it, though. It was obvious that these pickup lines were nothing more than a joke between friends. You knew that, you were the one who was foolish enough to fall in love.

And then you get to the gym and Wanda is already there, the mischievous smile on her face causing your own to grow. "Good afternoon, Maximoff." You greet, approaching the tatami where she is standing.

"Hey, (Y/l/n)." Wanda replies as soon as you stop in front of her. The witch looks at you from head to toe, playfully checking you out, and you chuckle softly, crossing your arms and waiting for the comment that is about to come. "You look beautiful today. I hope you know CPR, because you just took my breath away." She says, returning her eyes to yours and you pretend to be flattered. "Thanks, it's my new blouse, do you know what it's made of?" You ask, holding your blouse with your fingertips. "Girlfriend material." You complete, winking at her, and Wanda rolls her eyes.

The two of you then get ready for practice and soon begin sparring. You start trying to immobilize or knock each other down, but when you can't, the flurry of pickup lines begins and you both grin amusedly amidst the punches and kicks.

Eventually Wanda says something that makes you flinch. It's quick, but she manages to knock you down and as you fall to the ground, you internally grumble that it's not fair that she has the advantage of you being in love with her.

"Nice move, Maximoff," you say, sitting down on the mat, "but do you happen to have a band-aid? I scraped my knees falling for you." You comment with a playful smirk. "I think you meant, scraped your knees falling because of me." The witch replies in a teasing tone.

With a quick movement, you bring your legs towards hers. A surprised huff escapes Wanda's lips as she goes to the ground and you rise with swiftness, standing before her. "You were saying?" You retort in the same teasing tone that she had previously used, and the witch grumbles in irritation as she stands up. With a victorious chuckle, you return to your fighting stance.

And so the training goes on, Wanda eventually making comments that cause your heart to beat faster and that enable her to knock you down, and you eventually making comments that cause Wanda to flinch enough for you to immobilize her or knock her down, all accompanied by a rosiness in the witch's cheeks that you interpret as being caused by the exercise.

"You know," Wanda begins, her voice already breaking from exhaustion, "I've heard that kissing is the language of love or something. We could have a conversation sometime." She flirts and you let out a weak chuckle as you try to strike her in the stomach, but Wanda deflects masterfully.

"Don't make invitations you don't intend to keep, Maximoff." You say, already annoyed at your heart fluttering for the witch. "Who said I don't?" Wanda retorts with eyebrows raised in defiance. You freeze in place. And before you know it, you are on the ground.

Wanda reaches out her hand to help you up, and you hold it out, still astonished. You stand, and you and Wanda are very close to each other, but neither of you does anything about it. "What?" you breathe out, and Wanda's teasing smile widens.

"Who said I don't?" She repeats softly, minimally bringing her face closer to yours, and you swallow dryly. "We're not fighting anymore, Maximoff." You say slowly, all your efforts focused on remembering how to breathe properly.

"I know." Wanda whispers, and then puts her hands on the back of your neck, pulling you into a kiss. You're sure your brain has short-circuited when her lips meet yours. But you instinctively put your hands on Wanda's waist and pull her closer, deepening the kiss, and Wanda sighs, causing your head to spin.

When the kiss ends, you look at her, your slightly wide eyes shifting between hers in complete shock. "What? No pickup line for me?" Wanda teases, clearly amused at the mess she's made out of you, and you chuckle shyly.

"I had one ready to go, but you washed everything out of my mind." You say, trying hard enough to stay cool, but the feel of her lips still on yours doesn't help at all. Wanda narrows her eyes in a false thoughtful expression. "You've already used that one." She accuses teasingly and you smile, sincere. "It's true, though."

Wanda smiles at your words, and having her that close to you stirs all your senses, so you pull her in for another kiss, and she wraps her arms around your neck, smiling against your lips as she matches the kiss.

"Fucking finally!" The female voice coming from the door of the gym makes you and Wanda break apart abruptly. Looking in the direction of the sound, you see Nat and Bucky, both approaching you with suggestive smiles on their faces.

"I need to go after Sam, he owes me 50 bucks." The dark haired man says, and you make a confused face. "What?" you ask, and Bucky flashes you a teasing smile before answering.

"He thought the two of you would go on with this bullshit until the end of the year. I said it'd end sooner." You give a low chuckle at the answer, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. But when Wanda slips her arm around your waist, hugging you, you don't hesitate to wrap yours around her shoulder. Nat watches the action with a meaningful smile, and you smile shyly.

"You guys knew about this?" Wanda asks and you look at her, a shy smile of her own on her lips. "Honey, everyone knew about this." Nat replies crossing her arms, her eyebrows furrowed as if the answer to that question was obvious.

"Just us who didn't, apparently." You comment with a chuckle, giving Wanda's shoulder a light squeeze to get her to look at you and she does so with a shy smile on her face, agreeing afterwards.

"That's because you are two oblivious idiots." Bucky says, and you narrow your eyes at your friend, Wanda raising her eyebrows dangerously, and the dark-haired man immediately raises his hands in surrender. "Oblivious idiots that I love very much." He adds dismissively, and you and Wanda chuckle lowly.

That you and Wanda would eventually start dating was no surprise to anyone. But what was a surprise was that the pickup lines, previously used only to annoy each other, would become more frequent and increasingly cheesy.

The rest of the team had had enough of your displays of affection, and you and Wanda knew it very well. So you made sure to always use pickup lines with each other when another member of the team was around, always choosing the sweetest and cheesiest ones.

But the pickup lines were still something of you, about you, so you continued to use them with each other just as you had before. But now you knew why Wanda's cheeks turned so red, and Wanda knew why you became a complete mess. And the two of you couldn't be happier about it.

Taglist: @yuhloversxx @madamevirgo @an-evergreen-rose @helloalycia @wandas1mp @cantcontroltheirfear @diaryoflife @ironscarletwidowsoilder @cristin-rjd @ensorcellme @aimezvousbrahms @natasha-danvers @purplemeetsblue @randomshyperson @peggycarter-steverogers @b0mbdotc0m @yourtaletotell @ethereal-pxradise @stephanieromanoff @tomy5girls @justagaypanicking @gingerbreadcookieforlife @imapotatao @musicinourlips @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @allfiguredout @olsensnpm @magicallymaximoff @am-just-a-cosmic-joke-to-me @nothing-isimpossible @mionemymind @itsmionet @xastrydx @sxfwap @nicole-rayleigh-hot @wellsayhelloaagin @midnight-lestrange @emptysince18x @tomhollandsslilslut @1-800-depressedlesbian @theperfectlovestory @b-5by5 @blackwow34 @nervoustrack @chelleztjs18 @somewhatgreatexpectations @yeetus-thyself @chelleztjs18 @lenissa (let me know if you wanna be tagged)

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff x you #wandamaximoffxreader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda x reader #mcu imagine #mcu x reader #mcu fanfiction #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #elizabeth olsen x reader

477 notes · View notes

tyrannuspitch · 4 years ago

Text

Jumping off @kidrat ’s recent post on JKR, British transphobia, and transphobia against transmasculine people, after getting a bit carried away and too long to add as a comment:

A major, relatively undiscussed event in JKR’s descent into full terfery was this tweet:

[image id: a screenshot of a tweet from JK Rowling reading: “’People who menstruate.’ I’m sure there used to be a word for those people. Someone help me out. Wumben? Wimpund? Woomud?”

Rowling attaches a link to an article titled: “Opinion: Creating a more equal post-COVID-19 world for people who menstruate” /end id]

This can seem like a pretty mundane TERF talking point, just quibbling over language for the sake of it, but I think it’s worth discussing, especially in combination with the idea that cis women like JKR see transmasculine transition as a threat to their womanhood. (Recite it with horror: ”If I were young now, I might’ve transitioned...”)

A lot of people, pro- or anti-transphobe, will make this discussion about whether the term “woman” should include trans women or not, and how cis women are hostile to the inclusion of trans women. And that’s absolutely true. But the actual language cis women target is very frequently being changed for the benefit of trans men, not trans women, and most of them know this.

Cis people are used to having their identities constantly reaffirmed and grounded in their bodies. A lot of cis women, specifically, understand their social and physical identities as women as being defined by pain: misogynistic oppression is equated to the pains of menstruation or childbirth, and both are seen as the domain of cis women. They’re something cis women can bond over and build a “sisterhood” around, and the more socially aware among them can recognise that cis women’s pain being taken less seriously by medicine is not unrelated to their oppression. However, in the absence of any trans perspectives, these conversations can also easily become very territorial and very bioessentialist.

Therefore... for many cis women, seeing “female bodies” described in gender neutral language feels like stripping their pain of its meaning, and they can become very defensive and angry.

And the consequences for transmasculine people can be extremely dangerous.

Not only do transmasculine people have an equal right to cis women to define our bodies as our own... Using inclusive language in healthcare is about more than just emotional validation.

The status quo in healthcare is already non-inclusive. When seeking medical help, trans people can expect to be misgendered and to have to explain how our bodies work to the doctors. We risk harassment, pressure to detransition, pressure to sterilise ourselves, or just being outright turned away. And the conversation around pregnancy and abortion in particular is heaving with cisnormativity - both feminist and anti-feminist cis women constantly talk about pregnancy as a quintessentially female experience which men could never understand.

Using gender-neutral language is the most basic step possible to try and make transmasculine people safer in healthcare, by removing the idea that these are “women’s spaces”, that men needing these services is impossible, and that safety depends on ideas like “we’re all women here”. Not institutionally subjecting us to misgendering and removing the excuse to outright deny us treatment is, again, one of the most basic steps that can be taken. It doesn’t mean we’re allowed comfort, dignity or full autonomy, just that one major threat is being addressed. The backlash against this from cis women is defending their poorly developed senses of self... at the cost of most basic dignity and safety for transmasculine people.

Ironically, though transphobic cis women feel like decoupling “women’s experiences” from womanhood is decoupling them from gendered oppression, transmasculine people experience even more marginalisation than cis women. Our rates of suicide and assault are even higher. Our health is even less researched than cis women’s. Our bodies are even more strictly controlled. Cis women wanting to define our bodies on their terms is a significant part of that. They hold the things we need hostage as “women’s rights”, “women’s health”, “women’s discussions” and “support for violence against women”, and demand we (re-)closet ourselves or lose all of their solidarity.

Fundamentally, the problem is that transphobic cis women are possessive over their experiences and anyone who shares them. Because of their binary understanding of gender, they’re uncomfortable with another group sharing many of their experiences but defining themselves differently. They’re uncomfortable with transmasculine people identifying “with the enemy” instead of “with their sisters”, and they’re even more uncomfortable with the idea that there are men in the world who they oppress, and not the other way around. “Oppression is for women; you can’t call yourself a man and still claim women’s experiences. Pregnancy is for women; if you want to be a man so badly why haven’t already you done something about having a woman’s body? How dare you abandon the sisterhood while inhabiting one of our bodies?”

Which brings me back to the TERF line about how “If I were young now, I might have transitioned.”

I’m not saying Rowling doesn’t actually feel any personal connection to that narrative - but it is a standard line, and it’s standard for a reason. Transphobic cis women really believe that there is nothing trans men go through that cis women don’t. They equate our dysphoria to internalised misogyny, eating disorders, sexual abuse or other things they see as “female trauma”. They equate our desire to transition to a desire to escape. They want to “help us accept ourselves” and “save us” from threats to their sense of identity. The fact is, this is all projection. They refuse to consider that we really have a different internal experience from them.

There’s also a marked tendency among less overtly transphobic cis women, even self-proclaimed trans allies, to make transphobia towards trans men about cis women.

Violence against trans men is chronically misreported and redefined as “violence against women”. In activist spaces, we’re frequently told that any trauma we have with misogyny is “misdirected” and therefore “not really about us”. If we were women, we would’ve been “experiencing misogyny”, but men can’t do that, so we should shut up and stop “talking over women”. (Despite the surface difference of whether they claim to affirm our gender, this is extremely similar to how TERFs tell us that everything we experience is “just misogyny”, but that transmasculine identity is a delusion that strips us of the ability to understand gender or the right to talk about it.)

I have personally witnessed an actual N*zi writing an article about how trans men are “destroying the white race” by transitioning and therefore becoming unfit to carry children, and because the N*zi had misgendered trans men in his article, every response I saw to it was about “men controlling women’s bodies”.

All a transphobe has to do is misgender us, and the conversation about our own oppression is once again about someone else.

Transphobes will misgender us as a form of violence, and cis feminist “allies” will perpetuate our misgendering for rhetorical convenience. Yes, there is room to analyse how trans men are treated by people who see us as women - but applying a simple “men oppressing women” dynamic that erases our maleness while refusing to even name transphobia or cissexism is not that. Trans men’s oppression is not identical to cis women’s, and forcing us to articulate it in ways that would include cis women in it means we cannot discuss the differences.

It may seem like I’ve strayed a long way from the original topic, and I kind of have, but the central reason for all of these things is the same:

Trans men challenge cis women’s self-concept. We force them to actually consider what manhood and womanhood are and to re-analyse their relationship to oppression, beyond a simple binary patriarchy.

TERFs will tell you themselves that the acknowledgement of trans people, including trans men, is an “existential threat” that is “erasing womanhood” - not just our own, but cis women’s too. They hate the idea that biology doesn’t determine gender, and that gender does not have a strict binary relationship to oppression. They’re resentful of the idea that they could just “become men”, threatened by the assertion that doing so is not an escape, and completely indignant at the idea that their cis womanhood could give them any kind of power. They are, fundamentally, desperate not to have to face the questions we force them to consider, so they erase us, deflect from us, and talk over us at every opportunity.

Trans men are constantly redefined against our wills for the benefit of cis womanhood.

TL;DR:

Cis women find transmasculine identity threatening, because we share experiences that they see as foundational to their womanhood

The fact that transphobes target inclusive language in healthcare specifically is not a mistake - They do not want us to be able to transition safely

Cis women are uncomfortable acknowledging transphobia, so they make discussion of trans men’s oppression about “womanhood” instead

This can manifest as fully denying that trans men experience our own oppression, or as pretending trans men’s experiences are identical to cis women’s in every way

#transphobia #transmasculinity #transandrophobia #this could maybe do with one more proofread but i've spent way too long on this so whatever!

781 notes · View notes

takamishinko · 3 years ago

Note

Hey, I saw your requests were open and I was wondering if you could write a small drabble with either Iida or Endeavor comforting a male reader who’s having a bad day that’s all

yes you can, infact make it a double i gotchu with both ✌

endeavor (enji todoroki) and iida tenya comfort for their boyfriend after a bad day drabble

_____

burning low:

it was a long day at work and you couldn't be more glad that the day was over. as soon as you got home, a loud shout came from your boyfriend who was just casually resting in the bedroom.

"SHOTOO-"

"hey enji…i'm home."

"oh, welcome home y/n"

before you could respond more to enji, you fell face first onto the ground, completely missing the bed you were supposed to fall on.

"oh my god- are you ok dear?" enji said as he picked you up from the ground and put you down on the bed.

"fucking hell… just not my day. simply, not my day today."

"you look exhausted, did something happen at work today? you usually aren't this tired after patrolling."

"yah today was alright… nothing too hectic, i guess... if you exclude me accidentally running into a stop fire hydrant while chasing a villian, children playing around and letting the villain escape, my favorite bread store closing, my interns being busy today, and me having to take over hawks' shift because that stupid chicken is busy today."

enji stared at you bluntly trying to process all the things you just said, not being able to tell if you were trying to be sarcastic.

"that definitely does not sound like ‘nothing too hectic’ to me."

"ugh i know…today just can’t get any better can it." you said while rolling to your side on the bed.

enji's neutral expression turned into a small frown, feeling bad he couldn't help you during patrol because it was his day off. your boyfriend wasn't the talkative type but instead proves his love to you through actions. he got up from the bed and grabbed your pajamas to change you into them. after that, enji gently put a blanket over you and layed down next to you, staring into your beautiful eyes, the ones that he fell for.

enji definitely wasn't the best at comforting people so all he could think of at the moment was to pull you in for a tight hug.

"e-enji? are you ok?" you asked, surprised at the sudden embrace from your boyfriend.

"yah i'm alright, i just want you to know you did really well today. i'm so proud of you for doing all that by yourself today without anyone's help. i'm sorry i wasn't there to help you but i wish that i was.

you felt a warm sensation in your heart after hearing these words from your boyfriend who is sought out to be cold and harsh by the public.

"thank you enji…" you said as you gave him a small peck on the cheek, feeling his spiky moustache against your skin.

"please don't hesitate to tell me if anything is wrong. after all, i am the number 1 pro hero as of right now…if i can't even solve my own boyfriend's problems, how am I supposed to solve the world's problems?"

you hugged enji tight, clinging onto his broad shoulders which gave you the ever so loved feeling of security. you also snuggled into enji's neck a little while placing another gentle kiss on his neck.

"enji, i love you. thank you for being here for me, i really do appreciate it."

"i love you yoo y/n, sleep well dear."

_____

bad days:

you were resting in your dorm after a long day, classes and training had really drained you today and you did not have a single drop of energy to do anything else. the fact that all the things listed above went horrible did not help either. training was hellish today, you were working your ass off while some of your other classmates were just chilling around doing absolutely nothing. the lesson aizawa taught today was also extremely confusing and you understood probably barely a quarter of what you were supposed to learn today.

while stressing about academics you thought about your boyfriend iida and how you might go ask him for help later. he's one of the best students in class afterall and he's always more than happy to help you, or anyone for that matter.

speak of the devil, you heard a urgent knock on the door and you already knew who it was. the classic three quick knocks couldn't have been anyone else other than iida.

"y/n! are you busy at the moment?"

"nope, not at all. doors open too you can come in if you want." you said with your face covered in a pillow.

"alright i'm coming in."

tenya entered your room to find you laying lazily face down on your bed. usually your pretty excited to see him so he wondered if something was wrong.

"y/n! you look tired, are you ok? do you want me to grab you some water or food? you haven't eaten yet have you. i can go get you something from the vending machine-"

not letting iida finish his sentence you sat up and pulled iida in for a hug.

"thank you iida but… if there's one thing that can make me feel better it would be you." you said as you held your boyfriend tighter.

iida was a pretty dense person but not dense enough to not even read what's happening right now. his boyfriend is clearly upset about something and wants relief.

"don't worry y/n, i'm here for you. i'm not going anywhere."

hearing those reassuring words made you loosen your grip a little and relax a bit.

"would you like to tell me what's wrong? i'm here to listen." your boyfriend as he held your shoulders and stared into your eyes.

reluctantly, you told iida about the things that's been bothering you. the entire time he sat there listening to you not distracted a single bit.

"training was absolutely exhausting today…we were the group that has to work today and aizawa did not leave a single shred of mercy."

iida nodded his head as he continued to listen to you talk about your head.

"which reminds me actually, i barely got anything that aizawa said in class today. i was wondering if you could help me with it later if you had time."

"of course i can! i understood the material today, it definitely was a little bit tricky but i can still help you with it no problem."

a gentle smile appeared on your face after hearing your boyfriend's kind words. he might not be the most romantic at all but he sure knows how to make you feel better.

"more importantly y/n… i want you to know how proud of you i am! you survived all that today and you still have that beautiful smile on your face. everyone has bad days and today might have been one of those for you. however i guarantee you bad days won't last! not if i'm here with you. i, iida tenya, will make my boyfriend, y/n, l/n the happiest he can be to the best of my ability, i promise."

"thanks tenya… i really couldn't have asked for a better boyfriend than you y'know that?" you said as you held onto iida's hand, making him blush a little.

"s-same here. now! let's help you with that homework!"

329 notes · View notes

mercurial-madhouse · 3 years ago

Text

Trigger Warning: Healing is painful, but there’s so much light on the other side if we’re strong enough to walk through the dark.

My hope in sharing my story is to help anyone who reads it find peace or healing, just as I always aim with my fiction. If it feels right to you to do so, I encourage you to reblog this. It is highly personal, but I choose to share it publicly.

************

This past Sunday, I received an email responding to my desire to withdraw from a fic fest. Instead of the simple “You have been removed from the fest” that I’d been expecting through an official channel from mods to a participant, this is the response I received. Please be aware, the following is painful.

***

We've removed you from the fest and will mark you down as not being welcome to participate in future fests. We show a great deal of compassion toward our writers, which is why we send reminders, answer any and all questions, and provide extensions when requested. There's a reason why our fest has one of the highest numbers of fics of any fest/challenge in the fandom - it's because we support our participating writers and do everything possible to assist them as they complete their fics.

However, once a writer has repeatedly failed to communicate and missed both a deadline and an extended deadline, it's clear that they do not have any respect for the fest, the mods, our time, or our own unique situations, as we don't have endless extra hours to track down participants in a fic fest. Several reminders on three different platforms, an extension, and requests for writers to simply let us know if they need more time does not demonstrate a lack of compassion in any capacity. We also showed a great deal of compassion by welcoming you with open arms into the [redacted] after you insulted the fest, insulted [redacted] fics, and made writers uncomfortable last year after signing up to beta their fics, all while pretending to support and uplift writers in the fandom just as you did in your email here.

Have a great week!

- [redacted] Mods

***

This email arrived right at the end of the night, just as I was lying down to sleep. I couldn’t read it all the way through. It elicited a trauma response in me. My heart started racing, my palms were sweaty, I was shaking, I felt sick to my stomach.

I went into fight/flight/freeze/fawn mode. My first response was to freeze. In order to escape the barrage of pain bombarding me, I simply dissociated and disconnected from my body. It allowed me to sleep, but barely. I deleted the email in a desperate attempt to pretend it didn’t exist.

The pain caught up with me twenty-four hours later. I couldn’t breathe, my lungs shrunk in around my heart. My whole body locked up. I couldn’t move. I knew that if I spoke, even to say ‘hello’ to someone, I’d start crying.

The moment I was alone in my room the tears came. The pain came, bursting through me. I sobbed uncontrollably, curled into myself on my bed, begging for the pain to stop, begging for a miracle, screaming internally for relief and to understand what I’d done to deserve this because I didn’t have the air for more than broken whispers.

I fell asleep whispering ‘I need a miracle’ over and over. The mantra blocked out all the disgusting thoughts that wanted to keep swirling through my head. This is it. This is the final proof that you don’t belong here. You never have. You never will. Run away, M. It’s over. You tried, you failed. You always do. You always will.

I fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion.

Grief is intense. These are the moments where we don’t think we’ll survive what we’re feeling. My love, whoever you are, if you are reading this, hear from me. The agony passed. I needed to feel that agony, to allow it to move through me and to give myself the space to feel it. Without diving off the deep end into what hurts, I wouldn’t have been able to find the inner peace to keep healing, to start to understand.

The residual pain is still there, even as I write this post. But it no longer overwhelms my senses. And by Tuesday morning, I’d been given insight into what was happening.

I experienced a trauma response because it mirrored mistreatment I first received in childhood from family and classmates alike and continued into my adult life. In full view of others, it was acknowledged as cruel even by my mother, who struggles with her own guilt because she never stood up for me. No one did.

So I internalized the mistreatment. I must deserve it if everyone else around me is ok with me being singled out like this? At first I spoke up for myself. But in the end I stopped speaking up for myself too. I had never healed this pain and here it was, coming back around again, forcing me to face it, to heal it once and for all.

I still do not know what exactly I may have said to cause these accusations that you see in the email. **I do not and will not deny them.** Even if my words were taken in a way I did not consciously intend, to deny that I said anything that caused someone else pain is to deny my own power AND to deny that everyone’s emotions are valid and worth digging into.

I have the power to inflict pain, just as I have the power to spread and share love and joy.

Whatever I said came from a place of pain, of believing I did not belong in this community. That I am not good enough or worthy enough to be here. A series of unfortunate but necessary events when I first entered this fandom completely disintegrated my core beliefs in my abilities as a writer, something I have always kept so close to my heart, and my belief that I had a place in this fandom.

I expect, as I look into my past patterns, that what I did was try to logic why I wasn’t allowed to belong. At the time, this fest was the only subset of the fandom I knew, I was so brand new. So I looked through all the prompts in the fest. I brought a scientific method view to answering the question: “What is it about the fics people write in this fandom am I unable/incapable of doing?”

This process allowed me to generalize everything I saw that I perceived as ‘I can’t do that, this is why I don’t belong here’. Consumed in my own doubt that I could measure up and write something worth reading, I dropped from the fest last year too. If I can’t contribute writing that’s worth reading, I could at least stick with what I do best, which is helping others be their best selves. I had signed up to beta, and I chose to cling to the only grasp of belonging I had, which was through beta’ing. I ended up beta’ing four fics last year for the fest. And, of course, each of them were (and still are) incredible fics. At the time, it was further proof to me of exactly what I can’t accomplish.

In all likelihood, these generalizations, stemming from a place of pain and jealousy because I wanted to write good fics too, came out in a personal conversation with someone, which they translated as a personal attack. It is valid. Whoever you are, your emotions are valid. It does not matter how I meant whatever I said, pain is what you felt. This person did not feel comfortable sharing that pain with me, so instead they turned to others and shared. My moment of vulnerability and pain then spread more pain.

Pain only comes from pain.

The response was to shadow ban me. In fact, I was never meant to find out about any of this. The pain this person shared was simply taken at face value and that was that.

So on my end, this decision showed up in the physical world this way: Suddenly all my asks went unanswered, people I tagged to share snippets and last lines and get to know more through ‘about me’ posts or who had once talked to me through DMs simply stopped speaking to me in a way that is only noticeable to the person being ignored. I thought I was going crazy. But there it was, right in front of me: absolute proof that I wasn’t good enough to be a part of this fandom.

Is anyone else beginning to see the cycle of pain?

I expect I continued this cycle right back, because the pain turned to bitterness. I’d been doing everything I could to support every author the best way I knew how, and this was what I got? The exact opposite?

I found out about this shadow ban and actual blocking around June of this year. An ask sent in by a friend for me, inquiring why I couldn’t reblog a post that’d been sent to me by someone else, finally gave me the answer that I’d been banned for the accusations you saw above.

Horrified, hurt, and unable to comprehend any of this except to know that I support every author no matter what they write, I sent an apology to the mods, trying to end this cycle the best I could without knowing any of the details of what had happened. There was nothing more I could do.

They thanked me for the apology, though as you can see from the email, it was never accepted. I do not say that as a judgement call, but simply as a statement of what happened. Everyone is entitled to accept or not accept in their own time and their own ways.

I have been healing so much since everything that occurred last year. And the more I dig in to this cycle, the more my heart goes out to the drafters of this email, to the person I hurt with my words who then turned to share it out of context with others, and to the people who shadow banned me in connection with this situation.

We attract to us what resonates with us. Like attracts like. Which means just as I’ve attracted the greatest friends to me, I have also attracted this pain, and conversely, these mods and that person attracted me to them.

Deep down, on some level we share the same core wounds. And the person who can really understand just how painful those wounds can be is someone who feels them too.

So this is my message to the mods of the above email, to those who have shadow banned me and want nothing to do with me, and to the original person I hurt with my words:

I am sorry for my part in this pain. I am sorry for causing pain and I apologize for it. You are loved. You are enough. You are doing a fantastic job. Your feelings are valid. Your hurt is valid. I don’t know what occurred that hurt you before I entered the fandom, but after finding out from others that an email like the one you sent above is ‘Oh that’s just how they are’ tells me something else happened to hurt you before I even arrived.

Your hurt then is valid too. Allow yourself to feel it and process it. Don’t let it consume you. Don’t let that hurt and fear of it happening again or believing that that’s how everyone is push away from you people who in fact love just what you love. If someone has a different belief from yours, don’t let it invalidate what is true for you. Believing internalized lies about myself only caused me pain. And we spread and create what we believe to be true, whether we consciously realize it or not.

So here, now, is my truth:

I choose to perpetuate love. I choose to spread love. I choose to understand my pain and the pain of others, to transmute it, and to heal it, instead of passing that pain on.

I choose compassion. Compassion for myself in making these mistakes, and compassion for those who have hurt me. I do not condone the email that was sent to me. No one deserves to be treated that way. I choose to focus beneath the visceral anger and lashing out, to focus on the agony beneath the words, and stop this cycle of pain.

I choose to belong in this fandom. I choose to support every author in this fandom and ensure no one ever feels not good enough. I choose to own my past mistakes and learn from them.

I choose trust. To trust that those who I truly hope will see this, will see it. I have no expectations of responses or outcomes or reactions. My only hope is that whoever will benefit from seeing this post will see it.

This is not a matter of right or wrong, bad or good, just or unjust. It is a situation of two parties in pain, triggered by the same triggers.

Looking back on that email, I’ve come to realize that half of the pain I felt when I received it was not my own. I felt the pain of the attack, sure, but I also felt the immense pain beneath those words. And I wish I could hug you. I acknowledge your pain and I acknowledge how painful it is because I know that pain myself. I also know that this pain isn’t you and it isn’t who you are.

So I choose to remember the mods I first met around this same time last year in this same email chain. Mods who were so kind and offered advice to a brand new writer even when she sent an email that had nothing to do with the fest and was still struggling to find her place in the fandom. I choose to remember how beautiful that kindness felt. I choose to remember how I was so grateful for that kindness that I shared my gratitude for these same mods in an email with with another fandom friend at the time. I am still grateful for you.

You are so loved. You are loved for being exactly who you are. This fandom is built upon love. A shared love of five incredibly talented lads who have brought so much joy and light when each and every one of us has needed it the most. Shine your light through the dark and believe with all your heart that you are not alone. You have support. I support you. Shine on. Don’t let anyone dim it.

#Being this vulnerable #is an act of courage #I never knew I had #I'm not fearless #I feel ready to vomit #I have no idea how this will be received #but I am sharing my truth #have courage to share your truth #the world needs you

88 notes · View notes

theodora3022 · 3 years ago

Text

Selfish Deeds (Yandere! Gojou Satoru)

Summary: Satoru just wants you to be free of danger. If you are so knowledgeable why can’t you understand that he only wish the best for you?

A/N: This is just one snippet of many out of a collection(haven't decide the name just yet)...Since I have not read the manga(anime-only for now) so I just got a vague impression of what Gojou has been through, but that does not stop me from writing him like the cocky bastard he is. Hopefully it is not too OOC(as if yandere variant itself is not OOC enough pfttt) The reader is a stubborn psycho because that is what I am :) Will there be some future pieces that involves nsfw elements? I got a few ideas but no promises.

I blame @popi-the-fatui for my Gojou brainrots. You got your revenge on me by making me attracted to this dubious man. Word count: 1.6k

Banner credit

Warnings: Female pronouns, Possessive behaviour, DELUSIONAL behaviour, non-consensual touching, power inbalance, general yandere content, slight mention of confinement and violence(This is not a healthy relationship dynamic!!!), reader is not a soft UWU girl, kthis is so self indulgent *buries myself into the bottomless pit of shame

It has been nearly fifteen minutes since the headquarter disconnected the call, yet you are still staring at your phone screen with disbelief.

You were supposed to travel to another city for a mission tomorrow, they had notified you of this mission a week ago.

You already got your luggage packed, and your theoretical research on the objective is thoroughly done. Then they dare to inform you: they have found a more suitable candidate! Right on the day before your departure too.

Your curse techniques have already limited you to more of a supporting role for most situations. There are not plenty of missions available for you to begin with. While you are content with educating the fresh blood of the community in classrooms the majority of the time, you still long for field actions every once in a while. It is an essential part of being a Jujutsu sorcerer after all.

Both you and the soft-spoken secretary who made the call know this is nonsense. The higher-ups recognize that you are one of, if not the best sorcerers available when it comes to reconnaissance and espionage.

Letting out a sigh of immeasurable frustration, you swore to yourself that you will find out who is the conductor of this humiliating turn of events. This is going to be difficult since you do not recall having any issues with any of the administration staff recently.

There is no reversing this misfortune, but at least you can be aware of who is responsible for such violation of conduct.

He is only doing this to protect you.

Gojou Satoru tells himself as such, at least.

He is aware of how unfair it is, to make someone less capable to take on the job. But he cannot risk your safety. The man has already got used to your company, and he is not willing to just let you disappear from his field of view for more than a week. Sure, you might have not admitted how much you like him yet, but it is just too endearing to see you flustered at his flirtatious words.

Although there have been some difficulties with rescheduling, he managed to use his connections to exclude you from that first-grade mission at last minute. On the bright side, the sorcerer cannot wait to lend you an ear to vent about how conservative and unfair the higher-ups can be. Maybe you will even say yes to a trip to the newest local bakery! You need some sweet treats to cheer yourself up, don’t you?

But Satoru has never thought about how you specialize in putting two and two together. (understandable since he never saw you in action before).

------------------

Strange, you are not near the usual area in the library.

Sensing his footsteps, you opened your office door before Satoru had a chance to knock.

“We need to talk, Gojou-san.” That expression is new. This is the first time he sees you genuinely angry, which is to be expected.

But somehow he got a bad feeling about this.

You did not even invite him to sit down, instead just standing next to the floor window, arm crossed, with your back turned to him.

“Why would you do such a thing?” You have to use up all of your self-control to prevent yourself from having a full blow-up right at Gojou Satoru. Maintain composure. But it is easier said then done.

Does he think this is funny? To sabotage someone else's sorcerer career like this? You knew you should have kept him out of your daily life, as he is nothing but trouble to you. But you made the mistake of choosing to tolerate him, and some superficial part of you might even enjoy his dallying words a bit too much.

To the extent, you overlooked some red flags. This is a grievous error indeed.

Shit, now that he vaguely remembers what role you play on missions.“(y/n)-chan, what are you saying-” He knows you always act in supporting positions, however, he has overlooked your actual abilities and curse techniques. You collect intel and spy on enemies, how could he forget that? “Don’t play dumb with me. You got your ways, I got mine. There is no use denying what you have done. I thought you out of all people would understand what it means to be a sorcerer.”

This is a violation of protocol, changing mission assignments at the last minute. However, you know this man would not be receiving any solid punishment should you decide to report this. They would say there is “no harm done” and you would just receive a pitiful apology. Suppose you cannot blame them though.

They need Gojou Satoru, the Jujutsu community needs his prowess to keep innocent people safe. He will remain in the system no matter what.

Why are you questioning his motives? Does he have to spell it out for you? Letter by letter?

“You are not a skilled combatant, (y/n)-chan. What if you got yourself hurt?” Or even worse, killed. It scares him to think that you could be gone one day, how he would walk by this office corridor and never sees you sitting behind the desk ever again.

Not much in this world could send Gojou Satoru a chill down his spine, yet the thought of you dying is now on the list. He knows how petty this is, you wouldn’t be the one doing the actual exorcising after all. But the if, the slight possibilty.

He cannot allow that to happen, not ever. Even that means angering you and getting yelled at.

“What am I, some normal lawful citizen? I am a sorcerer just like you, Gojou-san. Putting ourselves on the line for innocents is part of the deal.” You let out a few short, sarcastic giggles, narrowing your eyes at him with fury. “It’s funny that you, out of all people, fail to understand that. If I am needed I will do what I must. If this is some sort of sick joke, stop it already, not funny. ”

Blunt, unrelenting stubbornness. Not like that’s news for him, Satoru has lots of experience with that since the day your path crossed. Although he finds this quality to be adorable most of the time, it can pose major problems like the present.

Oh, he is not angry at you. Satoru is more outraged at himself, don’t you worry. On the contrary, he is rather intrigued by your sarcastic remarks! However…

Instead of walking towards where you stood near the window, the man decides to take a turn towards the door.

That flashing panic within your eyes did not escape his sight.

The illusion figure you were projecting near the window dissipated instantly once he got your left wrist in his hand. Concealing yourself and projecting illusions, a rare techique indeed.

“Clever tactic. Making yourself invisible, projecting a faux illusion to distract me, leaving the door open and staying close to the exit. Your curse techniques are impressive. I almost got fooled, job well-done (y/n)-chan.”

The grip on your wrist suddenly tightens, you have to bite your lip to hold back a hiss of pain. How can he still flash that casual, playful smile when committing such atrocity? Those damned cerulean blue eyes too, you are ashamed of how you tremble and (internally) swoon at it at the same time.

Efforts to get away would most likely be futile, but you have to try. “See, you underestimated your opponent. I do see why you are good with lurking in the shadows now. Do you have any idea what I am capable of though?” Such delicate hands, it would be a shame if they were to bruise.

It’s unnerving how easy it looks for him to maintain a solid grip on your wrist while you pull back with all of your might. You know Gojou Satoru is strong and all, but this simple demonstration of strength is devastatingly effective. “Let go of me, you bastard!”

To your surprise, he softens his grip and you finally distanced yourself from him, panting and guarded. “Who are you to decide what I should and what I should not do? I made it crystal clear on the first day that I do not like you for the slightest.”

You know the walls are thin and coworkers might heard you, but you will have to worry about it later. It is, sadly, a matter of fact that you are somehow attracted to him, but that does not give him the right to use it against you. You must not give in to the temptation.

“You are pretty slow on the uptake for someone so smart. I was thinking of doing this naturally, we can go on normal dates to coffee shops, amusement parks, or even the museum if that is what you wish for. But now I see you do not know how much you mean to me.” Do you think Gojou-san is only flirting with you for the fun of it? It might have been the case in the beginning, but that is not the case since...recently.

He did not stop you again when you turned away, giving him one last menacing look and disappeared from his sight, even if he could see the faint trace of your curse energy. You will return to him and apologize after you calm down, he is confident about that. You value your job way too much to quit.

Then he could finally pull you into his arms, saying he does not mind and forgive your childish tantrums. Satoru does not plan to lock you up in a cage or anything(yet)! The students adore you and they need your guidance. Your clan is insignificant compared to his, your influence? Does he even need to consider that?

Gojou Satoru would always achieve his goals by whatever means possible. You are no exception to this.

#yandere fanfiction #yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere gojo #yandere gojou satoru #yandere x you #yandere gojou satoru x you #*screams into the sea of Quanta #I was a clown when I said I won't simp for him #tw: dark content #tw: yandere

222 notes · View notes

workofheart · 4 years ago

Note

hi!! first of all i love ur writing sm!! for the drabble thing i was wondering if you could do levi+24+friends to lovers, preferably canonverse:) thank you lovely<33

this was so adorable :’) thank you for requesting, i had so much fun writing it! it got kind of long but i just couldn’t help myself lol... also this is barely edited i’ll come back soon for that😭

the art of dance and wordless confessions | levi + friends to lovers + “i thought you said you can’t dance?”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

it’s late in the evening when you finally pluck up the courage to see levi. the sun has long set and the halls of the barracks have gone quiet, the only sounds being the hushed whispers of cadets who have yet to fall asleep.

with the military ball approaching, it went somewhat unsaid that levi would be taking you, because who else would it be? after knowing him all these years and growing so close, it would almost be weird if you didn’t go together. that being said, you desperately hoped he wouldn’t laugh at you.

as one of your long time comrades - and truthfully, best friends - it should be easy to reach out to him for help. maybe it’s because you’re embarrassed, or because you might have caught feelings, but such right now is simply not the case.

your knuckles are held up hesitantly to the door of his office. luckily for you, levi senses your presence before you even have to knock. in a way, he almost expected you to be here at this hour.

“come in,” he calls, voice muffled through the wood. you take a second to prepare yourself before pushing in the door.

inside, you find levi sitting at his desk, hunched over piles of paperwork. his lips are turned down in a slight pout and the shadows beneath his eyes are unfortunately dire. he looks like he hasn’t slept in days, instead reading over the same print sentences again and again, which you know is most likely the case anyway.

“hi,” you say, padding over to sit in the chair across from him.

“hi.” he releases the pen he’s been clutching so tightly to for the past few hours onto the desk and rubs his eyes with his fists, trying to clear them from his working haze. he’s glad to see you.

levi doesn’t like beating around the bush. his patience is visibly thin, so after a deep breath, you force yourself to speak up.

“so we’re going to the ball together, right?” you start, fiddling with your fingers in your lap.

he takes a sip from his tea cup, glancing at you over the back of his hand. you look cute when you’re nervous, he thinks.

“obviously.”

“well, i kind of have this problem-”

maybe it’s the late of the night, the exhaustion clouding his train of thought, but he interrupts you without even thinking.

“do you want to go with someone else?” he asks, and immediately berates himself internally for it. god, he’s so stupid.

his voice is nonchalant, but his heart sinks at the thought. why would you want to go with him in the first place? there’s so many other scouts that would be dying to take you, so he should have at least expected this.

“no, no!’ you assure him. he quirks an eyebrow. “it’s not that, it’s just…”

“spit it out,” he says. the words are harsh, but it comes out encouraging in a way only you would know.

you whine in embarrassment, pinching the bridge of your nose before committing to the confession. “i...can’t dance.”

you can practically see his thought process through his expressions. at first he’s relieved you’re not trying to reject him, and then he’s confused as to how that’s possible, and finally he’s delighted that you’ve come to him for help. the thought makes his heart inexplicably warm, despite the fact he would never show it on the outside.

“alright,” he sighs, pushing his chair back. “i’ll teach you.” he cracks his knuckles and stretches his back, thankful to just be out of his seat.

“really?” you ask, eyes bright and swimming with excitement. levi’s stomach flips.

“yeah, ‘need a break anyway.”

he walks around his desk to meet you, extending an open palm to help you up. when you stand, he leads you to the center of the room, using his free hand to put yours on his shoulder before settling it on your waist.

“just follow my lead, you’ll pick it up.”

he ignores the way you swallow, chalking it up to nerves.

stepping forward and to the side, levi guides you with firm hands. he’s assured and confident, leading you even when you stumble, even disregarding how silly he feels when he murmurs small counts to help you.

with levi, it’s easy to fall into step. when your feet trip up, he’s quick to correct you, and his hold makes your skip a beat. once you have the basic box down, he changes the angle and shows you around the room, slowly turning in small circles.

you don’t even notice how intensely you’re staring at your shoes until he mentions it.

“stop looking down,” he says, “look at me.”

apologizing sheepishly, your cheeks flush with heat. when you finally meet his eyes, he thinks that he could look at you all day without getting tired, but he can tell you feel awkward from the way your gaze flits around the room.

he speaks to distract you. “i thought you said you can’t dance,” he mumbles, a hint of a smile on his lips.

you breathe out an air of laughter that has his chest tightening. “can’t mentally doesn’t necessarily mean can’t physically.”

his eyebrows furrow at your strange logic. “what does dance have to do with mentality?”

with a shy roll of your eyes, you admit, “i dont want to look stupid.”

and yet again, his heart gets the best of him. something about your presence takes the filter right off his mouth, breaks down the dam that always holds him back from saying what he really thinks.

“i don’t think you look stupid,” he says quietly. “i don’t think you ever look stupid.”

it catches you off guard. for a second, you almost convince yourself that you imagined it. but then his eyes dart away from yours, letting it hang in the air for a second too long, and suddenly it’s simply too late for him to mean it in a way that’s just platonic.

“thanks, levi,” you whisper. you don’t know where you find the courage, but then you’re leaning in and pressing a small kiss to the cheek he has turned to you.

the feel shocks him from his self-pitying daze. he turns his head back to face you, gaze flicking to your mouth, sees how you’ve pinched your bottom lip with your teeth in hesitation. he doesn’t bother trying to speak - he knows his words will fail him.

his movements fall still along with yours, the dance long forgotten in the span of just a few seconds. your hand drifts closer to his chest from his shoulder and his head seems to cloud with a haze of only you. he leans in slow, tentative, but you don’t hesitate to meet him halfway, effectively closing the gap.

lashes brushing lightly against your nose, levi’s eyes flutter shut. his lips are pillowy and soft as they move against yours, still dark and malty from his earlier choice of tea.

it only takes a moment for his previous caution to blossom into a fond conviction. it’s a gentle, tender sort of warmth that fills your chest when levi kisses you. the spread starts where you connect and flows through you entirely, even reaching right to the ends of your fingertips pressed against him, and the feeling cycles back to where it begins.

your other hand breaks from his hold and moves to his neck, sliding up through his undercut and entangling with his silken locks. a small noise escapes levi, and he has to pull away.

it’s hard to deny the smile that tugs on your cheeks. he has to look away to save himself from the obvious heat radiating off his face - you’re so close, he’s sure you can feel it.

in response, your head hangs, dropping until your forehead rests against his chest. a shy laugh leaves you, one that levi can’t help but follow with.

levi clears his throat and you bring your face back up to his. he’s torn between wanting to look at you and shielding his face from showing how flustered he is. this side of levi is soft and timid, and he’d only ever consider letting you in to see it.

“i think you’re probably set,” he says, looking down to where his hands lie on your waist. he plays with the cotton cloth of your shirt, smoothing his thumbs over the seam.

“yeah,” you agree, brushing the hair back from his face. it makes him gulp. “thanks for all the help.”

that night, you leave his office assured with more than just your ability to dance a waltz.

#levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman imagine #levi ackerman drabble #levi ackerman fanfic #levi x reader #levi fluff #aot x reader #aot fanfic #aot fluff

290 notes · View notes

starlightsearches · 4 years ago

Note

Could we have some Hux being anxious about work in the first order and having trouble sleeping, and the reader eventually noticing this and helping him sleep? And perhaps Hux requesting that the reader stay with him every night, because their presence and being held by them helps so much? Sorry if this is too confusing!

Thanks for the request, friend! I loved writing this and I hope you like it, too!

Requests are open ✨

Armitage Hux x GN! Reader

Warnings: PINING, language, minor suggestive content and that’s it!

“It’s late, general.”

Armitage looks up, his eyes stinging, and his vision blurs when he tries to check the time. He squints for a moment, trying to focus, before giving up and turning back to you.

“I thought I dismissed you hours ago.”

You cross your arms over your chest, leaning against the door frame—planting yourself. "And I told you I was willing to work as long as I was needed."

Hux rolls his eyes. Damn your persistence; why couldn't you be as lazy the others on the crew?

"Once again: you're dismissed for the evening. I suggest you get some rest before your next shift."

You make no move to leave his office, chewing on your lip. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

That's a terrible idea. The connection between his mouth and his brain must be severed, though, because he's just as surprised as you are when he hears himself speak. "Permission granted."

Your eyebrows raise, but you overcome the shock quickly, moving towards him with a few long strides, planting your hands on the edge of his desk. "Sir, you're killing yourself."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The way you work—it's not sustainable. You need to take care of yourself. There's no one here who can do what you do."

He watches your lips as you speak, trying to internalize the words, but in the back of his mind, a familiar scene plays—more like a memory now than a fantasy, given how often it graces his thoughts. He thinks what it would be like to press his lips to yours, the warmth of your cheek against his cupped hand, how tenderly you would move against him, the way you would taste.

He shakes the vision away.

"I believe that you could," he whispers instead, and that's it's own little thrill—what could be more intimate than honesty?

You smile, glance away—much too modest. "You overestimate my abilities, general."

You’re wrong—he’s estimated you perfectly, even with his infatuation-addled gaze—but he doesn’t correct you. Instead, he pauses, running his tongue over dry lips. "I can't sleep."

More honest, more intimate—and this a thousand times worse because it feels like a weakness, like he’s placed a weapon into your waiting hands and he has to look away. He can’t watch you deliver the killing blow.

Soft fingers stroke the back of his hand, instead, prompting him to meet your eyes again. He finds no pity in your expression, thank gods, even if you pull your hand away too quickly.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, “that must be difficult. Have you considered going to the medbay? I’m sure that they—”

“No,” he stops you, voice harsh before he remembers himself, “no, I don’t want that.”

You nod, although he’s sure you don’t entirely understand, but you make an attempt, and there’s a weight to your effort, a heavy significance he can’t parse out. That doesn’t mean he won’t try—it has to mean something.

You place your hand over his again, and everything else in his mind is forgotten. “Tell me what you need, general. I want to help.”

-------------------------------------------------

You’re standing in his quarters, fidgeting gently with the hem of your pajama shirt, chewing on your lip, and he stands beside you, skin too tight, lungs too shallow.

Neither of you can take your eyes off his bed.

It’s all felt navigable, up to this point, despite the unfamiliar territory. He hadn’t grimaced—like he’d wanted to—when he’d taken your duffel bag from off your shoulder, heavy with a fresh uniform and everything you’d need to ready yourself for your shift the next morning. He hadn’t thought about how often you’d packed the same bag for visits to other officers’ quarters for decidedly different reasons.

He’d managed to keep calm as you explained your morning routine, negotiated who would use the refresher first, and how much time you’d need to get ready. He hadn’t mentioned how much time you’d save in the morning if you shared the shower.

And now you’re here—the First Order’s greatest military strategists—both at a loss on how to handle sharing a bed.

“I guess I could . . .” you gesture weakly to the left side of the mattress, and he nods a little too fervently.

“Yes, alright,” he agrees but neither of you move for a moment. He steels himself, fists clenched tightly at his side as he takes the first step around the right side of the bed, watching the way his hands move as he pulls back the dark blanket, the cool silk sheets.

He can’t look at you at all as you slide into bed beside him, pulling the covers up over your chest, folding your arms over your stomach, stiff, like you’re being interred. He can’t let himself see you—laying beside him in the still night—he turns off the lights, plunging the room into darkness, and he’s lost his chance.

Oh gods, this is so much worse. He’s never felt more awake in his life, his entire body humming with your proximity—with the knowledge that he could reach out and touch you if he wanted to, and the shame of knowing that he wouldn’t dare.

He feels your every movement, can’t even begin to relax, waiting for the next rustle of the sheets, the next reminder that you’re here with him.

“I don’t think that this is working,” he whispers, moving into a sitting position, ready to tell you that it’s alright, he’s a lost cause, ready to order you back to your own quarters for the night and forget that he was ever foolish enough to let this happen.

“What if I . . .?” You whisper back, and he stops, waiting, so hopeful that he thinks it might kill him.

The darkness has made you bold, it seems. Your fingers fold themselves gently around his wrist, your skin hot against his own, and there’s no part of him that wants to resist when you pull him closer.

He’s obedient, following your every direction as you fit his body against yours—his head resting in the curve of your neck, back pressed firmly against your chest. One hand rests against his bony hip and his eyes flutter closed when he feels you stroke the other through his hair, still a little damp from the shower. A soft gasp escapes his lips at the feeling, and he hopes you don’t hear it.

“Is that better?” you ask quietly, and in the dark he’s better able to sense the tightness in your voice, a glowing warmth settling in his chest and he hums appreciatively. All the previous tension has melted away, it seems, built higher and higher by his desire to touch you, and turned to dust now that it has been fulfilled.

You find a steady rhythm, together, your chest rising and falling in tandem with his, your nails moving gently against his scalp until your fingers stop, buried deep in his locks.

You must be asleep, he thinks absently, and he’s headed that way as well, his body resting heavily against the mattress. With the last of his strength, he takes your hand in his, pulling it away from his hip, pressing the tips of your fingers gently against his lips before letting them fall against his chest, over his heart.

He intertwines his fingers with yours, holding you tightly. He hopes it’s enough to make you stay.

AN: Thanks for reading, friends! The little detail about Hux kissing the reader’s fingers was stolen from a wonderful anon I got a few weeks ago, but I figured I had to add it because it’s one of the best things I’ve ever heard!

Hux Tag List: @theredwolfisalesbian, @thembohux, @writingletterstothefire, @catboykenobii, @missmadwoman, @evarinaandlat, @sitherin-mxschief, @imafatassmess, @toasterking, @rosevon7975, @holdurhuxbby, @armitages-galaxy, @dark-lord-of-the-simps, @daughterofaries, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @aramanna, @theold-ultraviolence, @mrs-ghuleh, @lemongingerart, @isthisheaven5, @trash-queen-af, @generalthirst, @tobealostwanderer

Join my tag list here!

239 notes · View notes

consumeconstantly · 4 years ago

Text

Speak My Name In Tongues

1| 2(you are here) | 3 | 4

Summary: Bruce Wayne is determined to get his daughter to safety and aid (read: take over for) the Parisian heroes in capturing their supervillains of over six years. Unfortunately, these two goals are in direct conflict. (all of biodad bruce things can be read as stand alones but I do post in chronological order)

________________________________________________

Let it be said that Bruce Wayne is a persistent man.

When he wants something, he does not stop on the first or second failed attempt. It doesn’t matter if the world believes something to be impossible. It doesn’t matter if he fails spectacularly to achieve his goal multiple times, in fashions that would likely result in any man of lesser wealth becoming the laughing stock of the global community for months. In order for him to cease his pursuit, he must come to the realization that whatever he’s pursuing is not worth the effort. This is a very rare occasion. Most times when Bruce comes to this conclusion, his decision can be traced back to the trauma of his parents death and the subsequent consequences of his vigilante life style (read: not pursuing Jason’s death, letting Barbara get shot.)

Thus, when Marinette turns down his offer of a safer life, he will not take her rejection at face value. A lesser man might. But Bruce is not any such thing.

Anything that Marinette is involved in-- and he finds that she does a lot-- all oh-so-coincidentally happen to be things that Wayne Enterprises invests in as well. He marks down each and every charity event and gala that she is scheduled to attend and makes an appearance there as well. When he finds that she supports all of her collége friends in their pursuits, he attends too.

Somehow, she manages to skillfully evade being drawn into any long conversation with him and always ensures that there’s a third person involved when he even says hello. If Bruce weren’t trying so hard to have a talk with her, he’d say that her ability to do so was really quite impressive and spoke to the reach of her network. But again, Bruce is trying to convince his daughter that he’s not safe in Paris by herself when the League most likely has a bounty on her head. If Talia finds out that he had a daughter not borne by her-- she’s certainly changed in recent years, becoming more volatile and much less like the woman he fell in love with all those years ago.

He half believes that with Marinette’s wit, intellect, and escape abilities, she may even be able to hold her own against the League. Unfortunate that the League has weapons training and she does not.

“Marinette,” Bruce approaches her at a Bourgeois evening party. She has friends in high places, that’s for certain. Chloe Bourgeois works at her company in the public relations department as does Adrien Agreste, which definitely turned a lot of heads in the fashion industry as nobody expected the boy to work for anybody but his father, nor did they expect him to stop his modelling career in the prime of his life. For modelling works, she turns to Juleka Couffaine and occasionally Olympic hopefuls Kagami Tsurugi, Alix Kubdel, Ondine and Kim Le Chien. Thanks to her connections to Rose Lavillant, she’s produced an entire line of scents that go with MDC’s evening wear. MDC is extensively covered by Aurore Boreale, one of the youngest talk show hosts in the industry, Alya Cesaire, a young journalist who’s won international acclaim with her writing, and Nadja Chamack, a Senior Executive producer of TVi. Though Bruce is rather impartial to the music industry, she’s well known for working with international singers Jagged Stone, Clara Nightingale, and Luka Couffaine as well as an up and coming EDM artist named Nino Lahiffe. In the film sector, she works closely with Tom Astruc and Graham Industries, with Adrien’s cousin, Felix.

As the saying goes, Who you know is everything.

Marinette smiles, teeth bared. Even the way she stands is sharp.

It’s difficult reconciling the girl in front of him with the pictures he saw while doing background checks on her, or even the girl he saw at the bar just three nights ago. At least, it’s difficult for Bruce to reconcile her when she’s around him; Marinette seems to be very much the same girl around her friends, which is almost just as frightening. When she’s with Adrien or Alya of Kagami, it’s as if her parent’s death didn’t even happen. All smiles and sunshine and good will. She still attends all of the charity events she signed up for, has increased the amount of hours she spends volunteering at homeless shelters and akuma shelters-- and Bruce has no clue in hell how Paris’ supervillain situation has gone unchecked for so long, but he already has several agents tracking down Hawkmoth and the Miraculous team to no avail-- and goes to work on a normal schedule. Since Tom and Sabine’s death, she’s taken no time off.

In the presence of Bruce Wayne, however, there’s a great shift in her demeanor. There is nothing warm about her, and despite the fact that Marinette is his daughter and that she’s more than a full foot shorter than him, he finds himself wary of her. That says something, considering the types of people he faces down as Batman near daily.

For the first time, she allows him to approach without dodging him.

“M. Wayne.” Marinette begins to meander to a less public place, all while maintaining a pretty media smile and waving to acquaintances as she passes them. The moment the door closes behind him, a flip is switched.

“Leave me alone,” she growls. “I don’t want or need your protection.”

“Your parents were murdered.”

“You don’t think I know that? I was the one who found their corpses.”

“They’ll come after you, next.” The League of Assassins never leaves their jobs half done. Marinette is more of an achilles heel than Tom and Sabine were-- despite not being in her life, he cares for her. He can’t deny that if she were murdered, he’d probably get caught up in a fit of rage. The Lazarus Pits have not been good for his mental state over the years.

Marinette crosses her arms, sleeves fluttering around her. “You think you know who did it.”

“I don’t think I know; I’m sure who did it.”

“No,” Marinette says in a strangely detached tone. “You think you know who did it. You don’t actually know, do you, Dark Knight?”

Bruce’s stomach fills with dread. Something about her statement makes him feel nauseous. Queasy, even. “I do. The League of Assassins--”

“You think everything revolves around you, don’t you? Bruce Wayne and Batman are not the only ones with enemies.”

“You’re suggesting that you have enemies who would be willing to kill your parents?” Bruce isn’t sure how to take this. Marinette does have a fairly large following, runs in the most powerful and influential Parisian circles, and has money to spare. But as far as his research told him, she didn’t do anything to egregiously offend anybody, besides maybe one Lila Rossi and Chloe Bourgeois, though the latter of the two rectified their relationship eventually.

“I don’t,” Marinette denies. “But Ladybug does.”

“The superhero.” Is his age finally catching up to him?

“The superhero,” Marinette agrees, looking at Bruce contemplatively.

“Ladybug and I-- we’re close,” Marinette settles on. “Close enough for our bakery to become a safe house of sorts for the Miraculous team. Hawkmoth--no, Pavona. She either acted out of anger for her past with me or just wanted to strike a blow at the Miraculous team.”

Bruce feels a migraine coming on. It’s on days like this when he wishes he were a drinking sort of man. “Why would Pavona be upset with you?”

Marinette laughs, humorlessly. “World’s greatest detective, huh? Maybe you’ll figure it out eventually.”

He gets the feeling that their conversation is quickly coming to a close, and figures that whatever issue Marinette and Pavona have is something he can decipher later, “It doesn’t seem like Pavona has done much with this information. The Miraculous Team seems to be in high spirits, and there haven’t been any akumatizations in the past two weeks.”

Another dry laugh. “Wrong move at the wrong time. And besides Ladybug and you, nobody else knows.”

Marinette pushes past him, back to the door, back to the party. She pauses at the door. “I’ll put the two of you in contact. Until then, keep a lid on you and your operative’s emotions. I’m sure trained agents like yourselves can restrain yourself from feeling anger or sorrow for a while.”

Bruce is left with two horrifying realizations: Marinette is in a situation where she’s in over her head, and Sabine and Tom’s deaths have not been publicized.

Batman and Bruce have never liked magic or metas, and Ladybug seems to be both. It doesn’t help that she’s so high strung and seems to be inexplicably angry at him from the moment that he steps foot at their prearranged meetup.

“I sent you the ground rules if you want to operate in Paris. Forward it to your operatives. Follow the rules or leave.”

“I’m here to take down Hawkmoth,” Batman says with a bone-weary tiredness.

Ladybug crosses her arms in a fashion that’s achingly familiar. “I know that. That’s why I’m giving you and your people the ground rules and a chance. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be allowed here.”

“Ladybug, you and your team have failed to catch Hawkmoth for six years now.”

“You and your team have been fighting the same set of villains for over thirty years. I wonder which one of us is really worse off.”

Batman grimaces.

The heroine looks out at the night sky and sighs. “Look, this is a very stressful situation. Pavona acted out in one of the worst ways possible, and even though she and Hawkmoth seem to be MIA, it’s still not ideal.”

He remembers that Marinette said Ladybug and her parents were close. Batman stumbles over his words. He’s never been the best at comforting people, and healthy coping mechanisms simply don’t run in the family. There’s definitely a reason why he and all of his children take to vigilantism so well. “Tom and Sabine-- they were great people.”

Ladybug stills.

Batman doesn’t know how old she is, or how old any of the Miraculous team is, besides from Chloe Bourgeois, who used to be Queen Bee. Something in the way her shoulders hunch, how her jaw trembles, and eyes water makes Batman feel like she’s just a child. But she can’t be. Not if she’s been protecting a city for six years. If he had to guess her age, he’d put her in her mid to late twenties, maybe even early thirties.

“They were the most loving people I’ve ever known,” Ladybug says. “It was a privilege to know them.”

He’s not sure who made the decision to not release Tom and Sabine’s death to the public, but Batman recognizes it as a tactical decision. It only took a short amount of time to hack into security cameras near Marinette’s residence and filter through the sighting of the Miraculous Team at Tom & Sabine’s Boulangerie, stopping to chat with Marinette or one of her parents, sometimes eating there, sometimes staying the night, using their living room as a gathering point. From there, it’s not difficult to realize that Marinette or Ladybug is keeping this information from the rest of their team in order to ensure that their civilian or superhero identities don’t get compromised by an akuma or a sentimonster.

In comparison to the Scarecrow, who makes his victims fight their worst fears, Batman can’t help but think that turning people into their insecurities and angers is worse. At least with Scarecrow, there’s a chance that people can win against whatever they’re fighting. Once a Parisian is turned into an akuma or sentimonster, they just have to hope that somebody else will come in and save the day. Victimhood with the cruelest twist, similar to when the Joker tried to make Dick into the Joker Jr.

“Pavona. What’s her deal with Marinette?”

Ladybug’s laugh is hollow and familiar. “Didn’t Marinette tell you to figure it out on your own?”

“I need to know,” Batman insists. “I want to protect her. I don’t want her to get hurt like that again.”

“You have noble intentions, Batman,” Ladybug says quietly. “A kind heart. But you are mistaken in thinking that Pavona can hurt Marinette anymore. Even if Pavona tries to, she won’t be able to. Tom and Sabine-- they were the weak link. Everyone else she loves is safe.”

Ladybug pauses, looks sideways at Batman, then stares out at the Parisian skyline again. “Everyone except for you. You’re not safe, here in Paris. You know that, don’t you?”

“She--” his mouth dries. There’s a lot of information to process, but he focuses on one thing. “She loves me?”

He doesn’t think he’s heard those words come out of any of his kid’s mouths. He knows that all of them do love each other in their own messed up ways and knows that his sons and daughters are more likely to show their affection in actions instead of words, but Marinette is a biological child that he’s never interacted with before this month. How can she love him when all he’s done is push her away?

“She loves you.” Ladybug closes her eyes. “But that makes her a fool. She’s clung to the hope that she’d get to know you for years. Look where that’s gotten her. She gets to meet you at the price of her parents' lives. So please, don’t mess this up. The best way to protect her is by making sure that you’re safe. Really, I’d want you to leave Paris and forget about her. She’ll be okay. We’ll keep her safe.”

Batman says nothing for a time. Ladybug is right in thinking that Marinette shouldn’t love him, but she’s not right in her belief that she can protect her. After all, Tom and Sabine are still dead. “But I can make sure no one hurts her. I may not be someone she interacts with normally, but I can’t see her die.”

Ladybug makes a keening sound in the back of her throat. “I know, Batman. We’re not as trained as you and your team. I know you want to keep her safe. That’s why I’m letting you and your team help us. Because we’re just not enough.”

“You’ve done a lot to keep this city safe.” He wants to be mad at her for involving a civilian family, but he can’t find it in him. She seems so young. Does she have parents? Do her parents know that she’s Ladybug?

“But not enough.” She wanders to the edge of the building, yoyo in hand. “When this is all over-- maybe the two of you can spend some time getting to know each other.”

Batman stares at the spotted heroine. “Maybe someday.”

“That’s not very convincing.” Ladybug turns so that he can’t see her face. “Be kind to her. She’s alone.”

“She has you. She has your team.” Neither Bruce nor Batman has been very good at comfort during a time of loss.

Ladybug fiddles with the chain around her neck. Two rings as a pendant. She clenches her fist around them and goes still for a moment. “We’re too similar to comfort each other. And we both agreed that telling the team… it would be disastrous. Tom and Sabine were parents to all of us. Pavona is scheduled to come back soon. If we tell them now, it might end in another mass akumatization. That’s something we have to avoid.”

Pavona is coming back? How did Ladybug even know that she left? How—

Batman stills. The muggy Parisian warmth is only alleviated by a brief breeze that makes Ladybug’s hair ties fly in the wind. Anger wells up in the back of his throat, and he feels the Lazarus in him spike, knows that behind the white film of his cowl, his eyes are turning green. “You know who Pavona is. Why hasn’t she been brought in yet? Why—”

Ladybug could have prevented Tom and Sabine’s death. She could have saved Marinette the loss of her parents.

Marinette could have retained her innocence. Been kept out of the world of superheroes and supervillains, been kept safely on the sidelines if only Ladybug weren’t so selfish, wasn’t so foolish to bring in a civilian family with no training and no background.

“Marinette and I have known for a long time,” Ladybug cuts him off, and he’s ready to put his hands to her throat, but no. Justice, not vengeance. He will make sure that Ladybug’s wrongdoings are brought to light. He will right her wrongs. “For four years, it was Hawkmoth and Mayura. Once Pavona showed up, we thought-- we thought that between her and Hawkmoth that she’d be the lesser of the two evils. We had no clue who Hawkmoth was, but we knew that they were working together. Pavona was left free to roam in hope that she’d lead us to Hawkmoth. That we could finally end the fight.”

Ladybug’s back straightens. She turns, and her eyes are all blue steel and pain. It’s then that Batman realizes that Ladybug truly did love Tom and Sabine with her whole heart.

“I see that I was wrong. Hawkmoth kills indiscriminately. But Pavona-- her grudges run deep. Mayura was the kindest of the three. The reason Pavona killed Tom and Sabine was petty.” Ladybug’s voice crumples, as do her legs. She hunches in on herself, hugging her knees. Batman watches on from a distance.

What was it she said? That she and Marinette were too similar to comfort each other? One day, Batman may find himself furious at Ladybug for making the decisions she did. But right now, all he sees is a child.

“I’m sure you’ve looked into Marinette’s past,” Ladybug starts.

Batman makes a noise of affirmation, but she clearly wasn’t looking for permission to go on. She was trying to collect herself in order to tell a story.

“There was a transfer all the way back in collège. She was very popular amongst her classmates. Beautiful, well connected, charismatic. There was no way people wouldn’t love her.”

Ladybug glances back at him. “Come, sit, Monsieur. I do not know you well, but I don’t bite.”

Bruce— Bruce does not want to sit with her. But Batman says that he has to hear her out. To give her a chance, at least. Batman has made mistakes over the course of his career as well, his actions and inactions affecting too many for him to keep track of. He would be a hypocrite if he didn’t let Ladybug speak, even if Sabine and Marinette are two people he never would have dreamed of involving. Still, he keeps one hand firmly on a batarang. The videos shows that not much damage can be done to the superheroes when they’re suited up, save for attacks with magic, but nothing is absolute. There’s always a way to bring an opponent down. “Is it that shocking of a story?”

“No. Not at all. If anything, it’s a typical story of teenage drama, except perhaps a bit more than that. But I need the reassurance that you won’t run off once I finish.” She lets the two rings go, gentle thud of the two rings pressing against each other and her collar bone. The rings seem familiar.

Batman sits, albeit warily and at least five feet away from his companion. Ladybug hasn’t proven untrustworthy so far, but she is still part meta and a magic user, from what he’s gathered. He wouldn’t put it past her or one of her team, particularly the one who creates illusions, to do something. He just doesn’t know what.

“This beautiful, charming classmate easily swayed Marinette’s class to her side.” Ladybug peeks at Batman through her bangs. “Understand that the classmates are children. Children in a class where power means that trouble and responsibility never stick. They learned that taking action meant you would be blamed.”

Batman wonders how Marinette and Ladybug met. Maybe it was through this very class she’s talking about now. If that’s true, it does not bode well for his perception of her.

“Marinette recognized this classmate for what she was. A liar. She promised all sorts of beautiful things-- things that played to their classmate’s biggest dreams. Working with their favorite artist. Meeting olympic athletes and musicians. Trips to impossible places. Perhaps if Marinette wans’t who she was, she would have believed her, too. But this classmate lied about two things Marinette knew were false. She lied about being a hero. She lied about me.”

“How do you and Marinette know each other?” It was incredibly difficult to find the video evidence of the Miraculous team going to Tom & Sabine’s Boulangerie. Batman had to call in a favor from Zatara and avoiding her questions as to why— he’d much preferred it if he were able to go through any normal channel instead.

“We’ve known each other since the beginning.” Ladybug fiddles with her yoyo, refusing to look him in the eyes. “Marinette tried to get her friends to realize the truth. But everybody wanted what she was saying to be real. It’s hard to say otherwise when everything they ever wanted could be found in a single person. And Marinette didn’t pick the smartest ways to try to reveal her lies.

“That beautiful, charming classmate didn’t like Marinette trying to debunk her entire persona. She grew to be very cunning. She hurt Marinette in so many ways. I lost track over how many times Marinette got suspended or temporarily expelled, only for her to be brought back at the behest of the one other person in her class who knew the truth. Her designs were stolen. The boy she loved grew into a shell in order to protect himself. Her friends drifted away-- not that they were cruel or anything, they were taught inaction above all else, to not say a word about whatever happened in class ever since ecole-- but Marinette was really lonely.

“It was sort of a blessing in disguise. During this time, a lot of the Miraculous Team went on a break of sorts, and it was only Chat Noir and I. We had to get stronger and smarter and Marinette and her family provided relief and moral support. If her friends were close to her during that time, things may have ended really badly. Hawkmoth may have caught on to more secret identities than he already knew.”

“Does Marinette know who you and Chat Noir are underneath the mask?” To put the weight of their alter egos on a civilian is cruel. It’s why his own was so closely guarded. He’s not a fan of Marinette knowing his existence as Bruce, let alone Ladybug.

“The more people who know our identities, the greater a chance Hawkmoth has at taking our Miraculous.”

A non answer. Clever wording on Ladybug’s part. Although he can imagine Sabine agreeing to put up a bunch of teenage superheroes in her bakery, he knows that it’s impossible for anything to escape from her eyes for very long. He’d bet anything that she figured out the majority of the team’s identities. And by extension, anything that Sabien finds out, Marinette is bound to find out as well; her past indicates that she has an equal, if not higher level of intelligence and creativity that Sabine had.

Had. They went for so long without patching anything up. Why was he so foolish? So Hard headed? She offered him so many chances to reconnect, to connect with Marinette, to be a second father to her. She didn’t have any romantic feelings for him left, that much he knew, what with how utterly in love she was with Tom, and he was happy for her. Happy that she found somebody more stable than him.

If he and Sabine were closer, could he have prevented their deaths? Would he have been clued into the situation of a magic supervillain in Paris sooner?

He can’t be mad at Ladybug. Not when Batman, a hero with decades of experience on her, failed to step in. Refused to look old problems in the eye. Let loved ones die for his own inability to communicate.

“For a while, Marinette didn’t fight back. She didn’t want the boy she loved, her best friend, to get in any more trouble than he already was, trying to protect her. She laid low. But the classmate was very interested in this boy as well. The classmate tried to break him to get him to love her.”

Ladybug smiles wryly. “You can imagine that was the end of her rope. Marinette thought that the only person the liar was targeting was herself. After three years of bearing the weight, she finally snapped. She started using the resources she had. And the wasn’t any grandiose thing, though in retrospect, perhaps it should have been. She wouldn’t have ended up in prison, no she’s too young, and one of the two main victims was under lock and key, and Marinette was never hurt to the point where the liar would face real consequences for her actions. All that happened was a restraining order and her removal from Marinette’s school.”

“The girl’s name is Lila Rossi. She was already a suspect for working with Hawkmoth at the time by helping him turn people into akumas. Then Mayura stopped showing up and Pavona took her place. Pavona was clearly targeting everything and anything near Marinette. I should have seen the signs, but I had years of experience on her, and the Miraculous Cure--” Ladybug breaks off. “From one point of view, even Hawkmoth is better than her, because at least he didn’t cause any irreversible deaths.”

The Miraculous Cure is cruel. It only reverses the damage done with a Miraculous or while Ladybug is transformed. When Tom and Sabine were murdered, Pavona and the Peacock Miraculous were nowhere in sight.

Batman can’t say whether Pavona is better or worse than Hawkmoth. But Lila Rossi-- he recognizes the name. He knows what she looks like, since her image came up when he was doing a background check on Marinette. It’s quite possible that she has some type of mental disorder. Now is not the time to think about that. Hawkmoth’s identity needs to be revealed, and quickly. “How did you connect the two with the magic protecting your identities?”

“I used a little magic of my own.”

Beneath them, more and more lights begin to flicker out. Even though Paris is nicknamed the City of Lights, due to the extensive drain on energy, shops are required to turn off their exterior lighting after 1AM.

“Please,” Ladybug says. “Please help me find Hawkmoth. Please help me put them in prison. I-- I’ve been fighting for so long, and it was a duty I didn’t even want for the longest time. I just want all of this to be over. I want to be able to scream and cry and mourn without Hawkmoth and Pavona trying to manipulate me. Please.”

Batman has never been one for physical affection, but he pats Ladybug awkwardly on her back. She launches herself into his arms, curling into him and sobs as he awkwardly rubs her back. He keeps his eyes trained at a distance, watching for any akumas or amoks.

“Please,” she warbles, eyes watery. “Be good to Marinette. Be a good father. Be someone for her to lean on.”

His muscles tighten. He’s never claimed to be a good father, let alone a good man. He tries to do right, but Marinette is different from all of the other kids he’s taken in over the years. She’s not from Gotham. She had parents who were kind and stable and normal. He doesn’t think he can be a good father to her.

Somehow, Ladybug guesses exactly what he’s thinking. “You just have to be yourself. It may be stupid and foolish, but she loves you. She really does.”

For a long time, the two of them stay on that roof, Ladybug buried in the crook of Batman’s arm.

_____________________________________________________

@biodad-bruce-month

Maribat tag list(to be added onto this pls send me an ask/dm): @our-precipreciousss @my-dear-friend-anxiety

Who Are You (and what will you become) tag list (to be added here just comment): @anjuschiffer @theunquiet-dead @certainmuffinbagelcalzone @cresentmo0n @allulily @myazael @zalladane @rebecarojas07 @keepingupwiththemalfoys @frieddonutsweets @all-mights-asscheeks @thornalchemist23 @trippingovermyfeet @jiso-lee @redscarlet95 @ira-sairain @screechingflapbiscuitpeach @ramos123 @cutechip

also if i missed you please just lmk in the appropriate place again! and is it a me thing or a tumblr thing that some of these tags just wont WORK AUGH. thank you all for the support on the fics i’ve posted so far! i’m quite bad at posting regularly because all sense of time has been stripped away

hahahaha consistent chapter length? what’s that? (jokes on you these aren’t chapters just loosely related chronologically told one shots. what even makes a cohesive story a story)

#bio!dad bruce wayne month 2020 #bio!dad bruce #marinette dupain cheng #bruce wayne #marinette is mdc #angst #hurt/comfort #bruce is an okay dad even when he doesn't know he's being a dad #miraculous ladybug #dcu #maribat

442 notes · View notes

classic80sand90smovieloves2 · 4 years ago

Text

Andy Dufresne falling in love with you would include~

(Not my gif)(Requested by @awkwardnerdy-teen)

( I had a lot of different ideas racing through my head and this big boy post is the result of that. You can absolutely ask for more hcs on one of these scenarios if you’d like, I just wrote a little bit for each)

- Since Andy goes to Shawshank in 1947; a time when women really weren’t allowed to work in prisons, there’s only so many ways the two of you could have met. I’ll list a few different scenarios before going into the specifics of each one.

- The scenarios~ A) You and Andy meet in place of him and his wife meeting, and he never goes to Shawshank. B) The two of you meet through mail as he serves out his sentence. Or C) you meet after he escapes and get to feel the brunt of his pent up, touch starved yearning.

- If you meet Andy before the events of the film then you’re able to prevent them from happening sheerly through existing.

- The two of you wind up meeting when you go to the bank he works at for some financial counseling. Let’s just say the predicament that you’re in requires a little more care than a one time visit and the signing of some papers so the two of you have a little more time to get to know each other, something that’s crucial in winning over Andy’s heart.

- Andy is a hard man to know; a closed book through and through, so if he’s letting you in then there’s something special about you that he just can’t ignore. …And boy are you special to him.

- Your warm voice, your smile, your perfect temperament. He’d never had such a pleasant client in his life.

- Now, Andy always took pride in his work but when he was with you, he was actually eager to do it. To explain everything, make conversation, go over things a hundred times to make sure they were perfect, etc. You breathed new life into his day, even when others did everything they could to drain him of it.

- And that was what he fell in love with first. Your ability to whisk away everything else that had happened to him during the day with a simple smile and kind gesture.

- That being said, your relationship moves quite slowly. Andy acknowledges that he likes you a lot but he doesn’t fall head over heels in one day. It takes time and it’s an entire process in of itself.

- In the beginning, he just thinks that he likes you as a person. That the two of you have a special sort of connection that people discover only once in their lifetime, a connection that's shared between two friends.

- But then, one day, the two of you are hunched over a sheet of paper, going over this and that and trying to figure out what works best for your situation. He looks over at you as you’re distracted with reading and for a long moment, he just stares at your face.

- He takes in every detail one by one until the full picture is there in all it’s glory, as though you’re some sort of Monet painting that’s made up of little perfect fragments. It’s then that he acknowledges just how pretty you are and just how attracted to you he really is. And thus begins the process.

- Andy; self admittedly, doesn't really know how to show how much he cares. Even though he’s beginning to understand that he loves you and that you own his heart, he’s at a loss for what to do about it.

- So he does the only thing he can think of. He tries to make friends.

- He begins to try to get closer to you; asking you about yourself, answering your questions about him, and starting conversations about things other than your financial stability. Soon enough, it works and the two of you can consider yourselves friends.

- But it becomes increasingly obvious that the two of you are not just friends. You can see it in the way he acts around you and you know enough about yourself to understand that you like him far more than that.

- Feeling your touch throws him for a loop. The accidental brush of your fingers against his own as you pass papers or the hand you lay on his shoulder when he’s engrossed in something; whether it be a document or his own thoughts, is enough to fluster him. He tries to play it off but you take notice of the time it takes him to plaster on a polite smile.

- Andy is already a fairly quiet person but whenever you touch him or smile warmly at him, you’ll notice that he gets even quieter, his words trailing off until you can hardly hear them at all.

- Occasionally, he’ll offer you a somewhat shy compliment. It’s worth that little twinge of nervousness to see the smile that you give him whenever he praises you.

- Speaking of praise: he nearly turns red in the face whenever you tell him how great of a banker he is or any other compliment you can think of. Rest assured, he’s thinking about your words for the rest of the day.

- He’ll absolutely go out of his way to see and make a good impression on you. Like there will be a day where you cant make it to one of your meetings and he’ll offer to meet you somewhere/at your house. He’ll literally meet you on his day off, even if you’ll just be going over documents, because to him, it’s worth the trouble just to see you.

- It’s the 1940s so it’s sort of in character for you to bring him coffee or lunch/invite him over for supper as a thank you for all his help. Let me just say he damn near kisses you every time you do. He gets all tongue tied and shy, telling you that “you really didn’t have to” while he internally thanks god that you did.

- Whenever you invite him to dinner, rest assured he’s bringing you the most expensive flowers he could find and agonizing over what to wear as though it’s a real date. He just tells you that the flowers; or wine, is “the least that he can do” after all the effort you’ve gone through to cook him a meal.

- Every now and again you’ll catch him staring at you with this fond look on his face. He’ll immediately look away with a nervous chuckle when you catch him, apologizing and saying “nothing” when you ask him “what?”.

- He makes his move on the last day you have to see him. A part of him pondered whether or not he should but at the last possible moment, he came to the conclusion that he couldn’t just let you walk out of his life. Even if you’d become good friends, he couldn’t allow the possibility of you just up and forgetting about him before he could confess his feelings to you.

- So as you’re smiling and shaking his hand in gratitude, he moves to encase your hand with both of his own and asks if you’d join him for dinner. And though you’d had dinner together before, both of you know that it’s different this time and it’s different in the best way possible.

Meeting through letter~

- Bored. Your life had become monotonous and you were bored. Bored of the tiring job and the same old city and the same old everything that happened every day. You needed something new to occupy yourself with, something exciting that would transport you into a life that was far more interesting than your own.

- Some women would take up reading, other would knit, but out of sheer coincidence, you’d stumbled across an ad for a prison penpal program in the paper and decided to give it a try.

- So you mailed in a form and received a list of inmates that you could write to, one of which obviously being Andy Dufresne. You circled out a few names and wrote a few near identical letter and once again mailed them into Shawshank.

- In the following week, you received a handful of letters, many of which you put aside or threw away due to their illegibility or their flat out raunchy contents.

- At the end of the week, you had only a few letters that you could choose to respond to and, of course, you chose Andy’s. To be fair, he was the best choice. He was the most well-spoken, well-mannered, and educated one out of all the letters you’d received. Why wouldn’t you choose him?

- Andy had been itching for something to occupy him. His mind was going too fast for the nothingness that happened in prison so when he finally received a letter in the mail, it was like a blessing sent from above.

- It’s no secret that prison changes people ad oftentimes it does so by depriving them of real human interaction, or rather, female interaction. So when a letter obviously written by a woman lands in Andy's hands after god knows how many years in Shawshank; it makes him feel a certain way.

- He eagerly awaits every response he receives and while no one would think that out of the ordinary for someone who has nothing else to do all day, he understands that his heart is far more invested in it then he would care to admit.

- You’re a sort of fantasy for him. Sure, he has your kind words, your scrawling script, the riveting conversation that shows him your personality and the faint smell of your perfume. But he doesn’t truly know you, does he?

- Its why it all seems so silly to him. To fall in love with words on a page seems like such a juvenile, outlandish thing to happen. He’s never even met you and yet he feels like he has; he imagines that he has and that’s part of what keeps him sane. The idea of you.

- But one can only imagine a person for so long. And so, he thinks it over and in the final few sentences of his latest letter, he asks if you can send a photo of yourself along with your response “so that he can put a face to his dear friend”.

- It’s a little while before he receives a response and a part of him dreads that he’s overstepped his boundaries. He fears that he’s lost this important part of his life, that he’s lost you, but just as he’s losing hope, a letter arrives for him; a neatly stuffed envelope that he can immediately recognize as being from you.

- He knows that your photo is inside the envelope and a part of him contemplates not looking at it, wondering if its worth it to destroy the image he’s created for you. So he reads your letter first, relishing in the new set of words that you’ve sent for as long as he can until he can’t anymore.

- Finally, after putting it off for as long as he can, he picks up your photo and flips it over, agonizing over every detail of your face. …You’re perfect. Absolutely breathtaking, enough to make his heart skip a beat just by looking at you.

- He calls you beautiful in his next letter and it’s such a relief that you feel the need to celebrate. You feared that you’d receive no response or that the one you did receive would reveal him to be the complete opposite of what you’d thought him to be; revealing him to be some sort of gross pervert.

- But he was perfectly polite and kind so you wrote back with glee, asking for a photo of him; if it was possible.

- He manages to get one taken of him and he sends it to you, and you’re surprised to find that you’ve been taking to a relatively handsome man. He gets almost bashful when you tell him such, fondly replying that you’re a liar in his next letter.

- The only problem with him now having a photo of you is that there’s so much more intimacy to your correspondence. He now knows your face, your body, your hair. He can almost imagine how your skin would feel against his own and the way you smile upon seeing him.

- And it’s agony. You’re so close and yet so far. He wonders if you feel the same and in some regard, he knows that you do.

- So he confesses, telling you that he’s had a lot of time to think about it and that, though it may sound silly, he’s come to love you over the years. And in your next letter you return the sentiment.

- Rest assured, you’re one of the things in this world that really give him hope.

Meeting after Shawshank~

- Andy crawled through hundreds of yards of shit and escaped to Mexico with a new identity and retrospective on life. He’s different than he once was, as different as can be, but perhaps it’s for the better.

- He did end up opening that hotel on the beach which is where the two of you met. You’d gone to stay there as you looked for a new place to live.

- Andy, while reserved, is a sweet and gentle man that radiates a certain wisdom and free spirited, joyful nature. He’s been born anew and it seems to show on his face. You like him straight away.

- And he likes you, always making conversation and offering to help you with whatever you need.

- The two of you begin a sort of routine. He takes you out on his boat everyday, mainly so that he has the chance to see your face in the sun, the water glinting in your eyes and your hair being blown by the subtle breeze.

- Sitting on the beach with you is quite possibly the closest thing he’s ever felt to being in heaven.

- Andy after his escape is more inclined towards opening up to people and showing his love. He’s realized a lot about himself and after years of solitude, he’s eager to have companionship, someone by his side, the touch of another person.

- He wants to have, hold, love another person. He’s realized that life is worth the heartbreak and vulnerability that loving someone brings. So he tells you about his feelings after a week or so of knowing you, admitting that he’s fallen for you and telling you that he’d really like to kiss you, “if that’s alright with you.”.

#andy dufresne headcanons #andy dufresne imagine #andy dufresne x reader #andy dufresne headcanon #andy dufresne imagines #the shawshank redemption imagine #the shawshank redemption headcanons #the shawshank redemption imagines #the shawshank redemption headcanon #90s movie imagine #90s movie headcanons #90s movie headcanon #90s movie imagines #shawshank redemption imagine #shawshank redemption headcanons #shawshank redemption headcanon #shawshank redemption imagines

159 notes · View notes

harrysbbby · 4 years ago

Text

The Rule of Benefit - Part 1

My new series is here! It follows JJ and his friends-with-benefits co-worker Bridget “Jett” Moore. One simple rule: no feelings allowed.

Words: 3k+

Warning: smut. this is also my first time writing it. so it's probably terrible. so apologies in advance. but otherwise enjoy.

gif by @rudypankows

It wasn’t uncommon to see Jett’s nose buried in a book, even at work. Sat behind the large wooden desk, her head only lifted when the phone rang, or someone approached the desk. Working at the Kook Club was easy: good hours, great pay and the opportunity to do whatever she liked during the down times. With all the guests checked in for the night, and everyone seated in the dining room, Jett knew this was the perfect time to finish her extra credit essay.

JJ was stood in the doorway to the dining room, watching the girl read, captured by her ability to unfalteringly concentrate.

“Quit slacking, Maybank!” the duty manager called from near the kitchen. JJ quickly collected himself, rushing back through the kitchen doors to get his orders.

It was a few hours later when JJ finally approached your desk.

“Hey pretty girl, soup’s up.”

Jett’s head lifted out of her book to meet his blue eyes. She smiled. Working with JJ made the Kook Club bearable. He was funny, charming and not to mention hot. He would make her laugh by making silly faces through the dining room doors as he walked past or would make her smile by bringing her left over deserts from the kitchen.

“Oh, hey there pretty boy,” the terms of endearment had resulted from a regular. The small, sweet but very rich middle-aged lady visited the club twice weekly at a minimum. She always called Jett ‘pretty girl’ and JJ ‘pretty boy’. Jett was convinced she was hitting on him, the way she would grip his bicep when ordering at the bar. JJ, on the other hand swore that she was into girls, supported by his observations of how she would linger at the desk when she would check in for a long weekend stay. So, they became a bit of a joke, but then the nicknames stuck. Jett didn’t mind. She quite liked them. “Did you say something about food?”

“Yep,” he smiled, leaning on the top of the desk, “Soup’s up. Literally. Chef made us soup with the leftovers. Want me to grab you some?”

As if on cue the girl’s stomach growled. She hadn’t even noticed the time passing by as engrossed in her book. It had been hours since she’d last eaten.

“Yes please,” she pouted at him, raising her hands in a begging motion. He laughed at her ruffling her brown straight hair. She scoffed, frantically trying to put it back into place so as to not look disheveled at the front desk.

“Coming right up, milady,” JJ curtsied as he walked away. Jett laughed at his actions just as the phone rang. JJ looked back to her over his shoulder. She was speaking animatedly on the phone. JJ always admired her work ethic. He would never admit it to anyone, but he saw Jett as almost an inspiration- to get out of their lives, out of The Cut. She smiled at him and shooed him towards the kitchen. JJ saluted and disappeared behind the doors.

He retuned moments later, two bowls of soup and a plate of bread perfect balanced on his experienced hands. Jett was typing away on the computer, when she saw him approach. She quickly moved her textbooks out of the way, allowing JJ to place the food in front of her.

“We busy?” he motioned towards the screen where she had just been typing furiously.

“Yep, major group booking. We’re employed for the foreseeable future,” she grabbed the spoon he had collected for her, diving immediately into the soup. She hummed in delight, “It may be scraps but damn Chef really knows how to make them taste good.”

JJ hummed in agreement, a soup doused piece of bread filling his mouth. After swallowing most of it he started to speak.

“What’s for?” he grumbled out over his mouthful of food, pointing to the book that had been thrown aside for their lower-class feast. Jett laughed at the way JJ had asked her, covering his mouth as if it made him anymore polite.

“AP History,” she responded, “extra credit work.”

“Wow must be nice to be smart,” JJ joked, mouth now clear of food. Jett smiled softly.

“Quite boring, actually,” her voice was a lot less excitable as it usually was. JJ had noticed her change in demeanor of the past few weeks, “even worse when you’re poor and need it to get into a good school.”

“Amen,” JJ chimed, shoving another unnecessarily large piece of bread into his mouth. Jett grabbed an acceptably sized piece, dipping it into her soup. JJ rid his mouth of food completely this time before asking her, “are you okay? You’ve seemed a little off lately.”

So, he had noticed, Jett thought. She sighed placing her spoon against the side of her bowl.

“My, uh... my boyfriend broke up with me two weeks ago,” she said sadly. She noticed JJ’s concerned expression, “it was kind of mutual, I guess. He moved to the mainland. I guess I’m just kind of lonely.”

JJ nodded at her explanation, surveying the melancholy look on her face. He had always found her hot but had never made a move because of said boyfriend. An idea sprung to mind.

“My friends and I are having a party on Saturday. You should come, escape your studying for one night.”

Jett peered up at the boy’s pleading expression. Her internal war was overpowered by his puppy-dog eyes and pouty lips.

“Fine,” she relented, causing JJ to throw his arms up in the air, “it better be a good party, pretty boy.”

“They always are.”

***

JJ was right. Pogue boneyard parties were fun. Jett used to come with her ex-boyfriend every now and then. They would scrounge up some free booze, get a couple hits from some random’s blunt and blindly walk back to her house and have the most amazing, hazy sex.

Jett adjusted her shoulders, shaking the thought from her mind. She couldn’t be hanging onto the nothing he had left her with. She would have to move on and forwards, no matter how hard it was.

“Jett!”

She turned to see JJ by the keg, arms waving enthusiastically in the air. She headed over to him allowing him to pass her a cup filled with cheap beer.

“Hey, how was your shift today?” Jett asked him, bringing the cup all the way to her lips, taking a long sip, peering over the rim at the boy. He licked his lips, watching as her chocolate brown eyes stared at him. He cleared his throat quickly.

“You know, the usual. People being dicks, dicks being people.”

She threw head back emitting melodical laughter from her lips. JJ’s mouth turned upward into a smile. She brought the cup up to her lips once again, still giggling.

“That’s very accurate of our clientele,” she said eyeing his smile, taking another large sip from her cup. Her drink was nearly gone already, the liquid heating her insides.

She didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the fact she was a horny and recently single, but JJ looked different. She had never noticed how blue his eyes were, or how deep the dimple in his right cheek ran or how the curve of his bicep was so prominent. She quickly took another sip, finishing up her cup.

“Refill?”

Since she didn’t know anyone, JJ took the liberty of introducing her to his friends as they sat around one of the small bonfires, some of “JJ’s cousin’s good shit” being passed between them. At least that’s what Kiara had said. Jett knew of Kiara but had never properly met her before. She was of course familiar with her family’s business. Kiara spoke passionately about the harms of single use plastic as she passed the blunt to Pope. He was someone she already knew. He was in most of her classes, also vying for a scholarship like her’s. He bypassed the blunt, passing it to Jett. She took a long hit, before passing it to JJ, who was explaining to Kiara and Pope how he and Jett worked together at the country club. He passed the blunt to Sarah. Sarah was someone Jett knew. Her family’s presence at the club was a hyperbole. It usually meant a decent tip to be shared among the staff, and the few conversations she had had with Sarah were pleasant, but her brother was a different story.

“Oh, yeah I thought you looked familiar!” Sarah exclaimed, coughing slightly as she passed the blunt to her boyfriend, who’s lap she sat on.

John B took a hit before passing it back to Kiara, who was still chatting to JJ. Jett watched as John B grabbed Sarah’s head turning it towards him. She smiled seductively as he pulled his lips forward to meet his, smoke transpiring between the two of them. Jett cleared her throat abruptly.

“I need another drink,” she announced, leaving the group of friends to make her way back to the keg. As the liquid pour into her cup, she saw and arm lean against the keg, essentially trapping her between whoever it was and the metal. She knew exactly who it was.

“Rafe,” Jett said dryly, bringing her cup up to her lips and taking a swig as she turned to face up at the boy.

“Bridget, right?” he asked, leaning down to be at eye level with her. This brought their chests closer together, causing Jett to lean back, placing her hand which held her cup up against the boy. “I heard you’re back on the market.”

He winked. It caused a frown to spread over her face, rolling her eyes as she pushed past him.

“I’m not for sale,” she heard one of the other Kook boys (Kelce maybe? She had seen him in the club a few times) whistle boyishly before bursting into hysterical laughter in Rafe’s face. Ignoring their antics, she made her way to a log further away, facing out at the ocean.

She stared out at the water, watching the waves tumble over and over. She reminded herself she needed to move on. She needed to be like the waves, take on the tumble, pick herself back up and get ready for the next. Jett was brought out of her thoughts when the sounds of skin flying across skin. She turned to see a tall, tanned skinny girl stomping away from JJ who cupped his hand over his cheek. Jett couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips, which caught the boy’s attention. He walked over to her, taking the spot next to her, rubbing his redden cheek gently.

“What was that?” Jett asked amused. JJ huffed,

“Tourons. Apparently, I got with the wrong one and now I’m out of bounds with just about all of them.” Jett let out a puff of laughter at his dejectedness, before they lulled into a relatively comfortable silence. But JJ sensed something was up.

“Why’d you run off before?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” dismissed Jett, keeping her eyes trained on the ocean, eager to avoid JJ’s gaze.

“Yes, you do,” he countered, shift his body to face her. “Back there with John B and Sarah. Are you jealous?”

“Maybe,” Jett spoke quickly, now staring down at her cup. Was she really about to pour her heart out to JJ Maybank, her coworker? It was almost as if the alcohol itself whispered ‘yes’ to her as her mouth projectiled words without her control, “I don’t know. I miss having that; someone to turn to constantly. To touch you. Do things with. I guess I’ve just got an itch I can’t scratch.”

JJ remained silent, eyes scraping her body. They mainly focused between her hands and her lips, detailing every move she made as she spoke.

“That was too much information wasn’t it?” She threw her head back in frustration.

“That’s exactly what the right amount I needed to hear.”

Her brows pulled together in confusion, turning to face the boy for the first time. His eyes held a deep hunger and she could practically feel the heat radiating off him. She swallowed the lump of nervousness in her throat as he continued.

“You clearly have a problem no one else can fix. And I clearly have been exiled from Touron one-night stands. So, I propose a solution,” JJ stood up, hands gesturing enthusiastically as he spoke. “You and me. Sex. No strings attached.”

“What?” Jett asked incredulously.

“It’s perfect! We both get what we want.”

She mulled over his words silently. She had to admit it would be convenient. She would finally solve her loneliness and would avoid the feelings that hurt her before.

“So, we’d be friends with benefits?” she asked, standing up, placing her hands delicately on his forearms, tracing back and forth. JJ smirked.

“Yeah, reckon you could handle it?” he asked queitly, leaning closer to her. Jett, flicked her hait back over her shoulder, looking up at the boy, hands still flowing softly across his skin.

“We need to lay some ground rules.”

“Absolutely,” JJ agreed. “This is not exclusive.”

“Done,” Jett settled. “No sex at work,” JJ went to object but, she brought a finger to his lips. “I need that job, pretty boy.”

He finger remained on his lips, causing his eyes to grow darker. He nodded in agreement.

“And finally, the most important rule of benefit: no feelings allowed.”

“Deal,” JJ whispered, pulling her hand away from his lips and pulling her in for a kiss. Jett dropped her cup half-filled with alcohol to the ground, wrapping her arms around his neck. She moaned into his mouth.

“Do you wanna--” JJ motioned over his shoulder.

“Yep,” Jett answered quickly allowing him to lead her away from the party.

They stumbled into the Chateau, leaving sloppy kisses along each other’s necks. JJ lead her into the spare room, shutting the door and pressing her up against in. Jett threw her head back against the wood, allowing JJ to explore her neck, sucking on the soft skin. She tugged on his hair, letting out a throaty moan. Keeping her hand his hair, she used it to spin them around, pinning JJ to the door. His eyes widen in surprised, then anticipation as she slipped to the floor in front of him. She grabbed his belt undoing his pants quickly. Above her she could hear JJ’s breathing quicken as she pulled down his pants and underwear.

“Calm down pretty boy, gonna take good care of you.”

And with that she took his dick into her hand, pumping a few times before licking form the base to the tip. The moan that left JJ’s mouth was animalistic. His hands immediately flew to Jett’s hair, entangling themselves into it, pulling her closer towards him. Her head bobbed quickly, causing more grunts to escape from his lips. Jett could feel spit running down her chin as JJ pushed himself further into her mouth.

“Fuck, Jett. When did you get so good at this?” he asked, the sound of his head lightly thudding against the door as he screwed his eyes shut. She smiled sultrily, releasing him from her mouth, pumping his length as she looked up at him.

“Always have been. You’ve just been missing out.”

With a growl he picked her up by the sides, carrying her to the bed, flinging her across the sheets. He made quick work of ridding her of her shirt and bra. His mouth attached to one boob, his hands massaging the other. Jett’s breathing quickened as she held his head to her, hips bucking up desperately. She whimpered needingly, craving his touch. He detached his lips, kissing slowly up her neck.

“Patience pretty girl,” he whispered quietly. The hand that had been flicking at her nipple slid down her body and into the waistline of her shorts. He began to rub small circles over her clit. Jett let out a loud moan, hands instinctively coming over her mouth. With his free hand JJ grabbed her hands, placing them above her head. “Wanna be able to hear you.”

This caused an even louder moan to escape her lips, as JJ moved her panties to the side, easily slipping one finger in. Jett felt euphoric. JJ was already pleasing her better than her ex-boyfriend, and he had barely begun. She thought she could get used to their arrangement. He added another finger and began to pump faster. In contrast, he placed sweet kisses along her jaw, liking the feeling of her moans vibrating along his lips.

“JJ, if you don’t stop, I’m gonna... ugh!” her eyes were screwed shut as her mouth was opened in a silent cry. JJ smiled against her skin, before retracting his hand. Jett’s body relaxed as he placed a kiss on her lips. He stood up ridding himself of his shirt and other items of clothing and she did the same.

She scooted back on the bed as a now naked JJ crawled on top of her, ripping open the condom wrapper with his teeth. He placed it over himself, lining himself up. He leant down next to Jett’s face.

“Ready to do this?” he asked her. She placed her hands on his shoulders and nodded.

“As I'll ever be.”

JJ pushed himself inside of her, their moans mixing in the hot, sticky air. He waited a moment before picking up his pace. Jett’s legs wrapped around his waist as she let out breathy groans. Her nails scrapped down his back, causing him to moan into her neck.

“Shit,” he cursed, his motions keeping a steady pace. He snuck a hand in between them to rub her clit.

“Oh my God, JJ,” she cried. She pulled one leg from around his body, slowly bringing it up to place it over his shoulder. JJ hesitated for a moment but seeing the look of sheer pleasure on Jett’s face, continued. The new angle elicited even more cried from her lips, her nails raking along his chest. JJ grunted, highly turned on by the girl beneath him. He wasn’t going to last much longer, and neither was she. His fingers worked quickly on her clit as his hips continued to meet hers. They yelled each other’s name in unison as they met their highs, JJ completing with a few final strokes.

He pulled out, disposing of the condom before collapsing next to her. They were both sweaty messes, puffing heavily. Jett let out a breathy laugh, wiping the hair which was stuck to her forehead with the back of her hand. JJ pulled the covers out from underneath him, allowing Jett to crawl under with him. They laid next to each other, staring up at the ceiling still catching their breath.

“That was--” Jett started breathlessly.

“Yeah” JJ agreed.

She could get used to this.

Tags:

@downbytheouterbanks @thesailbells @sexualparkour @maybankxcameron @mileven-reddie @nikki082489 @treestarrrrrrrr @mynamessusan @kristinaxilliano @love-bean @lauraxwndrlnd @jjsthumbring @obxmxybxnk @lovelymaybankk @http-cherries @belledutchess @wicked-laugh @jjswhore @sspidermanss @fandomobsessedlife @dolanfivsosxox @whenyouregrungeaff @poguestyleskye @iknowrocknroll567 @kingdomheartsfan109@dangerouswhispersblog @hopelesswritingxd @marveloucnco @riverdaleserpent04 @yeetingcelery @babyhoneystvles@ravngers @k3nz-doodl3 @famousstarsandkelly @readysteadygo23 @finelinetrack @sha-nah @silverstarsandsuns@awkwardnesshabitat @annedub @a-wade @ineedmorestyles @averagxfangirl @shreyaodedra06 @silverstarsandsuns@jjmaybangme @kisssmefree @shawnssongs @p0gues4l @hannahufflepuff @lovelymaybankk@tomfreakinghollandneedsaoscar @softstarkey @kiarasflowr @drewstarkey @tcmhollnd @myrandom-fandomlife @jjtheangel @jjmaebank @masintahin @o-b-x @stilinskiandsuch @jellyfishbeansontoast @tessisawriter @cutiecolbsss@my-soul-is-the-moon @sunshinemadds @kisssmefree @certainstatesmantoadartisan @lefthandwritings @poguecollins@disagreeable-pink @tytheguyudontno @helplessquotess @taaniesha @obx-beach @thegeekyblondegirlwholovesstars@lcil123 @teenwaywardasgardian @sortagaysortahigh@jeyramarie @ellystone @classygirlything @marauderskeeper@rudyypankow @ssjiara @bluebirdsbluebells @lavenderpope @rretrophilee @kitluvs1 @outerpogues @maaybanks@maebanks @thelocalpogue @heyhey-heyward @popcsheyward @maybe-maybanks @pixelated-pogues @thatsme-johnbookerroutledge @maybankdreams @maybankiara @pogue-writings @honeymendesx @faded-blue @smiithys@justpeachykeeeen @justcallmesams @danicarosaline @free-pool-trash @saturnspack @velyssaraptor @no-shxt-sherl@saphira1412 @raekenliar @pancakefancake @imuniqueperson123 @marveling-avengers @lus-shh@hmspxgue @winterdameron @lolitstiana

#jj outer banks #jj x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank fanfiction #jj smut #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #outerbanks #obx #obx fanfiction #obx fandom #rudy pankow #rudy pankow fanfiction #Rudy Pankow x reader #jj maybank x oc #the rule of benefit #the rule of benefit oc

559 notes · View notes