#he looks like he walked straight out of a fantasy novel | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

anomaly-hivemind · 2 months ago

Text

Tangled Up ☆ Naga x Reader | Kinktober Day 25

Summary: You just wanted to camp out and explore the jungle, but apparently, something wanted to explore you as well.

Word Count: 2098

Tags: fem reader, double penetration, monster, naga, cunnilingus, slight perversion, reader depravity, tongue fucking, face fucking, face sitting, sixty-nining, power bottom reader, bondage (in a way), creampie, vaginal and anal penetration

I was going on a camping trip, it was going to be just me, myself, and the great outdoors all alone with nothing but trees and wildlife. My biggest dream is to find some once-in-a-lifetime thing. But for now, I just wanted to have a peaceful outing without city distractions. I had a book bag or two full of everything I could have possibly needed for half a week in the forest.

I was hiking up the mountain, seething in personal regret that led me to be out there as if it wasn't by free will. Maybe I should have worked out a couple of weeks in advance of this trip; maybe then I wouldn't have felt like death was wrapping its bony fingers around my legs. Everything hurts, I would turn around if I wasn't already so far in; it would be too much work. The better plan is to walk towards the nearest clearing and camp there for half a week. Thankfully, it wasn't that far off when I found a clearing. It was a nice mossy ground with a bunch of trees surrounding it; I couldn't have gotten luckier.

It takes about an hour to set up everything, and now I feel like I learned a little nap.

…………………………………………………………………

I woke up to shuffling noises outside my tent… was it some kind of wild creature like a leopard? Or maybe it was another person? Regardless, you grabbed your machete, carefully unzipped your tent, and peered outside. Your eyes widened at what you saw. It was a naga, like straight out of fantasy novels or a movie.

He was big, around fifteen feet from what you could see, with small, rounded black scales covering his tail and some scales scattered here and there blended nicely with his dark gray skin. There were some on his hands that reached up to his upper wrists, back, and shoulders that seemed like they might be useful for defense, but then there were others on his collarbone, cheeks, and under his eyes, that seemed… to enhance appearance. Perhaps it was a part of attracting a mate? Of course, you didn’t know for sure; after all, you weren’t a naga, and this was a whole new species! It was exactly what you were hoping for.

He tilted his head to the side as he looked at my Dutch oven over the put-out campfire curiously, which allowed me to see his scaled and pointed ears, which were previously hidden behind his medium-length honey-colored hair.

He shifts around the area of your campsite. Messing and looking at all the stuff that you left out. His jaw unhinged as he began lowering one of your overnight cameras into his mouth.

“Wait a minute, that's not food!” You said abandoning the safety of your tent and jumping out to stop him. His slitted pupils shifted over to you. Suddenly you were feeling a lot more nervous than before, You clutched your machete tighter, ready for anything to happen. Snakes only attack when feeling threatened or when hunting, based on the fact that he was about to eat your camera you guessed that he was a bit hungry, hopefully not for you.

“A human?” He said slithering towards you. He circled around you, inspecting you curiously and you turned with him. Rule number one of dealing with creatures in the wild is to never turn or back to them. However you didn’t notice that he now had you trapped in the circle of his tail.

“You’ve encountered humans before?” You asked for a hint of excitement in your voice and maybe a bit of fear.

“One. tried to kill me. I kill him. Then eat, not good.” He spoke, and his words caused A bit of shock in you, but you guessed it was in his nature.

You can only hope that his disinterested taste in humans would mean that you were safe on being a meal for the large snake beast. His bright eyes stare into what feels like your soul as he closes the circle, and his tail surrounds him. At the same speed, it takes you to blink, you are stuck in the grip of a large constrictor. You let out a groan as you try to pull away.

“Please don’t kill me!” you whined as you looked up at the naga in hopes that you could see into what he was thinking.

“I will not kill you,”

“So, can you let go of me?”

“No,”

“So you're not going to eat me, you’re not going to kill me… are you just curious?”

“Cu..ri..ous?”

“It means you want to know or learn about something.”

“Yes. I am curious,”

“Oh, that works out fine. I’m curious about you, too, so let's learn about each other.”

Over the next two days, you learned all about Naga and, like to say, you taught him about humans, You also learned his name, which was Ornanger. What you had been really dying to know, though, was what that naga-peen looked like. You had drawn diagrams of all his body except for his dick. And you had to know what it looked like, in the name of science of course. Oh, who were you kidding, Ornanger was too sexy for you not to hit that.

“Hey, Ornanger, I'm just gonna get right to the point I’d like to see your penis.”

“Penis?” He gives you a head tilt.

“Your reproductive organ?”

He looks down at his slit as he moves to get the so-called penis you desire to see. You watch him as he pushes his fingers into himself; he lets out a sigh. He moves slowly and gently as it is assumingly an It was certainly a sight to see, but when not one but two cocks pushed out of the slit.

The tips were a healthy shade of purple, like a grape or a plum. They had a sweet shine to them, but the purple faded out to his regular gray skin tone. The tips were slightly pointed and a bit slanted, while the shafts themselves were long and kind of slender.

You bite your lip at the sight of the two monster rods. You want it, want to get closer to it, and potentially even get a taste of it if you can.

“Can I feel it?”

They give a few strokes; you use both your hands to give them some needed attention in your hands; their smooth texture feels new to your senses. The precum spread over his shafts so easily. Oranajer let out a hiss as your hands slid down his cocks.

“What about you? Show me yours. Is it so different?” You were surprised by his request but you weren’t gonna argue and quickly discarded your pants and underwear.

Ornanger looked at your front in confusion before looking and sliding between your legs for what you supposed was a better view. He pulls you closer, giving your cunt a few sniffs, aka flicking his tongue. Testing out the new territory causes you to shiver a bit as you feel the air moving about you in such an area.

He moved closer to it until his tongue flicked up your folds. You let out a sigh at the feeling and wiggle back into his face. Pressing yourself against him, which he doesn't seem to mind.

He whimpers softly into your dripping folds, not quite sure what to do next. He tries to move his tongue around experimentally, tasting you for the first time. It tastes sweet and salty, so different from anything else he's ever tried before.

He switches from being face deep in your pussy to licking up your juices. To push his tongue deep into your entrance and thrust his tongue into you, causing hushed moans to escape your lips.

He moans back into your wet slit, savoring the sound and sensation of your pleasure. He laps up your juices greedily, letting his tongue swirl around your clit. His free hand reaches between your legs, spreading them open even wider and giving him better access to your dripping sex.

Your eyes were on the cocks, which were twitching your immediate attention. You lean down to grab them, feeling like you should pay him back with how good his mouth feels. You put one in your mouth and stroke the other. Your fingers squeezed and twisted one cock, traveling up and down the length, spreading precum all over as you hollowed out your cheeks and sucked on the other.

His precum didn’t exactly taste how you expected it to, but that wasn't exactly a bad thing. It was much more viscous in texture and had sort of a savory flavor.

You switched between the two cocks, swashing them in your mouth the best you could. He started rocking into her face as he was eating you out. You caress his scales; that's your switch between his thrusting cocks. You feel like if you let him continue this interaction, you're gonna cum, and not have any energy to continue, and you want more.

“Wait, wait, wait.” You tap his scales, and he pulls away so that he can listen to what you are going to say.

“I want to feel these inside of me.”

Ornanger lets go of your legs, and you move to bend down. Once you are in the right position, he grips your hips with one hand and starts to push his cock into you. You let out a wince as you feel one going into your ass while the other is in your pussy. You do your best not to tense up so he can move more easily.

He watches you fidget and writhe against him as his thick cocks pressed against your tight holes. Ornanger wrapped his strong arms around your waist, holding you close to his muscular body. He began thrusting rhythmically, the tip of his tail coiling possessively around your legs to prevent any escape. With each thrust, your bodies collided, creating wet slapping sounds that echoed through the jungle.

He basically purrs contentedly as he feels himself sinking deeper into you, his slick cocks pushing past your entrances until they are buried deep inside you. He could feel your body tremble a little beneath him as he did so, and he couldn't help but enjoy the sight. It seemed like you were enjoying this as much as he was. He felt like he was filling you up so intently from being in both holes, feeling like they were pressed right against each other in different canals.

Ornanger slowly rocked into you; the slickness of his cocks sliding into you was such a strange feeling. They were touching you so deeply. Snaking in and out. You couldn’t help but whimper at the dual stimulation. There wasn’t a single place he wasn’t touching inside you. The stretch was magnificent. With every thrust, Ornanjer was pressing against your sweet spots, and then as he dragged his cocks out, they left you with such a feeling of euphoria just for the actions to repeat over and over again.

Your stomach was winding itself up in a tight coil. You wrapped your legs around Ornanjer’s waist, pulling him closer to your body. Compared to your hot ass body, his body had a nice low warmth to it. You could feel the sweat rolling down your body. Luckily, this wasn’t the first time ornanger had seen you sweat, so it didn’t interrupt your sexy time.

He pulls back, and you're pulling forward at the last second, causing him to shoot his monster load onto your backside and over your folds. He lets out a hiss, and you shiver a bit in the aftermath.

“Must cum inside, mate,” He muttered, and you looked back to see he was still hard. Your eyes widened as you realized you triggered Ornanger’s need for procreation, with you being his target. Guess the only way out of this is to satisfy him. You could feel yourself getting close. Your legs were tensing up, and your back was arching off the ground.

“A-ah~ I’m gonna cum,” you cried out

Ornanjer groaned as he came inside you. Ropes of cum spurting into you. You moaned, feeling your holes were filled to the brim with that sweet, sticky fluid. At the same time, you also reached climax; your walls spasmed around Ornanjer, milking every last drop out of him.

“So, I don’t think I took in all the knowledge that I needed. Do you mind if we go again?”

#smut #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #naga #naga oc #naga x reader #naga smut #monster lover #tetrophilia #monster fucker #monster fucking #monster lover smut

119 notes · View notes

robinsno1lesbian · 6 months ago

Note

Can you do where reader is reading a smutty book and is ignoring robin while being to into the the book until robin takes the book and recreates the scene on reader or havens her read the book while she goes down on reader <33

𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

- r.b. x reader

summary: everyone has their guilty pleasure. yours just happens to be a steamy sapphic romance novel. (2.6k)

warnings: SMUT!! (mdni), vaginal fingering (reader receiving), rough-ish sex, dirty talk, pet names (baby, love, good girl), slight praise kink?, established relationship, basically reader gets caught whilst horny over a sex scene in a book.

a/n: i found this in the depths of my drafts and figured it would be good enough to be posted to the summer fic collection. that being said i didn’t beta read. just made the header and called it a day. so. spelling errors are guaranteed here.

you love your girlfriend. of course you do. robin is everything you could've asked for: kind, generous and so caring with you.

everything is perfect with her: from the way the freckles on her nose look under every ray of sun that falls upon her face up to how her voice sounds when she talks. robin does a lot of talking but it would never occur to you to get annoyed by that; you love it. you could listen to her raspy voice for hours, no matter what she's actually talking about.

that's until now: for the very first time in your life you can't put all of your attention on robin buckley's voice. the sound that normally seems like music to your ears -low, husky even, and with these all too familiar cracks whenever she picks up her pace of speech- is something you can't quite focus on right now.

not because what she's talking about bores you, but because of the book you're holding up in front of your face.

you got it at a bookstore when you were out of town: you would've never been able to gather the courage to pick up such a book in the little store in hawkins. you doubt they even sell this type of book in the small town you live it.

either way, when you first saw it you knew you had to get it. you had paid for it in a rush then, all red in the face as you handed the woman behind the counter the money and quickly walked out of the shop.

now you're laying on your bed, your parents are out and the only person around is robin, who surely wouldn't judge you for reading a sapphic book.

obviously you want to make good use of this one chance you've got to read it. so, while robin was pacing back and forth through your room, you got it out from the spot where you kept it hidden under the pillows.

you're now about 25 pages into the book and, with what's currently described on the pages in front of you, it's getting harder and harder to keep a straight face.

you try to get yourself together, you really do, but you've never read anything like this before. never had the chance to, really, with the lack of representation in literature.

you almost drop the book on multiple occasions and there is a familiar heat pooling between your legs at the images your mind creates; fantasies of robin doing these exact things to you.

your current state doesn't go unnoticed by your girlfriend like you had hoped it would: "and then" she says when you turn another page. "i told him he can't just walk around yelling the word boobies like that but, you know steve, he's- hey"

you smirk at the book, not even aware that you've been called out.

"earth to y/n" robin steps a bit closer and pokes her index against the book cover. that's when you finally look up. "uhm- what? sorry i-" an amused expression flashes over robin's face when she sees the blush on your cheeks.

"were you even listening to half of what i just told you?" your blush deepens and you tilt your head. "something about...steve?" robin makes a face and flops herself onto your bed. your mattress bounces under the impact. "you sound a little too uncertain about that" she says teasingly and leans forward until her head is in your way of reading and she can scan the pages. "your book must be really interesting" you pull it away from her quickly and press it against your chest. "oh?" robin raises a brow with a grin plastered over her cheeks as if she knows exactly what's going on. "well now you'll have to show me"

you immediately shake your head eratically. you know robin wouldn't judge you, but still. she already knows the effect this has on you, so showing her means admitting that you're into what's happening: while you and robin have had sex before, it's never been like it is in the book: it's always been passionate and loving with robin, it was never so rough, so loud, so hot. your girlfriend, however, just rolls her eyes at you and chuckles. "pretty please y/n" she pleads "it can't be that bad now. and, besides, i'm your girlfriend. you know i won't judge you, right?" "i know" you tell her and hide your face behind your palms to cover your burning red cheeks. it gives her the perfect opportunity to snatch the book from where you've put it down. "robin!" you exclaim and reach out to take it from her again, but her eyes are already scanning the words on the page. "god" you groan when she smirks knowingly and throw your face into the pillows. "robin stop it!” robin puts a hand onto the back of your thigh and you turn to face her. her hand is still holding the book but something about her expression has changed. "it's not embarrassing at all" she finally whispers. her fingers reach out and she traces your jaw before they settle on your chin. "y/n" robin rasps "look at me"

when your gaze falls upon her face she gently pulls you towards her. the book has left you wanting for the past minutes and you gladly give in when she puts her mouth on yours.

“come here” she murmurs, closing the distance between the two of you. you part your lips immediately, kissing her with all the built up hunger.

“wow” she leans back just enough for the distance to settle heavy upon your heart. “so you liked it that much huh?” robin concludes.

you bite your lip. the evidence must be written all over your features so you don’t even bother to make up some lame excuse for your racing heart or the way you’re nearly panting under her gaze.

“is this” she taps the book. “what you want?”

once again, all you can do is nod at her, amazed by the sudden shift in robin’s energy when she leans in closer.

“yeah?” she rasps when she drags her lips over yours, just the brief, gentle ghost of a touch. “you want me to give it to you?”

all you can do is whimper. it’s enough.

robin is behind you. you’re on all fours for her, ass up and back arched. still, you can feel every inch of her exposed skin pressing against yours from behind. you can feel where her pebbled nipples are pressing against your shoulder blades, where her breath hits your earlobe in quick pants.

“you like this?” her voice whispers.

you can hardly hear it at all though. all you can hear are the wet noises two of her fingers are drawing from your soaked cunt.

she’s deep. deeper than she’s ever been, pressing two of her long, delicate fingers against your g-spot from behind.

usually, you’d be facing her whilst she makes love to you slowly. you’d spread your legs wider and she’d curl her finger inside you until you’re moaning her name.

usually, she’d whisper sweets words of praise to you until you’re shaking with the build up of your pleasure.

this isn’t what you usually do. this is different. it’s raw and rough. it’s oddly hot.

“yes” you whimper, your eyes rolling back so far in your head you can see the ceiling above.

“yes?” robin growls, while pushing her fingers even deeper.

“oh my god” you moan. this isn’t any of the usual love making. this is her fucking you. it’s her ruining you on your sheets, your moans and the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through your room.

she presses her hips against you hard from behind, draws them back as she simultaneously pulls her fingers out from your slick folds, and then snaps them back immediately the moment she pushes back inside you. like she’s really fucking you.

it briefly occurs to you that you’ll have to invest in a strap-on, so she can really fill you up from behind and fuck you into oblivion, but any thought is cut short with another deliberate curl of her fingers against your g-spot.

“oh my god, robin -baby- yes!” you whine. the sound is so desperate and dirty you press your eyes shut in embarrassment.

robin, on the other hand, can’t seem to get enough of it. her free hand traces your spine as she whispers: “that’s it. that’s my girl. don’t hold in those pretty noises, baby, i wanna hear you”

as soon as a third finger slips into your tight pussy and she starts pumping them in and out, you can feel your arms starting to give out underneath your body. she’s never fucked you like this and your previous reading session had already left you wet and aching.

now, ever thrust of her fingers inside you feels like fucking heaven.

it’s not like you hadn’t hoped for this to happen; for the book to be an inspiration for what robin does to you bed. for it to be fuel to your fantasy when robin isn’t around to take such good care of you and all you have is the image of your girlfriend. and, still, this is better than anything you could’ve ever dreamed of.

and, yet, here you are: the relief of robin’s fingers deep inside your pussy. she’s pressing and curling and exploring your depths with three of her calloused finger pads.

your forearms tremble under the weight they’re currently holding up.

“robin robin robin” you chant, rocking back and forth with each of her thrusts. your head falls forward into the pillows, which do nothing to stifle the obscene sounds that you’re making.

“robin please”

“that’s my girl” robin hums proudly. “take it. let me make you cum. come on”

you can feel her kissing your sweat stained back, but it’s all white noise in comparison to how good she’s fucking you.

you borderline scream when her fingers start rubbing your clit, fast circles to match the brutal pace she’s set. robin herself is panting too, breathlessly rutting up against your ass. you wonder if she’s soaked through her panties by now. you know it’s easy to get your girl wet and with how she’s moaning, you wouldn’t be surprised if her arousal has left a visible, wet patch of her crotch.

in the end, it’s the sound of her voice that sends you over the edge, ragged and desperate as she asks you to cum for her.

“come on baby, cum. you can do it. be a good girl and cum for me”

everything else fades to back except for the burning hot pleasure that builds and builds in your core until the tension snaps and you come with a shout of her name.

robin is still thrusting deep into your convulsing pussy as you hold onto the duvet for dear life, clutching the soft fabric tightly into your fists.

you’re vaguely aware that you’re gushing for her, hot fluids soaking her wrist and the bed underneath you. robin has never managed to make you do that. she watches in amazement, even slows down the movement of her fingers inside you to let you recover from the intensity of your orgasm.

“holy shit” she whispers in awe. “holy shit holy shit holy shit baby”

“yeah” you nod breathlessly. “holy shit”

robin withdraws her fingers from your throbbing heat. immediately, you let your weight drop onto the mattress. immediately, robin is there to hold you.

“you did so good” she whispers. “so so good for me, my god, y/n”

you hum, happy to feel her arms as they wrap around your back.

“you’re gonna have to bring home those books more often” robin chuckles, gesturing to the long forgotten book.

you huff into the pillow. maybe she’s right. maybe you do have to bring home more romance books.

#robin buckley #robin buckley x reader #robin buckley x female reader #robin buckley x fem!reader #robin buckley x you #robin buckley x reader smut #robin buckley smut #robin buckley imagine #stranger things

265 notes · View notes

hbyrde36 · 4 months ago

Text

for the @steddiebang2024

It's Only Forever

Labyrinth AU | 45K | Mature

Posting October 2nd, 2024 out now, here on AO3

Author: @hbyrde36 • Hbyrde on AO3

Artists: @penny00dreadful & @SissayeRys on x

Betas: @penny00dreadful and @hitlikehammers

↳ Snippet below the cut!

A riot of dark, unruly curls fell around a pale, pretty face. His deep brown eyes were lined in charcoal, with a silver shimmer painted artfully above, accentuating their already otherworldly beauty. He wore a top of leather armor, like something straight out of medieval times, or one of Dustin’s fantasy novels, and skin tight pants that looked buttery soft, hugging the contours of his hips, calves, and thighs, as if they were painted on, drawing special attention to a certain rather prominent attribute that had Steve looking quickly away, his cheeks positively flaming. Slung over it all was a long cloak that glittered in the dim light. The color so dark blue that it was almost black, with a high fluted collar.

Steve swallowed hard, feeling suddenly lightheaded, like he was about to pass out.

“W-who are you?” He asked.

“You know who I am.” A deep, husky voice emanated from the stunning figure’s throat. “After all, you are the one who called for me.”

“The Goblin King?” Steve's mouth fell open, his own voice full of doubt and disbelief.

Not only for the fact that none of it was supposed to be real. It was just a stupid game, wasn’t it? But shocked too because goblins were meant to be small, grotesque, monstrous creatures, as far as he knew, and none of those were words he’d use to describe the walking wet dream who’d just broken in through his little brother’s window.

The Goblin King’s plush lips spread into a wide grin.

“Not what you were expecting?”

#steddie fanfic #steddiebang24 #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddiebang24 teaser #steddie big bang #labyrinth au #eddie as jareth #steve as sarah #dustin as toby #steve harrington/eddie munson #steve x eddie

115 notes · View notes

cyborg-franky · 4 months ago

Text

PROMPT: Could I please get headcanons of how Thatch, Marco and Sasaki would react to getting an accidental boner around reader?

n.s.f.w - GN Reader

Repost of mine from libary of ohara

-It was Ace that pointed it out, of course, it was. - Marco had been sitting at his desk just working on a few things, letting his mind go on a journey when a certain piece of paperwork was so tedious his mind needed a little stimulation. - so when his mind starts to drift to subjects he enjoys far more than his note he can’t help but get a reaction. - Marco has a very vivid imagination after all. - Sat at his desk with a slight edge to his usual lopsided smirk as he thinks about all the things he wanted to do to you. - Ace walks in and see’s that expression, knowing Marco’s mind is in the gutter. - “Hey, Birdbrain, we have a situation on deck.” Ace narrows his eyes and watches as Marco simply gives him a few slow blinks and a heavy sigh as he’s pulled from his pleasant thoughts of spreading your legs and stuffing you full of his cock while you cry out his name. - “Uh, wanna deal with that first?” He nodded to Marco’s crotch while trying to stifle his laughter, watching Marco glance down at the tenting in his pants. - “Well done Ace, it’s just an erection, how old are you yoi?” He rolls his eyes and just adjusts before strolling out. - He leaves his office and steps out into the sun and looks around for what this situation was. - Marco then sees you sat on a crate, your pants rolled up and showing off most of your leg, there’s a big bruise forming and you give him a sheepish look. - “I kinda fell and I don’t think it’s broke but it hurts.” You comment. - Marco suddenly feels warm when he sees it’s you that needs his help, the same person he was just having dirty sordid little fantasies of, and he and his boner aren’t ready to deal with that. - “Ah I just need to get something from my office yoi.” He turns quickly and Ace has this smirk on his face. - “It’s just an erection, how old are you yoi?” Ace mimics back in his best attempt at Marco’s voice. - Marco grumbles and shoves Ace as he heads back into his office leaving you confused.

- Thatch would consider himself a pretty put together individual. - He’s seen and done many things in his time. - He has no idea why his body decided to betray him today. - Thatch read trashy romance novel after trashy romance novel and some had some very spicy scenes in the, so why was his body acting like he was a young man again? - Deep down, he knew the reason, you, and how he secretly felt about you. - it was an emotional as well as physical boner. - When headed to the showers this morning he didn’t expect you to be up as early as him, no one ever was, not unless it was Marco who hadn’t gone to bed yet. - So passing you in the hallway, seeing your wet hair, fresh face, a smile on your lips. - He remembered how he read one novel, in particular, the other night and replaced the lead’s love interest with you and pretended it was about the pair of you. - The things he pictured you both doing. - Lips trailing across every inch of your skin, hands running over your body, the moans and sounds he dreamed of pulling from you. - Your sweet voice uttering his name in hushed whispers, in dire need for him. - He was mortified that you wanted to stand in the hall and converse with him, he tried to tell you he was in a rush, turning and misjudging where the door to the communal showers was he ended up smacking straight into the wall. - Thatch let out a pained sound when his nose made contact with the wall. - He swore he had his shit together, honest. - But as he slumped against the wall, feeling his nose start to bleed a little, a hand over his crotch. - He had some doubts in himself. - “Are you okay? Want me to go get Marco?” you asked, worried, a hand on his back as he simply groaned. - “Gods no.”

60 notes · View notes

agentmarvel · 1 year ago

Text

Pairing: John Price/Reader

AU - Professor!Price & TA!Reader

MDNI - 18+ (minors and ageless blogs will be blocked)

Part 1 of 2

Summary: in which professor john price is head-over-heels for his teaching assistant but cannot reconcile the risks until he's faced with the thought of losing you entirely

Read on ao3

♡

“Would you mind handing these back, please?” John asks softly, handing you the stack of essays due for return. You give him a sweet little smile and nod, taking them from his hands and brushing against his fingers in the process. His flesh is alight with want, and he can’t help but curl his hands into fists beneath the desk in an effort to stop himself from reaching out and touching you again.

“Yes, sir.”

This is wrong. This is so wrong, and John knows it.

He never meant for this to happen; the plot of his plight is typically reserved for bored housewife fantasies, a semi-interesting arc for a television series, or the shit romance novels that Kate reads and tries to hide (poorly, might he add) whenever someone walks into her office. It’s not something that happens in real life, and it’s not something that happens to men like him.

When it was suggested he take on a teaching assistant this semester, John was skeptical. He wasn’t quite so sure that his courses would benefit from having someone else pouring over every facet of his work, and frankly, he was a bit incensed by the notion that he’d even need help; but in casually surveying the department in passing conversation, he realized that he was the only educator in the English department without a TA.

Enter: you. Your application was impeccable, and you came to the department with such glowing endorsements from your undergraduate instructors. Pack that in with the essay you wrote and the accolades decorating your previous work study, it was a no-brainer. John tossed every other application he received without a second thought.

The two of you began to exchange emails shortly after he agreed to taking you on. He quickly found you to be whip-smart, wicked funny, and absolutely wonderful. Looking forward to your replies became a new hobby of his as he jumped to check his phone every time it buzzed. He looked forward to putting a face to the name every day until that day finally came. Then, he knew he was doomed.

You strolled into his office the day before classes began and introduced yourself with a scintillating smile, holding a hand out to shake his. He swallowed hard and accepted your greeting in kind, a bit taken aback by how goddamn gorgeous you are. The image his mind constructed through the internet didn’t hold a candle to what stood before him, what with your doe eyes and pretty smile and the shape of your hips and… wait, what’s that? The smell of your perfume made his brain stutter; something akin to cedar and coconut milk with a smokey vanilla note like a cherry on top. It still has the same effect on him, honestly.

Over the first few weeks of the new semester, he grew to adore you in your entirety, learning all the subtle nuances that previous exchanges didn’t convey properly. He digs every shade of your personality (especially when you’re being snarky and teasing him, even if you don’t know how much of that teasing goes straight to his dick). You engage him in conversation and listen intently to what he has to say, usually with that red pen of yours tucked between your teeth. Drives him crazy when you do that, but there’s something so inherently innocent about the way you look at him; boulders of shame pile on his chest until his ribs cave in with an airy exhale, and he’s crushed beneath the weight of the reality that you’re untouchable.

He’s the professor; you are the student. It’s far too risky, even if he didn’t already know you’d reject him on the spot.

Entranced, he watches from the corner of his eye as you lean over another student’s table, pointing out something on the graded tests you were handing back. The edge of your cute little skirt rides up your thighs just enough that he swears he can see the gentle curve of your ass beneath the hem. How he wishes he could bend you over further, pull those barely-there panties to the side, and fuck you to within an inch of your life.

But this certainly isn’t the most opportune time for him to think about that. No, not with a classroom full of students that could, at any moment, point out the flush creeping high across his cheeks or notice the massive tent he’s sporting in his slacks as he strategically moves to the podium to begin his lecture.

He isn’t sure how he makes it through, truthfully, not when he’s stealing glances at you in between parts of his notes. You’re sitting at your own table on the far side of the room, legs crossed demurely with your laptop open in front of you. Those pretty, manicured fingertips click and clack away at the keyboard, making detailed notes of your own, and he struggles to keep the image out of his mind of those same nails gripping his shoulders while he’s buried inside you.

It doesn’t help that you’re looking back at him every single time his eyes flit over to you, focused so raptly like you’re hanging on his every word. You seem so enthralled by the most minute details, watching him with that darling doe-eyed stare. Your eyelashes kiss your cheeks with every blink, and god, he just wants to know what it feels like to touch any part of you.

You’re the kind of woman Shakespeare wrote sonnets about; a beauty so overwhelming that it’s hard to decipher in ordinary thought. It requires prose, grandeur, and sophistication. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard for him to find an eloquent way to speak when he’s sharing space with you.

It’s embarrassing, the way he keeps almost losing his place and fumbling his words like an absolute moron. He can’t help it, though. Not when his heart skips a beat every time you catch his wistful gaze and give him that gentle, supportive smile that reassures him he’s doing well, even when you can hear as clearly as everyone else how much he’s fucking up. He swears he keeps hearing snickers sprinkled across the classroom, but maybe his mind is playing tricks. Not a single student presents anything other than a straight face, save for the brunette in the front row that’s always making eyes at him.

He wonders if you’d be the jealous type, if another girl looking at him would spur you into a fit of marking him up and reminding him who he belongs to, something that could take all night if he played his cards right. The thought of finding all the bruises and love bites and claw marks on his body (and the subsequent downward rush of blood again) further serves to remind him: you’re not his, but he is yours.

♡

John sighs as he digs a bottle of Tylenol out of his desk drawer. He takes three and chases them down with his cold tea, ignoring the bitter bite on his tongue.

Office hours can be absolute hell with the wrong students, and boy, did he pick a list of winners today (sarcasm, full sarcasm). After hours of students passing the buck and making excuses for missing work or seeking extra credit because of said buck passing, he finds himself corralled by Abigail Briarton, the bright but conniving brunette from 20th Century Lit. Another odd scenario, given the feedback he’s gotten from you on her work. You’ve told him more than once that she shows immense capability in her writing, and yet, she always seeks John out, presenting concerns that she doesn’t quite understand the material.

He’s not stupid; he knows why she schedules office hours. She has a little crush on him - daddy issues, no doubt. It’s clear in how she approaches him, wearing low cut tops, short skirts, subtle (and not so subtle) hints that she’s of legal age and unattached. Their interactions are strictly professional on his end, and after today, he’s remanded her to seeking further clarification on lectures from you.

“If you’re struggling to connect with my lectures or our discussions here, I think it would be best for you to start seeing my TA instead. She’s got a different way of explaining that may be more relatable to you.”

You’re going to hate him for saying that, but it’s a risk he’s willing to take if it keeps him from being unbearably uncomfortable in his own office twice a week.

Speaking of, he wonders how you’re faring until he hears an exaggerated sigh in the silence that befalls both rooms. That seems to be a sign that he should really check in on you, especially since Victor Denley was your last meeting. The kid can’t put his phone down long enough to pay attention in class, so he imagines the scheduled session don’t go much better.

He tugs open the door separating your offices, hinges squealing in protest. Leaning against the frame, he folds his arms across his chest and lets his ankles cross, balancing his weight between the frame and floor. A sympathetic frown tugs at his lips as his gaze falls on you.

The bridge of your nose is pinched between your fingers, and your eyes are squeezed shut. He’s pretty sure you’re using whatever willpower you have left to stave off one hell of a migraine.

“You look bloody miserable, love. Everything okay?”

One eye cracks open, and the grimace on your face tilts into an adorable little half smile.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you answer, moving your fingers to rub at an achy spot on your temple. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head.

“You’re not a good liar,” he laughs. “If you need anything for your head, I’ve got half a pharmacy in my desk.”

“Save it. You’ll need it more than I do.” He raises an eyebrow, imploring you silently to continue. “Mr. Denley is more focused on his phone than his grades, so I suggested he start scheduling his visits with you instead. Maybe you can get through to him.”

“Suppose it’s a fair exchange then.” John shoots you a haughty smirk, uncrossing his arms and shoving his hands in the pockets of his slack. You return his cocked eyebrow questioningly. “Oh, I’ve asked Ms. Abigail to start scheduling with you since she’s having so much difficulty grasping my explanations.”

“You’re violating my eighth amendment rights, Professor,” you groan.

“There’s nothing cruel or unusual about this, and you’re definitely not being punished.”

That’s only a half-truth. It is both cruel and unusual, given the fact that he’s awfully sweet on you and that girl is borderline insufferable, but it’s most definitely not meant to be any sort of punishment. You’ve done nothing to deserve that. He just knows that if he insists on her meeting with you instead, she simply won’t show up. Win win.

If you do want to be punished, though, he can think of dozens of more pleasurable ways to do that. Needn’t but ask, really.

“And for the last time,” he adds. “Please just call me John.”

“That just feels too informal.” You shrug. “You’re my boss.”

John scoffs playfully, rolling his eyes with a growing grin.

“We’re alone, right? No students?”

You nod. He abandons the doorway and places his palms against your desk. He leans forward, arms bearing his weight, and he’s less than a foot away when he says, “Then there’s no need to keep it so formal, is there, love?”

“I guess not.” He can almost feel the warmth creeping up your neck, and he’s relishing the fact that he’s practically witnessing you getting all hot under the collar before you cheekily add, “John.”

John ducks his head, moving just a little bit closer to you, saying, “See? Wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Oh, it was awful,” you reply right away, pulling a facetious face of disgust. John chuckles, standing up straight. He scrubs a hand across his jaw, shaking his head at you.

“You’re impossible.”

“No, I’m professional.”

♡

“Professor Price?” You poke your head through the doorway to his office, voice sweeter than honey. He hears you, but he doesn’t acknowledge you. He won’t until you call him by his name.

His fingertips plod away at his keyboard, the rhythmic tapping counting out the seconds until you let out an exaggerated sigh.

“John?”

“Yes?” he hums, hands stalling as he looks up, heart leaping into his throat. Your outfit is simple, nothing that should be getting him worked up; and yet, it is.

You’ve got on those pants that he loves, a hunter green, high-waisted number with large buttons up the front and a built in pair of suspenders that curve around the swells of your breasts. It accentuates your waist in a way that makes his palms itch with the want to hold you there while wide, flowing pant legs give way for your shapely hips. When you turn away, it gives him a full view of the fabric that pulls tight around your pert ass. The fact that you wear heels with them every time is just a bonus, but he likes to consider what you’d look like in just those heels; patent black leather stilettos with a pointed toe that just barely peek out beneath the hem. Neatly tucked into the waist is a plain, white button down with a lightly frilled collar and a black ribbon tied into a bow beneath the lapels, the perfect knot balancing the loops as to keep from looking lopsided.

You have no right to look that fucking good.

“Can you help me really quick?” He raises an eyebrow, not entirely sure if he’d even be able to stand with the way his knees are knocking together. “I’m having a little trouble deciphering this paragraph; it makes sense, but not in the context of the paper.”

“Yeah, bring it here, love.”

You move into his office, heels clicking against the hardwood floor as you approach him. Instead of sitting across from him in the vacant chair, you perch on the corner of his desk, crossing your legs as you set the stapled stack in front of him. Your finger finds the section in question, but John can’t focus with you sitting so close to him.

In his head, he reaches out and puts a hand on your thigh, slowly kneading its expanse from the curve of your hip to the outside of your knee and back, talking sweet to you about how pretty you are and how badly he wants to ruin you; in reality, your perfume is too overwhelming for him to make heads or tails of what he’s reading, so he passes it over three or four times before shrugging.

Looking back up at you proves to be a mistake. Your pillowy lower lip, coated in a neutral shade of lipstick, is trapped between your teeth as you eye him closely, anticipating a clearer explanation than what you could conjure yourself. It crosses his mind what it would feel like to have your lip between his teeth instead, the erotic noises you’d make when he tugs on it. He was halfway hard just looking up at you for once, but the thoughts have him at full mast. He scoots a little tighter to his desk, hoping to hide it.

“I see what you mean,” he finally says, eyes jetting back down to the essay before him. “Right thought, wrong context. Have you checked it in the system for plagiarism?”

You shake your head.

“No, but that’s a good idea. There’s another section - “ You lean down, moving closer to him as you flip ahead to the next page. It’s too much, and his resolve is crumbling by the second. “ - right here. It sounds very similar to a paper I graded this morning.”

You’d think he’d learn his lesson the first time, but not John. Never John. He glances back to you, and the two of you lock in a heated stare, faces only a few inches apart. Your eyes dart down to his mouth and back up. He wants to kiss you right now, so fucking bad, and it looks to him like you want to kiss him, too. Your head tilts just in the slightest; it seems like you’re leaning in…

A knock at his door yanks you away from him as you scramble off his desk, smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles in your slacks before moving to open the door. He can’t see who’s on the other side just yet, but he doesn’t care. He can’t move, frozen in place with shock and dismay.

“Professor Riley,” you greet politely. “How are you?”

Simon gives you a wary once over, addressing you by name in a stern but polite tone, and that’s enough to start flagging John’s erection right away. It’s the saving grace he needed in that moment to stop him from acting on an impulse you’d surely both regret.

Still, he wonders what would’ve happened if Simon had waited just thirty seconds more.

♡

Being sick by itself is fucking miserable, but being sick, alone, and having to stay sequestered in the house all day? That’s pure torture.

John hates taking sick days. Sure, the students appreciate an extra day of not having to listen to him prattle on about John Wyndham this week; there’s only so much they can take of discussing the underlying themes in the Day of the Triffids before they’re ready to pull their hair out. But it throws a comically large wrench in all of John’s plans, both for the day and for slightly longer-term, especially when he forgets his laptop in his office.

It’s only with a slew of curses, grunts, and grumbles that he manages to convince himself to go get it, crawling out of bed begrudgingly to throw on a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt. There’s no way he’ll get through the weekend without his computer, so he knows he has no other choice but to drag his tired ass onto campus to get it. If he’s going to take an unintentional long weekend, the least he can do is finish grading the previous unit. He doesn’t want to in the slightest, but the consideration that he may run into you puts a little spark in his step.

He’d texted you when he awoke with a sore throat and a nasty sinus headache, asking you to put a sign on both his office and lecture hall doors to let students know class is canceled (a group email was sent from his phone around 7 this morning, but he knows a vast majority of his pupils don’t check their damn emails). You texted him back shortly after with a simple affirmation and a sweet get well soon message. There was a pause, and then you texted him again, asking if he needed anything. He was sorely tempted to take you up on it, just because he wanted to see you before the weekend, but there’s no need now if he has to come in anyways.

It’s a quick jaunt, since John lives less than five miles away. He parks in the staff lot and sneaks in the back door of the building, cautiously optimistic that no students will see him. How he’s dressed falls far from the guidelines of professionalism, and the fact that he’s sick wouldn’t bode well for any sort of interaction, lest he spread whatever foul virus has crawled into his body this time.

He’s surprised to see an ‘Out of the Office’ sign hanging on your door, too. He thought for sure that you’d still keep your office hours as scheduled, even without him being around. It occurs to him that maybe you don’t want to hang around the office without him, but that thought, while very sweet, is certainly just wishful thinking. You definitely don’t share his vested interest, even if it did seem like you were about to kiss him yesterday.

As he pushes his key into the lock on his office door, he picks up the faint thrumming of a heavy bassline. He’s surprised he didn’t notice it before, considering it seems to be coming from his office. The light is on, odd since he’s obviously been out all day. Curiosity forces his hand to move faster, and what he finds awaiting him is far better than he could’ve ever imagined.

You’re in his office, standing on a chair, deftly dusting the old birch bookshelf behind his desk. All his books and knick-knacks are stacked neatly on a lower shelf as you wipe the top one. The music he heard is twice as loud as he would have guessed, and you’re rocking to the beat, hips swaying in time. It’s equally as amusing as it is downright sexy. The way you move is tantalizing, and John has to take a moment to catch his breath, swallowing a harsh cough before he speaks.

“Really? This is what you listen to when I’m not around?” he laughs as he closes the door behind him. You don’t seem startled as you throw a hazardous glance over your shoulder, your movements never once faltering, even with the sudden audience. You’re not embarrassed about being caught, and that impresses him. Shameless thing, you are.

“Please, Professor, Backstreet’s a classic.”

“Didn’t take you for the boy band type,” he counters, barely suppressing another cough behind a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin. You set down the can of Pinesol and your rag and climb off the chair, leaning across his desk to turn the volume down on your phone.

“Good to know I can still surprise you then.”

“I was really hoping superior taste would prevail if you hung around me long enough.” The way your lips curve up at that feels like a match into gasoline. John isn’t certain if it’s you or the fever that’s starting to bead sweat along his hairline.

“You saying I have bad taste?” you laugh, arguably his favorite sound.

“I’m saying I thought you’d enjoy something a bit harder or faster than those bubblegum muppet boy types.”

“Faster doesn’t mean better, John.” The way you say his name (unprompted, might he add) sends a chill up his spine in the best way. Innuendo hangs on every syllable, and he considers how correct you are. He wouldn’t want to be fast with you, not in any sense of the word. He’d take his time, making damn sure that you’d remember every second for the rest of your life.

In conversation, however, he ignores the comment.

“What do you have against 90’s boy bands, sir?”

“Nothing, I just don’t quite get the fascination. Didn’t get it in the 90’s, either.“

“Can’t handle infectious melodies, huh?”

You’re so comfortable with him; he can tell. Much snarkier than usual in a less professional setting, dressed down, and he can’t help but think that this feels a bit more domestic. You’d act like this far more often in the privacy of his own home, wearing his t-shirt while you shuffle his things off the desk for a quick wipe down, calling for him when you can’t reach something. He loves the thought, honestly.

His pause is noticed and mistaken for hesitancy.

“Oh, I get it.” Your expression moves towards something of agreement as you nod, but it quickly falls right back into the same snarky little simper. “You can’t dance, can you?”

His mouth falls open in a silent objection, then closes, then opens again, like a fish out of water. He wants to argue that he’s a great dancer, but that wouldn’t be accurate. Sure, theoretically, he is, but he’s never really tried. He’s never really done more than a simple stand-and-sway at the odd wedding here and there. There’s nothing to it, though, right?

But that’s clearly the reaction you wanted, isn’t it?

You look at him so expectantly, rapt and ready.

He shrugs, “What, like it’s difficult? Of course, I can.”

“Right, because the hand jive totally counts,” you snicker, narrowing the chasm that separates you. “I almost forgot how old you are, Professor Price.”

Again, his mouth opens, this time in feigned offense.

“I’m not that old.”

“Oh, please! You’re practically geriatric! You’re, what, 58?”

“I’m 42,” he barks with a laugh. “We’re barely over a decade apart!”

“Then you’re still young enough to learn,” you answer with finality, putting your hands firmly on your hips. Your fingers dig into the soft cotton of your apparent cleaning day shorts as you pause, though he’s unsure if it’s due to nerves over what comes next or simply for dramatic effect. “Do you want to? You’ll be able to take it to the clubs.” Your voice gets sing-songy on the last sentence, and John can’t help but chuckle. As if you’d ever see him in a club, as if he’d ever be caught dead in a nightclub.

He contemplates it for a moment, the line between a professional and personal relationship blurring further with each passing second. It’s an interesting opportunity, one that he really should pass up, but he won’t. He gives you a noncommittal shrug with a fairly neutral expression, sighing, “If it’ll get you to stop listening to the bloody Backstreet Boys in my office, I’ll do whatever you want, love.”

You do this adorable little clap, showing off that sweet little smile he loves so much. It’s cute that you’d get so excited about something as simple as showing him some silly little dance he’ll have no need to remember (though he knows he’ll never forget the way your body moves; it’s already on a loop in his head that doesn’t end).

Grabbing your phone off the desk, you scroll a few times before your face lights up again. The volume is pushed to full as you hit play and set it down.

John is ashamed of the fact that he recognizes the song from its first line.

“If you want it to be good, girl, get yourself a bad boy.”

He stands stock-still, eyeing the way you’re already getting into it. You’re dancing your way over to him, and the air in his lungs freezes when you stop close enough for him to smell the remnants of the morning’s perfume spritz. His head spins when you reach out and grab his hands, encouraging him to feel the beat and just let loose. It’s a little step-touch-sway at first, but you spin yourself under his arm, turning your back to him as you maintain your hold over your shoulder. It forces him to take a step closer, and a primal part of him urges him to bury his face in your neck, smother it with kisses and love bites, mark you up and make you beg for him to give you more.

He ignores it. He ignores it very, very well… Until you bring his hands to your hips. The same place your palms once occupied are now covered by his, his fingers twitching against the barrier separating him from your soft skin. It’s taking every ounce of effort he possesses to stop himself from allowing his fingertips to dig into the fat around your hips hard enough to leave bruises, a small memento of how badly he wants you that will only ever exist in his mind.

“If you wanna make it last, gotta know just who to ask. Babe, it's gotta be the best, and that's me, my lady. If you want it to be good, girl, get yourself a bad boy.”

John has no trouble keeping with the music as your body’s sway guides him. The twist and swing of the hips beneath his splayed fingers dictate where to follow, and he does so mindlessly, focused entirely on keeping a gap between the curve of your perfect ass and his ever-hardening erection. He’s cursing himself profusely for opting to go commando under the sweats, but in his defense, he never would’ve imagined in his wildest dreams that this was something his day would hold.

“See? Not that hard,” you murmur, keeping your hands on top of his. Oh yes, it is, he thinks. You give him a gentle squeeze, and it catches him entirely off guard when you take a step back, pressing up against him. His brain starts screaming about how wrong this is, but when you tip your head back against his shoulder, everything goes silent. He can’t hear the music now, he can’t hear his thoughts, he can’t hear his own breathing anymore. It all slows down, feeling like delayed motion as you look up at him, still with that stunning smile painted across your mouth. You say something, but the words don’t reach his ears. His gaze locks on your mouth, and he’s itching to kiss you. That’s all he’s focused on until he sees the smile fade, and you gently pull away, turning in his hold.

“Price? Are you okay?”

He hums in question, narcostic. You repeat, and he processes it with a few blinks. His arms are still wrapped around you, and he can’t stop himself from meeting you in the middle. His forehead presses against yours, noses brushing. There are mere centimeters between his lips and yours, and he knows he can’t take much more of this. He needs to know if you want him as bad as he wants you.

“I need an answer,” you whisper, heated breaths washing over his skin. He nods almost imperceptibly, giving you a soft ‘yeah’. You close the gap just a little more, lower lip grazing his so lightly. It’s so tempting to chase after you, get what he’s so desperately been craving for the last three months, but the logical part of his brain finally catches up, redirecting him to the safest path; the one that protects you.

“You know we can’t do this, right?” he sighs, already regretting the words as they’ve formed. There’s a hope that you’ll tell him it’s okay, that you want this just as bad as he does and will keep this dirty little secret between the two of you. Reality, though, tips the scales, and John has to steel his resolve.

“Even if I really, really want to? Just once, and it’ll never happen again, I promise.” Your tone is pained, and he feels his heart clench. He doesn’t need to question how you feel about him anymore; he does, however, need to protect you.

“There’s no going back once we cross that line.” It fucking kills him to say that. He’s functionally just ripping out his own heart and throwing it on the tracks before an oncoming train, but it needs to be said.

You close your eyes as you let out a sigh matching his, and he feels your eyelashes crest across the apples of his cheeks. His grip on you tightens just briefly, fingertips digging in to show you he means it.

“John - “

He shakes his head. He can’t take that chance. If he kisses you, even just once, he’ll only want to keep doing it. That would be his undoing. It’s a gamble he can’t afford to take on your behalf.

“No, love. I’m not risking your education, your future, over one little kiss.”

You nod understandingly, creating a new space between the two of you. John can hear a shudder in your breathing as he lets his arms fall to his sides, and it leaves an ache in that hole in his chest, one that’s only furthered by the dejected look on your face. He wishes things were different so he could kiss that look away.

He briefly wonders if it’s too late to change his mind, but you make it clear for him when you grab your phone from his desk, shut off the music, and climb back up on the chair, intent on continuing to clean like nothing just happened.

“Just so you know, I am sorry,” he says in a hushed tone as he grabs his laptop off his desk.

You smile at him softly over your shoulder, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. He can still see that hint of hurt in your expression.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Professor Price.”

♡

He can’t focus. Try as John might, he can’t draw his brain away from you.

The cursor on his laptop blinks impatiently at him as the blank document on his screen awaits its transformation into the following unit’s lecture notes. A white blanket does no favors in occupying his mind with things that are of dire need. His section on 1960s literature begins tomorrow, he’s feeling far better physically than the days prior, and yet he’s still wrapped up in the feeling of his hands on your hips, your touch on his heated skin, the look in your eyes when you said, “even if I really, really want to?”.

It’s not a question anymore, if you want him as badly as he wants you. He knows you do. And there’s something about the fact that he can’t have you that just makes him crave you more.

He’s not sure what about you is making it so difficult for him to keep his head straight. Obviously, you’re stunning. It’s impossible not to see that - even half the students that come in for your office hours are just stopping by to try their hand at flirting with you (he can hear it from his office; drives him up the fucking walls). But he had a more intimate connection with you before he knew how goddamn gorgeous you are, which also somehow doesn’t seem to be the solidifier for his borderline obsession.

He pushes himself away from his kitchen table, deciding a shower and some food might push you out of his mind long enough to get his notes prepared. Anything that can provide some sort of distraction from feeling like such a colossal jackass, both for turning you down and for falling for you in the first place.

Stripping off his clothes, Price throws them in the hamper. He mindlessly guides himself into his en suite bathroom. The sunlight peeking through the window gives him more than enough light to abandon any consideration for the switch by the doorway. He cranks the handle on the faucet over, continually checking the temperature until it’s just right before pulling the lever and letting the showerhead spit to life.

Water just this side of scalding pelts his skin, and he feels his entire body relax, tension melting from his knotted shoulders. It feels good. It allows him to let go of everything in his brain and just feel. But that empty head doesn’t last.

John starts washing his hair, scrubbing at his scalp with the tip of his fingers, and a wave of warmth, warmer than the water, ghosts across his skin. He swears he can smell your perfume, and he imagines the hands in his hair are yours. He can practically hear your little giggle as he tilts his head back to rinse, whispering sweet nothings at a volume only perceptible to him.

It’s a constant struggle to block out the thought of you, even for just a few minutes. As he rakes a hand through his hair again, phantom hands follow behind. He imagines your fingers threading through, grabbing a fistful and giving it a rough tug. It’s enough to get him half hard, and he has to swallow the pleased noise in the back of his throat as he pictures those tugs while his face is buried between your thighs.

His hands map the contours of his body, lathering them up with the scent of leather, vanilla, and pine. He takes his time, picturing your hands running across his skin instead. His fingertips brushing across his hips sends a jolt through him, the image becoming far too vivid all at once. He can’t stop the harsh sigh he lets out, and he’s done pretending that he isn’t going to get off on this.

Not that he hasn’t been jacking it all weekend thinking about you. Honestly, if his math is correct, this puts him in double-digits since Friday night; it’s the third time today, even.

Wrapping a soapy fist around his cock, he allows himself a few short, quick strokes before squeezing around the base and slowing himself down. He’s going to savor this one because he is not going to be doing it again (that’s total bullshit, but let him believe it).

He imagines how pretty your mouth would look wrapped around him, those sweet doe eyes looking up at him as he nudges the back of your throat, making you gag on him.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he sighs, picking up his pace a little. “Take it for me.”

His grip tightens around the tip as he twists his wrist, letting out a long, low moan. He likes to think you’d be making all sorts of saccharine little noises for him, sweet like your mouth is full of honey. There’s no way he’d finish like that, though. He’d reserve that for being so deep inside you, you could feel it in your stomach.

He throws his head back, wet hair falling away from his forehead, as he pictures having you bent over before him, bracing yourself on the edge of the tub as he runs his cock through your folds a few times. He’d relish how fucking soaked sucking him off would get you.

“Fuck, sweet little thing, is all that for me?” He thinks you’d nod, biting your lower lip as you look at him over your shoulder, wiggling that cute ass as if you’re asking for more. He’d give it to you. Fuck, he’d give you anything you want.

Again, his fist tightens around his dick. Even with as much as he’d work you up, Price still believes firmly that it’d be a decent stretch for you to take all of him (he’s not bragging; he just knows that he’s well above average). That pretty little pussy would be squeezing him so good, so he does his best to make his grip match.

“Your cunt feels so good, love,” he grunts, fucking his hand hard and fast. “Made for me, huh?”

You’d agree, wouldn’t you?

He licks his lips, adding, “Yeah, that’s my girl. Sweet little hole made just for me.”

He’d grab you by the throat, pulling you back against him for a sloppy, awkwardly-angled kiss while he fucks into you, on the verge of cumming purely due to the way you’re looking up at him. He’d be a gentleman, of course, offering to pull out, but he thinks you’d decline. He thinks you’d beg him to cum inside you. That’s what does him in.

“Want it inside me… Please, John… Inside… Fuck, don’t stop.”

With a stutter to his rhythm, Price feels the knot in his stomach burst, and he spills over his knuckles, hot, white streaks painting his fingers.

He doesn’t feel bad about it, touching himself, thinking of you; not when he knows without question that you want him just as bad.

♡

The changing of seasons comes far too soon, in more ways than one. As fall gives way to the bitter temperatures of the ever impatient winter, you, too, grow colder.

You don't call him by his name anymore. No longer do you inquire after his weekend or surprise him with his favorite tea in the mornings or recommend books you'd just finished. You don’t smile at him through lectures, nor do you greet him in the hall with your standard enthusiasm. You're still you with everyone else, but only the picture-perfect persona of professionalism with him, and that hurts.

It stings. Thousands of yellow jackets prick the inside of his chest at all hours of the day, driving their thorny needles in as deep as they'll go. He gets no reprieve, awake or asleep. Every icy interaction is another pang of regret, and how curious, he thinks, that those pesky wasps have managed to hold out so long with the changing weather.

As much as he'd like to, John can't blame anyone but himself. By all accounts, he did the right thing. If he would've kissed you, he wouldn't have been able to stop. It would become compulsive, habitual. Someone would find out sooner or later, and there's no doubt it would be cemented as part of your reputation. There's no telling what degree of damage that would do to your career. You've worked too damn hard to get this far; it wouldn't be right of him to take that all away for you over one moment of selfishness.

But is this not selfishness? The devil on his shoulder scolds him. It tells him it was never his place to make decisions for you, that you’re a grown woman capable of doing as you please, that you wouldn’t have practically begged him to kiss you if you didn’t want it just as badly as he did.

It isn’t until he overhears you talking with Johnny MacTavish, a TA from the science department, that he considers that little devil may have a valid point.

“I just feel so stupid, Johnny. One minute, I think he’s just about to kiss me, and the next, he’s turning me down. Did I do something wrong? Do you think I misread the situation? Or am I just gullible enough to think that someone like him would ever want me?”

“Oh, pish. I’ve seen the way that mook stares at you. Nothin’ wrong with you, bonnie; you’re the whole damn package. Seems to be him with the problem, aye?”

It breaks his heart that you’d think so lowly of him to diminish yourself in any way on his behalf. He has half a mind to intrude, to burst into your office and tell you the facts as they stand - that you’re the only thing he ever thinks about anymore, his only vice, that you are perfect to him, for him, that it is him who feels the need to address the issue at hand, that, as much as John may loathe to admit, MacTavish is spot-on (it’s nothing personal; he’s a good kid. Price just isn’t big on being called out for acting like a complete fool).

However, where Price hangs himself for this is the dichotomy of his apparent staring problem.

On one hand, he knows he chances a glance far too often for his own posterity. He catches himself looking in your direction time and time again during his lectures, hoping to catch you staring back, and has to remind himself how inappropriate that is under any circumstance. On the other, though, how is he supposed to just ignore the way you’ve been dressing as of late? It’s like you’re actively trying to kill him. His palms itch with a need to touch, fingers twitching with a want to squeeze, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel like you were doing it intentionally. What better revenge than showing him what he’s missing out on?

It eats at him daily, knowing his own indecisiveness is the root of anguish for both of you.

Just this once, he tells himself he should've been selfish.

#john price x reader #john price x you #john price imagine #john price #john price cod #cod writer #cod x reader #cod x you #jj writes

232 notes · View notes

incomingalbatross · 20 days ago

Text

A funny thing about Harry Dresden is that his canon teen years would basically work perfectly as a YA fantasy novel/trilogy if you just told them straight.

Like. Orphaned kid in the foster system has discovered he has Mysterious Powers. A man comes to take him in and reveals that they're both wizards! He's going to raise and train him! And he goes with him and his new guardian is ALSO training a teenage girl and the two of them fall in love and everything is great...

Except the audience can see, much earlier than the teenagers, that this guy isn't just a Mysterious Wizard Mentor. He's both sinister and abusive. And the dramatic tension grows and grows until the day this teenager walks through the door to find his girlfriend being mind-controlled and their guardian planning to do the same to him for the furtherance of Evil Schemes.

Kid runs away. Shock. Betrayal. Horror. The guardian sends a demon after him. He fights it off, realizes there's no running from this, finds helped from a contact of his Unknown Mother, and goes back to face his evil guardian. There's a massive, physically and emotionally intense, climactic battle. Kid wins, but his girlfriend is killed along with his guardian and the house burns down. He runs away from the wreckage of his former life with only the bitter consolation that he still has his freedom (and the magical talking skull he saved from the fire on his way out).

And THEN the magic cops show up. (Because it turns out his evil guardian was lying about all sorts of things, not least that there was an entire magical society out there all along.) This orphan who has just escaped from the first "safe" place he'd known since he was six is now put on trial for trying to survive.

He gets put on razor-thin parole, given into the care of a new elderly wizard and taken to a farm. Tries to navigate this new place and expectations that are unsettlingly similar to the beginning of this story, but also keep being disconcertingly different.

The book ends with the first moment he really understands that he's actually safe there -- that his new mentor is what a good guardian looks like.

#do you see my vision #even his teen years were a whole fantasy coming-of-age arc #also #harry dresden 🤝 christopher chant #powerful kids who were not equipped to realize they were being exploited by the authority figures they latched onto #series: he died doing the right thing

21 notes · View notes

heythrrdelilah · 10 months ago

Text

Choose

Summary: New York City life gets a little lonely until you have too many choices

Pairings: timothee chalamet x F!reader, Austin Bütlér x F!reader

Warnings: honestly expect pure filth. Mmf but the males are straight and don't interact

Word count: 2,925

Authors note: it's been a while and this may or may not be loosely based on a random detailed dream I had the night before last also please know I'm not usually a smut writer and it's been ages so bare with me please

The dim lit bar was roaring with voices as the rush hour for bars came. You regretted letting your friend talk you into coming out. You would much rather be sitting on your couch with a fantasy novel and a cup of lavender tea, but your best friend and roommate was persistent. “See! Lavender vodka cocktails! I told you you could still get lavender tea!” She pulled you by your wrist to the bar. This was one of the many popular bars in New York so you had to squeeze between shoulders to even reach the counter. “You know it's not the same thing, right? It's important for me to know that you know that,” you questioned your friend with a brow raised, she threw her hair over one shoulder and rolled her eyes. Instead of responding she just ordered a lavender vodka lemonade for you and a planters punch for herself.

“Just don't leave me tonight. I didn't feel like coming but if you leave me alone this is the last time,” you sternly state as you wait for your drinks. After people had their orders in, the crowd around the bar became smaller and people were now gathered around tables and leather couches. The bar theme was modern chic. Crystal dim lighting, black leather couches around marble tables. You and your roommate definitely could not afford to drink here, especially on a regular basis, but she insisted that the only way to find a decent man was in high end bars. Not that you were looking.

“It will be fun! Go find a table, I'll wait for the drinks,” she instructed, clearly scouting the crowd. You pushed off of your elbows and looked around for an empty table. It was no surprise when every table and couch were full. You found an empty spot on a wall and leaned up against it.

“This should cheer you up, I got that guy to pay for our drinks,” meg, your roommate and best friend, handed you your glass and nodded towards a blonde man in an army green jacket who was staring in their direction. He had a nice smile and tilted his glass to Meg with a wink. It was painfully obvious that you were going to be left alone at some point tonight. “go for it,” you sighed. She shook her head, her red hair swaying with every turn, “he can wait for it. I need to let the anticipation build. For now, let's talk about your day, drink up and dance.” There wasn't much to dance to as today's rap hits played low level. “my day is never as interesting as yours. I just work at an unknown radio station. You're the celebrity photographer,” you say with a bit of laughter.

“You're just getting your start. Besides I'm just the photographer for BuzzFeed. it's my start too. But okay,” she began talking about the shoot she had just done for the cast of the Dune series. Meg was good about making the biggest celebrities sound like just a group of co-workers. The Dune cast had some of the biggest names in Hollywood but here she was talking about how Batista couldn't stay serious the entire shoot.

You moved on to her plans next week to shoot a rom com cast on Monday when a group walked into the bar and heads were turning from every direction. “meg, isn't thats the Dune cast,” you pointed out the obvious. You tried to keep your composure as Timothee chalamet was your biggest celebrity crush and he was walking in the doors. People brought out there phones and snapped a few pictures with it being a high class bar in New York City, it wasn't a huge deal.

Meg smiled wide and waved at the group. They spotted her and waved back as they began walking towards us. “what up?” Timothee shouted playfully as he hugged Meg. “If we had known you were coming to the same bar when you said you were going out later, we could have just left the office together!” Zendaya laughed giving Meg a one armed hug. Meg pointed to me, “this one needed a Friday night out so I had to stop home anyways.”

Florence smiled, “I needed to change anyways. That was probably one of the most fun shoots I've had for an interview though. Can we buy you girls drinks?” Florence looked to you and put her hand gently on your shoulder, “I'm so sorry, I'm Florence what's your name?” You told the group your name and Zendaya was laughing wrapping her arm around Florence, “yeah Flo she was standing herebthe whole time and we didn't even ask her name. No wonder people think celebrities are rude as hell. I'm Z this is Timothee and Austin.” You waved smiling, “it's nice to meet you all. I promise I'm not the loser I just sounded like I just prefer staying home.” They all nodded. Florence laughed, “I feel that heavily. Alright let's get some drinks at the bar and come back. the waiters here are too busy.”

While the cast walked off to get their drinks, a Waitress brought us two drinks we didn't order, the same ones we had as a first round. “they're from that gentlemen. Don't worry I prepared them and came right back this way,” she winked, obviously referring to how awful the world was. Meg blushed, her blue eyes wandering over to the blonde man from earlier. He was looking adoringly at her, blushing, he smiled and took a drink of his.

The group came back with their assortment of drinks in hand. After a few short minutes of sharing fun memories of the photoshoot earlier, Meg took a step back from your now formed circle, “you have no idea how much I want to stay and chat but I've been working on that,” she motioned to the blonde man, “for the past hour and I think it's time I stop his longing and say hi. You guys are amazing. Glad you're here to keep my bestie entertained, if you want of course okay bye!” She rambled, took a deep breath, and smoothly turned around with a look of curiosity.

“Shes good,” Florence complimented with a smile of approval and admiration. “so, where are you from?” Timothee immediately asked after taking a shit of his dark and smokey. His green eyes were fixed on yours, seemingly genuinely interested as one of his brows was up. You told him, and without hesitation asked another question, “what brings you to the city?” You didn't want to tell him the entire story about how you are a 24 year old divorcee so you just said work. “I wouldnt think someone who looks like you would be doing radio. A face like yours deserves to be seen,” Austin suddenly chimed in, saying the first words he's said all night. You blushed. Anyone would at those words spoken with his deep raspy voice.

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from showing your blushing. You took a sip of your drink. “Oh come on Austin you started off too strong,” Timothee chuckled. You didn't know what was happening. Zendaya and Florence burst out with laughter before wrapping one arm around each other, “too much testosterone. (Y/n) we will be over here people watching if you find this,” Zendaya used her hand to motion the guys, “disturbing.” Then they walked away. Both guys took a step forward, causing your to take a step back, placing your back against the wall. They were standing in front of you just a ruler length away.

You felt nervous. A tingling sensation overcame your stomach among other places. “do you guys have a bet or something?” You didn't want to fall for it if it was some joke. They were two of the biggest celebrities at this time and they were seemingly coming onto you. Both with girlfriends. “yeah, a bet of who could bring home the most beautiful woman in the room,” Austin stated, looking into your eyes intensely. The bar suddenly felt like a heater was turned up. You held your composure. “You both have girlfriends if the news sources are correct,” you retorted. They shook their heads, “PR” they said simultaneously. They could be lying. It was almost as if they read your mind, contracts between manages about it. Weird they just have it ready but they most likely had to do it often.

You played it cool and finished your drink without saying a word, or tasting it as you chugged it. “I'm going to grab another drink, go check on Meg and go home. You two can decide who is coming with me,” you would never have had the confidence to say the last part without liquid courage. Good thing you were at a bar. You walked between them as if they were saloon doors and tried your best not to look back. You saw Zendaya and Florence applauding and nodding with approval. Zendaya even pumped her fist mouthing “hell yeah.”

You leaned both of your elbows against the bar and flagged down the bartender. You ordered a long island iced tea with a lemon and a lavender garnish. You were going to need all the confidence you could muster up. However you could.

You told the bartender you would be back for it after freshening up. You walked swiftly to the bathroom and looked at yourself in the mirror. You regretted not going for a bit of a glam look but your “clean girl aesthetic” makeup would have to do. You looked to the other woman in the mirror who was fixing her mascara. Your expression must have been easy to read because she smiled big saying, “girl I got you!” The raven haired woman who looked at least 5 inches taller than you, reached into her clutch and pulled out a mini contour kit. “I saw you talking to the cast of Dune? Do you know them?” She questioned. You shook your head, “my best friend, practically sister does.” The woman brushed some highlight powder lightly across your cheeks,” Just enough to make some features pop, you don't want to change too much because it will look like you changed for them since they've already seen you.” she closed the kit, “good luck you are my hero.” She fixed my sweater so that it drapes over one shoulder, taking my academia look up a notch since my flowy long skirt couldn't be helped.

You weren't in the bathroom long because your drink was just being made when you got back to the counter. You took your drink and looked for Meg. Thankfully she was still there, giggling and caressing the mans bicep. She definitely wasn't coming home alone tonight. You walked over and dipped your drink, “I didn't want to interrupt but I'm headed home will you be okay?” You waited for the code word in case of danger, it never came. “I think we might stay out a bit. This is Taron. Taron this is, (y/n). Please stay out with us! You might meet someone!” She was glowing. Whatever this guy was saying to her was the cause of said glow. You smirked, shaking your head, “who said I'm going home alone?” Megs brows raised and she nodded, “okay go ahead.” She hugged you then whispered, “proud of you.” You took a breath and walked back to the guys. They were chuckling but stopped and went back to having swagger or as the kids would call it these days “rizz” which you learned meant charisma.

“Did you decide?” You lifted a brow, finishing your drink. They looked at each other and nodded as if they had some agreement. Austin took a step forward and leaned over to whisper in your ear, his low tone making a shiver to down your spine, “we actually couldn't decide.” Timothee stepped forward, Austin not moving, and leaned over to whisper in your other ear, “so let us both have you. Tonight. Then you will decide which one of us can take you to a dinner tomorrow night.” The last sentence was a demand and it sent your body into a frenzy but you kept your composure. You didn't say anything, you took a step back, put your glass on the counter and kept walking towards the door. You turned around before you got out of ear shot as they were both shrugging off disbelief they were rejected. But they weren't.

“Well? You boys coming or do I have to take care of myself after that?” They both perked up immediately and were practically tripping over their own feet as they said their goodbyes to Z and Flo.

You all stumbled out of the bar. Someone must have alerted the paparazzi and some fans, probably via deuxmoi, because there were cameras flashing outside the bar and you all stopped every few steps for them to take selfies with some fans. Austin finally said to the fans, “sorry guys, we are trying to catch up with an old friend tonight but we will be around tomorrow if we didn't manage to get to you.” we walked swiftly into the nearby metro station, “we are going to our hotel right?” Timmy asked as they managed to keep their heads down going down the steps. “no,” you shook your head, “you don't need to impress me with your 5 star hotels. It's already happening. My place is two blocks away.” They shrugged and followed you to your apartment, keeping their heads down as much as possible.

You reached your two bedroom small apartment quickly and kicked your boots off at the door. They followed suit. “your room, gorgeous?” Austin pointed to the door that had stickers of book titles all over the door. You nod once as he grabs your wrist and leads you slowly to your door timothee following you both and locking your bedroom door behind himself.

Timmy didn't hesitate to move your hair away from your neck and trail kisses down your neck and to your shoulder that was exposed on the one side. Austin gripped your face with his hand gently and kissed you passionately with just the right amount of tongue. Timmys hands went under your sweater, lifting it from your body, breaking your kiss with Austin briefly. When Austin's lips returned to yours his hand was gripping your hair now, you were getting weak in the knees.

Timothee used one ringed finger to trace the outline of your torso and gripped your breasts from under your bra before releasing them using his other hand. Timmy reached his head around you to place a breast in his mouth and push Austin away in one motion. He got down on his knees before you and slowly pulled your skirt and thong off in one go. “Bed. Now,” Austin demanded. He pulled his shirt off and Timmy followed suit. You lay on the bed, your ass aligned with the edge and Austin quickly found his way between them, trailing soft, ticklish kisses down your thighs in a teasing manner. Timmy began unbuttoning his own pants as Austin worked his tongue around your clit. You arched your back and moaned in pleasure with your hand gripping Austin's hair. Timothee got on the bed and kissed you passionately.

“Suck it for me?” Timmy smiled, his bedroom eyes arousing you. You nod and Austin grabs your hips, flips you around and has you in doggy style. He still works his tongue as you place Timothee into your mouth. Timothee groans and Austin inserts himself into you, slowly, teasingly for the first few thrusts. Then hard, causing you to scream in pleasure then slow again.

The two take turns on you, sometimes just watching you with the other but neither interacting with each other minus a few compliments and “damn bro she's loving this” comments. Two men so comfortable with their own sexuality made them even more attractive to you.

When you finished, you realized an hour and a half had passed. Austin lay on your bed staring at the ceiling repeating “wow” and “incredible” timothee pulling his boxers back on. Austin looked like he needed a breath so naturally, “timothee?” You beconed as you stood at your bathroom door naked, “shower with me?” he ripped his shorts off and joined you.

“Decided who you wanted to go to dinner with?” Timmy smirks the next morning, assuming he was the clear winner in his own head. You hadn't decided yet. They both slept on the floor. “leave your numbers on that notebook and I'll call one of you later,” you instructed. The both wrote their numbers down and you all walked out to your kitchen. Meg was sitting there drinking her coffee, which caused you to turn bright red. The guys were blushing too. “‘morning,” timothee blushed and waved to meg. She looked surprisingly well rested and didn't have the blonde with her.

“It was nice seeing you again,” Austin spoke to meg, his cheeks bright red as you moved towards the door. They put their shoes on and you let them out. “you'll actually call right?” Timothee asked with a nervous smile. “I guess you'll see,” you stated before closing the door and joining meg at the counter. “im seeing Taron for a proper date tonight but you…you have some explaining to do,” she stated while pouring your coffee.

#timmy tim #timothee chalamet fanfiction #timothee chalamet imagine #austin butler #austin butler one shot #timothee x y/n #timothee x reader #austin butler x reader #dune part two

121 notes · View notes

hanakihan · 1 year ago

Text

so since @i-bring-crack gave me the idea now I’m having a brainrot so here we are

‘Tired salaryman transmigrates into other world, decides to chill and accidentally completes the main quest without knowing so’, the thread

- jinchul is your average day to day salaryman who’s exceptional in his field but his life is so repetitive and boring he rarely questions what he does daily, even on weekends he mostly sleeps or works because there’s nothing else to do (he’s like me fr—)

- one night he was returning home after a really hard day at work, one of very few instances where he overworked even by his own standards. he was sleepy and tired enough not to notice moon being too bright and shadows dancing at weird angles around him. he did feel like someone was watching him whole way home so he sped up his walking and that’s exactly how he accidentally fell through one of shadows after stepping on it

- he doesn’t remember everything after that that much, but next thing he knows is that he’s laying in a comfortable bed. then apparently he wakes up in a strange room that kinda looks something straight out of historical drama but also something out of those isekai fantasy novels teenagers love to read. which is even more confusing when a man enters the room. that’s when jinchul realizes he has no idea what language this man speaks.

- apparently after several hours of struggling to communicate mostly through sign language and awkward drawings/sketches, jinchul more or less understands that he’s either sleeping after overworking too much or he’s really been thrown into other world (time??) without any knowledge. Go Gun-Hee (as he suspects man’s name is because he pointed at himself and said it several times) was nice enough to host poor man with amnesia and so is his wife. jinchul is a man of gratitude and considering his position he’s more than happy to help around their estate for sheltering him while also borrowing language books from their library. thank god his company made him learn several languages for business reasons.

- after some time jinchul is able to read and talk in their language so living becomes slightly better. history books of this world provide more context so yes, he’s apparently in some kind of different world where magic exists. he should freak out by this point but honestly when freaking out helped in any situation. there’s whole kingdom, there’s local religion, there’s so much he actually needs to memorize. jinchul is actually glad basic accounting rules from his world work here too so with time jinchul becomes gunhee’s accountant.

- jinchul hates coffee but only after arriving here and seeing there’s no such thing as coffee, jinchul realizes he might’ve been a caffeine addict. there was a solid month where he suffered drawback from its absence and it was impossible to even get up from bed. he hates coffee still but he misses it because now all tiredness crushes down on him in one go

- weirdly enough this world does have something akin to coffee beans but no one knows what do with them. just to test out jinchul buys some (under merchant’s questionable stare) and brews them. turns out it tastes almost exactly like coffee, just less bitter and less caffeine. jinchul’s opportunistic mind started to turn gears in his head.

- through some time jinchul now owns a famous shop, only one in whole country to sells and serves coffee related stuff. he’s more than happy with his arrangement, plus he has his own independent income and more free time to visit gunhee and his wife. he also isn’t that healthy (because honestly who’s he to sell coffee at astronomical price like it was back in his world) but he earns enough for living.

- one evening right before closing his shop is visited by a man. jinchul tenses because there’s something familiar about his presence. something from back from his world. something at last moment before he fell here. even is said man is actually nice, just a little stone faced, jinchul is still on high alert. rightfully so because room feels smaller and darker and he can swear he can feel phantom of a cold hand on his neck. it’s suffocating and for the first time here jinchul actually fears for his life.

- man leaves but occasionally returns from time to time to test different coffee and sweets combinations. there’s nothing much happening but jinchul is always uncomfortable. there’s something threatening but not actively so.

- during one of such visits jinchul is absolutely baffled when this unknown man visits his shop again and gifts him rare calming herbal tea leaves and best brand of kingdom’s chocolate. in exchange he asks for best cup of coffee and best desert jinchul can offer. through observations jinchul offers man’s favorites and was right because now everything is less suffocating and stiffening and for some reason jinchul feels like he passed some sort of test. it’s also the evening jinchul finally learns man’s name - sung jinwoo.

- after that it becomes a routine. jinwoo became non hostile and more approachable (as well as being the one to approach) and jinchul uses it as a chance to have a stable source of information about this world.

- (also because I’m a weak dumbass) jinwoo actually remembering when jinchul’s birthday is (even if he mentioned it only once in passing) at night of said birthday jinwoo ungracefully (even if he wanted it to be graceful) falls through jinchul’s window waking him up. jinwoo snatches barely awake jinchul to his palace to celebrate. jinchul is grateful and but also tired and sleepy so it’s mostly a nice late dinner, a present (magically enhanced ring) and a sleepy good night kiss. jinwoo is so shook he just touches his cheek and awkwardly leaves to sleep in a guest room since jinchul fell asleep in his room. once he’s in bed realization crushes down on him. apparently the most fearsome shadow monarch is deeply in love with a destined one to supposedly murder him. jinwoo’s own plan backfired spectacularly.

- jinwoo’s plan: snatch destined one into their world before church can summon him - let him live here for some time and observe him - approach him with malicious intent to see his reaction - if attacks then murder, if not then make him attached - make destined one attached and be in good relationship to keep a close eye on him so he can strike first in case of murder intent - accidentally become the one attached and fall in love with destined one - wait what???

#solo leveling #woo jin chul #sung jin woo #local humanity’s calamity suffering form backfired plan #it will go down in their history books #church is unholy screeching because they can’t summon the destined one #jinwoo thinks he still won but he literally doesn’t understand jinchul unconsciously has him wrapped around his pinky #jinwoo will never stop hearing teasing from his mom and sis after they saw jinchul sleeping in his bed

103 notes · View notes

immoralimmortals · 1 month ago

Text

A Song With Ten Names

Chapter 47: Um, It's Kind of a Lot (2)

Chapter 1 ☆ Next chapter ☆ AO3 ☆ Featured song playlist

Love raw and unfiltered can kill you. Kisame is all too aware. He needs to go back. He needs to fix this before she gets hurt.

Author's Note:

The song again is Um, It's Kind of a Lot by Will Wood.

Content warning for this chapter: discussion of rough sex fantasies veering into sexual assault, though it should be noted it does not actually happen.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Oh, I'm afraid that you'll change your mind

I'm afraid there's somebody better

I'm afraid of four-letter words, like "love", "for", and "ever"

(Or whatever)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Do you really think that it’d turn out that easily? A love story? A fairy tale? A dream come true?

It isn’t “love” that he makes to her that night. Kisame holds the woman down underneath him, iron grip pinning her by the forearms, raised above her head. Her skin is red, bruised, bleeding, the shape of his jaws branded all over her helpless, naked body. She writhes, she shouts, but her legs stay open; he’s too powerful to refuse. In, and in, and in, so mercilessly, with no regard for the little thing she is, until the blood of her virginity splays underneath where he violated her, staining the pure white bedsheets bright red. A massive paw of this beast moves to grip her throat, encasing it so very easily. She should have never trusted him, not even a bit. Horror consumes her expression. All she can do is watch.

And just then, in the corner of his eye, the beast sees that Itachi is watching, too.

A sharp inhale...and Kisame wakes up. He's jolted straight up from bed and gasps for air, palms hovering over his own throat like he was the one being choked.

Oh...

Ohh no.

In a state of sobering panic, a man in love realizes he is in way over his head.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

And I'm afraid you'll notice all my flaws

I'm afraid you already have, obviously

And I'm afraid I'll come on too strong, hold you too tight, and scare you too

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Let’s talk, Takara-hime.”

It feels so wrong, after a fantasy like that, to take her to his bedroom...but it’s the only place they have that is truly private. Maybe that’s a mistake; maybe this needs to be in front of somebody else, for the safety of an innocent, weak woman.

It’s too late by the time he’s led her to his door, turning the knob and letting her in.

He doesn’t quite feel within his body as he watches her walk inside, look about the room where he just envisioned himself unleashing upon her. A smile on her face...a spin in her embroidered skirt as she holds her arms slightly up to take a good, long look at this room, almost imitating a dancer in a music box. She’s been here before, but there’s a real skill in being able to see things anew, search for the novel and wonderful in ordinary things.

Novel, Kisame may be, but he is neither wonderful nor ordinary.

“You should have a seat,” he suggests, lest she get too playful and the whole conversation go awry.

“Oh. Okay.”

And she does, plopping right on the edge of his bed with a big, goofy grin on her face and a kick in her legs. Oh, goddammit...this is going to be so hard. She still sees him in the glow of the honeymoon phase, all sunshine and rainbows and like the most he’ll ever want to do to her is bestow chaste, worshiping kisses. He can’t savor this moment, not when it’s about to break forever by his own hand. He finds the chair in the corner of his room and carries it over, propping it just across the lady he’s confessed his love to. With a sigh, the shark sits down.

“I...went too fast.”

…

Her smile wanes, and her brow curls; the woman remains quiet, giving him space to talk so she may understand.

“I... Shit, princess,” he swears. It’s unbearable how her fingers tangle on top of her lap, how close he and she are right now that he could so easily use one hand to grab her by the jaw and another to force her onto him. It becomes too much.

He watches her own hand raise up, approaching him—

And once again today, a man frightened of himself bolts straight up, hand to his forehead. The distance made is not enough; heart racing, Kisame paces to the corner, hunched over and trying to catch his breath. Fuck. Fuck!

“Sorry,” he apologizes for inexplicable actions. But a proper explanation can’t escape his rupturing chest. “Give me a moment. Sorry—” he exhales.

From where she sits, she watches him, retracting her grasp to instead hold a fist to her heart and frown. “Kisame?” she asks, but nothing happens. The woman exhales through her nose and decides to recenter, prepare herself for whenever he’s ready to come back.

She closes her eyes as she breathes in.

…

And upon opening when she breathes out, suddenly an object in the room is more apparent than before. Naive eyes blink at the thick, bandaged stick. Kisame can sense it immediately.

“TAKARA-HIME, NO!”

But immediately is still too late. A palm is pressed against Samehada out of stupid, trusting curiosity. He’s making his nightmare come true, bringing her so close to the sword. Spikes will emerge, and penetration will cause blood.

…

Except it doesn’t.

“I—oh.” The palm pulls back, and unbelievably...hell, SOMEHOW...she’s just fine. Not even a scratch. Kisame ogles in disbelief, heart racing in his rib cage. The woman draws smaller into herself, shoulders closer to her head and hands hiding into her chest, and she looks to him with terrible guilt. Whatever made him shout like that...he must be upset; the performer is quick to apologize. “I’m sorry. I—”

But he doesn’t answer, mouth gaping disbelief. She is standing right next to Samehada, the consumer of life, the war machine that uses viscera like oil...and she’s fine. She’s just fine...!

Experimentally, Kisame walks up, takes her by the wrist, and presses her palm back onto the weathered bandages that encase his sword.

…

A rumble, and the performer gasps— would have pulled away if Kisame wasn’t holding her there. “It...it’s moving…!”

Indeed it is. But more specifically, this is a vibration Kisame refers to as...its purring. That only happens when Samehada is feasting or being scratched.

“...Well, would you look at that…!” he murmurs, still breathless from dashing across the room to save her life. “Samehada...likes you.”

“It...does?”

A bitter chuckle, and he guides her to pet it— gentle, controlled, ready to take her away if needed after all. “Princess, you’d know if it didn’t like you.” She hums, and stars fill her eyes. Maybe it’s all a metaphor for something. If...because the performer is from a world with no chakra, and his sword has nothing to hurt her over— even enjoys her company instead—...maybe… Just maybe...Kisame is the same way. He isn’t so naive...but the idea gives him a sliver of foolish hope.

He waits until she’s had her fill of the object both alive and not before he guides her to sit back down, following suit right after. Lady on the bed, man in the chair, just as they started. A deep, lingering exhale. He’s not getting out of this one easily.

“Takara-hime…” he begins again, leaning forward to rest a palm on his knee, get his head more level with her eyes, lest he look down upon her. “Truth is...important to me. It’s something people don’t give up easily. You know?” She nods, but he’s pretty sure she doesn’t quite get what he means, not in the visceral, excruciating way shinobi do from lived experience. “It’s precious. Like you are. To me.”

...Another exhale from his blue lips, and she can sense he’s reaching some place very, very hard to come out of. She waits.

“I...rushed things.” Months and months of yearning, brushing against one another at most, and yet he managed to rush things. “I need you to know...the truth about me. Before things escalate.”

“Escalate?” she repeats.

“Yeah. You know.”

...Faced with her silence, he can only hope she knows. Maybe Deidara was right to question if she’s ever been with someone before, credulous as she seems to be. But let’s not start there; there’s more serious subjects that’ll get the point across. “I’m not being wishy-washy when I tell you I’m a killer, princess. ...‘Murderer’ may be more apt.”

Kisame waits for her to absorb this fact before moving on to explain.

“I was on a mission...and I was instructed that if my squad were captured...I…”

He tries to take in how she looks at this moment, just before he changes everything forever.

“I kill them.”

Kisame doesn’t need to fill in the blank about what happened next; he can see it on her face, the dawning horror as her eyes go wide and her lips part in a terrible sort of awe. And mercilessly, he is not even done.

“And shortly thereafter...I found out my sensei...he was selling information. So...what was that all for? The secrecy...the protection...why? Why do men pretend to have morals and throw it all away...?" The missing-nin isn’t sure he’s gone into this sort of cathartic detail before, not with anyone besides Itachi. He holds his head in one set of fingers, beginning to feel exhausted from talking alone. “I wanted things to be different. I wanted...revolution.”

Tap...tap, painted nail brings her attention to the cross over his headband.

“I wanted to change this wretched world and get something...better.” And as his hand drops, so does his head; he can’t look her in the eyes anymore, not when he barely has it in him to keep talking. “But it isn’t so easy as that. I joined the Akatsuki with the promise that things can change, and maybe...just maybe...truth exists out there.”

Time to be a big boy, now. Take in a breath so long and deep he feels like he’s sucking in all the evil in the world and expelling it out like his lungs are a purifier. He can soak it in; he can take it, if it means there’s less around for others like her to deal with, how few there may be. A long press of his eyes shut...and they open to see her anew.

��

But she's the exact same person, not nearly as disappointed in him as he thought she would be. He tilts his head, frowning harder as it’s clear there’s empathy staring back at him. Maybe she’s just stupid.

“Don’t you get it, princess?” he pleads. “I shed blood. I do it with discretion, a choice I’m well aware of but with no hesitation. There may be a day where I...have to…—”

Empathy. Unwavering, agonizing empathy is all he gets. Finish the sentence, make her understand:

“Shed. Yours.”

…

“And,” she finally speaks, trying to unravel the story that is the swordsman of Kirigakure. “You’re worried about getting attached to me if it comes.”

Just like that the dam finally breaks, the lava bursting out of a volcano, the tidal wave of the sea slamming down to drown those who dare remain on the shore.

“DAMMIT, Takara-hime—! It isn’t JUST that!” Finally, finally, he bares his teeth at her, snarls and shows his rage, the bloodthirsty animal behind his ugly eyes. “I am GOING to kill you! It is inevitable! You’re too nice, and HELPLESS, and you are going to DIE!”

A man aware it’s all over holds his expression in place, letting her get a good, long look at what the truth really means. She does look; and she looks scared. And it justifies Kisame, the vitriol within him finally getting to sink in its teeth. But even so...as the seconds pass...he can’t keep it up, and his face softens into a sad, pathetic grimace, and he has to choke through his words.

“You...need to pick someone else. Someone that isn’t me. To protect you." From him. "I’m going to hurt you, and you’re not going to make it out...not as the same person you are now.”

…

“I,” she murmurs, and he can hear her heart breaking. “I thought...you liked me.”

It isn’t hard to bring Kisame to his knees for her, metaphorically speaking. That was his biggest mistake, entering this conversation as if he was more powerful than she is. If anything, she is the one in control...even when she doesn’t mean to be.

“I do. I do like you, Takara-hime.”

…

A gut-wrenching, disgusting silence as Kisame is left to stew in everything he’s said and face the consequences.

“Do you...really not want me?” she whispers.

“I want you, princess. I want you more than you can take.”

“Tell me how.”

“...You’ll hate me. You’ll be frightened of me.”

“But it’ll be the truth.”

…

“I dream about you. I dream about...loving you. And you cry. And you bleed. And I hurt you.” It only happened that way once...but once is enough. In the other dreams, he never got far enough to see the results of his actions, grabbing her and positioning, feeling his heat and hers ready to consummate but not quite yet started. But what else could such temptation lead to? His body is made for damaging and slaughter and nothing else. Certainly nothing as delicate as the lady needs, if one were so much as to ask to make love to her. But then there’s a very important question, one he hasn’t asked himself yet, and so the woman across him does it instead:

“Is that what you want?”

…

What does “want” mean? He wants to rip, bite, destroy. He sees himself doing it; he loves doing it. But...to her? Does he really desire to do it to her, in the real tangible world? Does he want to lay his hands around her neck right now, as she sits so vulnerable a mere grasp away? Does he want to make her receive him without attending to her safety, enjoyment? Does he want her to cry in his ear and be afraid of what he’s done, doing, and will do?

Does he want her to fear him?

…

“No.”

She doesn’t say anything. The performer lets Kisame sit with his thoughts and have to think for himself what to do.

…

“I,” Kisame stammers, left a puddle by her quiet. “Shit.” His defenses are crumbling. Even with everything on the table, she’s still looking at him with trust and adoration. How? How?! It isn’t right; she should know better. How can he make her know better?

There’s one thing left— one thing that is exemplary to the inhuman, selfish creature he is, the thing that wants to take and take and have:

“Takara...I don’t...love like everyone else. I...I lust. I lust and I want.”

“...Yeah?”

Dammit— “I know how it sounds— it sounds normal, but it’s not. Listen.” How does he put it, as terrible as it is? It’s such a big, terrible evil inside of him...and yet...he fails to find the words to describe it so. He’s left with only the minimum definition, something that makes it seem so little, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“I...want more...than just one person.”

…

“Yeah?”

He frowns. That’s it?! No questions, no surprise, no prodding? Shouldn’t that shock her?! Boggle her, disgust her if she DOES understand? “Takara-hime…!” he reiterates, grave as death.

But she is unflinching. In fact, she softens even more.

“Oh, Kisame…” she coos, and it’s like he’s as innocent as a child. “You’re like me.”

And all of a sudden, the swordman feels like he’s going to melt into the floor.

“Can I...hold your hand?”

He couldn’t say no to her if he tried. She takes it. She might as well take all of him. He can’t look at anything else but her face, the kindness...love...she radiates. What is happening…?!

“There’s a word for this...where I’m from,” she explains, and her thumb strokes his knuckles so soothingly. “It’s called...being polyamorous. Or…‘poly’ for short. It means that you can be romantically attracted to more than one person at once. Is...that how you feel?”

“...Yeah,” he says stupidly.

“Then you’re like me. I’m the same way.”

And she smiles at him. This isn’t right. It’s too saccharine, too good to be true.

��It— it isn’t just romantic,” he quickly adds, lest she get too comfortable. “I feel…—” The kiri-nin has to stop dancing around it, so she can finally understand, modesty be damned. “I want to have sex...with…—”

…

She is unchanged. Still smiling, still listening. This doesn’t bother her at all.

“I—”

A tilt of her head and she leans in a bit closer. He’s never felt something like this before; it doesn’t have a name and he doesn’t know what to do.

“That’s just fine,” she tells him, and it’s like a dream come true.

…

Since he’s frozen, and so much has just happened, the woman opts to finally— at least consciously— take control.

“There’s a lot of people just like you and me. My world, this one...plenty of us. People just...don’t want to talk about it. People are afraid of what they don’t understand. But...so long as the people involved try to communicate their wants and boundaries...why is that so bad? As long as everyone consents...who does it hurt? Kisame…”

She moves in closer.

“Can I hug you?”

…

And despite being so afraid before, of his body being close to hers, he says yes. She lifts out of her seat on the mattress and moves into him, and she fits like a puzzle piece with her arms wrapping around his sides.

“You can love...whoever you want. Me, someone else...even no one. A lot of things about you may be evil...but that thing isn’t.”

Tears well in his eyes so fast he can’t stop them from falling. Shaky hands press onto her back, barely even there, afraid to crush her with the might of this feeling unchaining from inside of him. She does all the hugging, and it’s like being held by an angel.

Nothing more is said this conversation, as the woman has wisdom to know he needs time, time to decide and feel what he really wants. As long as the embrace lasts, Kisame marvels— and will marvel the rest of the day— that the terrible thing in him is such an important part of her.

Love.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

But I never been afraid to wear my heart on my sleeve

At least to prove I'm weak, and if you cut me, I'll bleed

Oh, could you be the light my X-rays need?

All my life's a Duchovny role

Oh, Gillian, you won't believe this

Spit me out, you don't know where I've been

Hold me at claw's length, baby

I'm not used to fear of losing something I hold dear

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Kisame exhales. Since she’s gone, he hasn’t left his bedroom all day; no way he’s going out and looking people in the eye before he catches his tongue, lest the words slip up and he embarrasses himself or her. It’s getting darker outside, he notices as he’s stretched out on his back staring at the ceiling. His head turns right and sees the sun beginning to set. Kisame remembers something his partner said, another time the shark was contemplating his choices.

Itachi…

“No person is property,” the Uchiha assures, unbelievably. “I know we spoke before...about how no one could love the likes of us…"

"But if you feel it, perhaps you should try. Whatever you feel...it is fine. It’s fine so long as it is wanted.”

Itachi...did you know?

A pensive expression on Kisame’s face— pinching brow and frowning mouth— abruptly opens up to wide eyes and popped up eyebrows. In a flash, his face is purple, and he throws his hands over it with the might of every iota of his being flustered to hell and back and then to hell again.

“DAMMIT!”

Kisame has just realized that back at the hot spring...Hidan was telling the truth.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Oh, I love you so much it scares me half to death

I'm not used to this, how did it happen, baby?

I love you so much it scares me half to death

The other half I guess I'm giving to you

Oh, baby

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

#akatsuki x reader #kisame x reader #kisame x oc #akatsuki x oc #aswtn fic #songfic

14 notes · View notes

gay-disabled-characters-showdown · 8 months ago

Text

LGBTQ+ Disabled Characters Showdown Round 1, Wave 5, Poll 10

A character being totally canon LGBTQ+ and disabled was not required to be in this competition. Please check qualifications and propaganda before asking why a character is included.

Check out the other polls in this wave and prior here.

Quinni Gallagher-Jones-Heartbreak High

Qualifications:

Quinni is canonically autistic and a lesbian!

Quinn is a lesbian and is also autistic

she is autistic and sapphic

She is a lesbian and autistic

she is canonically autistic and canonically a lesbian

Propaganda:

Quinni is honestly the best. She is such a fiercely loyal friend and such an open and understanding person. Her fashion is everything! She gives way more chances to people than they may deserve. She is autistic and is very open about this. She also gets a romantic storyline. She's got great friends who stick with her through everything, especially her best friend Darren. The actress who plays Quinni is autistic and does a fantastic job with the role! She means a whole lot to me!

She is just the best ever I love her so much :) such a ray of sunshine! and the actress who plays her is also autistic so the rep is great!

quinni is canonically a lesbian and also autistic. while being autistic is an important part of her storyline it doesn’t define who she is as a character. same with being gay. quinni is a queen!

just a bubbly teen with autism who loves fantasy novels, bright makeup, wearing Crocs and girls(!!) <3

she is played by an autistic and queer actor who advocates for this kind of representation, she’s genuinely the best representation i’ve ever seen of autism especially when it comes to sensory issues and meltdowns, she also dates a girl and is an important main character

Anything Else?:

I mean look at her, the cutest ever (Submitter 2)

Ricky Potts-Ride the Cyclone

Qualifications:

he canonically has an unnamed degenerative disease and cant talk/walk without mobility aids (fuck the new script, we reject the new script, ricky is and always will be disabled) and, while not stated in cannon, is so extremely queer and trans coded

Propaganda:

the fandom all collectively agrees that his ass is NOT cis or straight, but we still fight over his exact identity (to this day ive never seen anyone who doesnt see ricky as trans), hes a badass autistic-coded silly guy who can play like 5 instruments and day dreams abt fucking alien cat women in space, and hes a big symbol for disability and ableism in theatre

#polls #poll #disabled characters #lgbtq characters #disability #lgbtq #lgbtq dcs round 1 #lgbtq dcs wave 5 #quinni gallagher jones #quinni heartbreak high #heartbreak high #ricky potts #ride the cyclone #id in alt text

30 notes · View notes

maxxxineminxxx · 1 year ago

Text

summer love || Eddie Munson

a/n: i am thinking about writing a few blurbs for this story like when Eddie realized he liked her and also maybe some memories from when they were young like when they first met. so let me know if you want those or if you have any other ideas.

summary : y/n hasnt returned to Hawkins since she was fourteen and on her first day back she bumps into her old childhood bestfriend who she hasnt spoken to or seen in years. They are having an amazing time until he asks one question. why didnt she return? warnings : fluff and some angst

Summer was your favorite time of year, cherishing the warm weather, the much needed break from school and being able to hangout with your friends whenever. But this summer was different. You had to visit your mom in Hawkins, Indiana and spend your summer there. The journey to Hawkins, Indiana, felt like a step into the past. The memories of those childhood visits were hazy, a blend of long-forgotten adventures and fleeting moments with your mom.

The small town welcomed you with friendly faces. Yet, you couldn't shake the feeling of being almost a complete stranger here. The memories were distant, and much had changed since your last visit at the age of fourteen.

The first day was as fun as it could be in the small town where you arrived at forest hills trailer park. Your mom greeted you warmly, but quickly headed off to work, So you opted to explore your surroundings. You set out to revisit the old places that had once been your havens of adventure and wonder. The book store.

The bell tinkled gently as you entered the bookshop. The scent of aged paper and ink filled the air creating an inviting atmosphere that seemed to embrace every visitor. You made your way past rows of neatly arranged shelves. You began to read the titles of the romance novels running your fingers along the spines, drawn to the promise of captivating love stories.

A shiver ran down your spine as you continued to scan the titles in the romance section. The feeling of being watched hung heavy in the air, and you couldn't shake the sensation that someone's eyes were fixed on you. Your heart quickened its pace, and you discreetly glanced around, trying to identify the source of your unease.

When your eyes met another.Your eyes locked across the bookshop, his gaze intense. He stood amidst the fantasy section.A strange sense of familiarity washed over you, a feeling that you had encountered before, though you couldn't place when or where. His face held a familiarity that teased at the edges of my memory, like a half-remembered dream.

You broke eye contact and drew your attention back onto the book in your hands. Walking over to the cashier paying and walking straight out. As you were walking out you heard your name being called, turning around you saw him again. The guy in the bookstore.

“y/n” he said but it sounded more like a question almost as if he was unsure. “Yeah” I replied back, sounding just as unsure as he did. “Woah uh you look different… you look good not that you didn't look good before but i just haven't seen you in like so many years i wasn't sure if it was actually you but you are and wow” the boy rambled on rather fast, not even stopping for air.

His features slowly came into focus, and a rush of memories flooded back.

‘’ Eddie?’’ you screamed as you launched yourself into his arms and he hugged you back tightly.“You look so different, how have you been?” “Well you know, I could be better still stuck here, redoing senior year for the third time but other than that im just peachy’’ he said with a genuine laugh you smiled back at him. “Well third times the charm” you laugh. At that moment, you felt as happy as ever, grateful for this unexpected reunion.

It was a joyous moment, filled with laughter, as we strolled back to the trailer park, eagerly sharing stories and catching up on the last few years. you noticed a hint of disappointment flicker across his face every time you brought up a funny memory from your childhood. you did your best to brush it off, sensing there might be something more beneath the surface.

We sat down on my front porch and you looked over at him before he spoke. “Can i ask you a question y/n” you nodded your head.

“Why didn't you come back ? you told me you were coming back and that you would be here for the summer again, you came to hawkins every summer and then one day you just didn't show up. I waited for you at the bus stop and I wrote to you… but I never got a reply.”

The question you had been dreading finally surfaced. you looked up at him with a sad smile and let out a shaky sigh. " I didn't want to be your friend anymore. I only came here every summer to visit you, my mom didn't care if i was here or not though she most likely would of enjoyed it more if i had just stayed at my dads. We had been friends since we were six years old and i started to feel different okay?’’

1980 flashback

Today was Eddie's fourteenth birthday. You spent all morning making him the perfect chocolate cake that you knew he was going to absolutely devour in five minutes. You had spent all weekend trying to find the perfect gift for him and settled on the Lord of the Rings books which he had been talking about wanting forever. You put on your nicest sundress, curled your hair slightly and even did some basic makeup. You weren't sure what these new feelings were. Why did you all of a sudden feel the need to look your best infront of him? You shoved those feelings down and headed over to his trailer. Gift bag in one hand and cake in the other.

“Eddie” you screamed excitedly as the boy rushed out of the trailer to help you inside.

You placed the cake on the table and put his gift bag in front of him.you started singing happy birthday to him and he flushed red hugging you tightly.He was already eyeing the cake and bouncing with excitement. “You can open your gift first or we can eat cake first it's up to you birthday boy” you said to him

‘’ I can multitask, how about we do both” he replied, overjoyed, grabbing plates and digging into the cake. Then grabbing his gift bag and opening it.you watched as he looked at the books with nothing but happiness.

He jumped up from his chair and gave you a bone crushing hug lifting you from your chair.

“Eddie, I need air please’’ you said , hardly breathing at this point.

“Oh yeah sorry” he replied, letting you go and staring at you for a moment before thanking you a million times and placing kisses all over your face.you giggled uncontrollably and started pushing him away. You stared at him for a moment. Both of you are out of breath from laughing and smiles on your faces.

Were you in love with your best friend?

“ I'm really sorry eds” you said to him as he stared at you and hurt was all over his face.

“ i think- i think maybe i liked you” you told him truthfully he laughed softly The sadness that had clouded his face suddenly lifted, replaced by a glimmer of relief and understanding ‘’ i liked you too y/n” “ no eds not in a best friend kind of way… more than that’’ you said shyly

‘’ i know’’ he said looking at me happily

“ what- what do you mean you know? I never told you and I tried really hard not to show it too. Do you know how hard it was not to tell you ! i didn't want to ruin our friendship because i thought it would never work cause we only saw each other once a year for a couple days and there was no way you felt the same” you rambled quickly not stopping for air once before he put his hands onto your face and smiled at you. you looked at him for a second before quickly looking at his lips. His lips crashed into yours and you smiled into the kiss. You felt like you were fourteen again giggling like a school girl with her first crush.

In that very moment, you were overjoyed and you realized that the 14-year-old version of yourself had envisioned this scenario a million times, at the very least.It was a revelation you never saw coming. All those summers of concealing your feelings for the boy you had grown to care for more deeply than you had ever imagined possible were over. You didn't need to hide those emotions any longer, because it turned out he felt the same way.

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson #stranger things 4 #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #stranger things s4 #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson deserved better #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson angst #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson au

143 notes · View notes

it-happened-one-fic · 8 months ago

Text

Bias - Cyno

Author Notes: @milanka1604 So this is the high-fantasy adventure fic that goes with the book that has been lovingly recovered in sun-faded fabric. I helped myself out a bit with the writing by listening to “Legendary Lovers” by Katy Perry which most certainly affected how this story came together. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Gender-neutral reader/ 600 followers event request/ fluff/ high fantasy adventure in a book that has been lovingly re-covered in now sun-faded fabric/ isekai/ romance implied

Word count: 1652

I honestly didn’t know how long I’d been out before I’d woken up, staring straight up at a bright blue desert sky and wondering how I’d ended up here when, mere moments ago, I’d been right outside of my bookshop with Cyno.

What made it even worse was the fact that I also had someone else’s memories dancing around in my head.

Initially, after realizing that there was far more amiss than just my location due to the strange, foreign clothes I had woken up wearing and the odd memories, I’d tried to leave the oasis. But I’d been unable to leave the side of the cool, clear water, and had eventually given up. Opting to instead ponder my situation and try to figure out what, exactly, was going on.

And that was how Cyno had found me, as he’d appeared atop a dune and almost immediately looked my way, like he was somehow honed in on my presence.

I stared up at Cyno from where I sat in the golden sand around the oasis, relieved to see him and finding myself fascinated by the strange clothes he wore.

Dark robes that were wrapped around him, making him look like he was some hero out of some high fantasy story as he pulled down the mask that had concealed all of his face but his bright red eyes.

“So this is where you were… I’d wondered if you’d gotten dragged into this book as well.”

I felt myself smile at his words, nodding slightly as I watched him walk over and plop down next to me with an almost surprising degree of nonchalance. But then Cyno was more used to being in the desert than I was.

But his words told me almost everything I needed to know. He’d reached the same conclusion as I. That we were stuck inside of a book.

The book that he’d spoken of was, in fact, something he’d been investigating as the General Mahamatra and was also quite likely the sole reason we were in our current predicament.

From what Cyno had told me when he’d first received his mission, an Akademiya researcher had recently flooded the book market with some less-than-safe novels that quietly dragged the reader into the story.

Before we’d ended here, wherever here was, I’d been giving Cyno a suspicious looking book that had just recently turned up in my store.

After that, all I could remember was a brilliant flash of light and then waking up in the desert. Each of us in different locations.

At this point, it seemed clear that the book I’d been giving him was indeed one of the novels that was pulling people into it. This one, in particular, seemed to deal with some sort of high-fantasy story set in the desert, if the memories I’d been gifted with were anything to go by.

I could only assume the memories were, in actuality, the backstory of whatever character I’d been slotted into when I’d been pulled into this story. Unfortunately, though, my character hardly seemed to be a fun one.

Apparently, my role was that of someone who had mystical powers that allowed them, or rather, me, to cause oases to spring into existence.

Though such an ability ought to have been a hot commodity in a desert setting such as this one, my character’s memories told a very different story.

Afraid of the mystical oasis-giving powers, the locals of my character’s home village had kicked them out and abandoned them in the harsh desert.

After wandering for an extensive period, my character had then run into a group of power-hungry adventurers who wanted to use my character’s powers to create a corrupt government where all would serve them.

So my character had fled before reaching this place and hiding, and, so far as I could tell, that was around when I’d appeared.

I could only assume that, judging from his rather fantastical outfit and notable sword strapped to his back, Cyno was the hero of this story. No doubt a lost prince or some such character that was off on a great journey and had stumbled across both me and this oasis.

I gazed at him carefully, tilting my head in slight amusement as I realized that Cyno actually fit his role amusingly well. Not only did he look the part with his pale hair and red eyes, he could easily handle any action scenes this novel would throw at him.

That didn’t change the fact that neither of us seemed to know what to do in this situation, though, and I could tell just from looking at him that the young man next to me was tense.

But there was no telling what he’d encountered in this world already if this really was some sort of adventure story.

The heroes of such stories always seemed to lead a hard life, and I could only imagine what Cyno might have already dealt with.

I sat back, letting my hands press into the sand beneath me, “So... What’s your character’s backstory?”

At my words, he looked my way immediately. His eyebrows lifting slightly, almost like he could tell that I was trying to ease the tense atmosphere.

But then he twisted, facing me as he straightened slightly, “I am an adventurer who has been traveling the desert….”

He paused, and I waited patiently, watching as he seemingly came to a decision and slipped into his role, causing me to smile as I watched him play up the drama of his story, “Wandering, in search of some meaning to my existence.”

I snorted, shaking my head at exactly how run-of-the-mill and dramatic he made his character sound. But then, with my character’s backstory, I was hardly surprised.

From the sound of it, we were stuck in a particularly tropey adventure story.

I leaned forward, though, finding myself grinning as I knowingly encouraged Cyno’s rather ridiculous antics in favor of agonizing over our situation.

I’d done that enough already.

“And what have you found in your wanderings, oh great adventurer?” I matched his play-acting, but felt my smile spread as I noticed the gleam in his eyes.

His face remained a staunch mask of seriousness though, not unlike how he looked when he told one of his jokes as he gestured out to distant sand dunes, “Ruins taller than any modern city, though they have long been lost to the sands of time while people remain unchanged. They contain echoes of the time of heroes and monsters… Artifacts from the ages of gods.”

He trailed off slightly, his arm dropping as he held my gaze, “But only one oasis within all of these wonders. One oasis… And you.”

I shook my head, smiling all the while, though I was half-impressed with his play-acting, “That almost sounded like a real line from a campy adventure novel… I’m guessing you’ve been doing some late-night reading?”

He nodded, leaning back and tilting his head as he relaxed once more, “The books I bought from you, yeah.”

He paused, shifting and staring at me thoughtfully before he continued, “I’m guessing you are what my character has been searching for?”

I lifted one shoulder in a nonchalant half-shrug, “Well, my character, yes. Though that would make this a romantic, high-fantasy adventure story.”

Cyno nodded slightly, his expression not changing even as amusement rippled through his voice, “The best kind, then.”

I felt myself smile again, not bothering to comment on the fact that I was relieved by his presence or anything else that might break the now relaxed atmosphere, “I guess you really are getting to live out our favorite cover story of being an adventurer here.”

He nodded, “I even have you as a companion this time around.”

I blinked at him slightly, but didn’t respond. Instead silently watching as he stood, straightening fully so that he cast a shadow over me before he held out his hand to me in a silent offer.

I tilted my head though, looking from his tanned hand back up to his face, “How long do you think we’ll be stuck in this book?”

My voice came out surprisingly soft, giving away my slight nervousness with this entire situation, but Cyno only shook his head, “I don’t know. My best guess is that we’ll have to finish this story’s plot and go where this adventure takes us.”

Where this adventure took us…. At least I wouldn’t be alone. I could relax with the knowledge that Cyno would be by my side. A thought that had me wryly wondering if perhaps I was a better fit for the token character in need of assistance than I’d initially thought.

I nodded slightly at his words, quietly reaching up and slipping my hand into his. Letting him pull me to my feet easily.

He watched me silently, his red eyes holding my gaze as the wind blew the sand across the distant dune, and I wanted for him to say something.

At the very least, it was the perfect scene for the hero to say something.

But Cyno wasn’t the true hero of this story, and he turned, half disappointed me even though his hand was still gripping mine in a way that reassured me that no matter what, things would turn out okay, “Let’s go.”

He was allowed one step forward before the wind whipped the sand around us into a glittering shield that seemed to give way to a blinding light that soon consumed everything around us.

I opened my eyes hesitantly before blinking in surprise, registering the familiar surroundings before I spoke up, squeezing Cyno’s hand excitedly, “Cyno! We’re back!”

It took me a moment to register the slight smile that flickered across his face as he nodded at me, “So we are….”

He trailed off, though, his eyes narrowing at something behind me and causing me to turn as he let go of my hand and stepped around me.

But there, lying as innocently as could be on the floor behind me, was the book that had started our entire, short-lived adventure.

“And here is our perpetrator,” Cyno knelt as he spoke, picking up the strange book that had been recovered in sun-faded fabric before he straightened.

I stared at the book in his hands, quietly frowning before I glanced back at him, “Why do you think it let us out? Because we just completed an important scene or….?”

I trailed off as Cyno shook his head, “I don’t know, but I’ll take this book back to the Akademiya to be examined. Maybe then we’ll be able to catch its author.”

He looked back my way, and I managed a smile, “Just don’t open it on your way there. We don’t want you getting literally sucked back into the story.”

He snorted slightly, a soft sound, but nodded nonetheless, “Agreed. I’ll be back later, though. Our little adventure left me wanting more. Though I’m not sure you’ll have any stories with better characters than ours had.”

I blinked at him in surprise before snorting at his words, shaking my head in quiet amusement, “I might not be able to find a better hero, but a better secondary lead should be manageable.”

He tilted his head, his eyes glimmering slightly with unsaid words, before he bobbed his head slightly, “If you say so…. Either way, I’ll see you later.”

I nodded, finding myself waving in a fond farewell and watching him stroll down the busy street and away from me. Struck once more by exactly how well the role of a high-fantasy adventure hero actually suited him.

But then… that was possibly my own bias showing.

27 notes · View notes