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lizziesangel · 3 months ago

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TOM RIDDLE - soulmates don’t exist PT. 2

SDE MASTERLIST - x FEM!reader (POC!friendly)

SUMMARY: everything changes for you when snape gives you a certain memory. will you be able to do the task that dumbledore has given you?

WORD COUNT: +3.7k

GENRE: angst-ish (but not really)

CONTENT WARNING: soulmate & time travel au, english is not my first language. muggle studies is basically what we get in school

The corridors of Hogwarts were eerily quiet—almost too quiet in the early morning light. You wandered around Hogwarts, taking in the atmosphere. It was just how you remembered life before the war. But you had to act as if you didn’t know, act as if you didn’t know your way around Hogwarts. Your heart was still racing from the overwhelming disorientation of time travel. The walls seemed taller, the stones beneath you felt somewhat smoother. It felt the same but yet so different at the same time.

You had no clue what to do next. The task lay plain ahead of you—find Tom Riddle and alter the course of his life by becoming his great love. You shook your head; you knew how time travel could have a big effect on the timeline. You never took Muggle Studies—mainly because of the maths—but you knew what this could do. Once he saw you, it would be done. There would be no going back, well, it wasn’t like you could turn back whenever you wanted.

But, it was like Hermione said, ‘No one is supposed to see you.’ Only this time, it was different. If you didn’t change Tom Riddle for the better, you could make him even worse than he was in your time.

“I believe you may be a bit out of place, my dear.”

You stopped dead in your tracks, your heart almost leaping out of your chest. The voice was warm, kind, but still serious. You recognized the voice. You turned and saw Dumbledore standing there, a somewhat younger version.

You knew he was still a professor at this time. His auburn hair was tinged with a lot of strands of silver, his robes a deep shade of purple. His piercing blue eyes gleamed with curiosity and suspicion as he looked at you. He raised an eyebrow, and his lips curled into a gentle, knowing smile. You wanted to slap him, angry for making you do this, while telling you absolutely nothing.

“You look as though you've been wandering these halls for quite some time,” he continued, stepping toward you. “And yet, I don't recall seeing you in any of my classes.”

You swallowed hard, your mind scrambling for a good answer, but you came up empty-handed. Dumbledore's gaze was patient, waiting for you to speak.

“Uhh... I—” you began, your voice shaking softly, but you stopped. What could you say? What were you supposed to say? That you had just traveled back into the past to stop one of his students from becoming the biggest and darkest wizard of all time?

Dumbledore's eyes softened. “Why don't we take this conversation somewhere a bit more private?” he suggested, his tone gentle. “I have a feeling there's more to your story than a lost stroll through the castle.”

Without waiting for your response, Dumbledore turned around, motioning for you to follow him. You hesitated for a second, but the calmness in his demeanor somehow reassured you. Reluctantly, you followed him down the corridor, your footsteps echoing softly in the stillness of the morning.

After a while, you arrived at an empty classroom, the large wooden door creaking as Dumbledore pushed it open. Sunlight entered through the tall, narrow windows, casting long shadows across the rows of desks. The air was filled with a faint scent of parchment and chalk, just like his.

Dumbledore gestured to a chair near the front. “Please, sit down. Make yourself comfortable.”

You did as he asked, feeling out of place in this familiar yet unfamiliar world. Dumbledore remained standing in front of your desk for a moment, studying you with those sharp, calculating eyes. “There is something... remarkable about you,” he said quietly, his voice kind. “You’re not quite where you’re supposed to be, are you?”

You looked at your shoes, realising you also didn’t quite look the part to simply be lost. “No,” you admitted. You knew lying to a man like Dumbledore would do you no good. “I’m... not?" you said, unsure.

Dumbledore nodded, as if he had expected that answer. “Time,” he mused, his eyes twinkling with understanding. “It has a peculiar way of bending when we least expect it.”

Your head snapped up, meeting his gaze. He knew. He definitely knew. “How?” you breathed, the question slipping out before you could stop yourself. “How did you—”

Dumbledore raised his hand to quiet you. “I have my ways,” he smiled. “But more importantly, it seems you have a very important reason for being here.”

You swallowed, feeling the enormity of your ‘mission’ pressing down on you, but in Dumbledore’s presence, it felt a little less overwhelming—though you were still angry he hadn’t told you anything sooner. He waited, giving you space to explain.

After a pause, you spoke again. “I was sent... to change something. Something that will affect the future,” you hesitated, unsure how much you were allowed to reveal. “It's about Tom Riddle.”

At the mention of Riddle's name, Dumbledore's expression didn't change, but you noticed the slightest shift in his demeanour. His gaze became more focused, and he leaned forward slightly.

“Tom,” he repeated softly. “Yes... I've always known there was something... special about that boy.”

Special? More like dangerous. You nodded. “If I don't change him, if I can't make him different... the world will fall into darkness. Everyone I love, my friends...” you stopped. Your parents. You hadn’t even thought of them. Your heart started banging in your chest. You wanted to go back. Tell them that you were grateful for everything, and that you were sorry for leaving them behind out of nowhere.

Dumbledore didn’t react with surprise. He nodded. “Do not worry about your friends or family.” He sighed softly. “You have been given a great responsibility. But changing the course of someone's life is no simple task, especially when that person’s soul is... so deeply marked.”

You looked down at your hands. “I don’t even know if it’s possible.”

For a moment, Dumbledore was silent, his gaze fixed on you with empathy. “Nothing is impossible, but you must remember, even the darkest of souls have their choices. Tom Riddle's path has always been his own. You may be able to guide him... but ultimately, it is up to him who or what he becomes.”

His words hung in the air, a reminder of what you were facing. “Know that I will be watching, and if you ever need guidance, you know where to find me.”

Dumbledore had insisted on introducing you to the Headmaster as a transfer student, emphasizing that no one could know the truth. The fewer people involved in the truth, the better.

You made your way through the corridors of Hogwarts with Dumbledore. Students were scattered around, laughing, talking in hushed voices, completely unaware of the darkness that would be coming.

Dumbledore said the password to the Headmaster's office. It was the same as he had used. So original. The spiral staircase came into view as the gargoyles started moving. You followed your former Headmaster up the stairs. The office was filled with old books, a large desk, and a few moving portraits on the walls. It looked almost the same as Dumbledore's office.

Behind the desk sat Headmaster Armando Dippet, a tall, thin man with kind eyes. “Ah, Albus,” Dippet said, rising from his seat to greet him. “What brings you here?”

Dumbledore gestured to you. “Headmaster, I would like to introduce you to our newest transfer student.” He gave you a small nod to encourage you to take a step forward. “She's come from Beauxbatons and will be joining us for the rest of her schooling.”

Dippet's eyebrows rose in surprise. “A transfer from Beauxbatons? How delightful! We don't often have students join us from abroad.” He looked at you. “What is your name, my dear?”

You swallowed, your nerves tightening your throat. “Y/n L/n.” You smiled at the Headmaster. “I'm honored to be here.”

“It's always wonderful to have new students join us at Hogwarts. The castle can seem quite large and scary at first, but I'm very sure you'll grow accustomed to it in no time,” Dippet smiled at you.

You forced back a smile. Normally, you would love such pleasantries, but now? Absolutely not. It felt as if you wanted to throw up.

Dumbledore stepped forward. “Headmaster, I’ve already informed Y/N of the basic rules and traditions of the school, but I do believe the Sorting Hat will handle the rest?”

“Indeed,” Dippet nodded, motioning to a nearby shelf where the Sorting Hat was in its usual place. “No time like the present.”

Your heart raced when the Sorting Hat was placed upon your head. You knew what house you had once belonged to, but would it be the same here? In this time?

“Hmm...” the hat murmured after whining about who dared to wake him up. “Interesting... very interesting. You’re not like the others I’ve sorted. Ever.”

You held your breath.

“I see loyalty... with a lot of bravery,” the hat mused. “A fierce desire to do what’s right, even when it’s proven difficult. Courage, and there’s something more than that... something deeper…”

Did it know? You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, huffing out a breath.

“Ah,” it whispered. "But that is not for me to uncover. Your place, however, is clear.”

Another moment passed, and then the hat shouted, “Gryffindor!”

The word rang in your ears. You weren’t placed in the same house. Your former house was Hufflepuff. What changed? The house of loyalty, hard work, and kindness. Maybe this could help ground you. Most Hufflepuffs you knew were kind (mostly high as well) and helpful. There were always exceptions, but you were happy with that house.

Dippet clapped his hands together, clearly pleased. “A Gryffindor! A fine choice indeed. You’ll find good company there.”

Dumbledore’s expression remained calm. “It seems that your path is set,” he said quietly, his eyes twinkling with that wisdom he always had.

As the hat was lifted from your head, you stood up from the stool you had taken a seat on. Gryffindor. It was unexpected, but not wrong—or bad. In some way, it made sense for you. You needed to be brave to talk to Tom Riddle. So, what better house for that than Gryffindor?

The Headmaster waved his wand, and a piece of parchment floated over to you. “Here’s your timetable, Y/N,” he said, handing it over to you. "You’ll begin classes immediately. I’m sure the others will help you find your way.”

You took the parchment, scanning the schedule. You had loads of free periods, and as always, an Astronomy class at midnight on a Friday night.

“Thank you, Headmaster,” you said quietly, tucking the parchment under your arm.

Dippet smiled. “Welcome to Hogwarts, Y/N. I hope your time here will be both enlightening and rewarding.”

“I sure hope so,” you nodded. Rewarding. You could use the reward of going home.

You and Dumbledore left the office. Going down the staircase, the air felt cooler. Dumbledore walked beside you in silence.

“So, you’ve been placed in Gryffindor,” Dumbledore broke the silence. “A good choice. You’ll find a community of loyalty and bravery there.”

You nodded. “I didn’t expect it.”

“Sometimes,” Dumbledore said with a smile, “the unexpected paths are the ones that lead us exactly where we need to go. You have been given a second chance, in more ways than one.”

“And remember,” he said softly, “the fewer people who know your true purpose, the better. Riddle must never know why you’re really here.”

You nodded.

When you stepped inside the Gryffindor common room, you immediately felt the warmth. There was a soft red glow from the lanterns, and the walls were lined with rewards and books. The smell of fresh cookies hung in the air.

A group of students was clustered around a table and looked up as you entered. It was already early in the morning, and you wondered why most students were up at this time. The faces of the students were curious but friendly, and a wave of relief washed over you. Before you could take another step, a girl with curly dark hair and a wide smile broke away from the group.

“Hi!” she greeted enthusiastically, her eyes wide with interest. “You must be the new transfer student! I’m Maeve, Maeve Miller.”

You tried your best not to grimace as you forced a smile. “I’m Y/N L/N.” The realization of having to meet and make new friends dawned on you even harder.

“Professor Dippet had owled us. We were all curious, y’know? Transfer students aren’t that common. You’re lucky it’s the start of the school year!”

You smiled at Maeve’s happiness, but you were still baffled at how fast news spread in Hogwarts. I mean, you had literally just left Dippet’s office.

“I’ll make sure you fit right in. I’ll show you to the dormitory,” Maeve smiled.

You followed her to a spiral staircase. As you walked with Maeve, she chatted happily about the house traditions, the upcoming Quidditch match, and the best way to sneak extra food from the kitchen.

Once you reached the dormitory, you found yourself in a circular room with soft, warm lighting. You saw only one vacant bed — in the middle — with your belongings neatly placed beside it. A suitcase you recognized, though it felt strange seeing it here. You had basically come empty-handed, so how were all your belongings here already?

“ How...?” you trailed off, confused.

Maeve caught your confusion. “Professor Dumbledore’s pretty amazing, isn’t he? He made sure your belongings were here from yesterday evening. Must’ve used some magic to get your stuff here so quickly.”

You nodded, even more confused. You didn’t even know you had time-traveled yesterday. You had no idea how, and you didn’t want to think too much about it before it might drive you mad.

“So, obviously, that’s your bed,” Maeve pointed towards the bed with your belongings on it. “And this is mine,” she added, pointing to the bed next to yours. “We’ll be neighbors! Oh, and these are your other roommates.”

Two other girls approached, one with long red hair and freckles, and the other with short brown curls. They introduced themselves as Alicia and Lilith, both offering you warm, welcoming smiles.

“Nice to meet you,” Alicia said, while Lilith gave you a small, shy wave. “It’s so exciting to have someone new join us, especially in our fifth year!”

“I’m glad to be here!” you lied through your teeth.

“Well, we’re heading to breakfast in a bit if you want to join us,” Alicia offered. “But I’m sure you’ll want to settle in first.”

“Yeah, you guys go ahead, I’ll catch up with you in a while,” you replied with a nod and a smile.

As the girls made their way out, leaving you alone, you felt disoriented. This was all going too fast. You needed a moment to yourself. Normally, you would have already been in your last year. You made your way over to the small adjoining bathroom. The light was bright. You stepped in front of the large mirror, ready to see your face full of scars and dirt from the war.

But no, your fingers trembled slightly as you reached up to touch your face. Staring back at you was a younger version of yourself — exactly as you had looked in your own fifth year at Hogwarts. Your features were softer, untouched by the weight of the war. Your eyes looked brighter... they hadn’t seen the horrors that awaited. No pair of eyes should see a war go down.

It was all surreal, like looking at a stranger. It was clear the potion had not only sent you back in time, but also transformed you to match the age you needed to be.

For a moment, the reflection blurred as tears welled up in your eyes. You had been thrust back into your younger self, in a world you didn’t belong in. You took a deep breath, swallowing the fears and tears away. You could do this. You had to do this. For your friends and family.

The first day at Hogwarts felt surreal. The familiar sounds of students chatting in the Great Hall, the smell of freshly made food, and the sight of enchanted candles floating above made you feel like you had stepped back into a dream. You knew there was a big chance that Tom Riddle was here, in the same room as you.

But before you could worry about him, you had to get through your first day as just another transfer student.

You found yourself sitting at the Gryffindor table with your roommates and their friends. “So, what was Beauxbatons like? I’ve heard it’s incredibly fancy, with all those grand fountains everywhere,” Maeve spoke—a good friend from Lilith, you noted. You could see how she was the one who helped Lilith blossom open as a shy person.

You hesitated for a second, remembering Dumbledore’s warning to keep it simple. You gave her a small smile. “It’s different from Hogwarts. Especially since there are a lot more boys here than I'm used to.”

Lucas, a boy with a head full of black curls, looked up. “Hogwarts has its charm. Luckily you were sorted into Gryffindor. You seem like a cool person, and everyone knows it's the best house.”

Alicia was flipping through your timetable, trying to figure out if you had any classes with your Gryffindor friends. “We’ve got Defense Against the Dark Arts first thing! I'm hoping for some practical lessons today. Spells, maybe,” Alicia's eyes widened with excitement.

Your stomach dropped slightly after Lucas mentioned there was a big chance you’d have a class with the Slytherins and a few Ravenclaws. Given Riddle’s obsessive interest in the subject, there was no doubt he would be in this class.

You offered a casual nod. “Defense Against the Dark Arts should be interesting…”

After the five of you finished breakfast, you gathered your books and made your way to your first class of the day. The halls were busy with students, most of whom paid little attention to you, though a few curious glances lingered.

Once you reached the DADA classroom, you found yourself standing at the doorway. You hoped for a normal teacher—when you were at Hogwarts before, every year there was a teacher with the weirdest background ever. The classroom was large, with desks arranged in neat rows, and the walls were lined with various defensive artefacts.

You let your eyes wander around the room. There, near the middle, sat Tom Riddle.

He was exactly as you had imagined—tall, dark-haired, and composed. His sharp features and cold eyes stood out even among your classmates. He exuded an air of authority and confidence. The other students around him seemed to ignore him. You wondered why. Were they scared of him, or did they think he was a weirdo?

You quickly tore your gaze away from the back of his head before he sensed you staring. “Come on,” Maeve whispered. “We don't want you to be late on your first day.”

You nodded and walked toward a vacant seat next to Lucas. The professor was a stern-looking man with a neatly trimmed beard. He immediately launched into a discussion of the most advanced spells, his tone brisk and matter-of-fact.

It was pretty hard to focus with the presence of Tom Riddle in the room. Every now and then, you dared to glance at him, watching as he listened intently, his expression focused and serious. You had no idea how you were supposed to change him. He already seemed so... unreachable.

Halfway through the class, the professor called for everyone to pair up for duelling practice. Maeve grabbed your arm, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Partners?” she asked eagerly.

“Of course,” you replied, grateful for the distraction.

You and Maeve moved to an open space in the classroom, pulling out your wands as the professor demonstrated a series of defensive spells. You followed along, trying to keep your movements smooth and controlled. Thankfully, the practice went well, and Maeve seemed impressed.

“You're really good!” she said after successfully blocking one of your spells. “You must have had excellent teachers at Beauxbatons.”

You smiled and nodded at her praise. As you practiced with Maeve, you couldn’t help but notice Tom a few spaces away, duelling effortlessly with a Slytherin boy. His movements were precise, fluid, as if he had been born with a wand in his hand. It was clear to anyone watching that he was far more advanced than most students his age.

Finally, when the class came to an end, you packed up your things, trying to avoid looking at him as you left the room with Maeve, Lilith, Alicia, and Lucas.

“Next up is Transfiguration,” Alicia said, checking her timetable as you all walked down the corridor. “I’m actually looking forward to that one.”

The rest of the day passed in a similar blur. Transfiguration was more manageable—Professor Dumbledore, who taught the class, gave you a small, knowing smile when he saw you, though he treated you no differently than the other students. You worked on basic transformations alongside your friends, though your mind kept drifting back to Defense Against the Dark Arts and the presence of Tom Riddle.

Potions came next, with Professor Slughorn as the teacher. He welcomed you to the class with open arms, making sure you had everything you needed. It was weird since you'd already met him, just when he was a bit older. Lucas was quick to show you around the room, helping you find ingredients and sharing tips for the potion you were brewing.

“Slughorn’s a bit of a collector,” Alicia whispered as you carefully added a pinch of powdered unicorn horn to your cauldron. “He loves students with… potential. But he’s nice, at least.”

“He’s even got a club,” Lilith quipped quietly.

By the time you reached your last class of the day, Charms, the exhaustion of trying to keep up appearances had settled deep in your bones. Yet, your new friends kept the energy alive. Alicia was quick with jokes, and Lucas had a dry, witty humor that balanced Maeve's enthusiasm. And Lilith was just there, enjoying her friends’ energy.

a/n: quick chapterrrr, part three will be coming out next week (probably or sooner)

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@optimisticsandwichgladiator

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#lizzieswrites𝜗𝜚 #⚕soulmates don't exist⚕#girl writer #tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you #harry potter x reader #harry potter x you #x reader

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un-creativename · 2 days ago

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Yule Ball

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

It was the year 1994, almost four months from that dreadful day at the Quidditch World Cup. Almost four months since she broke things off with Fred after one too many comments from his mother about her and her family.

“What a coincidence seeing you here, Malfoy.”

Clearly, Fred Weasley did not get the memo.

“Coincidence?” She repeats as she raises an eyebrow in a mix of annoyance and suspicion. “The castle has seven stories and yet I’m expected to believe our meetings are pure coincidence?”

“Like I said, coincidence.”

The cocky smirk on his face should’ve aggravated her but after a year of their secret little tryst, she’d reluctantly grown fond of it. But she wasn’t naive by any means, Fred was as cunning as a Slytherin most times—a statement that he very quickly feigned offensive to when she mentioned it. There was no way he kept finding her on accident.

“How do you keep finding me, Weasley?”

“I have my ways,” He grins with a shrug. “But that’s besides the point, what’s this I hear about you hanging out with Pucey? I thought you didn’t socialize with your former affairs.”

Now that piece of information she wasn’t surprised he’d known about, not when most eyes were on her due to the Yule ball being just weeks away. “I’m speaking to you, aren’t I?” She mutters as she attempts to move past Fred.

As she tries to walk away, Fred swiftly blocks her path with a mischievous glint in his brown eyes. “Oh come on now, you know I’m different from him,” he teases as he moves to stand in front of her. “You actually love me.”

As they stood in front of each other, she felt a mix of frustration and longing wash over her. Fred seemed to have a skill at getting under her skin, despite how hard she fought to keep herself in check. She’d taken the plunge into a relationship with him early in their fifth year, something she didn’t or rather couldn’t find in her to regret.

“I loved Pucey.”

Fred's gaze softened slightly, a flicker of doubt crossing his features. He knew her well enough to sense when she was putting up walls. “Right,” he drawls, not at all convinced by her response. “Is that why you broke up with him after three months of being together? Because if we do that math, love, we were together for almost seven months more than you and Pucey. Wonder what that must mean?”

She rolls her eyes, trying to mask the way her heart skips at the reminder of their secret rendezvous. “It means you’re insufferable and persistent, Weasley. But now that’s over, so it’s high time we move on, don’t you think?”

Fred's jaw tightens at her words, his usual playful demeanor slipping for just a moment. "Move on?" he echoes, taking a step closer until she can feel the warmth radiating from him. "Tell me honestly, Malfoy, have you managed that yet? Because I haven't.”

His words hang heavy in the air, and she finds herself unable to look away from his eyes. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes that she hasn’t seen since they broke up the day after the World Cup. She’s desperate to ignore the heartache that passes through her. “The Yule Ball is weeks away, it’s the perfect chance to move on. For the both of us…”

Fred's expression hardens at her words, his hands clenching at his sides. "Right, because that's exactly what you want, isn't it? To watch me take some other witch to the ball while you go with someone daddy dearest picked out for you.”

She flinches at his words, the truth in them stinging more than she'd care to admit. "That's not fair and you know it," she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“No, what’s not fair is that you broke up with me without even giving me a chance to defend you against my mum’s accusations.”

Her breath catches in her throat at the raw pain in his voice. She wants to tell him that it wasn't just his mother's words that drove her away, but the crushing realization of how doomed their relationship really was. The thought of watching him defend her against his own mother, potentially fracturing his family relationships, had been too much to bear.

She closes her eyes briefly, fighting back the emotions threatening to spill over. "I couldn't watch you lose your family over me. We both know how this story ends – a Malfoy and a Weasley, it's like some tragic tale waiting to happen. We would’ve broken up eventually…”

Fred's hand suddenly shoots out to grasp her wrist, his touch gentle despite the intensity in his eyes. "So you're telling me you'd rather live with 'what-ifs' than fight for us? That's not the fierce witch I fell in love with." His words hang in the air between them, heavy with unspoken emotions and possibilities.

“Yeah well, that witch you fell in love with has a family filled with blood supremacists. So forgive me if I didn’t think we’d last for much longer anyway. So, please—and you know I don’t say that often—just let me go.”

The silence between them stretches, heavy with unspoken words and shattered dreams. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper, “If that’s what you want, fine—but don’t expect me to pretend I don’t still love you when I see you at the ball with whoever your dad chose.”

୨ ✦ ୧

The Great Hall was decorated in its finest Christmas splendor, ice sculptures glistening under the enchanted ceiling. Her burgundy dress robes swished softly against the floor as she danced with Robert Hoglund, a Durmstrang student her father had chosen for her. She couldn’t help but scan the crowd, inevitably landing on a head of ginger hair. Fred was dancing with Angelina Johnson, his usual cheerful smile in place, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. When their eyes met across the dance floor, she looked away quickly, tightening her grip on Hoglund’s shoulder. The music swelled around them, but she barely heard it over the thundering of her own heart. As Hoglund led her through another turn, she caught a glimpse of Fred whispering something in Johnson’s ear, making her laugh.

She forced herself to look away, reminding herself that this was how things had to be. The weight of her family name felt heavier than ever on her shoulders as she continued to dance with Hoglund, mechanically following the steps she’d been taught since childhood. Each twirl seemed to move her further away from what her heart wanted, but closer to what was expected of a Malfoy.

“Miss Malfoy?” Hoglund called in his thick accent, pulling her from her thoughts. “Would you like to take a step outside? You seem…distracted.”

She forces a polite smile, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Fresh air would be lovely, yes,” she responds, allowing him to lead her towards the entrance. As they walk, she can’t help but feel Fred’s gaze burning into her back, and she silently curses herself for still being so aware of his presence.

The cool night air hits her face as they step out into the courtyard, providing temporary relief from the stifling atmosphere inside. She takes a deep breath, trying to clear her mind of the ginger haired twin. Hoglund stands beside her, maintaining a respectful distance that annoyingly makes her miss Fred’s casual invasions of personal space even more.

Hoglund clears his throat, drawing her attention back to him. “You know,” he starts with hesitation, his accent thick with uncertainty. “I can tell your heart isn’t in this. Perhaps we should call it a night?” The suggestion, though politely delivered, carries a layer of understanding that makes her relax.

She nods, feeling a mix of relief and shame at his perceptiveness. “Thank you for understanding,” she manages, her voice barely above a whisper. As Hoglund bows and turns to leave, she catches a flash of movement near the entrance to the Viaduct courtyard, and she hates the way her heart stutters when she recognizes that familiar silhouette lingering in the shadows.

Fred steps out of the shadows, the moonlight catching his features in way that makes her unable to look away from him. His dress robes are slightly disheveled, his bow tie loose around his neck. “You had me worried for a second there, Malfoy. What’s a bloke too think when the witch he loves leaves a ball with another guy?”

She stares at him, her heart racing at his sudden appearance. “You should be with your date,” she whispers. The moonlight casts shadows across his face, making it harder for her to maintain her resolve as she takes another step towards her.

“She’s more interested in George, which is great for me, I’m more interested in blond Slytherin witches anyway.”

She hates the way her heart flutters at his words, once again putting her mind and heart at war. “Must you be so persistent?" she asks, wrapping her shawl tighter when a cold breeze blew past, trying her best to feign annoyance though she’s sure he doesn’t believe her.

“You love me for it,” Fred replies, taking another step closer until they’re merely inches apart. His fingers brush against her arm, and she can’t help but shiver–though whether from the cold or his touch, she’s not entirely sure.

Her gaze flickers down to his lips before she can stop herself, fully aware of the twitch of a smile he does when he notices. “Freddie,” she whispers, his name a warning and a plea all at once, but he’s already leaning in, his forehead resting against hers. In this moment, with the distant sounds of the ball fading into the background noise, she finds her carefully constructed walls beginning to crumble a lot faster than she would’ve hoped. “Why’re you so hard to get rid of?”

“Because you’re impossible to forget,” he murmurs against her lips, his hands coming up to her face. “And clearly you don’t want to get rid of me yet, you would’ve hexed me by now if you did.”

She lets out a shaky breath, her resolve weakening with every passing second. The familiar warmth of his touch, the sound of his voice so close to her–it was all becoming too much to resist. Before she even realizes what she’s doing, she’s tilting her head up, closing the gap between them as their lips meet in a kiss that feels like coming home.

Time seems to stand still in this moment, the world around them fading into nothing but background noise. His hands thread through her hair, careful not to disturb the intricate updo she'd spent hours perfecting, while her fingers grip the lapels of his dress robes. When they finally break apart, both slightly breathless, she can see the familiar mischievous glint returning to his eyes.

“Fancy a trip to the Room of Requirement? Because personally, I think a certain Princess owes me a dance.”

She can’t help but laugh, the sound mixing with distant echoes of the ball. “Contrary to Draco’s behavior, Malfoys aren't really royalty,” she says, but she’s already reaching for his outstretched hand.

Fred’s grin widens as he tugs her closer. “Well you’re royalty to me,” he says, pressing a quick lingering kiss to her temple. “Now come on, I’m owed a dance after bravely watching you dance with some Durmstrang git for over an hour.”

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #fred weasly x reader #fred weasely x y/n #fred weasley x y/n #Fred Weasley x Malfoy reader #Fred Weasley x Malfoy!reader #Fred Weasley x Slytherin!reader #harry potter x reader #harry potter #fred weasley fic

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avalordream · 7 months ago

Text

Prompt: Imagine you get isekaied in Our Life. Only thing is that you wake up as a child and remember everything. You can only save at this point but you can still access the save and load menu and see your previous runs.

Meanwhile your precious neighbor is slowly becoming self aware, getting deja vu with every passing second- as if this has all happened before...

A/N: A few days after I posted this- a few other thoughts came to mind- SO HERE IS MY ATTEMPT AT VOCALIZING THEM

You’re keenly aware of how small and tiny you are the moment you wake up.

For the first few days, you started to acclimate to…the family home.

It wasn’t YOUR family though. It never was. It was MC’s. Not your’s.

You could project all you wanted onto MC but it was never your family or your life to experience. It was theirs.

Even so, you quickly found yourself missing the life you were used to. More specifically:

The cuisine.

It was hard not to draw suspicion to the fact that you were craving different food genres aside from Mom’s Pamela’s mac and cheese and cheeseburgers.

Ma’s Noelani’s Hawaiian food helped quite a bit to hold you over as you started to ponder over how to approach it.

Kind of hard to bring it up to your MC’s parents that you wanted Asian/Middle eastern/Indian/Pakistani/Mexican/etc food when there was none of that for miles around

For the time being, you had to quietly hint and nudge their thoughts into that direction but not enough to make them suspicious. Noelani obviously had her suspicions about Cove getting into the house from Step 2-3 but never brought it up once. From what you could tell, she was scary observant

Another issue was how clumsy your new body was.

Your mind might be able to remember how to do everyday tasks like writing and such but this tiny body didn’t have the muscle memory to match it

Much to Liz’s dismay, you spent quite a bit of your time forcing your hands and legs to train to do things your adult body could do in a snap

Time wise- technology was a huge sucker punch. It made you feel bad for taking your own devices for granted.

That being said, self learning everything was going to be hard without a phone or computer on hand, especially knowing that you’d have to go through the cursed education system all over again- but most likely much harder

There had to be a reason older folk complained about it, right?...

Your MC’s birthday was the same as your own, just that the birth year is 1997. That being said, the current year was 2006… Funny. You were only two in 2006…

…

Back to self learning, you tried to practice what you considered basic math long after everyone had fallen asleep

Usually, your day was filled with entertaining Shiloh and Liz, playing in the park or going along with whatever Liz said. Judging by the giant for sale sign across the street and the date, you figured out that you got isekaied roughly at least a month or two before Cove and Mr. Holden would move in.

Who knew how that would go now that you weren’t subjected to just three choices?

Even after playing around, your body was exhausted and your baby mind was just as pooped out.

The first few days you would wake up early as children do and tried doing your math and remembering as much as you could at that time

Yeah, Liz nearly gave you a heart attack after she barged in and you had to play it off as you scribbling absolute nonsense cause you were bored

After that near collision, you changed your prep time to being at night. Sure, you woke up to Liz shaking you and not getting enough sleep in the morning, but you needed to refresh your memory the best you could

You couldn’t do it every night though and did your best to keep some sort of schedule so you wouldn’t forget - and worry your MC’s moms

They noticed the first few times of how sleepy you’d be when you’d wake up later than usual - granted if Liz didn’t wake you up - and a few nights after, you nearly got caught right in the middle of your review.

Pam was more sneaky than Noelani, so you should’ve seen this coming- but even so, you had everything spread out on your rug when you just barely heard her footsteps come to your MC’s door

You had enough time to shove everything underneath your bed - your room was messy enough but better safe than sorry - and quickly dive under the covers before you heard your door open with the softest of clicks

She was around for a good while before you heard the door close again but you didn’t relax until you were sure her footsteps went back to the master bedroom

After that, you were much more careful about how long you spent studying and when. You haven’t been caught since.

Occasionally, you’d have to sneak in your MC’s parent’s room to grab any books that you needed. Good thing Noelani was a book nerd.

You did have to be careful about your self learning- you didn’t want them getting any suspicions that their kid was suddenly…different out of nowhere.

You had no idea what MC was like as a kid before the events of Our Life so you tried your best to piece together what you could

Speaking of, there were a bunch of things you quickly realized about Our Life, one of which is that game didn’t go over nearly everything that MC went through, let alone before Cove came or others that it only touched on briefly

For example, the tourists that came and went every year happened to be close friends of Pamela’s from her time in university, hence why they were so friendly to you and Liz in particular.

It was also why they knew how to… handle your ever changing moods. At least-

That’s what it looked like to them.

To you- it was because you had to battle MC’s initial responses to these scenarios.

Go figure, this body still had its fair share of emotions inside of it, leaving you to figure out if this sharp pang of fear or worry was your own or not.

It left you second guessing everything you did, especially when you’d be up at night, studying and practicing your writing

It seriously irked you, knowing your writing was sloppy even though you knew this body couldn’t help it. It didn’t make seeing your scrappy writing less frustrating though

Despite how much you tried to hide how YOU felt, not MC, Noelani still picked up on the small shifts in your behavior.

One of these being the irritation you harbored for your writing.

Speaking of emotions, you found your body easily overwhelmed by any stronger ones- your own irritation making you cry- an alien feeling and one that took even you by surprise.

Worse part? The first time happened was in front of Noelani when she tried to help you practice your penmanship

Naturally, she tried to comfort you MC by trying to console you, saying it’d be better with practice and wiping away your tears but no matter how YOU tried, the tears wouldn’t stop flowing

It wasn’t until much later that you realized that MC’s tiny self had their own limits and by pushing those adult feelings and expectations that YOU had onto it sent it into a messy overdrive.

After that, you had learned to slow down- the world wasn’t ending…even if it felt like it.

…

The nail in the coffin for you that made YOU cry. Not MC’s body: Your dreams started to resemble parts of your life.

You’d dream that you were back at your desk job or filling out mundane paperwork but no matter how boring it’d be, it was YOUR life.

The one YOU were used to and familiar with

You’d always feel so relieved to be back where you were supposed to, whether you were happy with that life or not

It was that feeling of having all your choices in your hand and being in control of where you wanted to go, if that made sense.

Nobody made those choices for you except well…you.

Only to have that feeling of familiarity ripped away once you registered Liz waking you up to play while “Ma and Mom snooze the day away!”

…

You just want to go home…

To YOUR home…

-> Next... <-

-> Extras <- ⊹ ‧₊˚ Isekai Self Aware Taglist: @lilqi @annoying-mary @mellozhi ˚₊‧ ⊹

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writers-potion · 1 month ago

Note

How to foreshadow? Like a big thing is going to be revelation after few chapters so how can I drop subtle hints about it? Lots of love 💗

Foreshadowing Creatively

If you are trying to build up towards the 'big moment' throughout a few prior chapters,

Let's assume that we want to reveal the the fact that Character A's husband is cheating on her. The big moment here would be when she witnesses them kissing in the parking lot.

To drop subtle hints about it, we could:

Have the husband doing things that are just slightly out of the ordinary, but not enough to attract serious suspicion: taking call outside the bedroom, being more tired after work than usual

Insert direct evidence that Character A could've picked up on, but she doesn't because she thinks it's ridiculous to start having doubts.

Use symbolic motifs. The husband informs her that he lost is wedding ring - a complete accident. But this indicates a 'break' of their marriage vows.

Similarly, you can use color/animal/location that subtly hints at secrecy, infidelity and dishonesty.

It may even be enough to have seemingly unrelated bad things happen to her. Maybe she cuts her finger while prepping dinner for her husband, or suddenly starts feeling that their bed is uncomforatble to sleep in. There's no logical link between these details and the eventual realization, but the mood gets established.

Think about the big moment from two different points of view: someone who knows about it all along, and someone who doesn't. How would it look from an outsider's POV?

I find it helpful to think about howI tried to justify the bad events that has happened to me.

For example, I messed up on a math test. The logical reason for this was that I didn't study enough. But my brain would: - blame it on the weather: it was raining! And I hate rain! - the supervising teacher, Mrs. G, was my least favorite and that had affected my mood. - I always eat an even number of chocolate before tests, but I could only eat 3 that morning because that's all that I had left. - the bus came late

Drive your character's mood slowly towards the revelation. If it's an emotional one, I'd say the atmospheric/symbolic elements would be more important; if it's puzzle pieces finally clicking in place, you could provide a brief overview of how past events are finally put together by your main character at the end.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

💎If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! Also, join my Tumblr writing community for some more fun.

💎Before you ask, check out my masterpost part 1 and part 2

#writers on tumblr #writing #writeblr #creative writing #helping writers #writers and poets #poets and writers #creative writers #resources for writers #let's write #writing about writing

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whereianonymouslypostfics · 6 months ago

Text

Crush

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: 3.1k

Summary: Drinks with friends

A/N: Inspired by nothing. Nothing at all.. Enjoy :)

Warnings: fluff, slight angst

It’s a rare Thursday night. You’re not working tomorrow, but instead of being home you’re about to walk into a bar and meet your friend for drinks. She’d claimed that it had been too long since you’ve hung out, and since you couldn’t argue and wanted to catch up you agreed to go out tonight. She’d told you that she would bring a couple of friends she wanted you to meet, and you tried not to be stressed by this. You couldn’t help but be an introvert, and when you were faced with meeting strangers you worried about first impressions.

You didn’t have to tell Wanda this when she watched you pass your phone between your hands as you waited until it was time to leave. As usual, you were ready early, but you didn’t want to leave yet. You’d invited Wanda to come but it probably wasn’t a good idea. You weren’t sure how many people would recognize Wanda, but in order to prevent a catastrophe and reduce your stress, she opted to stay home. She said she’s be relaxing with Boone and Fletcher, and you just offered a smile before you took another deep breath. You’d almost fallen asleep with your head on Wanda’s shoulder before she reminded you that it was time to go.

You’d left Boone at home since the bar you were meeting at wasn’t pet friendly, and you immediately miss him when you step out of your car into the cold air.

You tell yourself you’re looking forward to this when you push open the front door and look around for your friend.

“Y/n, over here!”

You turn in the direction of the familiar voice and smile at the equally familiar face. As you walk toward the booth with three people, you realize that only one of them is a stranger. You force your steps not to slow as you recognize the redhead you haven’t seen since vet school. You hope to whoever is listening that you’re not blushing as you curse yourself and offer a smile.

“Hi, sorry I’m late.”

Your friend stands up to hug you before she shakes her head and convinces you that you’re right on time despite everyone else already having drinks. You sit down beside her when she slides into the booth, and turn to both of her friends as she starts the introductions.

“Y/n, meet my friends Rachel and Caitlin. Rachel works at the BEST ER clinic in town, and Caitlin just moved here to start working as a Cardiologist.”

You smile at your friend’s description of what was likely the ER she worked at before moving to General Practice like you. Still, it was never safe to assume, and you decided to ask for clarification’s sake, as well as something to say.

“Nice to meet you both. That said, Rachel, if you work where I think you do, I’ve talked to you at least once when referring patients.”

You watch as the brunette smiles before confirming your suspicions. You’ve definitely sent many, many patients her way. You’ve heard only good things about her, and not just from your friend. You turn your attention to the familiar face with the calmest expression you can manage.

“Welcome to Denver, Caitlin. Have you been here long?”

You resist the urge to steal some of your friend’s drink as the redhead in front of you shakes her head before mentioning where she’d completed her residency.

“Only a couple of months. I was up at Fort Collins for school. Stayed there after my residency to work at a specialty hospital for a while.”

You nod in understanding and open your mouth to say something, but you’re cut off when your friend nudges you as her face lights up. You tense a little in anticipation, and you hope that the duo watching the exchange across from you chalks it up to the unexpected contact rather than the realization that you were hoping could wait until later. If at all.

“Oh yeah! Y/n, you both went to school there. I think you were probably there at the same time.”

You pretend to think about this, and do some math before shooting Caitlin a questioning look.

“I graduated a little over 8 years ago.”

Rachel and your friend watch as Caitlin smiles in response as she taps her fingers on the table between them in contemplation. You take a moment to study the redhead and you hate that nearly a decade later, you have to fight the flush that wants to creep across your cheeks. You remember your last year of clinics during school. You were exhausted and trying your best to learn as much as possible. One of your first rotations was Cardiology, and you’d felt ill-prepared for it. You knew that you had to try your best to not appear as clueless as you felt in front of the many doctors you’d be working with.

Then you’d arrived and seen Caitlin was on the service, and you’d suddenly been more attentive than you’ve ever been. You’d felt pathetic and a little gross for how you listened to every word that the redheaded resident said. You’d learned a lot and despite nothing happening at all, you’d left wanting more.

Each subsequent rotation, you’d jump on any chance to wander down the hall to Cardio again, but you’d only seen her a handful more times before graduating.

You’d left your unhealthy infatuation in the past and moved in with Wanda that same year. You’d never told her about your crush because you felt guilty despite knowing it wasn’t going anywhere. You knew your then girlfriend was a jealous person, and you saw no point in telling her about your attraction when it would be a moot point as soon as you left campus.

Now, here you sat with your friend and two other vets, and you’re about to find out if you were as subtle as you hoped. Something told you that you hadn’t been. Namely the many reminders you get from your family about how you’re horribly transparent with your thoughts. Especially when they’re inappropriate.

“I was in the last year of my residency.”

You remind yourself that you’re happily married and would never look elsewhere as you nod in response. You don’t bother looking at anyone other than Caitlin until a waiter comes by to take your order.

“Yeah, I remember.”

Once you have a drink and you’re no longer the center of attention, you relax and try to enjoy your time. You’re realizing quickly that you hadn’t misremembered Caitlin’s dry wit and intelligence. Listening to her talk about what she’s going to be doing is both interesting and a little daunting.

You realize you’re not alone when your friend finishes off her drink and sets the glass on the table with a sigh. She shoots Rachel and Caitlin half-hearted glares before surprising you with what she says next.

“Alright, alright, we get it. You’re both super smart and we’re lowly GP vets. At least we get to go home to our SOs at a reasonable hour.”

You roll your eyes and the glare you shoot your friend is a little less half-hearted than hers. You can tell she’s a little tipsy and you just sigh before muttering under your breath.

“I don’t agree with the ‘lowly’ part of your statement, but I will admit it was nice to get out of school before I turned 30.”

Both Rachel and Caitlin speak up at the same time, and you all end up laughing.

“I was 29.”

You’re enjoying the niche company when your phone vibrates in your pocket. You glance at your watch to see if it’s urgent, but you just see that Wanda’s sent you a picture. You tune back into the conversation about a C-section nearly going wrong when your phone goes off again. You ignore it, but your friend can feel it vibrating since she’s sitting beside you. She glances at you but says nothing until Rachel’s finished her story.

“Sorry for sending her to you, but when he walked in at 5pm with her I knew where she was going to end up.”

You expect Rachel to give her some grief for this because you’ve had this happen to you before. You’ve sent problematic, critically sick patients to an ER because you didn’t have to staff, time, or tools to manage them, and sometimes the recipients were a little salty. You’re pleasantly surprised when the brunette just smiles before shaking her head. Despite the nightmare that it sounded like, apparently it wasn’t too bad. You could never be an ER vet.

“Don’t be. It was actually pretty fun.”

You can’t imagine this being fun, but then again you stayed away from pregnant spays for a reason.

You finish your drink and glance toward one of the TVs across the room to note the time. It’s been a couple of hours, but since you don’t work tomorrow, you’re in no rush. You don’t realize that you’re not the only one who checked the time when your friend speaks up.

“I know you don’t work tomorrow, Y/n, but I need to be in by 8, so I should probably call it a night.”

You nod and get ready to stand up and leave too, but she grabs your arm to keep you still. You shoot her a confused look before she glances across the table and then back to you.

“Stay for another drink, you two, on me. Rachel was my ride, but maybe you and Caitlin can catch up some more.”

You’re suddenly suspicious of your friend and you merely slide out of the booth to let her out without a word. Caitlin does the same and you realize she’s looking at you and you need to make a decision now. You don’t want to be rude, so you just offer her a smile before hugging her tightly.

“It was good to see you. Let’s do this again soon.”

You say goodbye to Rachel and watch the duo leave as you slowly slide back into the booth. You wonder what’s going to happen next and consider ordering that second drink when Caitlin speaks up.

“I hope this doesn’t sound creepy, but I think I remember you.”

This is not what you’d been expecting, and you merely shake your head with a self-deprecating smile.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say that. I was just one of many.”

Caitlin doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, she studies you in a way that sets you on edge. You wonder what she’s thinking about. What she could be remembering. Finally, she smiles before leaning back and shooting you a look that certainly would have made you blush 8 years ago.

“No, I really do. I swear. You were memorable because you were so…attentive.”

You break eye contact which is a mistake because of how telling it is, but it’s too late to take it back now. You wonder when Caitlin figured it out. Oh how obvious you must have been. She was probably laughing at you with the other residents. Your face flushes in embarrassment as you curse your horrible poker face.

“Well that’s… embarrassing doesn’t feel sufficient…mortifying, maybe?”

You can’t help but laugh at yourself before you turn your attention back to the redhead. You remember that you’re older now, nearly 10 years older, and you’re not the same person. You don’t simp over random attractive people who pay you a little attention. You’re only a simp for your wife these days.

Caitlin only chuckles before she shakes her head and admits something that you’re not prepared for. You can’t help but wonder again if your friend had planned this. Did she know that you two knew each other before she introduced you? You could ask now, but you’d rather figure out what the hell is going on.

“Don’t be embarrassed. It was flattering.”

You decided you definitely needed another drink if you were going to respond to this. After getting your waiter’s attention you ordered another drink before shrugging in faux nonchalance that was honestly laughable.

“I was just super interested in cardiology honestly.”

This received the response you’d expected, and you smile when Caitlin laughs more freely. You two ended up talking for another hour about cases before ending the night around 10.

When you leave the bar, you’re smiling widely at how well the night had gone. You’d been surprised by a hug at the end, and you feel as if you practically floated to your car. This feeling didn’t dim any as you pulled into the garage a little later and cut off the car. You sit back in your seat and sigh heavily before getting out and heading inside.

“Wanda?”

Although you’d told her not to, your wife had waited up for you with your pets. You smile as she turns around on the couch before standing up to greet you. You shake your head before hurrying to sit beside her with a wide smile. You’re still reeling from tonight and you reach out and hug your wife before asking how her night has gone.

“It was pretty quiet here, but relaxing. What about you? Did you have fun?”

You smile widely before nodding and beginning to describe your night out. You didn’t realize that you were practically glowing, but Wanda picked up on it immediately.

“It was great. My friend brought two other vets with her and we talked about all sorts of things. ER med, cardiology…disasters. I actually went to school at the same time as one. She was a resident on one of my favorite rotations.”

You continue to talk about Caitlin, and you miss the way that Wanda squints at you before tilting her head in question. You’re still thinking about how you’re shocked that Caitlin remembered you when Wanda speaks up and knocks the wind out of your sails.

“You and Caitlin knew each other?”

You pause when Wanda says this because technically yes. You knew of each other, but you didn’t talk beyond what was required of you when you had cases with her. You weren’t friends. As soon as you acknowledge this you realize that Wanda’s asking something very specific that you have the urge to ignore. You realize your mistake too late though and you merely shake your head before averting your gaze to your dog. You scratch his ears before waiting to see if Wanda was as astute as you feared.

“No, not really. Our paths crossed a couple of times, but only during those 2 weeks.”

There’s a prolonged silence and you can’t help but look up curiously. Your hopes are dashed as Wanda shoots you a skeptical look. You hold back a sigh and speak up before your wife has a chance to.

“I may have had a massive crush on her, and seeing her tonight was a shock to my system.”

Wanda doesn’t really know how to respond to this, and she thinks back to when she’d taken you to her high school reunion. She’d seen her high school crush there and you’d been with her at the time. It had led to one of your few serious fights, and she wonders if you’d felt similarly to how she does now.

The only difference is that you had been with her when you had a crush on this woman. Wanda’s not sure if you’d mentioned her at all. Wanda was now wondering if there had been others.

You seem oblivious to her plight, and you continue to muse about this redhead that Wanda really can’t decide if she wants to know more about or not.

“It seems silly to me now. I didn’t want it to go anywhere, and the idea that she’s here now? It just makes me think that I was such a child.”

You roll your eyes at the thought of how much a simp you were and how this was your way of coping with the stress, long hours, and sleep-deprivation of being at school more often than not back then. Still you shake your head at your foolishness. You always did find it easier to listen to and learn from an attractive woman, but this was the first time you’ve ever seen them after the fact. You miss Wanda’s confused look as you double over and start laughing in embarrassment.

“You had a crush on her?”

You nod as you wipe tears from your eyes before confirming your wife’s suspicions.

“Yeah, I did, well I-not really. I thought she was attractive and smart, but it’s not like I wanted to date her. Obviously.”

You say the last part for Wanda’s benefit despite it being true because you realize that she might be taking this the wrong way. Or rather she may be insulted by this because you probably would be too. Despite loving Wanda and not wanting to be with anyone but her, you weren’t blind to the people around you. You noticed attractive people, and you’re not sure if that’s about to get you in trouble.

Wanda frowns as she considers this and decides to ask only one more question. She’s not in the mood to be upset with you, but that will all depend on what you say next.

“Okay…Did you ever think about being with her?”

This question gets your attention and you immediately shake your head. It was pretty shallow of you honestly, but you’d only really sought her out because you always learned something whenever you talked to her, and she was a beautiful redhead. Although not the most beautiful.

“Not for more than a conversation about nerdy things. She was…is pretty but it doesn’t go past that for me. Plenty of people are pretty and smart, but I only want one pretty and smart…kinda redhead.”

You laugh when Wanda shoots you a glare before shoving you back against the cushions. You just smile at her as she crawls into your lap and wraps her arms around your neck. She leans in close to you but pulls back when you try to close the distance and kiss her. She eyes you carefully and underneath her curiosity you see a glimmer of fear, and you hate that you’re responsible for it.

“You promise?”

You nod as you squeeze her hips and hum under your breath. You can’t imagine ever wanting anyone like you want Wanda, and you hope that never changes.

“I promise. You’re it for me, Wands. Only you.”

As much fun as your night out had been, you’re grateful to be home with your beautiful wife. You wouldn’t trade the feeling of being with the woman you love for anything.

Masterlist

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda x reader #silver springs drabble #silver springs #mob au

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solarwonux · 8 months ago

Text

Business Proposal || knj (9/?)

pairing: namjoon x f!reader || ex friends to lovers!au friends to lovers!au

Genre: fluff, angst, smut, slow burn, fwb!au, non idol!au, unrequited love

Warnings: slow burn, angst, fluff, flirting, semi-edited, smut, fingering, eating out, unprotected sex.

Rating: mature, 18+

w.c: 8.0

Synopsis: Namjoon is living on borrowed time, and it’s time to cash in. His father is months from taking his last breathe and his life long dream is to watch his oldest son say “I do.”

A/n: lol, hello, I'm sorry for being so MIA lately. I kinda have had half of this written since November but my mom came to visit me in Korea and I forgot about it haha. If you are still here thank you for sticking around! Enjoy! Let me know your thoughts!

Prev | next

m.list | series m.list | wattpad

10 Years Ago

Things were finally looking up.

“If you just remember everything we have gone over you'll be fine.” He simply says like it's no big deal, waving you off.

You on the other hand are filled with the gnawing pain of your nerves. As you look down at your notebook filled with an equal mixture of correct and incorrect answers.

Maybe things weren't really looking up.

“I think we should do a few more.” You rush out, flipping to a new page. In that exact moment, the buzzer in Namjoon's hand goes off, and he stands up.

He pushes in his chair and walks to stand beside you, putting a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Over studying is not the answer.” He says gently, giving your shoulder a light squeeze before walking away to pick up your drinks.

Your protest dying as you burn daggers into his back. You aren't sure if it's a good thing that he has so much faith in you. When you don't have an ounce in yourself. Especially when in two days you'll hopefully end your misery with the dreaded math final.

It's been two whole months since you've started your weekly tutoring sessions with Namjoon. You aren't completely lost in class anymore. If you are, you just come to the broad man and drown him in all kinds of questions. With this tactic you've even managed to get an eighty-five present in your last math test.

The only thing left for you to pass is the stupid final.

You have been seeing Namjoon a lot more this week. Scheduling, and practically begging him to squeeze you into his tight schedule since Monday. A request to brush up on equations and gain some clarity on things you might have forgotten. To say the least, your test anxiety has reached a whole new level. You visibly look exhausted, your skin is oilier than usual, sporting a few painful pimples on your chin, and your hair looks so greasy despite just washing it in the morning. You should feel slightly ashamed for even leaving your house looking like a hot mess, but your thoughts are suffocating. Staying in would make the panic in the pit of your stomach worse.

Especially when you and your tutor have recently discovered your inability to do word problems. The main reason why you keep calling Namjoon at three in the morning. Even though he thinks you're just being paranoid, especially with the silent sigh of defeat you hear through your phone speaker. He tries his best to reassure you that you're going to be fine at the end of the day.

“There will probably be three, five at most. He had said last night when you called.

Thankfully he had stayed up revising his final paper, instead of being three dimensions deep in dream land like on Sunday when you called. Still, even though he had muttered out a tiny complaint, he stayed on the line with you. Until you were calm enough to fall asleep again.

In just three months your acquaintance has blossomed into a full on friendship. Along with your sneaking suspicion that both Taehyung and Jimin like him better. It was obvious last Friday night when Jimin had a small end of the semester get together at his apartment. Namjoon got so drunk he performed the entirety of Grease Lightning on karaoke. Including the dance break with special guest and step brother Jeon Jungkook.

Later on in the night the older of the four cried about the final scene in the Titanic. It was a rollercoaster of emotions, but heartwarming to be able to see a different side of the Philosophy student.

“Look who decided to join us.” You jump, placing your pen down in your notebook, closing it to hold your page. You turn around, feeling a wide smile come onto your face when you lock eyes with the other source of your happiness these last few months.

“Hobi,” you exclaim, holding your arms out to him. He chuckles, and leans down giving you one of those awkward hugs one gives when the other person is sitting down. It only lasts a few seconds and then he is leaning his head back to plant a sloppy kiss on your cheek, making you cringe.

“Ew,” you pout, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand. He chuckles, pecking your lips lightly and then taking the seat next to you.

“Joon says you need a break from being a math wizard.” He chuckles, dragging your notebook to him. He places his arms over it keeping it hostage.

You whine crossing your arms in front of you, pouting like a child. “But what if I don't pass. I don't want to have to take the class a third time.”

Namjoon shakes his head, sets your chamomile tea in front of you, and sits down. “I already told you, you won't. I did the math last night. Even if you get a sixty five percent, you'll still be able to pass the class with a B.” He states firmly and takes a sip from his coffee.

You huff, sinking further into the chair. “I don't want a B, I want an A.”

Hoseok snakes an arm over your shoulders and brings you close to his side.” “Then you will pass the class with an A honey cakes.” He kisses your temple before resting his cheek on top of your head. You take a deep breath, nodding and snuggling closer to him.

“So are you two dating now?” Namjoon leans back in his seat, crossing his arms in front of him.

Hoseok waves an arm, brushing off the question that has been surrounding the two of you these past three weeks. “You know it's not like that.” He answers before you can. He pulls his arm away and sets them both on top of your notebook. He sends you a knowing wink.

“Yeah you out of all people should know it's not like that.” You back up Hoseok, sticking your tongue out at the other. “How's Rina by the way?” You challenge making the man next to you burst out in a fit of giggles.

You see, most of the things Jungkook told you about Namjoon prior to your first meeting have all been lies. Or just not the whole truth.

Namjoon was a broody person. He did put his studies as one of his priorities in life. And he didn't want a relationship.

Yet in the last few months you have gotten to know the career driven man. You've also managed to peel back some of his layers.

He did have his moments of indignation, but he could also be very playful and funny. This side mostly comes out when Hoseok is around or when he wants you to get your mind off the things that have been stressing you out. He does have a strong work ethic, but he also knows when to take a break.

There have even moments in your tutoring slash now study sessions when he forces you to take walks. He says it helps clear your head, but you also know it's his way to get his ideas to flow again whenever he feels stuck.

During these walks you've managed to find out more things about him. He loves museums because he's shit at art, and knowing that there are people out there who aren't makes him appreciate the art a lot more. At least once every two months he visits the tree he and his father planted his mother’s ashes at to update her on his life. He cares so much for Jungkook and his mother even if he doesn't show it all the time. And despite not wanting a relationship he has been head over heels for the girl he's been casually hooking up with for the last two years.

Though he won't come out and say it himself. You have witnessed the way his face settles down into something calmer. And his eyes light up whenever his phone rings and her name pops up on the screen.

He once spent thirty minutes talking about a joke she had told him one night. Spoiler alert, it wasn't a good one, but it was adorable watching him try to get it out in-between chuckles.

You also know he shares the same negative sentiment Jungkook has about your current relationship with his best friend. But just like he claims that his relationship with Rina is complicated. So, is yours with the ray of sunshine you get to now call friend.

“She's fine.” He shrugs, clearing his throat and looking out the window. You share a look with Hoseok before letting out a fit of shared giggles.

If someone had once told you that your strict math tutor slash friend would turn into a shy mess with just the simple mention of a name. You would've thought they were fucking with you. Even if it still surprises you a little bit.

“You should just ask her to be your girlfriend.” Hoseok chimes in.

Namjoon throws his head back groaning. “It wouldn't work out if I do, plus that would require for me to act like a boyfriend and I'm not ready for that kind of commitment.” He speaks with his eyes trained on the high ceiling of the cafe.

You lean forward placing your elbows on top of the table and wrapping your arms around the hot mug. “You already do Namjoon. A switch of labels is not going to change anything. And don't you think she deserves some kind of confirmation and respect when it comes to your relationship?” You finish tilting your head to the side.

“I do respect her though, which is why I don't want to ask her, like you just said a label won't change anything.”

You let out a sigh, “I didn't say that you didn't respect her. I just think that from a girl's perspective she might be feeling a little bit confused with your words and actions. You say the two of you aren't anything serious but then you act like you can't live without her. If I was in her shoes I would feel very frustrated. So, maybe you don't have to make this big grand gesture or ask her to officially be your girlfriend but just clarify things between the two of you. If you aren't serious about her then so be it but if you are then tell her that.” You finish and take your first sip from your tea.

“I agree with honey cakes, just be a little more straight forward that's all.” Hoseok shrugs before standing up.

Namjoon rolls his eyes, and looks between the two of you. “And what about you?” He counteracts childishly. You knew it was coming. In his eyes the two of you giving him advice when you're in a similar situation is a bit hypocritical. Plus you and Hoseok are on the same page so it's di–

“That's different.” Hoseok speaks before you. “And this is about your love life not ours.” He states stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Whatever.” Namjoon brushes off. You sigh, aware that if you choose to continue the conversation it will end in the three of you having a petty argument. You look at Hoseok as he leans down, placing a delicate kiss on your cheek, making the man witnessing the affectionate gesture scoff in annoyance.

If he wants to say something he doesn't voice it instead he opens his leather bound notebook to a new page.

Hoseok ignores him and stands up straight. “Are we still on tonight?”

You nod. “I can't stay for long though I want to catch up on sleep.”

“Fine then just one movie it is.” He winks before turning on his heels. Leaving you behind with the grumpy man. He looks up from his journal, opening his mouth, but you raise a hand to stop him. “It's different Namjoon.”

Namjon clicks his tongue in annoyance and shrugs. “Whatever, let's just do one more world problem before calling it a day.”

“Fine,” you huff, sliding your notebook in front of you and opening it to a clean page.

Just one more day and you'll be free from this torture.

Hoseok's apartment is everything you expect from the maximest man. Just upon walking in you are hit with waves of bright colors. By the doorway there are different KAWS figurines that you can only imagine cost a fortune. Yet they greet you with their x'd out eyes as you remove your shoes.

Then you have to pass by the Supreme beaded curtain to finally enter the living room. A bright red leather couch is settled in the middle. With wine colored pillows and a black throw blanket that you've adopted since the first night you spent in Hoseok's arms.

Abstract art lines the walls behind the television. There are more figurines lining the shelves in between books, records, and framed pictures of his friends and families. Along with a few miscellaneous items that he's told you he's obtained over the years.

His TV is huge. Takes up almost the whole wall, but your favorite to watch movies since he installed a surround system upon moving in years ago.

You still remember the first night he invited you over. It was after spending two whole weeks texting non stop. He simply asked if you wanted to watch a movie with him and you thought why not.

One night led to another and now another. It always starts the same. The two of you spend days teasing one another through text. Lewd texts along with pictures. You come over for a movie and then you end up underneath him.

When it's over, he lets you use his shower while he orders takeout from the vegan restaurant a block down the road. And the two of you resume watching the movie as if neither of you were panting each other's names in pleasure.

A simple arrangement with absolutely no strings attached.

It was what you were expecting when you came over tonight. Not that you don't mind the nights in which you do come over and nothing happens other than the deep hearted talks over a slow record playing in the background. But that wasn't happening either, because ever since you arrived at his doorstep, the overzealous man has been quiet. Biting the inside of his cheek and moving around you far enough to raise suspicion.

It has your mind traveling back to the conversation that occurred in the afternoon. Was Hoseok having second thoughts? Or was there more to his actions than what you were picking up?

“Hobi,” you whisper the minute he enters his living room with a bowl of popcorn stepping over your legs that were resting on his coffee table. He silently settles down next to you, on the other side of the couch with a gap wide enough to fit a person in between.

Now you're more than positive that something is wrong.

You groan, “I think I'll just go home then.” You mumble, pushing the throw blanket of your shoulders.

This is enough to catch his attention. His eyes are wide behind his dark rimmed glasses and he sits up. “What why?” He tilts his head in confusion.

A dry chuckle escapes your lips. “You obviously don't want me around, so I'll just go. I need to go to sleep early anyway.” You shrug, slipping your feet in his fuzzy slippers and swiftly start making your way to grab your stuff in his room.

“No I–wait.” Finally, he speaks up, earning an eye roll from you that he can't see as your back is still turned.

With haltered steps you spin on your heel to face him again, “What? You've been acting strange since I got here. So, if you don't want me around I will just go home.”

At lightning speed he sets the bowl of popcorn on his coffee table, and stands up. He makes hasty steps towards you and when he is finally standing in front of you, he sets both of his hands on top of your shoulders.

“Don't leave…I'm sorry.” Hoseok's eyes cast down past your face. They settle upon the graphic on your old washed out t-shirt. He takes a deep breath and looks up again. His face twists into something you can't decipher. It's a look you've never seen him wear, and it settles hard into your chest.

He looks troubled, chewing on the inside of his cheek. His eyes dart to five different focal points. You know he's arguing with himself. When he finally looks at you in your eyes again. You can't help but shrink a little bit.

His features have hardened, and you want to reach out to smooth over the little worry lines in the middle of his forehead. Guilt washes over you.

For what?

You don't know but you hope more than anything that you'll soon find out.

“Can we talk?” He speaks up, letting his arms fall down, his knuckles brushing against your skin.

For a second you think he's going to pull away. Retrieve into his body, but when he grabs your hands and laces his fingers with yours. The guilt in the pit of your stomach dissipates and you're left with confusion.

When you don't answer his question, he repeats himself. This time differently, “I just think we need to talk, I've been thinking since this afternoon. I want to check up on you, and I guess us.” He clarifies, and now you're filled with a different kind of emotion. As much as you're relieved that you didn't do anything wrong per se. You are slightly annoyed that he couldn't just tell you that when you first arrived. Instead of ignoring you until you reached your breaking point.

Frustrated, you say slowly, “Then just say that, instead of ignoring me.”

Hoseok closes his eyes and sighs, nodding his head before speaking, “you're right I'm sorry. I just have a lot on my mind and I am not sure how to bring any of what I'm thinking about up.”

“Hobi, just say it. We agreed on clear communication when we realized that this was going to be more than just a one night stand.” You sigh, beginning to walk in the direction of his couch, stringing him along. “Whatever is on your mind, just say it.” You push him onto his couch and take the seat next to him, your body fully facing his, and you fold your legs beneath you.

He nods, running a hand down his face. “I don't think this is working anymore.” He whispers, eyes trained on his ceiling.

Okay you were definitely not expecting that, but instead of voicing your surprise, you squeeze his hand. Encouraging him to continue.

He does, “I think I'm slowly falling for you, well I don't know I'm confused about my feelings.” He whispers the end and falls quiet.

As much as you want to run away and hide at his confession. He looks troubled and you wouldn't be a good friend if you just left him to wallow in his thoughts. No matter the pressure that has settled in your chest. Or the fact that your heart thinks you're running a marathon, making your ears feel like they're about to fall off too.

With every passing moment you're finding that it's getting harder to breathe. You aren't dumb, the atmosphere has also changed, but it isn't because of his confession. It's because you are also a bit confused about your feelings.

You clear your throat, “W-What are you confused about?”

He stops his staring game with the ceiling, shifting his whole body to finally face you. “Do you know why both Kook and Joon are so against us?”

The question throws you off guard but you suppose it has to do with what he's going through. You do have an idea as to why your friends are raising a brow at your relationship. Jungkook’s warning the first day you met the barista is enough for you to get a rough idea of what they mean. But you want to hear it from him.

Still you don't know if you can trust your voice so you shake your head.

He continues, “I've never been in a relationship because I don't trust people to love me the way I know I can love them. So, I just sleep around, and when I get bored I break it off.”

“I know. They warned me about you when you immediately showed interest. And trust me I knew what I signed up for when we agreed to keep seeing each other. I don't expect anything more than what we are doing.” You tilt your head to the side.

“I know that's why I'm confused. At first that's all I expected and wanted. But then I don't know I feel so full and empty when I'm with you. I don't want you to leave when the night is over. You're the last thing I think about and the first thing I want to see. I've never felt this sure and comfortable with anyone ever, and I don't know what to do because we both know this isn't forever, your forever is with someone else, and so is mine. But for now I just want to be with you and know what it's like to fall in love and with you.” He takes a deep breath. “Even if it's just for a little bit. You know that next year I'll be leaving for that design school, and I'm sorry but nothing and no one is going to stop me. I've waited too long for this opportunity. I know I'm being selfish to ask you this, but can you please find it in your heart to let me be yours until then?”

Hoseok finishes. And you're left to your own devices. To deal with your emotions as they spill out of you in hot tears. You've never had someone confess to you so passionately before. Actually nobody has ever bothered. And even though it's semi depressing you can't help but feel on cloud nine with all his words wrapping around you in the warmth that he radiates.

Without thinking you kneel, and wrap your arms around his neck. “Okay let's do it.” You beam and he matches your smile. He leans in to kiss you but you place your hand over his mouth to stop him.

Confusion plagues him like a bitter sting. You laugh, “But only if you agree that when everything is over there's no drama between us, and if I ever get married you have to design my wedding dress.” You remove your hand, and cradle his cheek, rub your thumb over his eyebrow.

He chuckles, rolling his eyes. “You will get married.”

“Nah, but it's okay. I've accepted my faith.” You shrug, resting your forehead against his. His hands come up your cheek, squishing them slightly.

“You will honey cakes, that's why I'm already planning your dress design in my head.” He wipes your forgotten tears, and tilts your head to the side.

You feel your breathing get faster, as his heart shaped lips rest centimeters apart. “How are you so sure?” You whisper, swallowing thickly at the end.

He smirks, with a glint in his eye. Like he knows something you don't, “because I know someone who is also falling for you but they’re to dumb to notice “

“Who?”

“Secret,” he says before finally crashing his lips onto yours.

Hoseok’s room is equally as loud as his living room. It’s a little more diluted with simple decorations and a huge abstract painting on the wall in front of his bed. His bed takes up most of his space, adoring a black duvet with black sheets. He has three pillows and two of those you’ve taken ownership of. His brown dresser holds little trinkets of things he buys or finds in the pockets of his pants. It’s also home to a series of designer colognes. Your favorite one was definitely Terre d'Hermes. Somehow the smell always fills with comfort.

Your favorite part of his room–other than his bed–was his desk. They say you can tell a lot about a person by just looking at their work space.

He’s a messy artist. His sketches are always thrown around, or pinned on the corkboard hanging over his desk. He has two bookshelves filled with sketchbooks and magazines. Sometimes if you’re lucky he will leave his sketchbooks open, awarding you with a small glance of his work. He has different notebooks for different magazine cutouts. Each one labeled something like, ‘street’ or ‘formal’ or ‘one-day.’ The latter always peaks your interest but you’ve never thought to ask. He has a thousand different sketching materials, and so many colorful markers. You just know that he was that kid in class with the sixty-four crayola back.

He's passionate about his craft. A passion that shines through everything that he does. Especially when he’s sharing that passion with you. Now, as he lays you down onto his soft mattress. He kisses his way down your neck, slowly pushing your shirt up to reveal your stomach and the few stretch marks that appeared one day in your early adolescent years.

For years it was hard to be intimate with someone in fear that they would disgust your partner. But the one thing you learned while growing up was that most men didn’t give a shit unless they were getting it.

Yet Hoseok, your boyfriend, now.

He cares.

In a good way. The first time he saw you naked he almost came in his jeans. Your curves were all in the right places. You have enough skin to grip onto, and he loves all the marks and imperfections your body has.

He couldn’t understand why you were so beautiful in the soft glow of his bedroom lights? Why he didn’t have the words to describe how his heart was literally beating against his ribcage? Why for the first time in his casual dating experience he feared he wouldn't be able to give you the pleasure you deserved?

So, that first night together, he took his time. Trying to get his thoughts under control. He painted your body with featherlight kisses. Determined to leave his trace imprinted in your body for however long you two would engage with each other.

Everytime you came over. He did just that. He took his time, choreographing a dance with your body. It was a no-brainer that he had fallen for you. Something he knew shouldn’t have happened. He had plans for himself. He had a future mapped out since he was teenage. Though, he had the sneaking suspicion that you wouldn’t stop him from achieving his goals. That you would support him through everything. He should’ve stopped his feelings for you from growing.

He kept them quiet until his portfolio got accepted. Until he saw the brief glances Namjoon gave you when he thought you weren’t looking. Perhaps it was the jealousy that made him confess. Or that his time with you was now limited. Whatever the reason was that led him to his confession, he only hoped that you felt the same.

You giggle, the beautiful melodic sound grounds him as he wraps a calloused hand around your right breast, circling his thumb around the pebble.

You're his girlfriend now.

He, your boyfriend and he will bring down the moon for you tonight if you asked him too.

“What’s so funny?” His curious stare meets your amused one.

You had failed to keep your giggles at bay while he made out with you on his couch. He let a few of his own out when he had had enough of kissing and grinding in his living room, and guided you into his room.

He loved the sound, and he loved that it was only because after months of dancing this tango you were still shy underneath him.

“Nothing, it’s just that Mickey is staring at us.” You whisper gasping when he grinds his lower half against yours. Hoseok playfully rolls his eyes, reaching and turning around the newly added picture of his family dog on his bedside table. No more prying dog or human eyes around to interrupt the two of you.

His attention returns to you. Gaze burning with lust as he leans down, pecking your lips lightly. “Can you stay over?” He says, kneading your breast again. The teasing touches were driving you insane. But this is how you preferred it. Slow and intense, tangling your body with his, until the two of you became one.

“I’ll make an exception if you promise to drive me to my class tomorrow with a free coffee.” You smile, pushing your chest into his hand.

He shook his head, reaching down to your lips. “Hustler.” He mumbles, capturing your mouth in a slow sensual kiss. “You got yourself a deal baby girl.”

Your body shudders at the nickname. He only used it when it was just the two of you. He knew the effect it had on you. “Can I take your shirt off now?” He smirks.

You let out a pleasurable sigh, nodding your head, before verbalizing a soft, “yes.”

He pulls away, sitting back on his heels, peeling his shirt off before helping you with yours. He discards the two of them somewhere behind him. He pulls you towards him again, resting his forehead against yours. A bright smile adorning his perfect face.

It makes your stomach crumble, knowing that from this moment on.

Hoseok would always be the one who got away.

Your big “what if.”

Your biggest treasure. Your safe place. Your blueprint for a future with someone else. The love story that was made to end. But one that burned so bright that would have you telling your future daughter to never be afraid of love.

“Can we go slow today?” You run your hands down his torso, playing with the belt buckle of his expensive belt.

“I’ll go at whatever pace you want me to go, baby girl.” He reassures, his fingers play with the bra strap that had fallen down your shoulder.

You tilt your head, looking at him with soft eyes. And he swears he feels himself melt.

The next few minutes were a mess of soft kisses and clothes being discarded. Each article of clothing, landing with a soft ‘thud’ against his bedroom floor. You’re on cloud nine, his lips kiss down your neck, your collarbone. His hands part your thighs, baring your cunt to him. He sits back, mouth watering at how wet you are. He couldn’t wait for a taste.

He could never wait. And he never did.

He kisses your mound before wrapping his lips around your clit. He savors the sigh that escapes your mouth. He smirks when he immediately feels you grip his hair, pushing him further. Just like he couldn’t resist, you also couldn’t.

He sucked, distracting you from his finger circling around your entrance making you gasp in surprise when you feel him insert one. Slowly thrusting it as he licked you like a man who has been starved for weeks.

“Hobi,” You sigh, pushing his head further. He fingers you faster until he feels you clench around him, and he stops, making you whine.

“Please,” you plead. He chuckles against you, inserting another finger. This time he doesn’t give you time to adjust. You feel him thrust into you with no hesitation. His mouth sucking on your clit, swirling his tongue around it playing with the nub.

You were withering, moaning his name, and anything your mind could conjure up in this moment.

Overwhelmed with blissful pleasure, you grip his bed sheets, bucking your hips into his face. He groans, knowing you were on edge from how tight your grip on his head was now. And he did the one thing he knew would drive you insane. He slowed down, until he came to a complete stop.

��Hoseok,” you groan, slamming your hand onto his comforter. He chuckles, lifting his head. Your body was flushed, your lips swollen, your hair splayed out around you. He loves bringing you to this moment.

“You said you wanted slow.” He grins, taking his fingers out of your pussy. Loving the way it clenched over nothing now. Almost as if it was begging to be played with again.

You roll your eyes, pouting. “Not this slow. I want to come.” You say, sitting up on your elbows.

“Oh baby you will.” He winks, licking his fingers clean. He leans over, pecking your lips quickly. “You will come as many times as you want. But I want the first one to be around my cock tonight.”

You gasp at his words. You knew his mouth was lethal but sometimes it still surprises you. The lust lacing with his soft timbre made you weak in the knees.

“Fuck,” you whisper, grabbing his face and kissing him hard.

The word ‘slow’ is forgotten from either of your vocabularies, while the two of you kiss hungrily. Sucking on tongues, teeth clashing, hands touching and clutching onto anything and everything.

Hoseok lays you down on your side, climbing in behind you. His teeth nips at your bottom lip and he wrapped your leg around his hips. He kisses down your neck, while you help guide his cock to your entrance. He locks his eyes with yours as he slowly pushes himself in. His arms wrap around your torso, and he pushes you closer to his chest.

Both of your heartbeats are in sync. Racing against the clock, basking in pleasure that you never want it to end.

“Move please.” You say, lifting your face to kiss him.

He begins to move his hips, making you gasp into each other's mouths. It’s a sloppy pace from the start but you don't care. You want more, so you met his thrusts halfway. One of his hands palms at your breast. He alternates between swallowing your moans and leaving his mark on anything he can get his lips on.

“B-Baby.” He moans, resting his forehead on yours. “I’m close, are you?” He thrusts, letting out a low moan when he feels you clench around him.

He didn’t give you a minute to answer, before he was lifting your leg higher around his waist, allowing himself to reach the deepest part of you. “Touch yourself baby.”

You moan his name, letting go of his hand, your finger meeting your clit, rubbing it in circles. Trying to keep up with his unrelenting pace. And soon you feel him still behind you, eyes shutting in pleasure as he spills himself inside of you. His orgasm triggers the coil in the pit of your stomach as you feel your release wash over you in a tidal wave, making you push his cock and cum out of you. His fingers frantically come down to meet yours as he helps you ride out your wave. He whispers praises against your skin while you come down.

Hoseok kisses your lips slowly, chuckling before whispering words that you will forever hold near and dear to your heart.

“I love you.” He pushes your hair away from your face. “I love you so much to know that one day I’ll have to let you go.”

You giggle, turning in his arms, nuzzling your head into his neck. “I love you.”

You feel him laugh, twinkling his fingers down your spine, “Let’s get matching tattoos.”

You look up at him, raising a brow before shaking your head. “You just made me squirt, told me you loved me, and now you want to get matching tattoos?”

“What better way to commemorate the best ego boost.” He shrugs.

“You’re insane.” You untangle yourself from his embrace. You stand up, putting on his shirt.

“I didn’t hear a no.” He says smugly, putting his arms underneath his head.

“Because you’re an insane idiot who makes me agree to things like these.” You smile, before walking out of his room.

“Great, I’ll make an appointment.” He shouts after you, “I love you.” He adds after a moment.

You enter his kitchen, and turn on the lights. You can feel your smile take up your entire face. For a moment you realize that for the first time in a long time you felt happy.

So yeah, maybe, things were finally looking up.

“You’re late.”

Namjoon says after taking a slow sip from his coffee. He looks at you from over the rim of his glasses.

You roll your eyes, setting your bag down on the empty chair. “It's raining, and I forgot my umbrella. I had to wait for the rain to stop.”

“You could’ve texted to let me know.” He shrugs, setting his cup down on the coaster and flipping the page of his book.

You sigh, before (gently) throwing your phone onto the table. “It’s dead. And before you ask, no I didn’t bring a charger. No, Jungkook wasn’t in class today so he couldn’t give me a charger, an umbrella, or a ride. Jimin is sick. And Taehyung doesn’t even go to our school. He's probably getting high with his new fling, so I wouldn’t have been able to ask him either.” You say, listing all the solutions he would’ve thought about in seconds.

“Mhm,” he nods, closing his book. “And your boyfriend?”

Annoyed, you let out a whine, crossing your arms in front of you. “I don’t know, let me go downstairs and ask him. I’m sure he can stop managing a business to give me an umbrella.”

Namjoon leans his elbows against the table. “Trouble in paradise?” He tilts his head, clasping his hands on top of his book.

You shake your head, pulling out your chair and slumping down in it. “Hobi and I are fine. It’s not like he’s leaving in two months or anything.” You throw your hands up in exasperation.

It’s month seven into your shining relationship with Hoseok, and you should’ve known that things would start to hit the fan sooner rather than Later. Your boyfriend was in the middle of the most tumultuous change of his life. Things were moving quickly and his time dedicated to you was bumped down his monstrous daily to-do list.

Yet you couldn’t do or say anything because isn’t this what you signed up for?

“Ah, so there is trouble.” Namjoon chuckles before opening his book again, setting his fancy leather bookmark aside. “This is exactly why I don’t do relationships, they just attract problems.” He adds, giving you a pointed look.

You roll your eyes, “Shut up asshole, not all of us can be like you and Rina.”

“Sure you can, it's simple just don't attach any strings to it.” He shrugs, underlining a sentence in his book.

“Two people who have been only exclusively seeing each other for years literally the definition of strings attached. You can keep denying it all you want but she’s your girlfriend. You guys do all the couple-y stuff.” You grumble, leaning back in your chair, looking out of the window. The gloomy weather adds to your shitty mood.

“She’s not, we are not dating, and I don’t need to talk about this with you again. Rina and I are on the same page.” He finishes, taking a long sip from his coffee.

“Well, how would you feel if Rina was spending time with another guy, completely ignoring your presence when you walk into her coffee shop all wet and angry because your professor basically told you your topic for your essay was shit.”

Namjoon smirks, leaning back in his chair. “Sounds like you’re jealous of Yuri.”

“So what if I am?” You bite, “I understand that he’s training her to take over his position, but all he talks about is her and what he needs to teach her when we’re together. And whenever I come in they’re always laughing at something behind the coffee machine. And I know she’s nice and all but I would like his attention too.” You scoff.

Namjoon hums, tapping his index finger against the table. “Do you trust him?”

The question doesn’t catch you off guard, the obvious answer is on the tip of your tongue. But with how things have been going lately. You can’t help but hesitate.

“I don’t know anymore.” You whisper looking down at your hands, turning the ring on your middle finger. “I know I should, and I do…I think I do. It’s just things have been so shit lately and I feel like a burden to him because of everything he has to do.”

Namjoon lightly kicks your foot under the table, making you raise your head to meet his gaze. “I don’t know if I am being of much help, but he loves you. I know that whatever is happening he’s not doing it intentionally. Just talk to him about it.”

If only it were that easy.

“I’d love to but he never has time.”

“Why not talk to him now then.” He says reaching into his bag to take out his cigarettes and lighter.

“He’s busy downstairs with Yu–”

“No, I’m not busy now.”

You jump at the sound of your boyfriend's voice. You turn your head to look at him. A small tray with a mug of probably chamomile tea on top of it. His hair is shorter than the last time you saw him two days ago. He got a haircut and didn’t even tell you about it. That’s how low you have made it on his list. He can’t even send you a stupid picture of his new haircut. He can’t even send you a ‘goodmorning’ or ‘goodnight’ text. He also probably forgot that you were nervous for the meeting with your professor about your essay topic.

All these realizations make you want to roll into a ball and cry. You knew your time with Hoseok was limited. You just didn’t expect for the end to be so torturous.

“That’s what I told her.” Namjoon speaks, narrowing his eyes at you for a second before turning his attention to his best friend. “She’s jealous of Yuri, because you’ve been spending too much time with her.” He shrugs, walking quickly to the stairs before you can bury him ten feet underground.

You hear Hoseok let out a heavy sigh, and take the seat next to you. “Honeycakes,” he starts.

“Nice haircut.” You interrupt, slumping into your chair more. It earns another heavy sigh from the man sitting next to you.

“Is Yuri the reason why you’ve been so upset lately?” He says placing a hand on top of your knee underneath the table.

You let out a dry laugh before shaking your head. “No, it’s not her. It’s how you’ve been acting lately, it’s the time you’ve been spending with her. It's never having time for me anymore. It’s forgetting our date last week. It’s not even telling me that you got a haircut.” You finish, closing your fists to keep yourself from crying.

Hoseok gives your thigh a squeeze before leaning back in his chair. “You know how things have been lately. I’m trying so hard to do everything I need to do. I don’t mean to be so dismissive but I can’t juggle everything at the same time.”

You flick off a piece of lint from your jeans. “It’s nice to know that I’m just something you juggle around.”

“That’s not what I meant. You knew what would happen when I started my application process. You said you understood.”

“I did, or I thought I did Hoseok. I didn’t think I would become so secondary to you.” You sniffle. “I love that you’re chasing your dreams, but this is me trying to support you. I’m trying to understand how you’re feeling. But you stop me. You have shut me out and now I’m just something you remember sometimes.” You close your eyes, feeling the tears fall down your cheeks.

The last thing you wanted was to be crying like this in public.

“I-I want you to tell me when you’re having a hard time like you used to. I want you to feel like you can relax around me when we’re together. But every time we are together, we either argue, you don’t talk, or you talk about work, deadlines, or how you can’t wait to move. How do you think that makes me feel Hoseok?”

Hoseok sighs, and wraps his arm around your shoulders. “I��m sorry.” He kisses your temple. “I wish you would’ve told me earlier before it got to this point.” He whispers, rubbing your back, while you lean your head onto his shoulder.

“But Hobi like you said, this is what I signed up for. This is what I agreed to.” You add bitterly.

“Yes Honeycakes, but you’re still my girlfriend. And I know that I haven’t been the best boyfriend lately, but I do care about you and I do love you.” He lifts your head from his shoulder. He gently grabs hold of your face, making you look at him. “Just like how you want me to talk to you when something is bothering me, I also want you to talk to me.”

You close your head sighing, “You’re right, I’m sorry that I keep making things difficult.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t. I’m the one that can’t seem to keep my girlfriend from doubting me. I’m the one who hasn’t told her how much I yearn to be in her presence at every waking moment.” He says, his thumbs wiping away your tears. “I love you, and I think that’s why I’ve been so avoidant lately. I know that our days are numbered and I would rather ignore the fact that I’m moving away soon than cherish the moments I get to spend with my family, my friends and you.”

You nod, holding out your pinky out to him. “I promise to keep trying my best.”

He hooks his pinky with yours bringing your laced fingers up to his lips. “I promise to keep trying my best too.”

“I love you,” You whisper, letting go of his finger and wrapping your arms around his waist.

His low laugh makes his chest vibrate against your head, “I love you.” He adds, rubbing soothing circles over your back. “Now, can you please drink your tea before you get a cold. I texted you earlier asking if you needed an umbrella but you didn’t answer. And now look at you coming in here all pouty and wet.”

You raise your head to look at him, opening your mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by the forgotten voice of your friend. “Her phone’s dead.” Namjoon throws his lighter onto the wooden table.

Hoseok tsks shaking his head, reaching over to push the tray of your lukewarm tea closer to you. “I should’ve known. I knew you didn’t charge it last night, just like I knew that you left your umbrella at my place.” He pinches your cheek. “How did your meeting go?”

“He basically said that I need to restart my essay topic over again.”

Hoseok laughs, bopping your nose with his own. “Well did he say those exact words?”

“No but it was basically implied.” You emphasize.

“Fine, I’ll talk to your study partner if my baby isn’t being told that she’s a genius all the time, then what am I paying him for.” He jokes, which earns a glare from said study partner.

“You’re not paying me, idiot.” Namjoon rolls his eyes, grabbing his brown leather messenger back and stuffing his cigarettes into the front pocket.

He’s grateful that he came back to smiles and not tears. The stoicness of his actions makes the two of you laugh hard. Your laugh resonates longer in his mind. It always does. No matter how much he tries to deny it. You always resonate longer in his mind. But he pushes that fleeting thought aside.

Namjoon is happy.

His friends are happy.

Things in his life were finally looking up.

“I have to go, but don’t be late next time and charge your phone.” He says hoisting his bag onto his shoulders.

You nod, saluting in his direction, before bursting out into a fit of giggles as Hoseok tickles your side.

Namjoon doesn’t stay for longer than he needs to. He’s already running late to meet Rina, but he can’t hide the smile taking up his space.

He can’t help but feel proud that things were finally looking up for you too.

a/n: I hope you have enjoyed it. I will try not to be so MIA and upload a little more frequently rather than every 6 months haha. But my life has been pretty busy lately. In the past few months. I have moved to a different part of Seoul and I got a new job. I basically just hang out with my friends when I have free time haha. I also do dance class 3 times a week, and I started personal training last week. But I will try to manage my time better because I do miss writing and this story!

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imaredshirt · 2 months ago

Text

Post Weirdmageddon, Stanley continues to recover his memories. It's a gradual process, one that he sometimes gets frustrated with, but he's surrounded with a support system of friends and family that are more than happy to help.

Every so often, Stanford checks in with Fiddleford, who's a few steps ahead of Stanley in the memory recovery process and is an invaluable resource of knowledge and helpful tips. The fact that he invented the memory gun also helps, of course, and although he won't ever rebuild the thing, he has been studying the old one and just how it affects the mind.

During these calls between old friends/colleagues, Fiddleford will casually ask after Stanley's progress and general wellbeing, and Stanford will relay a summary of Stanley's most recent recovered memories.

One day over the phone, Fiddleford says, "So we know Stanley's recovered much of his childhood memories, some of his early twenties, and he's able to recall quite a bit of the past several years. Has he, ah, mentioned anything 'bout his time in the '80s? When he first started runnin the Mystery Shack and workin on the portal?"

"Not that I know of," Stanford answers. "I'll ask the kids. If he's mentioned anything to them, then Dipper's already added it to his notes." He frowns. "Should we be worried that he hasn't recalled anything from that period in his life, yet?"

"No, no," Fiddleford says. "At least, I don't think so. This all seems to be a sort of non-linear recovery process. Sorta like a stack o' cards that's fallen on the floor all mixed up and on top of each other, and he's pickin up the ones on the top layer, completely outta order. For all we know, this could be the card he picks up last." He pauses and clears his throat. "But if he does start mentioning anythin from that time - anythin at all from events to sensory memories or, uh, people - you be sure to let me know. I'd like to add it to my notes."

He sounds almost too casual. Stanford doesn't want to doubt his friend after all this time, but he vividly remembers what Fiddleford sounds like when he's trying to be sneaky, and he sounds like it right now. So much as he doesn't want to be, Stanford's suspicious.

He's just not quite sure what to be suspicious of.

He files the suspicion away for later. "You got it, old buddy."

"Well alrighty then! I'll call again tomorrow to check on today's progress. And why don't you order him an egg and sausage omelet from Greasy's? The one with all that cheese on top - but no mushrooms. He hates those. His favorite foods might jog his memories a bit."

Stanford blinks. "We were actually thinking of doing that. But how do you -?"

Fiddleford hangs up.

Stanford's still blinking at the phone, frowning, when Stanley walks up behind him.

"Hey, who was that?" Stanley asks. "Why do you look like someone just gave you a math problem you can't solve?"

"There are very few of those left in the universe," Stanford says, only half joking, and smiles when Stanley rolls his eyes, chuckling.

"Yeah, yeah, my brother the genius - whatever. Look, since you're on the phone already, why dontcha call up Fidds and tell him to pick up some pizza. If the kids are hungry, then you know I'm starving."

"Alright, but no broccoli pizza this time, I --" Stanford freezes. "Wait. Fidds?"

"Yeah, he's not in the shack or out back, so he's gotta be out in town, right?"

There's only one person that "Fidds" can be, but Stanford hasn't heard anyone use Fiddleford's nickname since college. He raises an eyebrow at Stanley, who's relaxing back in his recliner.

"Fidds, Stanley?"

"Yeah," Stanley says, raising an eyebrow back at his brother. "You know, your nerdy buddy? Scrawny guy with an accent? Helped me out with the portal right after you got stuck in it--"

"What?" Stanford's never heard about this. From either of them.

Stanley goes on, "Can't fight off a gnome to save his life but builds a giant crazy gnome robot anyway - whaat? Why're you looking at me like that?" Stanley sits up and his confusion becomes anger, almost startling Stanford out of his shocked state. "What, now that I'm getting all these memories back, you're uncomfortable?"

Stanford has no idea what he's talking about. "What? Uncomfortable with what?"

"With your college buddy shacking up with your twin brother," Stanley snaps. "We've been together for years. Maybe you should get over it, huh?"

"Get over it?" Stanford's reeling. Fiddleford's strangeness suddenly makes sense. "Stanley, I would never - I would accept you however you - I'm not straight, either, you know, and - wait." He holds up one hand and pinches the bridge of his nose with the other. "Before we even get into that - WHAT?"

Stanley blinks. "What??"

"You - you and - when did you-" Stanford throws his hands in the air. "He doesn't live here!"

"What?" Stanley snorts. "Yeah he does. I told him to move in."

"When?"

"Back in the '80s," Stanley says. "I just started remembering this morning. Where's be been, anyway? Why hasn't he been doing nerdy shit with you in the lab lately?"

Stanford's leaning against the sofa's armrest, mind racing. He answers distractedly, "We haven't been in the lab together since before you came to Gravity Falls, Stanley."

"Bull. You expect me to believe you two aren't cooking up some science project already?"

"Stanley..."

"What," Stanley says. Then he grins. "Are you the one with messed up memories now or what? Jeez, I got a better memory than my genius brother - and I've been hit with the memory gun twice!"

"Twice?" Stanford turns a sharp look on his brother. "What do you mean, twice?"

"Yeah. That one time when you used it on me, and then back in the '90s when Fidds . . ."

Stanley trails off. He blinks and then frowns, gaze falling to the floor as he mutters, "Back when Fidds . . . when he used it on me the first time, and. . ."

Realization dawns on them both at once, and Stanley looks at Stanford with an odd mix of emotions.

"Stanley," Stanford says in an effort to calm him. "What exactly do you remember of-"

"Who cares!" Stanley jumps to his feet, hands clenched into fists at his sides. "He used that thing on me! When I told him not to - when I asked - begged -" Stanley punches the wall and glares at the splinters littering his knuckles. His voice is shaking. "After everything we went through - he just took off 'cause he was, what, scared? Do you have any idea how much I've forgotten? Who knows if I'm gonna remember any of it? I didn't want him to leave! And after he did and used the gun, I - I was so broken and angry I didn't know why, couldn't remember why--"

With a growl, Stanley grabs the car keys from the little bowl by the TV and stomps towards the front door. "Get in the car. I've got a bone to pick with your old college buddy."

Stanford grabs his journal and hurries after his brother, calling for the kids as they head to the car. They're all likely going to be at Fiddleford's new mansion for some time.

He certainly has a bit of explaining to do.

#gf #fiddlestan #stanley pines #stanford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #might clean this up later for ao3 #just a blurb for now #which uh got a lot longer than i'd meant it to be #look this is the most fiddlestan angst i can handle ok

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m30wk1ttycat · 3 months ago

Text

the blind leading the blind-er

relationships: simp!thomas x oblivious!reader (romantic), gally x reader (platonic, besties), minho x thomas x newt (platonic, besties) minho x gally if you squint (romantic)

warning! contains: cussing, maybe softie!gally, thomas loves his strawberry lip balm, horrible sexual jokes (about three or four, maybe five. i can't be bothered to do the math, sorry, y'all), thomas sleeps in just his boxers because i said do, KISSING (i poured my fucking heart out during the kissing scene. you're welcome)!!

summary: when a tiny little crush starts to turn into something so much more, thomas is too awkward to say it out loud, so he keeps giving not-so-subtle hints. of course, minho, his best friend keeps reassuring him that you picked up on his hints. (you didn't.)

prompt: "relationships don't really work like that, minho." "and names shouldn't work the way they do, 'cause why are you named after isaac newton? i thought he was supposed to be smart or something."

it was genuinely agonizing, in thomas' best friends' opinions. the poor kid had tried everything. truly everything. and yet, you still weren't catching up on it, as much as he tried. it was almost depressing to watch.

but at least he had them, his best friends, minho and newt, by his side?

right after leaving the maze, thomas spotted you talking to gally, not too far away from him and minho, who was standing next to him, drinking from his canteen. minho offered it to him and thomas, still panting, gladly accepted it.

"y/n is so checking you out right now," minho whispered into thomas' ear, grinning as he watched thomas almost spit out the water.

meanwhile, you were talking to the builder, about ten feet away from the runners. sure, you ocassionally found yourself glancing at thomas, but you weren't exactly checking him out. he tried to swallow the disappointment he felt at the realization, but hey, you were still looking at him. as long as it was him who you were looking at, he'd take it.

"totally checking you out. see?" minho nodded in your direction. yeah, not checking him out, sadly.

thomas rolled his eyes and handed the canteen back to him. that was his only response.

minho threw an arm around him, the canteen in his other. "come on, we got work to do," he reminded. with that, the two headed to the map room, where only the runners were allowed.

while they did their job, you helped gally carry some wood for a new project he was working on. something about replacing the unsteady chairs in the map room, you recalled him saying. the high-pitched scream coming from the building as you passed by it pretty much confirmed it.

gally groaned beside you, continuing to walk. he, along with you, tried to ignore the audible string of curses that likely came from minho who had previously been sitting on the flimsy chair.

you were about to open your mouth to say something, but gally beat you to it, a guilty expression on his face, "he's okay, i promise."

"didn't sound like it."

"he will be okay," he corrected himself.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ ★ ་༘࿐

you watched as gally searched for the sketches he drew for the new chairs - hopefully ones that don't end up collapsing under minho, bruising his poor butt.

"need help?" you offered.

"no, i know where they are," he answered, sounding frustrated. you guessed that it was because he, indeed, didn't know where they were.

he let out a defeated groan. "i don't know where they are," he announced, confirming your suspicions.

"fuck it, i'll just draw new ones.."

a beat. "and the papers are in the map room. great."

"i'll come with you if you want," you suggested, knowing that he and thomas didn't really get along. not to mention that minho would probably be mad at gally for the whole chair situation.

"fine," he agreed. once he got up from his previous kneeling position, he walked out the door of his hut, you right behind him.

already fearing minho, he reached out, gently knocking. very unlike the usual gally who'd probably kick down the door rather than actually attempt to knock.

shuffling was heard from inside the building, and much to gally's dismay, it was minho who opened the door.

"we need papers," the builder said, looking down at the runner. (minho is our short king 'cause i said so.)

"papers to draw sketches for the new chairs i was about to make to replace the old ones," gally explained. that seemed to shut minho up before he could even open his mouth to protest, thankfully. he turned around, walked over the remains of the currently very-not-intact chair, and searched for the papers that gally requested.

thomas, who was leaning on the table, smiled at you before returning to his work. though, with you there, standing in the doorway, looking like a painting as usual, he could barely focus.

minho rolled his eyes, and handed gally the papers that they - the runners - usually used for the maps of the maze. "this doesn't mean i forgive you, by the way."

"great," gally replied sarcastically and turned to leave. you jogged to catch up with him, arms crossed over your chest.

as you left, only then was he - thomas - able to focus. kind of.

minho closed the door behind you, rolling his eyes. "seriously?"

"what?" he asked, puzzled.

"that," minho said, as if that would clarify anything. either minho was bad at explaining, or thomas was dense as fuck. could've been both, though.

"meaning?"

"you were staring," he pointed out, "the whole fucking time."

"no, i wasn't," he denied.

"yes, you were."

"i wasn't," he insisted.

"you were, thomas."

"no."

"yes."

"no."

"yes."

"no."

"yes."

minho burst out laughing. "see? you said it yourself, shank."

"not fair.. you tripped me up," thomas whined.

"but you did say it, thomas," minho shrugged.

"because you tripped me up!"

"cry about it."

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ ★ ་༘࿐

in the gardens, during lunch, you'd help gally with the designs for the chairs and such. apparently, multi-tasking wasn't exactly your forte, as you forgot about the food sitting next to you and instead focused on how the chair sketches were looking.

surprisingly, gally even let you help him with the chair-making once you those were done. as you were about to hand him the wood not-so-professionally thrown over your shoulder (don't do that, dumbasses!!!), your hand slipped and you ended up injuring your arm, which he tended to. he was used to having to patch up most of his builders if they got hurt - if it was a particularly bad injury, like a fractured bone, he let the med-jacks take care of it. thankfully, you just scraped your arm, which only resulted in gally scolding you like an overprotective brother. not that bad, no?

the whole chair-making thing took a few days; gathering the materials, cutting the wood, assembling, securing everything in place, sanding and prepping the almost-finished chairs, painting. how minho and thomas had the patience to wait for the new chairs, you had no idea. but, at least, these were more sturdy than the previous ones that were currently broken, in the corner of the map room, pretty much abandoned by a still angry minho.

"now we just gotta get these to minho and thomas," gally stated, looking at your creation. the chairs turned out way better than you both expected them to, honestly.

"wait, what?" you blinked once, twice, and thrice, finally processing his words. "i'm not carrying eight fucking chairs across the entire glade!"

"who said you're carrying all eight of them, genius?"

"wha-"

"come on," he encouraged with a small grin, one of the chairs already in his grasp. so, you did the same, rolling your eyes.

"dude, wait up!" you called.

"keep up, loser," he called back.

in the end, gally ended up carrying five of them, leaving you to carry the three other chairs that were left. how generous.

once you brought all eight chairs into the map room, minho eyed your handiwork. "fancy," he commented.

thomas, who had been leaning on the wall the entire time, rolled his eyes at minho. surely, he couldn't still be mad, right?

thomas turned to you and gally. "he meant to say 'thanks'."

you nodded with a small grin hidden behind your hand. with that action, thomas' brain partially malfunctioned. it was almost pathetic to watch, but at least it was entertaining.

"mhm, no problem," gally said, finally snapping thomas out of whatever thoughts he was having.

as you and gally turned to leave, thomas was met with minho's expression of 'dude, what the fuck was that?'.

"before you say anything, don't."

minho, under his breath, muttered: "i'm not sayin' anything."

moment of silence. "yet-"

"minho! shut up!"

"'shut up'? what do you mean? i'm as silent as a corpse is," he protested.

thomas internally facepalmed.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ ★ ་༘࿐

you were dragged to dinner by gally, complaining about how harsh his grasp was on your still injured hand all the while, which he apologized for.

but did he ease his grip?

yes. eventually. he'd be a bad friend if he didn't.

like usual, you were sitting with him and a few of your friends, consisting of the builders that didn't piss him off.

"what's up with you and minho?" you questioned, referring to how the runner was looking at gally. surprisingly, he didn't seem angry.

gally stiffened at that. he gave minho a glance, making the boy turn back to his friends.

"how am i supposed to know that?"

you shrugged. "dunno."

you heard your best friend huff out a breath before resuming what he was doing before. eating his food.

seemingly, frypan was in a good mood, because for dinner, you got to enjoy the taste of the creamy pasta he cooked up - pasta, not stew like yesterday, the day before yesterday, and the day before that. pasta! who the hell doesn't love pasta? (i despise you if you don't like pasta.)

and god, it was so good. most of frypan's food was, so this was expected.

if you weren't counting that one time where he accidentally used spoiled poultry to prepare chicken fried rice that most gladers would've adored had he not used - albeit unintentionally - the leftover meat in the fridge, that is. for every glader - except for thomas and teresa who hadn't been in the glade at the time - that was the most traumatizing thing to experience eating, and the aftermath of it was probably even more traumatizing. you felt bad for the sloppers who had to clean the toilets.

gally cleared his throat, turning your attention back to him. "so," he began, "you and thomas.. what's up with you two?"

you knew that gally didn't like thomas. he made it obvious. you, on the other hand, could never hate thomas. how gally could hate someone like thomas baffled you. sure, he keeps asking an unnecessary amount of questions, is a literal idiot, keeps tripping over the same root in the deadheads over and over and over again whenever you two decide to hang out there. but he's thomas. how could you ever hate him?

you tilted your head to the side, confusion clear in your eyes and overall facial expression. "what?"

"what's up with you and thomas?" he asked again. okay, copycat. very creative question to ask. "i mean, like, why does he always look like he's a second away from turning into a tomato whenever you look his way? it's ridiculous."

"he looks cute like that, what do you mean?" you argued.

"so, you like him?" he guessed, the corner of his lips twitching as if he was holding back a grin or holding back laughter.

"do you like him?"

at the question, he glared at you. "ew, no. he's not my type. and he's an idiot and i hate him. and you're changing the topic," he pointed out. "do you like him?"

"wait, what's your type?" you inquired.

he stammered in response, and minho, who was eyeing the builder for the tenth time that day, suddenly perked up. newt kicked him under the table, and before the second-in-command could tell him to stop staring, minho muttered, "shut up, i wanna hear this."

much to minho's dismay, gally's answer didn't even answer your question. "y/n, i am begging you, shut up. we're not discussing this."

minho looked disappointed to hear that, which didn't go unnoticed by.. well, anyone who was listening in on your conversation.

"why not?"

again, he glared at you. at this point, the whole conversation about you and thomas was long forgotten. the current topic was more interesting to discuss than your crush on thomas and thomas' somehow even bigger crush on you.

you sighed in defeat. "damn it."

"mhm," he hummed.

the rest of dinner was mostly silent, unless you were pestering your poor best friend about minho - each time you did, you could see minho grinning as gally almost spat out the food in his mouth. touched a nerve there, huh?

newt elbowed minho in the ribs, prompting a grunt from the runner. "stop tryin' to spy on them. mind ya business," the blond scolded.

"not even for scientific purposes?"

"you're too dumb for that."

"WHAT?? am not! shuck you, dude!"

meanwhile, thomas was just eating his food, trying his best-est (i know that's not a word, shut the fuck up) to not look at you. but what if.. newt and minho were too busy arguing, gally would probably be eating. nothing could go wrong.

except it did.

"tommy, quit starin' at 'em."

"I WASN'T EVEN-"

"you so were," minho interjected.

"so were you!!" thomas exclaimed. at this rate, if no one turned to look at them, trying to find out why they were arguing, it'd be shocking.

minho lifted a shoulder, "yeah, but i wasn't looking at y/n."

"ew," thomas muttered in disgust. gally, in his opinion, was an asshole, and likely forever would be. most, if not all, gladers knew that.

"come on, he's hot," the asian argued, newt beside him this close to facepalming. but could anyone blame him? this wasn't exactly an appropriate topic to be talking about during dinner, where literally anyone could hear you.

"good night." with that, thomas stood up from the table, going to get his plate cleaned off.

minho looked very offended.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ ★ ་༘࿐

slowly, it was getting colder outside. yet, you kept waiting for thomas in the deadheads, where you always hung out.

you were about to head back into the glade to grab one of your old, but warm, sweaters. but, before you could even move your foot to take a step, thomas greeted you, panting.

"hey," he breathed out, pushing his damp hair back. "OH, SHIT-" you heard him exclaim as he inevitably tripped over the tree root. the same one that he always tripped over. it wouldn't be thomas otherwise.

you were quick to catch him, his hand landing on the bandaged part of your arm which you injured during the not-so-little chair-building project with gally. as much as you didn't want him to, he caught your hiss.

"are you okay? did i hurt you?" he asked, worry evident in both his tone and expression, brows furrowed and voice soft.

"i'm okay, i'm okay," you reassured. "are you?"

"mhm! thanks.. and, um, sorry."

a look of realization crossed his face. "fuck, m'sorry. am i late?"

"a little bit, yeah," you admitted. "it's fine, though."

you heard him sigh out in relief as he adjusted his shirt. the shirt clung to his still wet skin - obviously, he was in a rush, but he still somehow managed to be late. now that? that was a skill issue.

"good shower?" at your question, he nodded, still trying to catch his breath. "good shower," he repeated.

he smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, a little embarrassed with himself for already making a fool out of himself barely a minute into his time with you.

you took in the sight of him. wet, indeed. only not a bit, but a lot. for a moment there, you found yourself questioning whether or not he knew that towels existed for a reason.

"i'm still a bit wet," he added, realizing how bad that sounded a beat later. he immediately wanted to smack himself in the forehead. if he could, he'd apologize about what he said, probably even elaborate on how he meant it in case you took it the wrong way, but he was too focused on you eyeing him. sure, you might not have been checking him out on purpose, but he'd take it either way.

snapping him back to reality was the sentence that left your mouth. if he wasn't blushing before, he definitely was now.

"must've been a pretty good shower if you're still that wet," you said. unintentional or not, you were slowly beggining to laugh at your own quip. it wasn't even that funny, he'd argue.

"come on, i didn't- fuck, i didn't mean it like-" you heard him begin to say, only for him to stop in the middle of his sentence as he looked at you like a deer in headlights. he could only hope his reddened cheeks wouldn't be too visible in the dark as he tried to justify himself. "y/n, you know i didn't mean it like that," he finished, a whine to his voice.

his reaction was priceless. the eyes? the cheeks? the stuttering? all of it and more, you'd pay to see again.

"tomato, tamahto" was your reply.

he pouted, already knowing that you were definitely going to be taking the piss out of him for the rest of the month. no, scratch that - for his entire life. he could only hope that you were going to go a little easy on him, but given how you already found his blunder hilarious, he knew he wasn't going to be getting off a light.

he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. he wasn't very good at pretending to be mad at you, but it was worth a shot. he didn't last a full minute before he was cracking up too.

"i hate you," he said through his laughter.

"no, you don't," you argued. "you adore me, just admit it."

he was tempted to do as you said. you could tell him to get on his knees, and he'd do it within half a second.

but maybe, just maybe, if he could just not say a word-

"i do, yeah," he admitted. immediately, he slapped a hand over his mouth, a guilty expression on his face.

"thought so."

"shut uppp," he whined through his fingers clasped over his mouth.

"what, now you don't want to hear my voice? i thought you-"

effectively shutting you up before you could finish what you were saying were thomas' lips against yours slightly chapped ones (due to the freezing tempetarures in the glade tonight). for a while, you stood still, taken aback. he was about to pull away, thinking he did something wrong, but then your hands settled on his hips, grabbing and grasping at the fabric of his grey sweatpants as a desperate attempt to have his body pressed against yours. the cold was getting to you and you needed to get warmed up, would be your excuse.

sadly, air was a thing that humans all desperately needed to live. that was the only reason you found yourselves, albeit hesitantly, withdrawing your lips from one another. if you could survive without oxygen, you'd gladly continue.

his hand found itself on your chin, adjusting your face so he could kiss you more. you were his oxygen.

his blunt fingernails clawed at your back to pull you flush against him. it was messy, desperate, and you could've sworn you heard your teeth clashing against his. if you weren't too busy trying to move the way he wanted you to, you'd be worried about chipping a tooth. that, however, was the last thing on your mind. just thomas.

he nipped at your bottom lip, begging for the entrance that you gladly granted him. in comparison to the first, in which you were confused for a moment, this felt way sloppier, more handsier.. not that you minded, you'd love to spend each and every one of your nights like this.

the brunet's back hit the rough tree bark as you pushed him against it, and, not even hesitating, you swallowed the pained moan prompted by your action. you had no clue how it happened, how you went from teasing the boy about a damn shower to being tongue-deep in his mouth. not that you were complaining. it wasn't like you could, mouth too occupied to mutter out a single thing that wasn't a moan.

after a couple seconds of this, you broke for air, panting in each other's faces.

"you taste like strawberries," you commented.

"do you not like my strawberry lip balm?" he rasped out, a pout on his lips.

"i don't," you confirmed. "fuckin' love it. c'mere."

he, without any form of hesitation, obeyed, tongues meeting to continue what you were doing just moments before. his hands, needing something to hold on to, moved under your shirt, taking you by surprise with how warm his hands were unlike yours. yours were cold - freezing, even.

tongues tangled, spit smeared over your kiss-swollen lips, you wished you would never have to draw back, as much as your lungs burned with an aching need for oxygen. meanwhile, your lips yearned for his. you yearned for him. how you were just now finding out would've shocked you in any normal scenario, but now your mind was hazy, all thoughts that weren't thomas blurry.

thomas' fingers dug crescent-moon shapes into your poor, poor back. instinctively, you backed him up against the tree yet again, this time with your hips. thomas was pretty sure he was in fucking heaven.

his head tipped back, and, as if he wasn't letting out enough noises before, he let out something between a sob and a moan. did that stop you guys, though? no. of course not. the gladers could listen in on y'all all they wanted, yet your only focus would be thomas.

his mouth was open, gasping for air, his chest heaving with each harsh breath he took. not a sight you saw often, but certainly something your eyes weren't minding witnessing.

"oh," he groaned, "fuck!"

for a runner, he was getting overwhelmed rather quickly. it was adorable to see.

"was that too much for you?" you questioned sarcastically.

"no," he insisted. "keep going. please. need you, please."

well, he requested it, so.. who were you to deny him what he wanted, much less needed?

too desperate to wait for you to kiss him, he initiated the kiss this time, slipping his tongue into your mouth without a warning. unfair much? you were about to kiss him!

his lips parted from yours, curving up to a smile at the corners. "we should-" he paused, inhaling with a gasp before continuing, "-do that more often."

"we should," you agreed.

eventually, after his breathing returned to normal, he asked, "one more?"

he pouted, giving you those puppy eyes of his. with how close you were to giving in, just because of those eyes, you were sure that before the glade he had to have graduated some sort of 'puppy eyes' school. which you were sure - and you also hoped - didn't exist. "y'know," he continued, "a little 'goodnight' kiss?"

meanwhile, you were still struggling to get the air into your lungs. so, taking your silence as an agreement, he kissed your cheek, his hands which were previously under your shirt cupping your face.

"there," he announced. "now come on, alby's gonna kill us if he catches us here."

he caught your hand in his, leading you back to the homestead.

if someone just popped out out of nowhere and saw how utterly wrecked he looked, he'd cry himself to sleep. genuinely. and to think you haven't even done anything more than kissing.

like the gentleman he was, he walked you to your hut, kissed you once again. apparently, just so you didn't forget how his lips felt. however, the both of you knew that that wasn't the real reason.

walking back to his own hut, he found himself speedwalking the second that gally somehow appeared in the hallway. he didn't feel like explaining anything that happened that night. not that be was embarrassed by it, no, of course not. if the consequences didn't exist, he'd be bragging about it to each and every one of his friends - except chuck, the kid didn't need to be traumatized by that. he knew that he'd get teased, though. he shook those thoughts off and instead, his brain went to you.

that night, he fell asleep smiling to himself.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ ★ ་༘࿐

the next morning, he slept in.

"thomas," minho muttered, poking his cheek. thomas, sleeping, turned away, face buried into his pillow.

minho groaned, running a hand over his face in frustration. he was not having it.

"THOMAS, GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!" he exclaimed. he may or may not have woken up the entire glade with that, but at least thomas was up. finally.

"get your ass up. we've got work to do."

"five more minutesssss," the brunet pleaded, glancing up at minho from under his eyelashes.

"five seconds," minho corrected. "up."

thomas let out a loud groan, voice cracking. that, he'd blame on his hormones.

he practically rolled out of bed, slipping on a random shirt he had thrown over the chest in the corner of his room. minho, to be respectful, walked away, arms crossed. "try to make it quick, shank."

"uh-huh!" thomas called sleepily, ruffling his hair up. he bent down to grab a pair of pants, socks already on for some weird reason. since when did he sleep with socks on? shimmying into the jeans he picked out ('cause that ass too fat), he zipped them up, and adjusted his shirt afterwards. oh, and let's not forget the runners' harness.

within three minutes, thomas was out of the hut, still half-asleep, but thankfully not half-naked. with a proud smile, he closed the door behind him. "i exist," he announced.

"attaboy," minho replied, patting his back.

thomas tilted his head to look at minho. "breakfast?"

"mhm," he confirmed, already dragging him by the arm. thomas' half-functioning brain decided not to process that, apparently.

"min?" he called.

"yes, thomas?"

"what's for breakfast?" he was about to give minho time to answer, but then decided he'd much rather play a guessing game instead of letting the older boy talk. "ooh, sandwiches?"

"mmm hmm," minho drawled. "enough with the questions, though. i'm not awake enough for this, okay?"

"oh, okay!"

minho raised an eyebrow. sleepy thomas was definitely more.. understanding than the usual thomas. now minho wanted thomas to be groggy and barely conscious all the time.

"min," he called again, tapping his shoulder. "the ones with chicken?"

nevermind.

minho's voice came out more irritated than originally intended to, but fuck it. it wasn't like he could do anything about it. "thomas, i really, really, really don't know."

"'cause i hate those with chicken," thomas murmured.

"sit down."

before actually complying, he let out a noise of protest. then, he plopped into the chair, head in his hands. coffee would really be appreciated right now.

soon, minho joined him at the table, newt half-asleep next to the him. minho passed something to thomas. a veggie sandwich - thankfully, without chicken. "here."

thomas lifted his head up from his hands, grabbing the sandwich in an instant. "thanks, dude."

"mhm," he replied. newt next to him leaned back in his chair, blond hair tied up into a half up half down man bun, a few stray hairs here and there getting into his eyes.

"your shirt's on backwards," newt informed. minho's eyebrows scrunched in confusion and checked his shirt, only to find that it wasn't his shirt that was backwards. just slightly lifted at his side, revealing his hip, which he made sure to fix.

thomas, meanwhile, was eating his sandwich. once swallowing, he looked at the two older guys, head cocked. "what?"

"your shirt's on backwards," newt glared at minho for stealing his line. "okay, copycat," they said in sync. newt, annoyed yet panicked, flailed his arms around, trying to come up with a response. "stop doing that, you dick" was the only thing he managed to say.

minho looked utterly betrayed.

meanwhile, thomas took his shirt off to put it on. correctly, this time.

"thomas, are you stripping? in front of us? ew, do that in front of y/n, shuck-face," minho grumbled, shaking his head.

thomas groaned, adjusting his shirt. "does that mouth of yours ever shut the fuck up? or do you need someone to shut it for you? huh?"

minho's jaw dropped. "okay, rude."

"drama queen.." and his jaw dropped even more.

"i feel insulted."

"good. that's what you get for not telling me my shirt was on backwards."

"DUDE! i literally just told you!"

"no, i did. i said it first," newt said, a bit more harshly than intended. "sorry, just don't want you gettin' credit for something you didn't do."

he scowled. "you're supposed to be on my side!"

"yeah, and? you fucking copied me. that's so bitchy."

"i'm not a bitch, take it the fuck back."

newt's mouth opened and closed, almost frantically as he tried to come up with something to say, preferably something along the lines of "no". any sort of refusal.

but alby interrupted them as he came into the room, the door slamming shut behind his back.

"people are trying to sleep, if you haven't noticed. slim it," he grumbled.

"sorry," the two gladers said in unison. again. thomas swallowed his sandwich and joined them, saying, "yeah, uh, sorry."

oops.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ ★ ་༘࿐

usually, after they returned from the maze, they'd catch their breath, head into the map room to work, and then work-out. today was different. today, they spent the rest of the day gossiping with newt, who joined the two runners with snacks freshly picked from the gardens: berries!

and then you and gally joined, to newt and thomas' shock. minho knew that you'd be stopping by, he just couldn't be bothered to tell the others.

when you came into sight, thomas smiled, happy to see you. especially after last night, why wouldn't he be?

"hey, gal!" minho's greeting shouldn't have been as excited-sounding as it was. for a reason he couldn't quite explain - at least, without getting embarrassed about it a second later - gally liked it.

"and hi, y/n," he added.

newt merely waved his hand, a little awkwardly.

you gave them a nod of acknowledgement, mumbling a quiet "hi."

"hey," said gally before turning his attention to what you were initially here for: getting rid of the remains of the broken chair and the other chairs that were on the verge of collapsing, something that in no way was similar to simping over the runners.

once you were done, you, the runners, and newt said your goodbyes and returned to what you were doing before. you, reading a book. gally, calling each and everyone one of the builders slintheads - for him, it was a hobby at this point.

back in the map room, the two runners discussed what changed in the maze, newt listening to them talk. somehow, the topic shifted to minho's beloved hair gel, jeff's perfectionism, alby's short temper, and thomas' love life?

"thomas, dude, i love you. in a platonic way. but you're an idiot," minho said, shaking his head in disapproval. "why don't you just tell 'em? y'know.. then, just make sweet, sweet love to 'em."

thomas' cheeks flushed. he wished he could be anywhere but in this building. ideally on the other side of the glade, as far away from minho as possible.

"relationships don't really work like that, mate."

"and names shouldn't work the way they do, 'cause why are you named after isaac newton? i thought he was supposed to be smart or something." newt rolled his eyes as minho continued, "also, relationships do work like that. it's never too late to admit you've never had one, y'know.."

"tommy, don't listen to him," newt pleaded.

".. why would i ever listen to minho when he's trying to give advice?" thomas mumbled. one time, minho told him to wear a cropped shirt, because it'd look good on him - in minho's words. since minho was his best friend, he listened to him. never in his life would he ever again take his advice. the bullying.. oh, the bullying. that was something he wouldn't wish upon anyone, not even upon his worst enemy.

"shuck you," minho all but exclaimed, pointing at the former runner. he began to point at thomas, too. "both of you. shuck you."

"YOU'RE THE ONE GIVING SHITTY ADVICE!"

minho feigned a frown, pretending to be sad. it looked like he was a severely constipated five year old kid more than anything. thomas and newt being the good friends they were only snickered at his expression, exchanging glances while minho whined, "am not!! i'm deeply hurt by this, and i am so not sitting with you during dinner."

"sit with gally, then," thomas offered, shrugging. newt coughed before letting out a laugh, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. soon, thomas joined him with the wheezing.

to minho, this was not as funny as it was to the other two.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ ★ ་༘࿐

apparently, minho took thomas' offer way too seriously and he ended up joining him during dinner. feeling too awkward to have to watch the two flirt over literal beef stew, you excused yourself from the table and sat with thomas, who had been sitting alone, instead.

newt was sitting with alby, discussing something important. what they were talking about, you had no clue and neither did thomas.

not that he really cared, anyways. you were literally sitting next to him, and that was the only thing he could care about. you were sitting next to him. you were sitting next to him!! he knew he shouldn't be as influenced by your presence as he currently was, but it wasn't like he could really help it. he'd been in love with you since, well, forever - forever being the one month he's been in the glade.

he nibbled at his food for a while before swallowing.

"how was work?" he asked.

"well, it was chaotic. as usual," you answered truthfully. "how was the maze?"

he shrugged. "y'know.. the usual, trying not to run into a wall, trying to avoid getting turned into a griver snack."

"fun," you commented, grinning.

"yeah, real fun, having to listen to minho ramble about how mad he is at newt," he complained.

you glanced at the second-in-command, then at the keeper of the runners. "how come?"

"minho copying newt and giving shitty advice."

you tilted your head, puzzled. you figured the advice in question must've been horrible if it got him into a fight with newt, and it must've been a pretty bad fight if minho talked about it the entire run. "what kind of shitty advice?"

thomas stiffened.

silence.

"uh.."

more silence.

"well-"

"spit it out, thomas."

"he told newt that he should cut his hair," he lied. "that he wouldn't have to deal with getting his hair in his eyes when he's working in the garden."

"oh."

"newt loves his hair," he explained. god, he was a bad liar, wasn't he? surely, you'd find out. eventually. right??

"you can't exactly blame him," you said. he breathed a sigh of relief.

"yeah, his hair is gorgeous," he agreed.

"i like your hair better, though," you admitted. he was taken aback for a moment, nearly dropping the cutlery that was in his hands.

"you do, huh?"

"damn right, i do," you confirmed, jokingly ruffling his hair. it was so soft, like cashmere. as you toyed with his hair, he was internally cheering. had he just won in life? because it sure felt like it.

"i'm flattered," he attempted to joke - when, really, it wasn't a joke in the slightest. that might've been the first compliment that he'd ever gotten about his looks in his entire life - well, now, in the glade.

you simply smiled and took you hand back. for a moment there, he was tempted to tell you to leave your hand where it was. had the gladers not been watching, you would've happily listened and even let him put it back where it previously had been tangled in his messy, brown locks.

"sooo, uh, question," he drawled, looking you up and down with a grin, telling you that he was about to say something stupid as fuck. it was thomas, after all - by this point, you were pretty much used to it, and so was everyone else.

"go on," you encouraged as you brought the fork to your mouth to chew on the meat.

"like.. what are we?"

you let out a small yelp as you bit into you fork. as you swallowed, thomas patiently waited for a response, finger rapping against the wooden table. "sorry," he murmured, feeling guilty. "don't answer if you don't want to. just curious, y'know, after last night."

you shook your head in 'it's fine', and thought about an answer that you could possibly give him, only to find out you had no clue what to say. what were you? you wanted him to be your boyfriend, that was for sure. uncertain, you settled for, "what do you want us to be?"

"i want to be yours." it took you off guard - well, not it, as in the sentence itself, but how eager he sounded. you weren't opposed to it, though.

"and i want you to be mine," you confessed. "thomas, will you be my boyfriend?"

immediately, he said, "yes."

if he could, he would've kissed you right then and there. sadly, he had an audience of 40 teenage boys + teresa. he was not going to give them a show that entertaining to watch.

you lifted yourself up from your seat and walked away to get your bowl cleaned off. he promptly followed, basically running after you with a puppy-like look in his eyes. "wait up! please?? come on, i love you!"

"yeah, love you, too, tommy," you called back.

"i'm serious!!" he cried. once he caught up, his hand found yours. you felt him squeeze slightly and you looked at him. he pouted, feigning offense.

"so am i," you reassured.

"good."

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phantoms-world-and-more · 11 months ago

Note

This comes from an idea that most of the kids in Casper High school have parents or close family that are not on the right side of the law, either just regular criminals, high ranking goons that retired or former villains.

Amity Park was first founded by outlaws, criminals and misfits that didn't fit regular society. Because of this the city charter is very lax on laws and what is considered unlawful. Most everyone who lives in town has some tie to criminal activity. It's actually a safe haven and has very strict laws about extraditing anyone out of their county. The school even ties in crime into their regular classes. Like art class is about how to do art and document forgery, Automotive class teaches how to hotwire a car and take it apart, Drivers ed comes with extra hours on how to perform a car chase or be a get away driver, Drama class has a unit on grifting, and Math ties in financial crimes like money laundering. No one is forcing the kids to become criminals they are just given the tools if that is the path they want to take.

Danny as Phantom being called a menace is actually a good thing because Amity Park does not want heroes within their borders. Also Danny's parents know that Phantom is him (how could they not when he first started he didn't do a good job hiding his personality and other traits). They are just acting like those big cats that let their cubs practice sneaking up on them. Using experience as a teaching method. Also they are waiting for him to be comfortable enough to come to them with the truth.

Also the Amity City council don't like the GIW (government) being in there city. So I see them asking the Fentons (because they know how chaotic the pair are) to keep an eye on the GIW and to also keep them busy with ghosts so they won't dig further into the other aspects of the criminal activity going on. Just until they can figure how to throw them out without raising suspicions.

#fic prompt #daily prompt #danny phantom #danny fenton #Amity park

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i-was-today-years-old-when · 1 year ago

Text

i learned about the most ridiculous "crime" someone was been reported to the authorities for

This harmless-looking fellow, Guido Menzio, was flying to Syracuse from Philadelphia.

Once settled into his seat, the busy 40-year-old took out his work papers and got to working.

His seatmate, a blonde-haired white woman in her thirties, later claimed she had tried to strike up a conversation with him but he was evasive.

She took a look at what he was writing. Fear struck.

He was working on some cryptic plans! Strange letters and symbols she couldn't understand.

She bravely approached a flight attendant, claiming she felt too ill to fly.

She slipped her a note, warning her about a suspicious man working on something in a foreign language.

The woman was then discreetly escorted off the plane, where her suspicions were entertained for many minutes while the plane waited on the tarmac.

Then Menzio was also taken off-board and questioned.

And so what should have been a quick 40-minute flight ended up being delayed for two hours.

But what was he working on?

Maths. Differential equations.

And he wasn't “Muslim” or “Arabic”. He was Italian. An Italian Ivy League professor.

Why did they make such a big deal out of it?

It wasn't really about the “foreign language”. It's about the fact that he was reported on suspicions of being a terrorist. Airlines security take that seriously and they investigate thoroughly.

After they established he was not a threat, they let him reboard. The woman refused to reboard, and opted to take the next flight. Hopefully her next seatmate won’t do something crazy like use the calculator app around her.

I understand math can be scary for some people, like that brave lady. Who does this guy think he is, doing math where anyone could see him?

Follow my Twitter/X account for more: www.x.com/toastbutteregg

I follow back!

#today i learned #facts #truth #history #math

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cameronspecial · 1 year ago

Note

Drew and y/n finding out she’s pregnant after trying for a couple months maybe years?

A Trying Process

Pairing: Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: Troubles Getting Pregnant

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.7K

Masterlist

Motherhood had terrified Y/N before Drew came along. She never thought that she could be a good parent. She didn’t know anything about kids and dealing with the grosser side of parenting really didn’t appeal to her. Y/N had also never thought that she would get married before thirty, yet she found herself walking down the aisle in a white dress four years ago at twenty-two. She just knew her life was meant to be intertwined with Drew, so the decision was easy. Two years into the marriage she finally realized that having a child wouldn’t be so bad if she got to do it with him. She had been watching him play with her baby nephew when she made the decision that she was ready to take the next step in their marriage. They had love. They had the career. And they had the house. All they needed now was the laughter of a small human.

They’ve been trying for almost two years and they are losing hope. If they couldn’t conceive in two years, they would adopt and that deadline is fast approaching. Not that adopting a child wouldn’t be the same, but it would still mean another long process and the possibility of not getting a kid is still possible.

Y/N has been feeling off lately. Some of her favourite clothes no longer fit properly and she has been puking more often. She tries to do the math of when her last period was, realizing she skipped last month. She debates taking a test and telling Drew her suspicions. They’ve taken so many tests over the past few years that she isn’t sure she can handle getting her hopes up again. At least, they’ve never gotten a false positive before. Y/N hunches over the toilet, emptying the contents from last night’s dinner into the bowl. She’s glad that she doesn’t have work today, so she won’t be late. Drew walks into the room and kneels beside her. His hand wrap around her hair to create a ponytail. The other rubs her tummy for comfort. “You’ve been puking a lot recently. Maybe you should take another pregnancy test?” Drew suggests. Y/N’s stomach no longer holds any content, so she closes the lid and flushes the toilet. He pulls her into his hold, kissing her on the temple. She shakes her head, “I don’t know if I can take another. I feel it takes a little part of me every time it comes back negative. Maybe this is a sign, Love. Maybe I’m not meant to be a mother.”

Drew pulls her back so he can look into her eyes. “Don’t you dare say that, Sweetheart. You will absolutely make a great mother. Whether it be to a biological child or an adopted one, the kid will be lucky to have you,” Drew assures her with a kiss. “I know it’s painful whenever we get a negative, but I’m hopeful that it won’t be this time. Whatever we get, we’ll deal with it together.” His hand grips hers and he brings it to his lips.

Y/N takes the test from under the sink. They had been stockpiling them because they’d been using so many over the past year. She doesn’t need to read the instructions; she knows them by heart. She goes through the motions of taking the test with Drew by her side and they both sit on the bathroom floor while they wait for the test to asses her status. Drew’s alarm goes off. Beep. Beep. Beep. It was now time to see if their lives were going to change forever or not. They stand up together and walk over to the counter where the test awaits. She squeezes his hand to let him know that she wants him to be the one who picks it up. His hand shakes as he brings the test up for them to look at. Pregnant.

Both soon-to-be parents look shocked at the words, not believing what they are seeing. “I’m pregnant,” Y/N states. They both turn toward each other and a grin forms on both of their faces. Drew’s hand pumps in the air, “We are going to have a baby!” His arms circle her waist and he picks her up to spin her. “We are going to be parents,” she celebrates with laughter. Drew sets her down on the ground with a kiss. His forehead places itself on hers, “I know this was a trying process, Sweetheart. But we did it.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia

#daddy drew #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey one shot

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agaypanic · 3 months ago

Note

its prom season so i was wondering if i could request smth where reese and reader are temporarily broken up and after the prom (when he went with the girl that paid him to go with her) he realizes he wants reader back and they get back together

Get the Girl (Reese Wilkerson X Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: You and Reese decide to take a break because you don’t think he’s as serious about your shared future as you are. When a girl hires Reese to be her prom date, he realizes just how much he loves you.

A/N: it’s not prom season anymore (sorry about that lol) but here you go

***

“Reese, I think we should take a break.”

You didn’t want to say it, your voice almost broke as you forced out the words.

“Me too.” He responded, his cheerful tone making you think he was thinking about a different kind of break than you. “Let’s skip math and get some ice cream or something.”

You were right; he had no idea what you meant. “Not that kind of break, Reese.”

“Then what kind of-” Reese slammed his locker shut and looked at the dejected expression on your face. He seemed a bit puzzled, but soon put the pieces together. “Oh.”

“I just…” You sighed. Part of you didn’t want to explain, and part of you felt like Reese wouldn’t care enough to ask for an explanation, but you knew you should tell him why. “I just don’t think you’re that serious about us. Or anything for that matter.”

“I’m serious.”

“Oh really, Reese?” He nodded unconvincingly. “You haven’t applied to any colleges or trade schools, you don’t have any kind of job lined up, and every time I try to talk to you about our future together, you say, ‘Let’s just live with my mom so we don’t have to pay rent.’”

“I still think that’s a good idea.”

“It’s not Reese!” You raised your voice a little out of frustration. “It may be for you, but it’s certainly not for me. I want to have a life with you after high school, and not one that involves sharing a room with your brothers and being cramped in your twin bed.”

Reese let out a tiny laugh, which made you fume. “Y/n, I’d obviously make Dewey switch with us.” He quickly saw that you weren’t as amused as he was. “Babe, I don’t wanna take a break, but what do you want from me? What do you want me to do?”

You groaned, the sadness you had felt earlier being replaced by frustration. “If you still don’t get it after I’ve already told you, then maybe this break is a good thing.”

Reese was about to respond, but was cut off by the warning bell. Giving him one last look, you turned and headed to class.

***

When you heard that Reese was going to the prom with another girl, you didn’t really know how to feel. Logically, you shouldn’t have felt anything. After all, it was your idea to take a break, so you couldn’t really be mad that he decided to go out with someone else. In fact, it just confirmed the suspicion you had of him not being serious about your relationship.

But you were still hurt. And you thought you had a right to be, considering you’d been dating Reese for years.

You did your best not to think about him. Prom was supposed to be the highlight of your high school life. But there you were, moping in the auditorium, watching your probably now officially ex-boyfriend dance with another girl. While drinking your punch, you wondered if you should leave now or try to stick it out a little longer.

“Hey, Y/n.”

“Hey, Malcolm.” You responded, a bit surprised by the boy’s presence. “I take it MORP didn’t turn out the way you planned?”

He sighed. “Nope.” He seemed slightly disappointed, but his mood lightened as he looked at the crowd, which was full of both prom and morp goers. “Aren’t you gonna dance?”

“Don’t feel like it.” You answered, finishing your punch.

The two of you stood awkwardly for another song before Malcolm spoke again. “I know I’m not Reese… thank God… but, do you wanna dance?” You gave him a questioning look, wondering why Malcolm was being nice. “Don’t make me regret asking.”

You smiled a little, tossing your empty cup in the trash before nodding. “Okay.”

You and Malcolm danced a bit stiffly around the floor, not really knowing what to do. He wasn’t expecting to dance with his brother’s ex, and you weren’t expecting to dance with your ex’s brother. But after another song or two, you loosened up. You might even go as far as to say you were having a good time.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the giant room, Reese danced with Jeanine. She was very impressed with how well-behaved he was being. He even threw in a few off-script compliments. Needless to say, she was swooning.

She was so busy swooning that she didn’t notice how Reese’s eyes kept searching for you. When he found you dancing with Malcolm across the floor, he was livid. Why was his brother dancing with you?

And even worse, why were you seeming to enjoy yourself?

“You’re a really good dancer,” Jeanie said.

Reese was so fixated on you that he forgot he had a part to play. He tried to seem genuine as he looked back at his date. “When I’m with you, it doesn’t even feel like we’re dancing. It’s like we’re floating.”

Jeanie smiled. “I misjudged you, Reese. I just chose you because you were completely hideous, and I knew you wouldn’t have a date. But you’re so much more than that. You’ve made me feel wonderful.”

“It’s been a really great night for me, too.” Reese lied. “You helped me find a little part of me that I didn’t even know was there, the part that isn’t a gigantic jackass.” This came from the heart, however Jeanie wasn’t the person he wanted to say this to.

“You know…” Jeanie said, seeming a bit shy now from Reese’s kind words that weren’t actually meant for her. “I wasn’t planning on the night ending this way, but why don’t we get out of here, grab a blanket and a bottle of wine and go to the beach.”

“You mean it?” He tried to sound excited, but Reese wanted to take a step away from her. Spending tonight, and the whole week for that matter, with Jeanie, really made him realize that there was only one person he wanted to get drunk on the beach with.

“Yes, Reese,” Jeanie answered, leaning in close. “I really want you.”

Reese was filled with relief when the alarm on his watch went off, signaling that it was now midnight. Jeanie pulled back a bit in surprise. “It’s twelve already? Too bad. Well, see you at school. And you can just put the money you owe me in my locker.” He started to walk away, leaving his date dumbfounded.

“Reese, where are you going?”

The boy turned around, still inching away from her as he pointed at his watch. “It’s midnight. I’m off the clock.” Then he turned back around, the girl’s confused protests fading away as he walked further away. Now, only one thing was on his mind: getting his girl back.

“Oh God.” Malcolm looked at something behind you, seemingly terrified.

“What?” Instead of answering, the boy quickly scurried off. You turned around just in time for Reese to grab your face and pull you into a deep and desperate kiss. At first, you melted into his touch, completely overwhelmed by the affection. But then you remembered your situation, pulling away despite your hesitancy and his protests. “Reese, what are you doing?”

“I love you.”

“Okay…?”

That wasn’t the reaction he was hoping for, but he supposed it was fair. Reese gently pushed you away from the crowd of dancers, hoping to have a somewhat private conversation. “I love you, Y/n. And I know you don’t think I’m serious about us, but I am. This is so corny, and you can never tell anyone, but you make me a better person. And I want you to keep making me better.”

“So you want me to put in all the work?” You knew it was a bit mean to argue with Reese when he was being vulnerable, something that was rare even when he was with you.

But it didn’t seem to deter him. “No! Of course not. I wanna…” He trailed off, realizing how cliche he was about to sound. “I wanna be with you. Maybe have our own apartment after graduation. And maybe I could go to a cooking school or something. And one day, I’ll have enough money to get you a ring, because I want to be with you.” Reese took a much-needed breath. “I’m sorry it took me being on a date with another girl to appreciate you.”

You were rendered speechless. Reese wasn’t usually a man of many words, especially not this many words. And he was rarely vulnerable, even with you.

“Say something,” Reese said, getting worried. He wondered if he said the wrong thing or went too far. Maybe when you talked about your future with him, you didn’t mean that far into the future. Or maybe he shouldn’t have brought up Jeanie, or the fact that he needed to be with someone else in order to realize how much you meant to him.

Reese’s train of thought was interrupted by you launching yourself at him, arms tightly winding around his neck. He wobbled a little in surprise, but hugged you back like it was second nature.

“That’s all I wanted.” You muttered, kissing Reese’s cheek. “And I love you too.”

Reese sighed in relief, pulling you closer against him. Eventually, the two of you ended up back on the dancefloor. But this time, you were finally with the person you wanted to dance with.

***

Malcolm in the Middle Taglist: @rattilol

Reese Wilkerson Taglist: @hollymaybank @theogirlovermattheogirl

#agaypanic #reese wilkerson x reader #reese wilkerson #malcolm in the middle x reader #malcolm in the middle

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saccharinesunsetretired · 1 year ago

Text

Wilbur Soot’s Guide to Side Hustles | camboy!Simpbur x camgirl!reader | Part One

My first ever series on this blog yayayayay! Also first time writing Simpbur. No fucking clue when the next chapter will be up though. Could be next week. Could be a month. Life contains many mysteries.

Summary: Wilbur has had a long line of obsessions in his time. In a desperate attempt to get the attention he craves, he starts making content online. When he encounters you at a party full of other creators...well, he's never been good at staying away from things that draw him in, and you may very well be his undoing.

Warnings/Tags: sub!Simpbur, dom!reader. Unrealistic sex/depictions of sex work (although I did try), smut, pegging, general simpbur creepiness, discussions of virignity/consent, low self-esteem and insecurity problems, unhealthy attitudes toward sex. Reader is AFAB and a woman

Word Count: 11.3k

MINORS DNI - BLOGS WITHOUT AN AGE INDICATOR GET BLOCKED, NO EXCEPTIONS

“Hey, creep.”

Wilbur blinked and looked up from his math textbook. Standing right in front of him was a girl from his English course, a girl he’d had a crush on for years. They had never actually spoken. Instead, he’d done what he did best—watched from afar and stayed out of it. For a moment, despite her harshness, he just stared, basking in her attention.

She laughed, and her friends laughed from a few desks away as they looked on. “Do you know how to speak?” she asked.

“Y-yeah,” he said. He could feel his cheeks burning. “What’s, um…what’s up?”

“‘What’s up’?” The girl laughed again. “I’ve seen you hovering near my locker, you fucking pervert.”

Wilbur froze. “I-I wasn’t—“

“Oh, you weren’t?” She leaned against a nearby desk. “Who’s been leaving me notes, then?”

Wilbur wanted nothing more than to curl up in a hole. He had been leaving notes. And admittedly, yes, some of them were creepier than others. The notes ranged from Good luck on midterms :) to You looked so hot in class today. And despite Wilbur’s general lack of self-awareness, he recognized how this looked. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact. “I’ll stop.”

“If you don’t, I’m reporting you,” she replied. “Stay the fuck away from me.”

“Got it.” Wilbur had never felt more embarrassed. The other students began to whisper. He could feel a million eyes on him—well, what felt like a million, at least. “I’m so, so sorry.” He stared at his desk as his eyes stung.

“Good.” The girl stood there for another few moments. “It’s a waste,” she said. “You could almost be cute, if you weren’t such a freak.”

Present Day

You could almost be cute if you weren’t such a freak.

Wilbur remembered that, because of course he did. It was the closest he ever got to someone returning his affections. Yes, he knew it was pathetic, but that shred of affirmation went a long way.

He started bettering himself. It started with better hygiene, not wearing clothes multiple days in a row, properly washing his hair. His parents had been bothering him to do that for ages, anyway. He dressed better, tried to socialize. That last point didn’t go too well. He got bullied to the point that he ended up switching schools and had to deal with the fact that at least a bit of it was warranted.

He never saw that crush of his ever again. He developed new ones, new fixations. He didn’t leave notes, though, or stalk anyone or do anything to arouse suspicion. He promised himself that he could be normal, that he would be normal.

Well, perhaps he’d intentionally switched classes a few times to “keep an eye on” some of the people he became fixated on. But was that such a big deal?

And then university came. Loans, what felt like a million dollars in debt. One night, the result of a drunken decision, he filmed himself getting off. On an even more questionable drunken decision, he posted it online to some internet forum he had only heard of in passing. The second he remembered it the next day (after recovering physically a bit from his previous drinking binge), he was absolutely mortified. And yet, to his immense surprise, people liked it. It wasn’t any sort of viral sensation, of course, but he had a decent number of comments when he woke up in the morning. At first, he was put off by the vulgarity of it, but then, he realized that this was how he could get the high that he’d always craved—attention.

He started working on it. Filming videos, uploading photos. Pretty soon, he had an OnlyFans account going. His content was mostly solo stuff, webcam livestreams and private chats with his more dedicated followers. To his surprise, he started making decent money. It was nice to have something to help relieve some of the university debt. Plus, the validation was nice, even if it was only in praise of his body.

Besides, he had long given up the idea of anybody loving him for anything other than that.

Online, his persona was more submissive. It was easier for him, not having to fake confidence that he didn’t have. Instead, he could let himself moan as loud as he wanted, let the microphone pick up every small gasp and whine as he got himself off either with his hands or one of the million toys that he’d purchased since starting the job. The needier he looked, the better.

Then, he found the confidence to do his first collaboration. The benefits of moving to a larger area for university were plenty, but one of the biggest benefits turned out to be the fact that he was far from the only sex worker in the city. He lost his virginity to a girl on a livestream, although she didn’t know it was his first time. At least, she pretended not to know. Wilbur got the feeling that she could tell. Either way, it had made good content. In fact, it had been so profitable that she had invited him to a small gathering of some other creators—sex workers of all types.

And that was how he ended up holding a can of cheap beer in the corner of a party. It was at someone’s apartment, someone he didn’t know and didn’t care to know. The music was far too loud, the conversation too overwhelming. For a moment, Wilbur was sixteen again, sitting at his desk and wanting to disappear.

At least, until you walked in. You, dressed to the nines for a simple house party. For a moment, he locked eyes with you, and he nearly forgot how to breathe. He looked away first, too intimidated, too afraid. However, he watched out of the corner of his eye as you walked into the kitchen to greet the host of the party and grab a drink.

When you reentered the living room, Wilbur’s eyes immediately went back to you. Suddenly, it was as if nobody else was there. He could feel it creeping up on him again, the beginning of an obsession.

Be normal, he reminded himself. Don’t be a creep.

He watched as you greeted almost everyone at the party, flawlessly interacting with the guests. Clearly, you knew your way around. Eventually, you made your way over to Wilbur. He took a sip of his beer to try and appear casual, only to choke slightly.

“Shit, didn’t mean to startle you,” you said, chuckling. “You alright?” You leaned against the wall right beside him, so close that he could smell your shampoo. Or maybe it was perfume. He couldn’t tell, and honestly didn’t care to discern the difference.

“Fine,” Wilbur replied. He laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. You caught me mid-sip.”

“My bad, stranger.” You offered your hand. “I’m Y/N. And you’re Wilbur, right? Allison told me about you.”

Wilbur hesitantly shook your hand before pulling his own hand away suspiciously quick. “Right, yeah,” Wilbur replied. “We did a livestream earlier.”

“I heard. Apparently it was a hit.” You briefly glanced at your phone before tucking it back in your pocket. “And you’re new on the scene…?”

“Yeah, pretty new.” Wilbur shrugged, trying to play it cool and relax his nerves. “That was my first non-solo livestream.” And my first time having sex ever his mind reminded him. Because people only want you if they can profit.

He shook the thought away as you spoke again. “Damn. Pretty good for your first time, then.” You grinned at him. “Most people don’t get this kind of attention so quickly.”

“It’s…definitely been a surprise to me,” Wilbur agreed. A tense silence passed between you and Wilbur. “So…you also do the whole��camgirl thing?” He thought that he’d heard of you in passing, but before, he’d had no reason to look you up.

“Yeah! Two years and going. Still doing mostly solo stuff, but trying to branch out a little,” you replied. “It can be difficult to know who to trust in this industry, who genuinely has your best interests at heart and who is taking advantage.”

“I bet.” Wilbur set his beer aside. It wasn’t that good, anyway. “Do you like it?”

You shrugged. “Sometimes yes. Other times no. Depends on how creepy people are that day.”

Wilbur laughed, nodding in agreement. He watched you as you took a sip of your own drink, some sort of cocktail. “But you make good money?” he asked. His frenzied mind attempted to come up with some flirtatious lines, but nothing else left his mouth. Considering how cringy all the lines were, it was for the better.

“Decent money,” you replied. “And you?”

“Decent money.”

“Cool.” Wilbur felt slightly uneasy as you eyed him up and down. “Hand me your phone,” you said after a moment.

Wilbur blinked. “Why?” he asked. Despite his questioning, he unlocked his phone and handed it over without complaint.

“So I can give you my number,” you replied. You began entering your contact information. “Not to be too forward, but the main reason I came to this party was just to network. Like I said, I’m branching out, and it seems that you’re doing the same.” You handed his phone back. “Maybe we could collab.”

Wilbur felt his heart hammering in his chest. The room felt like it was spinning, and considering he’d only had half a beer, he definitely couldn’t blame it on alcohol. “Oh. Um…you sure?”

You smirked. “You seem harmless enough, Wil. Besides, we can talk a bit beforehand, get to know each other a little. I’d rather not fuck someone without knowing a bit about them.”

“Fair.” Wilbur very shakily tucked his phone back in the pocket of his jeans. He noticed you starting to leave. “We’ll be in touch, then?” he asked.

You winked. “You can count on it.” Only a moment later, you disappeared into the crowd.

Wilbur left the party immediately after. He saw no point in staying if he couldn’t talk with you more. Even after that sliver of conversation, everyone else at the party seemed even more dull than before. He got into the back of a taxi, trying (and failing) to make his brain go quiet.

All he could think about was your skin under the multicolored lights at the party, the sound of your laugh, the brightness of your smile. He checked his phone, and all he could think about was the fact that your hands had touched it less than fifteen minutes prior. And maybe, just maybe, if he played his cards right he would get to touch you for real.

He imagined your hands on him, fingers curled around his cock. Nobody had ever given him a handjob before, but he (for better or worse) had always had a vivid imagination. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the window of the cab as he imagined it, your fingers on him. He tried to imagine every detail, the texture of your fingertips, the tone of voice you would use as you praised him.

By the time the taxi dropped him off outside his apartment building, he was achingly hard. He made it to his studio apartment, took off his coat and shoes, and immediately sat on his bed. He opened his laptop and searched for your name.

Sure enough, he found your OnlyFans, as well as the few free teaser clips that you’d uploaded elsewhere. There you were, a vibrator on your clit in one clip, your fingers teasing your own nipples as you moaned for the camera.

He slammed the laptop shut. No, he told himself. No more obsessions. If you manage to make this work, all she’ll be to you is a colleague, a coworker.

Don’t be a creep.

He got out of bed and made it to the bathroom, where he stripped, tossed his clothes in the hamper, and turned on the shower. A cold shower would do the trick, he figured. Admittedly, he’d never actually tried the method, but it was the best he could think of. He could scrub away all thoughts of you, get rid of his hard-on, and call it a night.

He shivered as the cold water hit him. It felt fucking awful, cold water on his skin when all he wanted was warmth, but he toughed it out, waiting for his “problem” to resolve itself.

But it was no use. All he could think about was the sound of you moaning in that video, gorgeous lips parted, legs spread. He couldn’t help but wish he could hear you moan for real, not the fake sort of moans that are exaggerated for the camera.

He gave up after a while and got out, wrapping his lower body in a towel as he did a walk of shame back to his bed. He sat on the towel and reopened his laptop.

He found your OnlyFans page, and without thinking, he subscribed. He wasn’t sure if you could see his username if he used his official account, so he made another guest account. You were worth the inconvenience. He started to scroll. He saw a clip of you and Allison, you grinding against her thigh. Another clip showed you edging yourself into oblivion, cheeks flushed, eyes watering. That was the clip he finally settled on.

He edged himself along with the video, stopping whenever you stopped. If your hand stopped moving, so would his. In his mind, it felt almost like mutual masturbation, like you were really there doing this with him. He imagined you watching him, murmuring praise to him.

It wasn’t often that he got off without toys, not because he couldn’t, but because he was almost always filming his orgasms, and thus toys were usually involved. Despite not having any added vibration or stimulation, he came harder simply from touching himself while watching your videos than he had in months.

He laid there afterward, his own cum on his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut. You’re absolutely hopeless, he told himself.

And yet, he couldn’t stop now. Not when you were so close.

It took Wilbur three days to work up the courage to text you, and from then on, conversation flowed naturally. At first, it was small talk about the industry—which people did you know, how many parties had you been to, what sort of content were you interested in making, and on and on and on. Wilbur was honest, admitting his lack of experience in the world of sex work, although he didn’t admit his lack of sexual experience in general. If he did, he might scare you off or make you hesitant, and he didn’t want that.

Conversation then turned to more personal matters. Still surface level, yes, but less detached than talks of industry and networking. He learned that you were a camgirl on the side, using the funds to add to the money you made from waitressing as you saved up. He also learned your favorite restaurant in the city (which he offered to take you to sometime, delighted when you accepted the offer) as well as your favorite bands, books, movies…all the surface-level questions he could hope to get answers for.

To his dismay, two weeks of texts went by without you mentioning possibly meeting up to film together. Just when he thought that was off the table and this would only amount to friendship, his phone buzzed as he was working on an essay. He picked it up, assuming it would be either one of his parents or a spam call, and grinned when he saw your name. You were requesting a FaceTime call, so he quickly smoothed his hair before answering.

“Hey!” you said cheerfully. Wilbur was so relieved to see your face, not just on your OnlyFans, but you, you choosing for him to see you. You looked like you were fresh out of the shower, and he realized quickly that you weren’t wearing a shirt. He couldn’t see anything below your shoulders, but the realization still had him speechless for a moment before he regained his composure.

“Hi!” he said back with equal cheerfulness. “How’re you?” He flicked on another light in his apartment so that you could see him better.

“Good,” you replied. A moment of silence passed. “Listen, are you free Saturday?”

“Yeah, why?” The truth was, Wilbur wasn’t free Saturday. He was in a study group for an upcoming exam, but at that moment, he decided that he didn’t give a shit. He would happily flunk an exam if it meant getting to spend more time with you. He had only seen you in person once, and only for a tiny moment in time, and all he had thought about since then was getting more.

“I have a business idea,” you said. Wilbur watched as you sat down on a couch at what must be your apartment. He caught a glimpse of the top of a towel wrapped around your torso, and although this thought made him slightly disgusted with himself, he couldn’t help but be disappointed. Still, his disappointment only lasted a second once your words sunk in.

“A business idea?” He immediately perked up. “What is it?” His mind went wild with possibilities. A livestream? Some short clips? A whole homemade porn film?

“So…your online persona is more on the submissive side, right?” you asked.

Wilbur’s brows furrowed. “How did you know?” Although the two of you had talked about the industry, bonded over creeps on the internet and the like, the details of your content had gone mostly undiscussed.

He noticed the rather sheepish expression on your face. “I may have done some research,” you admitted. “Is that weird?”

His heart skipped a beat, and he had to fight to keep himself calm. You had done research on him? That meant you had definitely seen some of his content, and not only that, but seeing his content made you more interested. Usually, he wouldn’t have cared. If it were anybody else, he wouldn’t have cared, but you? You, the subject of his obsession (he’d finally admitted to himself that’s what it was), the person he thought of every night before going to bed, thought he was desirable? Maybe not desirable, but at least worthy of seeing, worthy of working with. That was enough.

“It’s not weird!” he reassured you. “I…I may have done the same.” He did not tell you that he had a whole folder on his laptop that was only clips of you, that he’d labeled each video, that he’d gotten himself off to every single one. He definitely didn’t tell you that while filming himself the day prior, he’d been thinking of you the entire time. No, that was too much. That was creepy, that was obsession…but based on your admission, he figured a bit of the truth couldn’t hurt.

Thankfully, you reacted positively. “Thank god,” you said, laughing softly. “I thought you’d think I was a pervert.”

“No! No, of course not,” he said quickly. “I would never.” He settled his back against the headboard of his bed. “So, anyway, what was the idea?”

“Well, as I was saying,” you continued, “your persona is more on the submissive side. I portray myself as more dominant. Very convenient for us, no?” Wilbur nodded along as you spoke. “I was wondering…” You trailed off. “I can be forward with you, yeah?”

“Honestly, I’d prefer it that way.”

“Great! How do you feel about getting pegged?” A moment of silence passed as Wilbur’s brain completely short-circuited. He didn’t realize how long he’d been quiet until you spoke again. “Okay, uh…maybe I was too blunt.” He heard your awkward laugh through the phone.

“No! No, not too blunt at all. I’m fine with it,” he replied. “Yeah, no, that sounds great.” He tried to hide the nervous undertone to his voice. Using toys on himself is one thing; being on the receiving end of someone else’s movements is another. “I’d be down for that.”

“Are you sure?” you asked. “You were quiet for a moment, there.”

“Yeah! Yes, I’m completely sure,” Wilbur replied. “You want to, um, livestream that? Or are we just filming…?”

“Just filming,” you replied. “Having sex live is way more complicated. This way, we can try a couple different angles to see what looks best on camera.”

“Right.” Wilbur took a deep breath. “That sounds good. You said Saturday?”

“Saturday, yeah,” you responded. “And I was thinking we do it at my place. No offense, I’m sure your setup is nice, but I’ve been in the game a bit longer. I’ve probably got nicer gear.”

“That’s great. Sounds good.” Wilbur’s nerves kicked up a few more notches. He was going to embarrass himself, he just knew it. He was going to walk in, immediately get hard just looking at your setup (which was already somewhat familiar to him) and look like a loser. He tried to shove that thought away.

Thankfully, it seemed that you sensed his discomfort. “Listen, uh…I know that you’ve only done something like this once,” you said. “If you ever change your mind, you can leave. I won’t judge you for that, even if we’re in the middle of filming. Consent rules don’t magically go away when there are cameras rolling.”

Wilbur’s heart thumped in his chest. You were smiling warmly at him over FaceTime, and he wanted nothing more than to be there with you. His thoughts weren’t sexual, at least not in the moment.

His mind wandered. When was the last time he’d been held by somebody? He’d never once been held by somebody who liked him romantically. He wasn’t sure that anyone outside his family had ever so much as hugged him. The thought made him dizzy. “Thank you,” he managed to say.

“Don’t thank me. It’s basic decency.” You continued smiling at him. “Oh, we don’t have a time set. Does one work?”

“One is fine,” Wilbur replied. “I’m totally cool with one.”

“Sounds good. Saturday at one, then,” you said. “Be ready to film.”

“I’ll be ready,” Wilbur promised. He just hoped that it was a promise he could keep.

He spent the rest of the week panicking. He shoved himself into schoolwork, studying, finishing up the essay that you had distracted him from. On Saturday morning, he woke up, shaved, took a shower, blow-dried his hair and got dressed. He knew that the clothes would be coming off, but he tried to dress somewhat nice anyway. He figured that even his nicest jeans and a button-up would be fine. He kept reminding himself that a business encounter was all this interaction would be.

Around noon, he got a text from you:

Hey ;) ready to film?

He quickly replied.

Born ready. Send your address?

The next message contained your address. He took a deep breath, brushed his teeth (for the third time that day) and set off. He left his apartment, got into his car, and started driving.

He put on a playlist on the way there, one he had made containing music from your favorite bands. He kept constantly checking himself in the mirror to the point where he realized he would hit something if he didn’t stop. He was an absolute wreck of nerves.

He pulled into the apartment parking lot and got out of his car. He walked into the building, took the elevator…

And there was your door. He stepped toward it and hesitantly knocked three times. The wait was agonizing. He stood outside the door for a minute before you opened it.

“Sorry!” you said. “I was in the middle of getting the lighting set up. Come in!”

“No worries.” He followed you inside. Your apartment was immaculately clean, with enough decorations to add character without being overwhelming. He followed you down the short hallway to your bedroom.

Sure enough, it took a lot to keep himself calm the second he stepped through the door. The whole place smelled like you, and it was enough to make him lightheaded. He looked at the setup, and it was honestly impressive. You had a professional-level camera setup, multiple lights, and cameras at various angles. “This is…wow,” he said. “You know your shit.”

“I’m a professional.” You winked at him as you adjusted the angle on one of the cameras. “Okay, so…a bit unconventional, but we’re going to do a test of sorts to make sure that the angles on the cameras are correct. Is that alright?”

Wilbur shrugged. “As you said, you’re the professional. I’ll let you call the shots.” He had no idea what a “test” would entail, but he wasn’t about to question it. He stood off to the side, watching you as you worked. Your white tank top left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

“Great.” You adjusted one of the lights, lowering it slightly. “What do you think? Too bright in here?”

Come to think of it, it was a little blinding. “Maybe a bit softer,” Wilbur suggested.

“Good idea.” You nodded in agreement and dimmed the lights. “Better?”

“Better.” Wilbur took a few deep breaths. “We good to go?”

“Good to go.” You sat on the bed, examining the angles from your sitting point, clearly trying to decide if they were any good. “Yeah, definitely good to go.”

“Okay, then.” Wilbur stood there awkwardly. “What, um, what do I do?”

“Like I said, I want to test the angles before we start actually filming.” Wilbur watched as you pressed record on all the cameras. “I figure we just experiment with a few positions, see how the camera captures it. You can stay dressed if you want—-like I said, this is just a test.”

“Alright,” Wilbur murmured. He sat on the bed and nearly froze when you cupped his cheek. His face was so close to yours that he could barely breathe.

“You still okay with this?” you asked, searching him for any sign of hesitation. He nodded. This was terrifying, but the thought of walking away was even scarier. “Good.” Mere seconds later, you pressed your lips to his.

It took him a second to kiss back, but once he started, he never wanted to stop. Your lips were soft against his, just testing the waters at first. He had no idea where to put his hands, but he didn’t have to think about it for long, as you quickly pushed him onto his back. He made a small noise as you got on top of him and continued kissing him.

Wilbur didn’t consider himself a good kisser. It wasn’t like he had much experience. The kisses became rushed and sloppy, and just as he started to settle into the rhythm, you were getting off of him and checking the camera footage. He sat there, dazed, as you made your way around the edge of the bed, checking what the cameras picked up. You were explaining something about the process, something about lighting and shadow and…whatever else, Wilbur wasn’t listening. He could still taste you, still feel your lips against his.

He only snapped back to reality when you approached the side of the bed again. “You still okay with the pegging thing?” you asked.

“Yes,” he breathed out. He could feel how hard he was, the slight friction against his jeans, but he didn’t have it in him to be embarrassed anymore. Who cared if this was just for work, just for content? He was about to have you, and having you in any capacity was better than not having you at all.

“Alright, then.” He watched as you opened a nearby dresser. “I have a couple things that you can choose from…” You pulled out a box and set it on the edge of the bed. He scooted closer as you opened it, his throat catching at the array of items. “These are all the toys I have that are compatible with the harness,” you explained. “I’d rather us not start filming until the main event, so to speak. We can get you all prepped before that.”

He nodded, breath catching in his throat. “Sounds good,” he choked out. He glanced over the collection of toys. Some of them were definitely too big for him, so he avoided them. His eyes finally landed on a pink dildo, just slightly bigger than the one he’d used in a recent clip. “That one, maybe?” He pointed.

“Good choice,” you said. “Just got this one.” You picked it out of the box and laid it on the bed. Wilbur’s eyes stayed on you as he watched you gather more stuff—-the strap-on harness, some lube, a buttplug. You went about it with the precision of a doctor gathering medical supplies. It was both hot and slightly unnerving.

“Do we have everything?” Wilbur asked. He shifted slightly, both to get comfortable and because it was difficult to sit still when he was so close to you.

“Yep! We’re set.” You sat back down on the bed close to him. He shuddered as you rested your hand on his thigh. “Still okay?”

“Still okay,” Wilbur confirmed. He closed his eyes as you leaned in to kiss him. He kissed you back, less sloppy this time, less desperate. He wanted to be able to contain himself, at least a little. He didn’t know what you’d think of him if he appeared too needy.

Your gentle hands pushed him backward, and he laid down on your soft mattress, eyes unfocused as he looked up at you. He pulled you in for another kiss, and whined as your tongue found his. The sound was pathetic in his mind, but it seemed to spur you on further. He gasped as you grinded against him. Even though it was only the tiniest bit of friction, it was one of the best things he’d ever felt. His hands wandered to your waist, sliding under your tank top. It was the boldest thing Wilbur had done so far, and he was more than pleased when you leaned further into his touch.

A moment later, your lips left his. He frowned for only a split second before realizing why. When he opened his eyes, your hands were brushing against his as you took off your tank top, leaving absolutely nothing underneath.

He stared. He couldn’t help it. He wanted so badly to touch all of it—-your stomach, your bare waist, your chest. It was almost too much. His cheeks went red as he heard you laugh softly. “Enjoying the view?” you teased.

“Oh! Um…sorry,” he said sheepishly. He forced his eyes upward, and when he did, he locked eyes with you. To his surprise, there was no sign of disgust or embarrassment on your face, only amusement. “You’re just gorgeous. Couldn’t help it.”

“Of course I am. How else would I have gotten this job?” You smirked down at him, and he managed to laugh despite his nerves. “In all seriousness,” you said, “thank you. You’re pretty good-looking yourself.”

It was one of the more tame comments he’d gotten in recent times, but it was by far the best. “Thank you,” he replied, his voice coming out as a squeak. Before he could apologize for that, you were kissing him again. Your hands found the buttons of his shirt, and he helped you take it off without hesitation. His mind went blank as your hands wandered his skin, tracing the lines of his abdomen and chest. He returned the favor, letting his hands wander a little. He held back, not squeezing or grasping, just lightly touching.

You slid out of your shorts, and Wilbur fumbled with the button of his jeans. Once he undid that, you got his zipper for him. You lifted yourself up for a moment so that Wilbur could remove his jeans. He shivered as his bare skin met the cool air of your room, then frowned as you got off of him. “We should get you ready,” you said. He nodded, finally removing his boxers.

He let them fall to the side of the bed, leaving him completely exposed. He could feel how hot his cheeks were, but you didn’t seem to be judging him for it. In fact, you were focused instead on putting lube on your fingers, occasionally glancing at Wilbur. He shivered, parted his legs without you asking. He laid there for a moment, staring at your ceiling, trying to calm himself. He only had a moment before you were back, settled down beside him. “You ready?” he heard you ask. He could only nod in response.

He felt a finger press inside of him, and he sighed. His eyes closed, his lips parted, and he let himself revel in the feeling. For once, he had someone else’s fingers, someone else’s touch. Of course, only one finger wasn’t nearly enough, but it was a perfect start. He moaned quietly as you moved your finger in and out, slowly, almost teasingly. He spread his legs further for you, and you scooted closer. At one point, your finger curled just enough that it brushed against his prostate, and the moan that he let out was downright desperate. He clasped his hand over his mouth, only for you to move it away. “Where’s the fun in that?” you murmured. He couldn’t even process your words before you brushed his prostate again, and he nearly moaned even louder.

“More?” he questioned. “Please?”

“Since you asked so nicely…” You slid in another finger and he whined. It was then that a thought occurred to him.

When he used his own fingers or his own toys, he never properly prepped himself. Not ever. It always hurt a little bit, since for him, he was always doing it just for the camera. It made him realize how much he neglected himself when it came to his job, never truly considering his own boundaries or what felt good to him. And yet, here you were, and it didn’t hurt with you at all. Even though this was just for work, just for content, you were being more considerate and gentle with him than he was with himself. He made a mental note to thank you later.

In the meantime, your fingers curled against his prostate, and he let himself moan and whine, gripping at the sheets and breathing heavily. He let his mind go empty, let himself fully relax, let himself be yours even if only for a moment in time. He felt it as you switched between brushing against his prostate and prepping his hole, gently stretching your fingers to spread him a little wider each time. “This feel okay?” you asked.

Wilbur nodded, unable to speak properly. You continued your movements, and Wilbur continued his moans. Your fingers were gone all too soon. Wilbur gasped a few times and forced his hazy vision to focus. “All good?” he asked, a little concerned. He watched as you wiped your hand off with a wet wipe before tossing the wipe in a bedside trash can.

“All good,” you replied. “You feeling ready? I grabbed a plug just in case you wanted to use that for more prep, but if you’re feeling good, I say we go for it.”

“I’m good to just go for it,” Wilbur said. To his surprise, his voice was a lot more steady than it had been. Something about your presence was calming, even in a situation like this that Wilbur had no experience with. He watched as you got the harness ready and strapped it on. Okay, maybe the dildo was a little bigger than he’d originally thought, but he would be fine. He hoped. “Thank you for, um, helping me get ready.”

“Why wouldn’t I help? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” you said. You finished putting on the harness before coating the strap in more lube than was probably necessary, just for good measure. “The nice thing about not working for some big porn company is that we get to do things in our own time. We’re not rushing to fit some director’s schedule.”

Wilbur nodded. “Right.” He’d heard varying things about being in professional pornos from various people in the industry. Experiences ranged from incredibly negative to incredibly positive, depending on the company, the director and any number of other factors. Wilbur was grateful to be making enough money on his own to make this venture worth his while. It was nice not having to risk mistreatment. “Still. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He watched as you pressed “record” on each of the cameras. You turned back to him, your expression focused, methodical. “Ready?”

Wilbur nodded. “Ready. Um…safeword?” He definitely didn’t plan on using it, but it was always better to be safe.

“Is the stoplight system good with you?” Wilbur nodded. He’d never used it, but he knew what it was. “Perfect,” you replied. “Let’s get this show on the road, then.” You smirked, and Wilbur grinned back. All the nerves were gone, replaced with excitement and focus. The cameras were rolling. Time to put on a show.

Wilbur wiggled his hips slightly, getting comfortable as well as a bit closer to you. He glanced at one of the cameras and shifted a little so that it would catch his facial expressions better. His eyes quickly went back to you. He felt your hands on his thighs. “You gonna be good for me?” you asked, your voice a little louder than it had been earlier. He figured it was just for the cameras.

“Y-yes,” Wilbur said, slightly exaggerating the tremble in his voice. From the look in your eyes, you approved. “I-I’ll be good for you. I’ll be a good boy, I promise.”

“Yeah?” Your hands ran up and down his thighs, causing him to tremble and shiver. “Then be a good boy, and tell me what you want.”

“I want…I want you to fuck me,” he said. He realized then that he was being too quiet for the cameras to pick up, but thankfully, you saved the scene.

“A little louder, sweetheart. I couldn’t hear you.”

“Fuck me,” Wilbur said, a little louder. “Please.” Despite the fact that it was just an act, he knew that the way you called him sweetheart would be playing on repeat in his head for weeks to come, if not months. His obsession was certainly deep enough for that.

“Good boy.” He felt the tip of the strap press into him, and he gasped. “Aw, already too much?” You asked teasingly.

He shook his head frantically. “No. Not—-not enough. Need more. Please…” He tried to scoot closer to you, to get more, but you shook your head.

“You only get what I give you. Understood?” He nodded. “Good boy.” You continued pressing the strap into him, painfully slow, giving him a chance to adjust to the size of it.

He whined, trying not to arch his back or move too much. Instead, his hands gripped at the sheets. He tilted his head to the side a little bit, right in the view of the camera to show off his face contorted with pleasure. His viewers always liked that; he figured that yours might as well. “Fuck,” he gasped out. “You’re so…so big…”

“Too much for you? Or are you gonna be good and take it?” You pushed the rest of the way in, and despite feeling fuller than he’d ever felt, not an ounce of pain came with it. Wilbur was grateful for that.

“I can be good,” Wilbur promised. “I can take it. I swear I can be good and take it.” He whined as you shifted your hips a little, and his hands went to grasp at your back. “Please. Please start moving. I need—-I need you.” Not even Wilbur could tell at this point where the genuinity ended and the act began.

You grinned. “You’ve been good so far. I feel like you’ve earned a reward.” You started shifting your hips, slow but deep thrusts that had him reeling. You weren’t quite getting his prostate, and he suspected that it was on purpose, you wanting to draw this out longer for the cameras.

Wilbur tilted his head back slightly. His eyes fell half-closed, and he peeked out at you from beneath his lashes. He let his lips remain parted. He suppressed his moans, opting instead for gasps and grunts. It would make better content, he figured, if he could start small and build up to it. It was taking a lot of effort to hold back.

“More?” he asked meekly, trying to make his voice loud enough for the cameras, yet quiet enough to keep up the submissive appearance. Although, he supposed it was more than an appearance. With some time, practice and confidence, maybe he’d be able to play a different role. For now, this is what it was. His body trembled slightly with the nerves and the sensations.

“Hm? What was that?” Your movements slowed down a little, much to Wilbur’s dismay. “Did you just ask something of me without saying please?” You leaned down, your face hovering inches from his. “You remember when I told you that you only get what I give you, right?”

“Y-yes,” Wilbur said. “I’m sorry. I’ll be good.” He sighed as you ruffled his hair, his brown eyes wide and gazing up at you full of desperation. “I promise.”

“Then say please,” you replied. “You can say please, can’t you, baby?”

Wilbur nods, a sharp, jerky movement. “C-can I please have more?” he asks.

“More what?” you asked innocently. Your hips continued rocking back and forth, so languidly that it was frustrating. “What do you want, sweetheart? Use your words.”

“I-I want it harder,” Wilbur replied. “F-faster. Please? Please, I need it.” With every passing moment, Wilbur became less and less aware of the cameras picking up his every move. If he focused hard enough, he could pretend that this wasn’t all an act. It was a dangerous game, pretending that way, but as time passed, he cared less and less.

“I guess I can give you what you want,” you said nonchalantly. “If you promise to be good.” Your movements picked up speed, hips thrusting slightly faster but just as shallowly. You weren’t thrusting all the way to the hilt, but Wilbur did his best to be patient despite wanting it desperately.

“I promise,” he panted out. “Please. I’ll be good.”

“Good boy,” you cooed. Wilbur felt a shiver go down his spine, and his shivers immediately turned to gasps as your thrusts got harder, faster, more forceful. He tried to tilt his hips a little, make you brush against his prostate, but you refused to comply, still avoiding the spot entirely. He let out a whine, high-pitched and needy. It was almost embarrassing, but based on the way you only smirked wider and picked up the pace, it was clear that you weren’t about to judge him for it.

Wilbur let himself get a little louder. He was tempted to cup your face, to run his fingers gently along your sides. He almost did before remembering that this wasn’t real. You didn’t love him. This was just sex. His second time ever, with someone he’d been crushing on obsessively, and none of it was even real. Despite how good he felt physically, he started to feel like shit mentally. The thoughts combined with your movements caused him to tear up a little bit, much to his embarrassment. He felt his eyes burn a little, and he glanced away from your face, trying to hide it.

It was no use. You saw. “Color?” you asked softly, too quiet for the cameras to pick up properly. Your eyes held a somewhat concerned expression. Immediately, Wilbur felt bad for upsetting you.

“Green,” he replied easily. “I’m okay. Promise.” He even managed a small smile.

You nodded, the worry slowly melting from your face. He moaned as your movements picked up speed again, and then whined as you finally, finally, hit his prostate. His moans got increasingly loud as you continued hitting that spot with every thrust of your hips, burying yourself inside of him to the hilt of your strap. He looked down between his legs as best he could, watching you move in and out of him. He could only look for a moment before having to tilt his head back and whine once again.

“Look at you,” you cooed. “So desperate for my cock, huh?”

“Y-yes.” Wilbur gripped the sheets with one hand and your shoulder with the other. “Please, please, please don’t stop.” His voice came out sounding whiny and pathetic, wobbling with every word.

“You’re doing so good,” you replied. “Taking me so well.” Wilbur moaned once more as you gripped his hips, using the hold as leverage to help you thrust harder.

He could feel himself getting close. He noticed how much pre-cum he was leaking, small drops of it dripping down his cock. “S-so close,” he whined. His hand subconsciously went to his length, but you quickly pulled his hand away.

“Not without my permission,” you chided him. He gasped as you continued your movements.

“Please,” he said desperately. “Please, I need…fuck, I need you to touch me. Please.”

You grinned and wrapped a hand around his cock, slowly pumping him up and down. He let out an embarrassingly loud moan. After just a few movements of your hand, his hips were twitching. He let out a series of swears and pleas, his words nearly incoherent as he finished, cum coating your hand and his stomach. You murmured soft words of praise, but he could barely register them.

His vision was hazy as you stopped moving. He gasped for air, panting. He felt numb and overstimulated all at once. His hand that was gripping the sheets slowly loosened its grip, and he let his hand fall from your side. “Thank you,” he murmured. His throat felt scratchy and dry.

“You were such a good boy,” you said, running a hand down his hip to his thigh. You pulled out, and he gasped at the feeling. You leaned in close to him, your faces inches apart. “We’ll have to do this again sometime, yeah?” He nodded eagerly before you pulled away.

He watched as you turned off the cameras, and he finally let himself relax, laying down fully on the bed. His gaze went from you to the ceiling before he closed his eyes. He needed a break, a few moments to collect himself, to come back to reality. His eyes still burned, and he let a few tears escape down his cheeks. How could something so pleasurable also be so painful?

He laid there for a few moments, taking deep breaths and trying to calm himself. He closed his eyes, trying to will the tears away. He couldn’t get over the thought that this wasn’t enough, that he needed more of you, and he needed it to be real. It was as if all his years of loneliness were catching up to him at once. Every night that he wished someone would hold him, every day that he’d spent pining after people who would never love him back…not to mention the constant self-loathing that came from the small amount of self awareness that he had, the awareness that he was a creep who nobody could ever love.

Wilbur heard you as you took off the harness before walking over to his side. “You alright?” you asked. Your voice was soft, concerned. “Was I too rough with you? Do you want some water, or maybe something to eat?”

Wilbur opened his eyes and sat up a bit. “Um…water would be good. And no, you weren’t too rough with me.” He wiped his tears off his cheeks and managed a smile. “You were a lot less rough with me than I am with myself, honestly.”

You grinned back at him. “Okay, I’ll get you some water. If you want to clean yourself up, the bathroom is to the right of the entrance to my room. There are washcloths in the drawer under the sink.”

“Thanks,” he said. Some warm water to help wipe the sweat off him sounded almost magical. “I’ll go do that.” He slowly got off the bed, feeling a little shaky. Your kindness and the sweet sound of your voice had taken away some of his pain, but the loneliness lingered in his mind like an ever-present itch that he couldn’t reach the source of.

“I’ll be here when you get back,” you called after him. He went into the bathroom and closed the door.

He used the bathroom, cleaned himself up, and was about to head back to your room when something caught his eye. You had a laundry hamper in the bathroom, and on top of the pile of laundry, nearly blended in with the surrounding fabric, was a pair of black underwear.

He immediately beat himself up for even thinking about taking it…but god, it was tempting. He would have something of you always, something you’d touched. More than just touched. He could keep it in his room, with his things, a little souvenir.

The only other souvenir he’d ever kept was from the girl he was obsessed with in high school. She had once torn out a page of notes and dropped them in the trash can, and he had fished it out and kept it. Of course, he’d thrown it out after she’d called him out for being a creep.

Never had he had something like this. But he quickly realized that, even if he wanted to, he couldn’t take it. He was naked, so it wasn’t like there was a pocket to hide it in.

He pushed away the disappointment and left the bathroom. It was better this way, better that he not have the opportunity to do what he wanted. Despite knowing that it was for the best, he couldn’t help but feel upset by it.

He re-entered your room, where you were sitting on the bed. You’d changed out the duvet, and there was a glass of water on the nightstand for him. You were dressed again in sweatpants and a t-shirt, and he felt more exposed than ever. You turned when you heard him enter, and immediately, he was given a smile. “Feeling better?”

Wilbur nodded and smiled back. “Much better, thanks.” He glanced around and saw his clothing on the floor. “I’m just gonna…”

Your eyes flitted to the pile of his clothes. “Right. Good idea.” You then glanced at the dresser in the corner of your room. “Hold on, I have something you can wear instead of that uncomfortable button-up you were wearing.”

Wilbur was about to protest and say that the button-up was fine (despite the fact that it was cheap and a little itchy in reality), but he quickly shut his mouth and worked on getting his jeans and boxers on. If you had something for him to wear, something that was yours, that would be a dream come true. He watched you as you shuffled through a drawer.

“Here it is,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. He saw as you picked up a t-shirt, one that was definitely too big for you. “I have this extra shirt. I accidentally ordered a few sizes too big, so you can have it if you want.” You tossed it over to Wilbur, and he caught it.

It was a band t-shirt. Wilbur recognized the band as one of your favorites. “Are you sure?” he asked. The material was soft in his hands, and Wilbur swore that it smelled like you.

“Yeah, I’m never going to wear it. It’s yours.”

Wilbur held it like it was precious. He examined it before sliding it on. It fit him well, not too loose but not too tight. He looked over at you and immediately noticed that you were looking right back at him. “It fits really well,” Wilbur said. “Thank you. This is much better than my other shirt.”

“No kidding,” you replied. “That thing felt like it was awful to wear.” You paused. “Plus, you look good in it.”

Wilbur could hardly believe it. You had complimented his appearance twice. In one day. “Thanks,” he said, his voice slightly shaky. “I, um, appreciate it.” He reached for the glass of water on the bedside table and sat down in order to steady himself. He took a sip, immediately feeling refreshed. He hadn’t realized how dry his throat felt.

“Anytime.” You sat beside him on the bed. “Can I…ask you something serious?”

Wilbur put down the glass and turned his full attention to you. He saw the slight concern in your expression, and his small smile quickly faded. “Sure. What’s up?”

You tilted your head slightly as you looked at him. “Are you okay? I know that you said you were alright, but you seem a little shaken up still. I’m just a bit worried.”

He sighed, trying to figure out what to say. On the one hand, he could be honest. At least, a little bit honest. You didn’t need to know the full truth. On the other hand, he could insist that he was fine. He worked through the options in his mind, and settled on a half-truth.

“I, uh, have never been pegged before,” he said. “This was my first time. I think I just got a little overwhelmed is all.” He paused, and when he saw your expression grow more concerned, quickly added, “But I’m fine! Really, you were great. You didn’t do anything wrong, and it was a good first time. A great first time.” He could feel his cheeks get slightly hot, but he did his best to stay relaxed.

You looked surprised, your eyes slightly wide. “You…you got pegged for the first time, just now, on camera?” You shook your head, a barely noticeable movement. “That’s…brave. I’ve never done something for the first time on camera.”

“Yeah…yeah, I probably should’ve prepared beforehand,” Wilbur said. “But I just figured…it’s not like I’ve never done anything anal on my own. I figured it would be fine, and it was.”

“But you looked upset,” you said.

“Just overwhelmed,” Wilbur replied. “I promise it’s okay.” The last thing he wanted to do was deter you by making you feel bad. Besides, it really wasn’t your fault.

“Wilbur…” You looked away, pausing as if considering what to say. “Allison showed me a short clip the other day of that video you two filmed, and…and I don’t know if it was just an act, but I got the feeling that you were very new to what you were doing.” You looked back at him, and he felt the intense desire to disappear, to change the subject, because how could he admit how little experience he had without being intensely embarrassed? “Was that…did you ever have sex before that?”

Once again, Wilbur had the choice between honesty or a lie. Somewhere in his mind, he knew that he wanted to try for more with you—more than just friendship, and definitely more than business partners. The terrifying thing was this: if he wanted that, truly wanted that, then he would have to be honest with you at some point.

“...No,” Wilbur said, barely audible. He avoided eye contact. “I was, um, too nervous to tell her that it was my first time. I wanted to do a collab, so I just didn’t say anything.” He fidgeted with his fingers, trying to distract himself. “I…maybe I was wrong to do that. I don’t know. I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, I just didn’t want to wait around for things to happen for real, because I need the money now, not later, and…and it didn’t seem like anything was going to happen anytime soon, so…” He shrugged, hoping that the explanation was enough.

“And…and was it good?” you asked. “Like, was it a good first time for you? Did you enjoy it?”

Wilbur thought back to it. Allison was nice, sure. She was amenable, very understanding when it came to the fact that Wilbur was new in the industry. And yeah, Wilbur had finished that first time with her, but when he really thought about it, he couldn’t say it was enjoyable. It wasn’t enjoyable, being with somebody he had no connection with. It wasn’t enjoyable knowing that this incredibly vulnerable moment of his life was being livestreamed in real time, and it definitely wasn’t enjoyable that his first time was done for profit rather than for the experience, for the fun.

“I mean, does anyone enjoy their first times?” Wilbur managed to dodge the question, but his eyes still didn’t meet yours.

“Yeah! Well…I don’t know. They’re generally not good in the sense of being physically pleasurable, but they don’t have to be awful,” you said. “I just…I can’t imagine doing that in front of a camera, streamed live like that. And it sounds to me like you did it because you didn’t feel like you had any other choice.”

Wilbur finally looked up at you, scared of a reprimand, scared of your judgment. But all he saw in your expression was worry and kindness. “I…I’ve just never really had the opportunity,” he said quietly. “I’ve never been in a proper relationship. I kissed a girl, like, once in high school, but that was it. And then not again until Allison. I just wanted to get it over with, to feel…I don’t know. Normal, I guess. Desirable. Like…like someone wanted me.”

The second the words came out, Wilbur was mortified. He’d never told anyone any of this, and the fact that he’d told you of all people, the second time he’d ever spoken to you in person, made him wish he could turn back time and erase this entire conversation.

He felt you gently take his hand. “I’m sorry,” you said, “that things didn’t turn out the way you would have liked.”

Wilbur looked down at his hand, gently wrapped in yours, and he gave it a small squeeze. “It’s okay,” he said. “It wasn’t awful.”

“Still,” you said. “It sucks.”

“It does suck.” He watched as you let go of his hand, hiding his disappointment. “Anyway, um…I’m sorry to unload all that on you,” he said, his self awareness returning to him.

“It’s fine, Wil. We’re friends, and I wouldn't have said what I said if I wasn’t prepared for a response,” you said. “Really, it’s okay.”

He could hear the softness in your voice, the hint of concern. It nearly made him cry again, just knowing that somebody cared about him at all. “Thank you,” he said. “I…I really appreciate it.” The words felt so tame in comparison to what he wanted to say, but all the words he could think of seemed too much. He couldn’t believe that you’d referred to him as a friend, that you wanted to continue associating with him. It seemed too good to be true.

One thing was certain: it would take a lot of willpower to make this obsession go away, and Wilbur wasn’t sure he had it in him to let you go.

To Wilbur’s absolute delight, his time with you didn’t end there. After filming, he stayed for dinner. He ate pizza with you on your couch, watching a cheesy 80s movie and making fun of the special effects. Admittedly, he watched you far more than he watched the film, and he felt shivers every time you looked his way.

Over the course of the next week, he messaged you every day. Sometimes, it was because he messaged first, and other times, you were the one to reach out. He forced himself to exercise some restraint, to not be too eager. You made it difficult. Many of the texts were about the video, you giving Wilbur updates on the editing progress. At the end of the week, it went live. Wilbur was notified by your message:

Done! Let’s see how this goes

Wilbur grinned, swallowing back all the anxiety that he felt. What if it was bad? What if people didn’t like it? What if his inexperience showed on camera?

He shoved it all down and sent a reply.

Sweet

After a moment, he was struck both by how boring his last message was and how great of an opportunity this presented him with.

Want to celebrate tonight? Drinks on me?

He waited anxiously for a reply. Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed with no response, until finally, your name appeared on his screen.

How about that bar a block from my place? You know the one?

Wilbur did, in fact, know the one. He’d passed it on the drive to your apartment.

I know it. Send the address and I’ll be there

Eight?

He smiled.

Eight sounds perfect :)

Once again, he couldn’t believe his luck. He took a shower, brushed his teeth, combed his hair. He left early to make sure that he was there in time and that you wouldn’t be stuck waiting for him. The cab ride to the bar felt like it took a million years, and when he got there, you were sitting at the bar waiting for him.

The bar was packed. There was music blasting over the speakers, some pop song that Wilbur couldn’t place, though he’d heard it over the radio a million times. He sat beside you at the bar. “Hey!” he said, perhaps a little too enthusiastically.

You greeted him with equal enthusiasm. “You made it!”

“Of course I made it,” he said, grinning. He could already feel his cheeks get warm, although whether it was from the crowded bar or his proximity to you, he couldn’t tell. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“Only about five minutes,” you replied. “But I got here early. Still waiting for the bartender.”

“Perfect.” Wilbur glanced at his surroundings. The scene reminded him of when he’d first met you. It was hard to believe that it had been less than a month. “Is the video doing well?” It was too early to draw many conclusions, of course, but he was curious.

“Holy shit, you have no idea,” you said, grinning. “People love the video. Already, I’m getting messages asking for more of it.” You seemed proud of yourself, and Wilbur couldn’t blame you. You’d done most of the work, after all.

He could feel his heart pounding. People loved it, which meant that you would probably want to do it again. More time spent with you, more excuses to see you…it all sounded perfect. “So when is part two?” Wilbur asks. “If people love it, I mean…we should probably get to filming more material, right?”

Your smile faltered, and his heart immediately sank. Of course. Of course it was all too good to be true, too perfect to be real. He should have known better. When you finally spoke, Wilbur was already bracing himself for rejection. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you said. Before Wilbur could say anything, you continued. “Not because I don’t like you, okay? I…I won’t lie, it was fun. I’m just…”

“You can be honest,” Wilbur said, so quietly that he could barely be heard over the sounds of chatter and music. “If you don’t like me and don’t want to do it again, that’s okay. I get it.” He knew that he sounded pathetic and self-deprecating, but he had no clue what else to say.

“Wil, I just said that it wasn’t because I don’t like you,” you said. “Please take my word for it.” Wilbur nodded, slightly embarrassed. “The reason I don’t want to film more is because I’m a little worried about you.”

Oh. In a way, that was a relief to hear. It meant that you didn’t dislike him. On the other hand, he was terrified. Did you see him as pathetic? He wouldn’t blame you, but it was still a blow to his ego. “...Why?” he finally asked.

“I just…” You sighed. “You were literally crying, Wil. It was concerning. And I’m not saying that you did anything wrong, because you didn’t, I just think that…” You laughed, a short, nervous sound. “Fuck, I don’t know how to phrase this without sounding insensitive.”

Wilbur froze. You were going to call him a creep, pathetic, a loser. He just knew it. “Just say it,” he said, his voice trembling.

“You have some things to sort out,” you said finally. “This type of job can ruin you if you don’t have the self-esteem to handle it. I’ve seen it before. People go into it feeling like shit about themselves, and then all the validation they get is purely sexual, and it fucks with them when they don’t get that validation anymore. It can be hard to separate your sense of self from your sex appeal, you know? But you have to.”

Wilbur took a deep breath. That was somehow worse than anything he’d anticipated you saying. He wasn’t a creep in your eyes, maybe, but he was broken. He had low self-esteem. You saw him as something to be pitied, and that was a hard pill to swallow. He kept opening his mouth to speak, only to close it again. He finally gave up. “Okay,” he said finally. “Yeah. That’s fine.”

You went quiet. It was only until the bartender showed up that you spoke again, ordering some drink that Wilbur couldn’t make out the name of due to being lost in his own thoughts. When you asked him what he wanted, he replied with water. He didn’t feel like drinking anymore.

After the bartender left, Wilbur felt your eyes on him. “Yeah?” he questioned. “What?”

“Did you actually listen to what I said?”

“What? Yeah, of course I did.”

“Wilbur…”

“I get it,” Wilbur said quickly. “I know that I’m…that I’ve based my whole life around this, and I know that it’s concerning, and I get it. But what else am I supposed to do?”

“Take a break,” you suggested.

“I need the money.”

“Okay, well, go back to solo content for a bit. Because I think you need a moment to think things through.”

It didn’t sound so bad, actually, going back to doing things alone for a while. As long as he still had you in some capacity, maybe it would turn out okay. “Alright,” he said. “I could do that.”

“Good.” You thanked the bartender as he handed you your drink before turning back to Wilbur. “I think it would be good for you.”

“Probably,” he admitted. He sipped his water, trying to enjoy your presence despite the war of emotions he had going on. It took him a moment for him to ask the question that he wanted to ask. “...Do you think there’s something wrong with me?”

“No,” you replied immediately. “I just think you need some time off.”

He accepted the answer, but there was one more thing he needed to ask. “I’m sorry if this is…weird,” he said carefully. “But I was wondering if you wanted to go on a date sometime. Like, a proper date, not…”

“An amateur porn filming session?”

“Right. That.” Wilbur felt his hands trembling. “Um…we could go out to dinner sometime. Wherever you want.” He felt dizzy, his breathing shallow and his heart pounding way too fast. “If you want to.”

You took an agonizingly slow sip of your drink. “I’d like that,” you said finally. You smiled at him, and it was like everything falling into place. Wilbur could breathe. You hadn’t rejected him.

And soon enough, he would have you, one way or another.

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