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cheesiedomino · 10 months ago

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RentABoyfriend.com ꙳ ੭ * ‧

synopsis: you’re tired of being single so you to take an unusual route in helping with that— but what happens when you start catching real romantic feelings for your rental boyfriend?

genre: seo changbin x fem!reader | fake relationship/dating au wc: 5.1k tags/warnings: fluff, v minor angst, mild cursing, (kinda) nerdy changbin, use of pet names, mentions of alcohol usage, just overall very cute story dw <33

[this is part of my valentine’s series where i write a short story for each member surrounding themes of love, newfound romance, relationship hardships & more.]

“I have a date tomorrow guys.”

Everyone’s head instantly lifts up from their phones at this sudden announcement, collectively drawing their attention at you. You weren’t expecting all of them to gasp and swap such looks of genuine confusion. It’s starting to make you think maybe this situation was a lot more serious than you’ve bargained it out to be.

You couldn’t fathom it either honestly, the realization of you going out with someone probably won’t settle in until you’re physically on the date. Based on their initial responses though, you might regret everything you’re about to say, but it’s far too late to retract any of your statements now.

“No way.. with who??” Danielle is the first out of everyone to ask.

Taehyung chimes in as well, “Yeah, who’s the lucky person? They’ve gotta be something seriously special to be talking to you.”

Well, you suppose you could put it that way.

You already have a preconceived notion of what they’re going to think of this “idea”. Mentally preparing yourself to receive a flood of questions and critique from your close friends.

“Actually… I rented him. For the week.”

Now they’re all looking at you like you’ve officially lost it. The room got scarily quiet, no one wanted to be the first to speak. You should’ve anticipated on their reactions being like this, it isn’t everyday someone just openly admits to buying a partner online. Nowadays there’s a lucrative market for just about anything, when you stumbled upon an ad for this service called ‘RentABoyfriend.com’ you didn’t think much of it. You laughed the concept off at first, thinking how lonely people must be to buy someone else’s time.

But the ads kept popping up, they wouldn’t stop showing in almost every YouTube video you were watching— even one of your favorite YouTubers promoted them before! So one day you finally decided to check this website out, you wanted to see what the hype’s all about so you signed up just for shits and giggles. You weren’t expecting to actually be somewhat interested in trying this thing out, but after going through a couple different profiles and reading hundreds of positive reviews you were practically sold.

“You rented out a boyfriend..? Seriously ___? I mean, I’m not judging but you’re a gorgeous girl you can easily get a boyfriend without paying for someone’s companionship, I don’t see why you need to rent one.” Mark bluntly expressed his opinion, he was probably the most outspoken out of all of you guys.

Taehyung and Danielle both agreed in unison, it’s practically 3 against 1 at this point. You knew you should’ve waited to tell them but you weren’t anticipating on them being this judgmental about it. You were hoping for a little more support, as they’re all way more experienced than you in the dating scene and could lend some helpful advice about your first date, ever.

See, the thing is you’ve never tried dating before so you wouldn’t know the first thing about it or what to expect from your future partner. You’ve never had a boyfriend, let alone held hands or kissed someone of the opposite sex. Being in your twenties it’s kind of embarrassing to say you’ve never done those things, but you thought what better way to try it out than renting a full-on experience that can give you just that? Well minus the kissing part, but you can make it work.

You were skeptical of doing this whole ‘rent-a-boyfriend’ thing at first because you didn’t think there’d be anyone you’d find suitable enough. A big part of the reason that you’re still single is because you’re extremely picky, you want to date a guy who’s so perfect that he must’ve came straight out of an indie romance film. Your friends would tease you for having such unrealistic standards when it came to dating but you were the all-or-nothing type, you’ll be single with fifty cats before you settle for less. Renting a boyfriend is definitely an unconventional idea of easing into dating but you thought it might be worth a try anyway.

What’s the worse that could happen?

( 1 day earlier )

Hovering your cursor over the bold red text of the website, you read over the main rules before going on to select the person you want for your date.

‘The rules are simple:

You are allowed to see only ONE person at a time, if you want to switch boyfriends you’ll have to pay a $50 fee.

MUST be over 18 to rent a boyfriend, we have implemented an age verification system before the date as we do not tolerate anyone under this age to use our services.

NO kissing, or sexual intimacy allowed. If this is found out later on by our agency we will terminate your contract and ban you from using our services in the future.

Remember to have fun !! ^_^ Our services are great for people who are new to dating or have never been in a relationship. We provide the ~ultimate~ boyfriend experience to all our clients. Customer satisfaction is 100% guaranteed ! (NO REFUNDS)’

Well jeez… they seemed a bit strict but you can deal with those rules and restrictions for the most part.

After hours of skimming through hundreds of profiles, you have a hard time choosing which you like most. Did you want an artsy, shy kind of guy? The tattooed, bad boy aesthetic type? You really couldn’t pick one until you stumble upon a particular profile that catches your eye almost immediately.

SEO CHANGBIN | 168 CM | PART-TIME LIFEGUARD | 24 | *POPULAR ↝

5 Facts About Me: I’ve traveled to over 50+ different countries and counting (ask me which my favorites are), I can speak 4 languages (working on my fifth), love to sing and used to have a rap trio with my buddies from college, I can & will easily lift you up ;) also have a secret talent for cooking, there’s nothing I can’t do!

Why Choose Me? First of all, why not choose me? I’m the best candidate for whatever kind of date you need, something casual, social gatherings, weddings, you name it! I’m very social and can make most people laugh (unless they’re the literal Grinch reincarnated), I’m able to get along well with anyone and just love to have a good time. I hope we can get to know each other and make great memories in the future :)

Going through his pictures you couldn’t believe someone was capable of being this humanely attractive. Don’t even get started on those impeccable muscles either… He really had to sport them in every other one of his photos, wearing the tightest shirts to show the outline of his insanely sculpted frame. You might have just been mesmerized from his godlike visuals alone. They even had a Valentine’s Day deluxe package that comes with seven dates in total for half the price, which they specified was for a limited time only.

$600 later you’ve got a full week of dates lined up with the hottest guy you’ve ever seen in all your years of living. You should’ve definitely went shopping before considering all this because now you actually have a reason to get dolled up for someone.

You were so nervous about going on this date you almost cancelled last minute out of fear. Typing out several different elaborate paragraphs to Changbin on why you couldn’t make it. You didn’t have his real phone number, it was all through an app facilitated by the rental company that was included in the package. Even though you were feeling overwhelmed and practically shaking with anxiety about meeting up with a guy, you still forced yourself to go anyway. You didn’t just dish out all that money just to not show up and waste his time on top of all that.

Your rental boyfriend texted you the location to meet at, it was near a train station so you both could see each other out in a public open space. The outfit you wore was fairly simple, a black mini skirt with warm tights underneath and a cropped turtleneck sweater. You accessorized the look with some dainty jewelry, a thin scarf, and knee high boots to pull everything together. It wasn’t something you usually wore but you had certain clothes you saved for a special occasion like this.

Upon your arrival, you notice him standing near a vending machine and waves over at you with the biggest smile plastered on his face. You awkwardly wave back, giving a soft smile as you slowly walk up to him. He looks even better in person, you don’t even feel adequate enough to be in such a gorgeous man’s presence. No wonder he’s so popular on the site, he’s practically unreal.

“Hi, you must be ___. It’s so nice to finally meet you, might I add you look really beautiful today, I think you’re making my heart race just by looking at you. Happy Valentine’s Day!” Changbin introduces himself, buttering you up with some sweet compliments before handing you the most insane bouquet of roses you’ve ever seen.

You take the flowers and almost stumble backwards from how heavy they were, “Wow, thank you!” Changbin prevents you from falling, quickly coming up behind you to get your balance back.

“Careful honey, can’t have you injured on our first date!” He voices with concern, “I hope you love the idea I came up with, I’ve only been to this place once before but I’m sure it’s still as fun as I remember it, let’s go!” Eagerly grabbing your hand to begin the journey, he turns around again to examine your body language.

“You seem a little tense babe? Do you need a massage?” He asks in a concerned tone again, this is all really beginning to freak you out. You know this is what you signed up for but this was all starting to feel a bit too personal, all the nicknames and sweet talk he’s giving is just something you aren’t used to.

“Uh, no! It’s o-okay.” You shook your head, denying anything suspicious going on. Truth be told you were barely able to contain your composure right now.

Changbin keeps on insisting, “The massage is included in the package so you don’t have to worry about getting charged extra.”

“N-no it’s okay, really. I’m just nervous that’s all, sorry I just don’t meet up with guys…” you shyly admit, finding it hard to look him in the eye.

He nods in understanding, “No need to be nervous with me sweetheart. I’m here to make you feel as comfortable as possible.” The smile he flashes at you instantly makes you warm on the inside, he seems like a genuine, caring person. You think things might go well for you after all.

The rest of the night was full of only good vibes and laughter by the end of it all. Changbin took you to an adult arcade that had old video games like Pac-Man, Super Mario, and Space Invaders, the other side was a bar where people could sit, drink, and socialize. He bought all your drinks that night, let you use up most of his tokens and overall had the most fun you could’ve ever had with someone. He was so easygoing but also knew when to act super caring and would be all lovey dovey with you. He was gentle, nurturing, and could have conversations about anything. You loved that he’d randomly drop some interesting fact you never knew about, or talked about a certain niche topic that he’d go on multiple rants over. It didn’t feel like you were renting someone out to date you, it felt natural— like you’ve known him for longer than a couple hours. Changbin walked you home and held your hand the entire time, along with the flowers he provided a teddy bear and a heart shaped box of chocolates. If that didn’t scream boyfriend goals then you don’t know what does.

The next day you wake up to Changbin blowing your phone up this morning. You had over 26 messages from him, which was pretty excessive in your humble opinion. The first thing he said was good morning then he goes on to express how fun yesterday was and he can’t wait to do it again. He even sent a couple mirror selfies of him at the gym, ‘conceited much?’ You thought. But then again, if you were Seo Changbin you’d probably be full of yourself too.

For today’s date you wore a pretty red sundress that made your skin glow in the sunlight. It’ll definitely get him to compliment you even more— which you secretly love when he does. Changbin calls you before he heads out to the date, letting you know how excited he is to see you again. You couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot on the train as you made your way to the destination, thinking about what he’s planned for you two next. This time you’ll be meeting up at a park but you still have no clue what you’re doing.

Changbin texts you where exactly he is in the park, it was pretty huge so it took you a while to get to him. As you get closer you see him sitting on a large blanket by the lake, on top of it were a bunch of different foods and snacks scattered all around that came out of a huge picnic basket. You were speed walking at this point trying to get to him. His arms opened out for a hug and you lean right into him, what you didn’t expect was for him to suddenly stand up and lift you in his arms to swing around you like a doll.

“Put me down I’m scared of heights!” You squeal out in fear of being too high up in the air. Maybe you really should’ve taken the bio on his profile more seriously when he mentioned certain things.

Finally putting you down after minutes go by of you protesting, Changbin sits you back onto the blanket. He brought an assortment of breads, cheese, fruits, lemonade that he made himself and a couple seltzers. You’ve never seen anyone put such time and effort into a date before, even being here with him is like living in a daydream. He was definitely succeeding in making you feel comfortable, which is something you never thought was possible with men. He actually took his time getting to know you and didn’t sound arrogant whenever he talked about himself, Changbin was so different than other guys who’ve tried hitting on you in the past. He was actually respectful, intelligent, and could easily carry a conversation without long, awkward pauses.

He was literally everything you’re looking for in a guy. But you’ll be seeing him for this week only then it’s bye bye forever. That revelation makes you a little upset, but you try pushing those thoughts in the back of your mind. It’s irrelevant and unnecessary to think about. Yet you can’t help but wonder about certain things though, wanting to know more about his job and what it’s like on a daily basis for him.

“Can I ask you something? I need you to answer it honestly.” You say out of nowhere, hoping that didn’t come out as weird as you thought.

Changbin nods, “of course, shoot.”

“How many clients do you usually get?”

This question definitely catches him off guard, he’s never really been asked this before and he’s debating on if he should as it might be a breach of privacy.

“I don’t think I can answer that, sorry.” He responds in the nicest way possible, but deep down he wants to know why you’d want to know how many other people he sees a day.

You were going to push him a bit more to try and get an answer but you decide to let it go and just enjoy the rest of the picnic. You didn’t want to bring the mood down with your odd questions and/or end up making him feel so uncomfortable that he won’t want to see you anymore. It was definitely something you shouldn’t have asked but you were curious to know anyway. Overall besides that small incident, you had another wonderful time with Changbin and couldn’t wait for tomorrow to come any faster.

Changbin had a foolproof way of getting you to blush like a giddy high school teen whenever he texted you. He’d always refer to you as ‘pretty girl’ or ‘princess’ which gave you insane amount of butterflies. You loved how clingy he could get and would double text when you don’t reply fast enough, always needing constant attention from you which you never minded giving.

He texted you at around three in the afternoon, proposing his next plan for today’s date.

‘Let’s go out for drinks tonight, it’s all on me ;)’

You liked his message, replying that you’ll be there and put a series of hearts at the end. Speaking of hearts, yours is fluttering at high altitudes from the way you can’t stop thinking about your “boyfriend” Changbin. This has been better than anything you could’ve expected, you never want this week to come to an end. It’s only been three days but you’ve begun to grow feelings for him, they weren’t too strong just yet but they were most definitely there. You couldn’t let that halt you from having a good time tonight, you’ll have to accept it soon enough he’s not your actual boyfriend. He’s doing this because you paid him to, if it wasn’t for your money he wouldn’t be here right now.

‘This relationship is purely transactional’ you unfortunately keep reminding yourself of the reality you’re in. Psyching yourself out of this sudden somber mood that’s consuming you, distracting your pessimism by raiding your closet for some cute clothes to wear tonight’s date. After what seemed like hours of tearing your entire room apart, you decide to settle on this sparkly black mini tube dress, pairing it with a leather jacket and more platform shoes because you’re obsessed with feeling tall. Once it’s 7 PM you head out to the bar you’re seeing Changbin at, he was already waiting for you inside the place. Eyes instantly lighting up when he sees you coming towards him, just like he always does he motions for a hug, pulling you in tightly like he hasn’t seen you in years.

His hugs felt so cozy, like sitting in front of the fireplace on a crisp, snowy winter’s evening. You never wanted to escape the warmth of his arms, it was one of those forms of physical touch that felt so overly personal to you. The thought of him hugging someone the same way he hugs you slightly enrages something in your spirit but again, it isn’t your place to get genuinely upset over him doing his job. You’re not entitled to him exclusively, but you feel like if you keep this up feelings will only continue to develop. This wasn’t something you considered when going into this and now you feel like you’ve just made a huge mistake.

“You okay babe?” Changbin notices you acting a bit strange, choosing not to pursue it after telling him you’re fine. He knows something’s wrong but doesn’t want to mess up the flow of the date, instead he orders a drink for the both of you and switches on to a lighter subject. “Let’s go shopping tomorrow at that new centre that just opened last week. I need to buy some new AirPods, I accidentally lost one of them in a taxi..”

“Sure,” you nod at his suggestion, in desperate need of some new clothes anyway. “Sorry about your AirPods, that sucks!”

He takes a sip of his bubbly drink that’s now on the table, “Eh, it’s okay this is probably the fourth time this has happened so far.” This has pretty much become a regular occurrence for him by now.

As the date progresses, things continue getting better. You’re both laughing, engaging in much deeper conversation than ever before. You definitely had more than enough alcohol in your system by now, feeling congested and claustrophobic as more people came into the bar. Changbin takes note of your discomfort and asks if you want to get some fresh air outside, you wasted absolutely no time to agree.

While you two were outside continuing your chat about some wild conspiracy he read about online, Changbin’s attention was soon drawn to a different building nearby. Gazing up in confusion at his sudden outburst of excitement, you wonder where he could be leading you next.

“Noraebang!” He shouts loud enough anyone miles away could’ve heard that, he’s now grabbing your hand to frantically drag you along with him.

You were never one to carry a tune but Changbin was actually very good at karaoke and singing in general, he had such a lovely voice. You could seriously listen to him sing all night— which you basically did since you kept begging for an encore until it hit 4 am. That’s when you both decided to finally call it a night, you wanted to pay for the Uber since he’s paid for all the drinks and every other expenses for today. You felt bad because you were the one renting him to be your boyfriend yet he’s constantly shelling out money left and right. He still insisted on paying and ultimately won the whole debacle, making you swallow your pride and get into the Uber with him. Changbin’s definitely not just someone you’re going to forget about after this week is over. You dread the day this all comes to an end, wishing there was a way to relive these moments again and again.

“I’m a little under the weather today, sorry I can’t make it Binnie.” Your voice is hoarse from coughing and unbearable throat pain. You’ve already consumed half a bag of cough drops, throat lozenges, and random cold medicine you’ve found in your cabinets.

He sounds mildly disappointed, but springs back up with a new proposal, “I can come over and bring some soup if you’d like!”

You appreciate his gesture but still refuse, you know he’s only saying all this because he has to, not because he wants to. “N-no you don’t have to, I’m sure you can go see other clients today. One less person to worry about right?”

The call went silent for a minute, he wasn’t quite sure how to respond to such a deprecating comment.

“I don’t want to see other clients, I want to see you ___.” He sighs, unwilling to give up so easily, “I’ll be at your place soon, m’kay?” He hangs up before you could even respond or say no again.

You had no choice but to wait for Changbin to show up now. Before you got sick, the last two dates you went on were debatably the best so far. You had gone out shopping together, accidentally wearing almost the same kind of outfit. Changbin was wearing a white graphic tee with blue baggy jeans and you wore something practically identical. The two of you looked like a real, official couple and people would stare as you walked hand in hand, it really did seem like the perfect relationship on the outside.

You got even closer when he came over the following day, resulting in you two cuddling while watching movies and baking cookies. He’s expressed that he’s never been to another client’s home before but it wasn’t “technically” against any rules. The more you kept hanging out together, the harder it was coming to terms with the fact you’re actually falling for Changbin. He made every experience with you more exciting than the last, which he did exactly that night. When the cookies were done you fed a piece to him, making little airplane sounds as you do it, he eagerly takes a bite of the chewy treat and compliments both your efforts.

“These taste way better than I thought, oh my god they literally melt in your mouth. Try it!” He takes another cookie from the tray and feeds it to you this time.

There was something so overly domestic about that moment you couldn’t shake the feelings of wanting to kiss him right then and there. But you can’t. If you did such a thing you’d never be allowed to see him again, plus you don’t want to be known as that one creepy client who just couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. As you were cuddling on the couch though, things may have taken a turn for the better… or worse?

Changbin would “yawn” at the movie and subtly wrap his arm around you, he’d subconsciously pull you in closer and it didn’t make it any better that you were under the same blanket. You weren’t complaining at any of this though, you were pretty much in heaven. It took everything in you not to look up and stare, gluing your eyes to the movie that was displayed on the TV. But as the night progressed you were practically snuggling up with him like he was your real boyfriend. The way he’d run his fingers gently down your back, soothing you in a way that could lull you asleep. His touch was the most relaxing thing ever, you were so calm with him and loved how he brought a side of you that’s never been shown. After this encounter you can no longer deny the way you feel— you are officially falling deeply in love your rental boyfriend, Seo Changbin.

The sound of your doorbell ringing alarms you of a new visitor, who was none other than your “boyfriend” waiting patiently outside the door for you. You feel and look like death itself, coming downstairs to answer the door still in your PJ’s and hair a disheveled mess. Every five seconds was interrupted with you coughing your lungs out, barely able to speak above a whisper. Changbin looks thrilled as ever to see you, even when you clearly don’t look your best he’s still coming up to hug you tightly. His hugs are always blocking off your airways from the way his muscles squeeze you, it’s even worse when you’re sick— practically gasping for air.

“Sorry babyy, I just missed you so much. I couldn’t stop thinking about you all day and soon as you said you’re sick I dropped everything to go make you this soup. It’s a specialty I make whenever my friends are sick, the perfect remedy to cure my princess.” He goes into your kitchen to heat up the soup in your microwave, making you wait patiently on the couch as you’re wrapped up in multiple blankets.

Your body feels like it’s -2 degrees, you were freezing. The crazy thing is your thermostat was set to 80 degrees, it was definitely you that was the problem. He propped your feet up on the table, rested a tray in your lap and set the bowl of soup on top. Brushing a couple strands of hair out your face he looks at you intently, examining your symptoms as if he’s a doctor.

“It’ll be okay soon love, I’m here to nurse you back to health again. Can’t see my pretty baby sick like this, makes me all sad.” He pouts, giving you a soft head pat like you’re a delicate kitten.

He takes a spoonful of the hot soup, slightly blowing on it before telling you to open up so you can eat. You don’t know what’s gotten into you but you feel like he’s gone too far with all this. It’s not fair for you to continue on if it’s just become torture now. He’s practically dangling in your face that you’ll never have a partner as perfect as him in your life.

“I- I can’t do this anymore Changbin..” you say lowly, refusing to eat the soup he made.

“What do you mean? I’m just feeding you soup, it’s my duty as your boyfriend to-”

“This isn’t real… none of it is. I’m stupid for even doing this but I was lonely.. I’m sorry but I’d prefer something that isn’t temporary.” You cut him off to express your pent up frustrations, ready to be let down and rejected by him as gently as possible.

“Then let’s make it real,” he proposes without any hesitation, “honestly I stopped faking it around our third date, it was all me after that. I never said anything because well… this is my job and I’ve never fallen for a client before so this is still all very new to me..”

You’d be screaming right now if you weren’t sick, instead you’re internally freaking out at this confession, it feels like your hearts doing cartwheels and somersaults.

“Seriously?” Eyes widening as you look at him, suddenly your body heat rises and you know it’s not because of the soup or the layers of blankets that’s covering you.

He nods, “I thought it was kinda obvious when we kissed yesterday..”

Oh yeah… you forgot that did happen. You thought it was another fever dream you might’ve just made up in your head. You shared your first kiss with someone you deemed so special and important to you, someone you never would’ve guessed could come into your life and shift the entirety of your world like magic. There was no one else in existence you wanted more than Changbin.

“Doesn’t that mean you’ll have to quit your job? I don’t want to be the reason you stop making such good income.. I’ll feel so bad.” You knew deep down you didn’t feel that badly about him quitting to date you instead. It was just the thought of him leaving something he’s been doing for years behind all for some girl he’s known for simply a week.

He shrugs at your comment, “I’ll be just fine, I was planning on finding a new job soon anyway. It gets kinda old after a while, I felt like I was on autopilot most of the time. You were able to get me to open up and show my true self, I could never thank you enough for that ___.” Changbin couldn’t resist the urge to plant a kiss to your forehead.

After everything that’s been said and done. What you’ve come to understand is that love is learned, a development that takes time to grow and blossom into something extraordinary. Just like learning a new language or a musical instrument, we learn love from society and cultures we’re raised in, it’s a beautiful thing once we know how to cherish it. Your newfound romance with Changbin is something you’ll learn to cherish forever and ever.

[End <3].

#skz fluff #skz x reader #changbin fluff #seo changbin fluff #stray kids imagines #skz drabbles #changbin x reader #changbin skz #changbin x female reader #seo changbin x reader #stray kids fluff #changbin scenarios #changbin drabbles #changbin imagines #skz au #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids drabbles #skz imagines

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mactavishsgfandwife · 11 months ago

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Dad!Simon Taking Your Daughter to the Optician’s (Fluff)

another random one but OMG imagine your daughter had needed those adorable baby glasses and simon took her to the optician to buy a pair 😭 like awwwwweewwwwwwwwe purest domestic fluff ever, not proofread

He pulls her tiny, pink raincoat off of the coat hangers by the door, along with his own black bomber jacket that he holds under one arm, and he tenderly leans down to zip up her little jacket - the one with cutesy rubber ducks embroidered at the cuffs. Most people wouldn’t immediately assume them to be father and daughter. This huge, intimidating military man with sunglasses on in early Spring to hide his eyes and a small silver dog tag dangling down around his neck, dwarfed by his broad shoulders - and reaching her hand up to hold his, babbling something unintelligible about rocks, a little girl. Her hair was carefully tied into bunches - Simon had tried to do it himself but he somehow managed to miss out half of her hair, so he lifted her up over his shoulder as if he were a firefighter and went to find you.

"Y’married a soldier, not a hairdresser," he grinned, a little bit embarrassed.

At the optician’s, he guides his little girl around the room, inspecting the shelves of different glasses. He holds her soft, little hand in his big, tough one. For a moment, he is distracted by some informational poster on the wall, but a sudden exasperated gasp from the 3 year old at his feet pulls him back to reality right away. Looking down, he sees her chubby hands holding a pair of adult sunglasses to her eyes, a big grin on her face.

"Glasses! Want glasses, daddy!" she giggles, the specs falling wonky on her little button nose. Simon laughs softly, crouching down to get closer to his baby, his elbows resting on the denim of his jeans.

"You can have glasses, love… but those are too big for a littl’un like you," he leans in to kiss her soft forehead, and tries to place the sunglasses back, as her little fingers paw at them.

"What about these ones..?" he smiles, holding out a little pair of pink glasses, purple at the edges, with sweet little stars along the sides. That smile on his face is met by her exaggerated, pleading eyes and her little sad pout, still trying to reach her hands out to the sunglasses that her daddy had meanly placed on a high shelf. :(

Simon finally settles on buying the sunglasses ‘for himself’, rolling his eyes with a small chuckle as he helps fit those cute, purple glasses to his little girl’s face, turning her to look at herself in the mirror of the shop.

"Ahh!" she lets out a little, excited squeal, "I love it, Daddy!"

"You look so pretty, little girl," he smiles protectively, trying not to laugh as he sees her chubby, grinning face looking up at him behind those glasses that make her eyes seem twice as big as normal.

Her little mary-jane shoes run in circles around the shop, as she lets out little squeaks of joy and mumbles to herself - in the end, it takes your husband a whole 10 minutes to convince her to take them off so that he can buy them, and on the walk home she does her best to speed ahead of him (not that he would ever actually allow her out of his sight), shouting, "Faster, Daddy!", alternating between running away from him and walking slow at his side, panting from the running until he caved and carried her. She was just so excited and couldn’t wait to go home and show Mummy. <3

And she looks so cute when she excitedly rushes into the kitchen, screwing up her face and giggling as she tells you all about her new glasses, Simon leaning against the doorframe in the background and chuckling softly as he watches, unable to hide how much he loves his little family.

i love him so much i’m crying tears thanks for reading lovelies! x

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yuki-world · 1 year ago

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那维莱特 | NEUVILLETTE ; LEARN

summary | neuvillette finally shows you what an orgasm feels like with his tongue, too bad you want it with something else of his.

tags | nsfw (smut), fem!reader, slight corruption, loss of virginity, cunnilingus, vaginal penetration, semi-public sex, creampie, 3.3k words

a/n : pt 1 here --> teach, but can be read on its own! a gift for those who requested a part 2 hehe

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“i thought you said we weren’t going to bring this up again, neuvillette?”

well… he wasn’t. but he reasons with himself that it's quite unfair if he doesn’t reward you for the deed you’ve done. after all, the chief of justice should be ensuring fairness. it’s only equal if you get something in return. besides, you asked him to help you experience what an orgasm felt like, and he did agree.

but he really shouldn’t. that blowjob was a one-time thing, he made it clear. he didn’t want to corrupt you too much. can’t have you being too addicted to him and his cock, can you? but… then again. if he’s already indulged in your curiosity the first time, surely a second time wouldn’t hurt? only to help you learn, of course. its not everyday that he gets a chance to experience any sexual activities considering how busy he was. its not like he found anyone to do this with; until you came along. but he hasn’t even courted you, its so backwards. what happened to tradition?

“i believe it’s only fair that i respond to your interests in… learning about orgasms,” neuvillette responds, pulling off his gloves. “furthermore, you waited the whole night for me. it's wrong of me if i let you leave empty-handed, no?”

it's true; you stayed up all night just to visit him in his office once he finished his work. he’s been so busy nowadays, it's only at night when he truly has any free time at all. you feel a bit bad for intruding into his free time, but you barely had the chance to talk to him this whole week. little do you know, he doesn’t mind a single bit. not when its you. truthfully, he misses your consistent pestering too. he’s been drowning in so much work, he just couldn’t find the time.

you giggle at the seriousness of his tone. you didn’t necessarily visit him to ask for any sexual favours. he was the one who brought it up when you stepped into his office at 1am. well, maybe, just maybe, he was looking forward to it.

“so you’re gonna give me a mind-blowing orgasmー is what you’re saying,” you teased, and he chuckled.

“more than mind-blowing, y/n,” he corrects, making his way over to the sofa. “so much so that you’ll never forget your first. you have my word.”

seeing him so bound on making you feel good was attractive, to say the least. its the way that he kneels down, fingers free of his glove gently stroking your thighs, that has you drooling. it's insane how much his touches affect you, you’re sure he noticesー notices the way your legs part for him immediately. he didn’t even have to ask. he plants a kiss along your inner thighs, pushing them nearer to your chest. he doesn’t bite or suck; he’s just so gentle.

you squeak as he hikes your skirt up, face flushing red the moment his eyes focus on your covered cunt. “is… is this really okay, neuvillette?” you ask meekly. it's embarrassing how wet you got from him just kissing your thighs.

“foolish question,” he replies. while he understands it's your first time showing yourself to anyone, there’s no need to be embarrassedー not in front of him. he slides your underwear off, your glistening pussy on display. all for him to see, and taste. his thumb slides up your folds, collecting some of your stickiness. he has to have you.

you let out a gasp as his tongue settles onto your pussy for the first time, the warm muscle making you clamp your thighs around his head instantly. fuck, what was this feeling? he barely even made any movements, but you already feel like you’re on cloud 9. he flicks his tongue against your cunt, lapping up all the juices.

he sucks on your clit occasionally, making your whole body twist in pleasure. your thighs were clamped so tight around him, you thought you were suffocating himー not that he minded. “fuuuck, neuvillette,” you whined as he sucked particularly hard. his tongue experimentally dips into your hole, and you throw your head back. you felt tight even on his tongue; the confirmation that no one else has fucked your little hole just made his cock twitch.

neuvillette tongue-fucks you through the entire session, spreading your lips apart to get a better taste of you. he couldn’t stop himself; you tasted amazing. no other taste could satisfy him after this, he’ll need to eat you out everyday to feel fulfilled. “you taste absolutely divine,” he breaks away for a few seconds, before diving back in to taste your cunt once again.

he was addicted. you couldn’t help but feel something approaching, almost like you needed to pee. “waitー ahhー i feel weird,” you tell him, but he continues eating you out. he knew how close you were, and he wants to edge you so bad. just to tease you a littleー take the orgasm right out of your hands. but he won’t, not this timeー not your first time. he’ll let you enjoy every single moment of it. you deserve it after all.

“neuviー please, waitー fuck!” your legs shook as you reached your high, clenching onto his tongue and juices gushed out of you like a waterfall. your breaths quicken as he continues his movements, cleaning up every last bit of your cum. you taste so sweet, he would never get tired of it. in fact, he’s already planning to invite you to his office tomorrow; just so he can savor you once more. and maybe the day after. and after.

he finally pulls away, lips and chin glossy from your wetness. you take in the sight in front of you, and you blush. “so that’s what an orgasm feels like…” you trail off, and he wipes your juices off his face with the back of his hand.

“it felt good, yes?” he questions, standing up.

the erection in his pants was so obvious. you saw the outline of his cockー it looked like it was going to burst out of his pants from how hard he was. you blinked a couple of times as he handed you back your underwear. you were a little dizzy from how powerful that orgasm was, you don’t even notice him giving it to you. all you could focus on was how turned on you were from him getting hard from eating you out. your hole clenches around nothing, as you chewed on your lip. perhaps… you needed something inside of you.

“are you alright, y/n? you seem a bitー”

“can we…”

what?

oh, oh no. he knows what you’re going to say; he knows exactly what you’re going to ask for. thoughts are racing through his mind because he’s been thinking about this ever since the day you gave him a blowjob. he can’t allow himself to take your virginity, not here, not now. you’re barely ready to take anything inside of you, much less his cock. do you even know how big he is? oh, of course you didー so why are you asking this of him? he might tear you apart with that fat cock of his, and he definitely does not want to hurt you. and defiling you in his office? no, he’ll do it on his bed where you’re comfortable.

“…can we have sex?”

his eyes widened, thoughts doing a 180-degree flip when he hears those words come out of your mouth. it feels more surreal when you actually say it, when you actually ask him. he might’ve expected it, but that tone you asked it in was definitely… something. you asked so sweetly, it would be a crime to say no to you. someone as powerful as him, being so weak for you was something he’d never imagine would happen.

maybe he should really start thinking with his head instead of his dick; he’s so hard. he’d be a fool to not take your offer. to feel your cunt squeeze around him the moment his tip prods at your entrance, you’d probably whine and cry out from how big he was, nails clawing his back exactly the way he likes it. fuck, how tight you’d feel as he slowly inserts more of himself into you. would you even be able to take his entire length? it doesn’t matterー he’ll stretch you till you’re able to, till you can handle all of him.

but he knows better than to give into his desires so easily… right?

“i…” neuvillette is at a loss for words. he’s already too far in, its best that he stops at eating you out. but his dick is twitching in his pants, and your hands are reaching towards his beltー

“y/n,” he calls out, and you stop. “maybe… maybe not this time.” heavy emphasis on the word ‘maybe’, because any little thing you do might just change his mindー he’s that weak.

“why?” you pout, disappointment written on your face. your hand retracts, and he looks away. “you don’t want to fuck me?”

god, you… you and your vulgar words. so bluntly said as if you weren’t just embarrassed a while ago. you really think that he doesn’t want to fuck your brains out? “it's not that, love. it's just…”

“i can take it, if that’s what you’re worried about,” you smile, and he swore his heart started beating a little faster. it's silent, and you try again, hands reaching for his pants.

he doesn’t stop you this time.

your hands are already halfway through with unbuckling his belt, and you plead once more for any confirmation from him. “please, neuvillette? take my first?”

“fuck, alrightー okay,” he says breathlessly, his hands moving yours away as he unbuckles his own belt. he couldn’t take it, not when you were begging so nicely. it just shows again how hard it was to say no to you. he might give you everything you’ve ever wanted if you just asked.

“but you have to promise me,” neuvillette starts, unbuttoning and pulling off his clothes. “if i make you feel any discomfort, please voice itー”

his sentence gets cut short as you pull him down for a kiss. sometimes he just talks too much, you think. it was sloppy, tongues intertwining as he pushed you onto the sofa, crawling on top of you.

he breaks away from the kiss, hands hastily taking off your top. he pulls down your bra as he gets a glimpse of your bare tits. kisses work their way down your neck and onto your nipples, sucking and fondling each tit. you let out a moan when his hands slide down to your hips, pulling your skirt off.

“you are the most beautiful woman i’ve ever laid my eyes on,” he compliments, giving you a kiss on the forehead. your cheeks heat up. “really?”

“you think i, the chief of justice, would lie to you?” he asks, and you roll your eyes. he frees his cock from the constraint of his pants, and he presents himself, hard and erect all for you. he lets your hand roam around his body, finally landing on his cock. you give it a few experimental strokes, making him sigh. small drops of pre-cum leak out from the tip.

no matter how intimidated you were by his size, you were determined to take it. no way were you leaving tonight without your virginity taken.

he spreads your legs apart, sticking two fingers into your mouth. “suck,” he instructs, and you do. your tongue licks around his fingers, coating them fully with your saliva before he takes them out. one finger is inserted into you with no resistance, and he tries with a second one.

you moan at the pleasure as he pumps his digits into you, your wetness making it so easy to slide in and out. were you that turned on? it felt weird at first, but you got used to it quickly. it didn’t hurt or anything, but you definitely felt him stretching you out. he feels how tight you are, clenching around his fingers like you didn’t want him to take it out. but you did want something moreー this didn’t fill you up enough. “how do you feel, y/n?”

you hummed in response. “mm, it's not enough. i want something bigger,” you respond, and he takes his fingers out. he pops them into his mouth, tasting your sweetness once more. “i’ll give it to you. i’ll give you everythingー anything.”

he swallows as he lines his cock up with your entrance, seeing how big he was compared to your pussy. fuck, he might really tear you open. he spreads your pussy open with two fingers, his cock rubbing against your folds. “are you ready? take a deep breath for me.”

you heed his advice, nodding as you inhaled. he rubs his cock-head against your entrance a few more times, before he finally pushes the tip in.

you moan immediately, feeling the stretch of his cock. oh, he was big alright. it was only the tip, but you felt like he was going to split you in half. “so… mmhー big…”

its taking everything in him to not cum right now.

his head was spinning, it felt like he was in another world. he really just took your virginity, he really just deflowered you. did he even deserve this opportunity, to be your first? decades of not fucking anyone really heightened every feeling. you were so tight, he could barely move. you clenching around his fingers prior was nothing compared to this. his fingers on your waist grip harder, and he has to stop himself from even attempting to push his cock in any further or else he might really spill his load inside you.

“neuvillette? iー i said you can move,” you repeat. he must’ve not heard you. after all, his mind went blank the moment he pushed his tip inside of you.

“just a moment,” he clears his throat, panting as he dips his head into your neck. so this was what he has been missing out on? he might become addicted, and it's just the tip that's in you.

“you feel so good, fuck, i…” he mutters into your neck, slowly pushing more of his inches inside of you. you whine, hands wrapping around his neck. you have no idea how bad he wants to slam his entire length into you right now, but he stops himself. you felt so full, so fucked out, you could barely form a sentence. his cock was already hitting your cervix, but it still wasn’t all the way in.

“how are you feeling? tell me,” he demands, and you struggle to let out any words. “goodー great, i don’t know, please,” you mindlessly babble. you don’t even know what you’re saying ‘please’ to.

neuvillette starts painfully slow, dragging his cock in and out of you to let you get used to the feeling. the stretch was amazingー you didn’t know having a cock inside of you felt this good. it stung a little, but nothing too painful that you couldn’t handle.

he eventually picks up the pace, going faster once he sees that you’re starting to ease up. “want it faster?” he asks, and you nod eagerly. you could take it, and you wanted to feel all of him.

he throws both your legs over his shoulders, pressing them against your chest as he drills his cock into your tight cunt. the feeling of you clenching around him each time he thrusts into you has him feeling drunk. he fucks you so hard, yet so gentle at the same time; it doesn’t seem possible, but somehow it is.

your nails dig into his arms as he continuously pounds his cock into your hole. you’re ruined, and he likes it that way. the face you’re making right now has him groaning out. he doesn’t care that he’s in the officeー doesn’t care if anyone walks by and hears both of you moaning. you feel so fucking good around his cock, none of that mattered.

“y/n, you’re so tight,” he hisses, your pussy clamping onto him like a vice grip. he leans down to kiss you again, fucking into you harder.

you moan into the kiss, hands pulling at his hair when his cock hits a particularly pleasurable spot. he can’t lie, pulling on his hair makes his balls tighten. “so good…” you drool, and he smiles.

you couldn’t think about anything else but the way neuvillette’s cock was slamming into you so roughly. you could barely respond. it's like he was craving for this, like he was depriving himself all this time just for this moment. you felt your orgasm coming much faster than the first time.

“i’m gonna cumー neuvillette, ahh,” you moan, and his hands immediately reach down to rub at your clit. “yeah? enjoying yourself that much?” he teases, and you whine in response, and he pounds into you harder. you’re so close, so close…

“fuck!” you almost screamed out as your orgasm hit you. you see nothing but stars as your pussy clenches on his cock impossibly tighter than before, your eyes rolling back from the amount of pleasure that just washed over you.

“ohー fuck, y/n, this is…” his hip stutters at the sensation, warmth and wetness drenching his cock. you pant as he continues fucking into you, still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm. he was chasing his own high too.

he needs to cum inside you, he won’t settle for anywhere else. he wants to see you squirm as his warm cum fills your insides. he wants to see that white ring of cum form around the base of his cock, watch it all leak out after as he struggles to stuff it back into you.

“let me cum inside of you, please, y/n,” he begs, and who were you to say no? the iudex of fontaine begging you? you’ll gladly allow him. you were planning on letting him even if he didn’t ask. “do it, i’m all yours, neuvillette.”

hearing those words were his final straw. “take it, fuckー take it all, oh,” he halts with one last thrust, dumping his load into you. white, milky cum fill your insides, warmth spreading throughout your lower half as you moan at the feeling. it almost felt comforting.

he continues depositing his cum inside your cunt, panting. he didn’t think he would cum this much, was he really that deprived of pleasure? he sees his cum leak from your cunt even though you’re stuffed full of him.

“my love,” he calls, caressing your cheek, and a peck to your forehead. you shy away. “you.. you really need to stop calling me that.”

he raises his eyebrows. did you not like that? but he’s been calling you that all this time…

“before i ask whyー are you alright? i didn’t hurt you, did i?” he asks, concerned. you giggle, he’s always so caring. as expected of neuvillette.

“yes, i’m fineー great even,” you smile, and his expression softens at the assurance. “good.”

“just that… should you really be calling me that? i mean, i don’t hate it, if anything its the opposite, but,” you clear your throat. “we’re not even… together. unless its just, a one time thingー or something like that.”

“i understand,” he says, and you make eye contact with him. he looks gorgeous, covered in sweat but absolutely glowing. ah, focus. “my apologies for confusing you, but i do have intentions of courting you.”

oh?

“you do?” you ask, and he can’t help but laugh. “are you saying you haven’t seen the way i look at you, y/n? and whatever we’re doing now is… i wouldn’t do this with someone i didn’t have feelings for.”

you hum. “i mean, you haven’t exactly made a move, unless you consider this one?”

“well, this is slightly backwards, but tell you what,” he starts, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “come home with me, and i’ll plan something for the both of us in the morning,” he whispers into your ear like it's a secret. “how does that sound?”

“i… think that sounds lovely.”

ー @yuki-world

taglist: @lavenderslemonade

#雪| 那维莱特 neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #neuvillette smut #genshin #genshin impact #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #neuvillette x reader smut

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metranart · 7 months ago

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“May-may I give you a kiss?” You asked, timidly and noticing his bemused expression, corrected. “...As a way of thanking you.... for saving me....”

Hawks x UA Student! Reader (Part 2)

- Warning tag: obsessed! Hawks, possessive! Hawks, naive! student reader, violation of trust, dubious consent, mating cycles, rut response, obsessive behavior, uncontrollable thirst for reader, manipulation, forced, thigh riding, hormonal minds out of control, sexual content, first time, cock riding, teenage fuck, Dabi's toxically interested in you, Bakugo bestie yet secretly inlove with you, love confessions, cock-drunk, Hawks trying to be good but failing miserably, gaslighting, HEAVY plot, lots of smut. -

“May-may I give you a kiss?” You asked, timidly and noticing his bemused expression, corrected. “...As a way of thanking you.... for saving me....”

Your timid request took him by surprise momentarily, but soon his features regain his cool, and was quick to nod to then leant down. A kiss on the cheek, Keigo thought it to be innocent enough, not a usual request, nevertheless, a simple one. If this put you to rest, he'll humor you. Keigo was cocking his head for you to place your sweet lips.... it's now or never, you breathed deeply.... if you were going to use your quirk, now was the moment.

Two slender hands perched in each side of the Hero´s face and in a firm, straight movement, you cocked his face in your direction, surprise registered in his face, and his golden orbs popped open at the feeling of your lips locking with his.

Bold, The Winged Hero thought pleasantly amused, this girl had a savage side to her… the timid, quivering student was gone for sure, and a determined one took its place. Hawks felt a light wave of energy spread inside him, as sudden as the kiss itself realized was taking him more than it should to hold himself back. Doubtfully, snaking your arms around his neck, the hero closed the distance for your warm body to hang easily from him, when two strong arms help you by holding your waist, Keigo didn’t dare to break the kiss even when his mind screamed for him to do it. The commission is going to be pissed.

The little lip lock began to grow intimate and you were out in the open, not that he actually cared about those things, even so, a red alert fired up inside his head when you moaned into his eager lips, the exact moment his advantageous hand slipped just a thad under your UA school uniform skirt, as in trouble ahead.... you are fondling an underage school girl in a hidden alleyway like a common PERVERT. Stop! his mind nagged at him, and you felt him disentangle his hand, but quickly, you prevented it.

Shocked, groaned at your refusal to then settle back into a cool demeanor. Hawks hummed softly with a hint of a smile; his good sense precariously bruised.

“...Let´s stop, little one...” Keigo chuckled in between kisses, unconsciously massaging your hips with his thumbs. “I’m gonna get...in so, so much trouble–” he huffed a laugh. You were so tiny compare to him, but, then again, most people were small compare to him.

“I´m- I'm trying to help.” You attempted to apologize, but he merely snorted. “–By taking off my hands my hero license?” He attempted a joke; your reply wasn’t what he expected.

“S-sorry about this-”

You mumbled, and groaned, remembering that the touch needed to be more intimate for your quirk to work properly, and let your lips devour his desperately, but the touch was so inexpert that your quirk seemed still ineffective, all your efforts only flushing your skin and cheeks making it burn bright like the setting sun. Or perhaps it was the embarrassing knowledge that you were going to have to basically sexually assault the hero number two for this to actually work...

Be brave and do it already! You chastised, and in an act that not even you thought would be capable of doing, you pushed your breast into his hand, easing his strong fingers around your own to help him have a nice handful, his hand instinctively squeezed the plump flesh, and then you felt the unmistakable pull he did trying to gently scramble away, but you refused to let him go.

His golden eyes opened wide, astonished by your unmeasured actions and the very welcoming way his body was reacting, this was not usual for him...he had control...except when...

“Surrender, Hawks–” You begged, reaching down a hand to without his permission, began to pull at his belt.

The power of your quirk started to take effect the closer you got, and for the first time Keigo began to feel disoriented, sickly warm and dangerously possessive.... fear enveloped the young Hero....this was too similar to his rut, but it was weeks away for that to happen.

"What are… what are you doing-...to me...." he stressed, biting down a moan, and finally finding enough strength, broke the sloppy kiss by taking a step away. A string of saliva the only thing left connecting each other.

“Helping you.” You promised, one hand searched for his arm, clawing, trying to pull him back to you. "The discomfort will vanish when you surrender...."

A painful throbbing inside his head began to blind him almost becoming numbing, the more he tried to stay away from you. “Surrender~” Your tender voice, suggested again and huskily groaning, the Hero ended up allowing you to draw him back into your welcome embrace.

Immediately, you shushed him, balancing on your tip toes to cradle his head to your neck despite the difference in heights. Hawks made himself comfortable in matter of seconds, curling against you, body suffering from incontrollable fits of goosebumps as he straightened again, for his eyes to lock on yours.

Those two pools of liquid honey shone like molten gold. Round orbs igniting at finding not an ounce of resistance from you, instead, you openly desired him–according to him.

The lack of control from your quirk can have adverse results on the wounded, especially on persons who have animal traits ... don't use it at that level until you are one hundred percent sure you can master it... You heard Recovery girl's warning in your mind once again, and soon your whole attention shifted to the feeling of Hawks splaying a hand on the middle of your back, perfect pressure, authoritative, the other gripping you tight and then, the hero hauled you into the darkest part of the alley.

You let him, leant against his chest, enjoying the sensation of being held so close by someone you admired so much. The thrill of feeling wanted by him was somehow intoxicating, not to mention, superbly new to you.

Golden locks fell over his eyes, jacket unbuttoned and disheveled. Light and shadow dancing across his face in a manner that made him look devilish. Not wasting another second, he aimed for your lips, yet his lips only brushed your temple since you cocked your head away. The Hero hesitated with a low chuckle, keeping his proximity.

It had been a moment of weakness on your part, nevertheless, you knew that once you had started the process, you must finish it. This was too new for you; you've never had a boyfriend before but that didn't mean you've never kissed or touched a guy, while enjoying of a drunken stupor. After all, you were already in second year at UA Academy, a year away from becoming a full-fledged professional.

You were the most belated in your entire class, since you had a complicated quirk, but the support of your friends was so unconditional that you had never felt judged. You had frozen against that Nomus but now it was different, this time, you would act accordingly and fulfill your mission. Hawks was going to leave that alley without a single injury to his body.

“Hawks–” You didn't have to tell him or even finish the request, when he rushed over you to diligently press his lips with yours, and holy shit! This must be how it feels to be with someone experienced. This was completely different from what you were doing minutes ago, this time you felt yourself melt into his warm and strong body while he softly brushed your lips against his, breathing reverence into your lungs like you were his person, his girl, his ultimate and most sacred individual in the entire universe. Now, his wandering touch seemed to be cupping your breast by his own will, tongue lapping at the trails of your cherry lipstick like a mad man.

Letting him do with you whatever the fuck he wanted and how he wanted, while you indiscriminately released more of your energy for his wounds to absorb like a dry sponge.

“That’s it. That’s a good girl.” The winged hero cooed, hearing you moan, and he grinned wickedly caressing your waist to pull you closer against him, no gaps this time. He wanted you to feel him above the clothes, his dick was hard. Painfully, fucking hard against you.

“I think you’re so pretty.” He blurted out, looking straight into your half-lidded orbs. Your eyes widened and you felt your throat dry.

How you hated this part... the ovations of your beauty, unsolicited declarations of love, the intensity in the victim's gaze while your quirk made them believe you were a real life, Angel. It was all very uncomfortable for you, not knowing if these words hid a bit of truth or were just a byproduct of the situation.

“I think-….I.....” Part of you wanted to swallow the plain lie coming out of his shiny lips, but you knew the nature of your quirk, all too well, and letting yourself be fooled would be stupid. “I think you’re being highly influenced by my quirk.” You quipped back, making emphasis in the word highly.

Clinging to his solid figure, your feet left the ground, and his feathers sharpened. Like a predator ready to attack its prey. A subconscious, trained part of him, kept resisting, stabbing himself in the back to gain some control back, but it was so fucking hard.

After a couple of groaning swears, and him smearing against you more like a cat than a Hawk, the blonde managed to unwrap himself from you a few centimeters, like he couldn't stand to be away for even a second and breathed his next words against the edge of your jaw.

“I’m not sure what’s going on... but I nee-d....I need–I need you to RUN...” Keigo swallowed hard, breathing through his nose to keep composed. Even your natural smell was affecting him, you could literally feel the shape and girth of his cock as it jumped in his pants, firmly pressed against your tummy.

“No need,” You breathed out, giving him a tight smile, “I can handle you.” You promised, leaning forward, only for him to lean back.

A condescending chuckle followed. “You have no idea how to handle a predator, kid... So, do as I fucking say...” The way his gaze sharpened, actually send goosebumps down your legs, even so, you knew you needed to finish the loop, or everything would be in vain.

So, instead of hearing his helpful advice, you draw near.

“God fucking damn it.” His voice sounded strain; lips set in a tight line. What the hell!? Didn't you see the danger you were in?! His wings were standing on end and menacing, shuddering with a rush of adrenaline from just imagining pushing you against the wall and having his way with you.

Tears would fall down your face, yet he would not care because would be driven by instinct, raw and basic, predatory instinct. He would tear your AU uniform with his sharp feathers and sully your soft skin with hickeys and bites, making sure you came at least twice to make you slippery and ready to sheath him, properly, he didn’t want to break you, not yet he liked to play with his prey before putting it on his knees and wreck its world apart. Hawks was sure you were a virgin, so it wouldn't be hard.

Once he had you trembling and begging, would fuck you with all his might and continue until you passed out, cumming inside you over and over again until you overflowed with his essence, and then would take you to his penthouse where he would keep you, marking you as his precious mate, for life.

“Kid, I won't be able to ask you again...” he said, flushed cheeks making him look almost feverish “but if you don't leave now... you will never be able to do so again...." He made a meaningful pause, “...that I swear."

Hawks' breathing came heavy, it felt awfully hot against your sweaty skin. The ragging spring wasn’t making any of this easier.

“Don´t worry...-it´s my...my quirk speaking....” You mewled, way too sure of your words, “we can-we can...continue until you are fully...fully healed–….” there was no response from him, only the sound of heavy breathing hitting against your warm cheek, “...Hawks?”

At what point did the hero stopped understanding what you were saying? He wasn’t sure, or maybe, just stop caring? At some level, Hawks just stopped fighting the nagging inside his brain and let his instinct take the wheel. Just for a minute, he wanted to let the animal out. Just a few seconds before taming it back into its cage. So, he let his rut take over him. You said you could handle him, right?

“Tell me,” Hawks’ voice sounded deeper, raspier almost feral, as it you were facing a darker self of the same man, and the next words that came out of his mouth made you realize how affected he was, for you have never EVER, had such a raw response. “...May I fuck you as your way of thanking me for saving you?”

COMING SOON PART 3....

⬇⬇ NSFW ART of this story and more MHA NSFW artwork: ⬇⬇

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schemmentigfs · 1 month ago

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Sweetening The Deal. (part 4.)

Summary: you learn more about the mysterious fiery redhead and things start to change..

Tags: @lisaannwaltersbra @italianaidiota @greencurlyhair @schmentisgf @dopenightmaretyphoon @pitstopsapphic

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

Next Chapter.

Settling into the passenger seat of Melissa’s sleek car, you tried to calm the flutter in your chest. The entire morning felt surreal—first being invited to stay in her luxurious penthouse, then getting a full tour of her space, and now… a personal shopping trip with Melissa Schemmenti herself deciding everything for your upcoming change of pace on life. You cast a shy glance her way as she adjusted her orange sunglasses, already focused on the road with that steady, unruffled confidence that always seemed to surround her.

Seconds later, the engine hummed to life as she pulled out onto the streets of Center City Philadelphia. The redhead woman had one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the center console, close enough that you could almost—almost—reach out and take it.

But you didn’t. The fear was too strong.

The drive was smooth, and for a moment, the silence between you felt almost too comfortable. You stole another glance at her as she focused on the traffic, her olive eyes hidden behind those pairs of designer sunglasses. She looked so effortless, so polished. Every detail about her—her crisp, tailored blazer, the way her auburn hair caught the sunlight—seemed intimidatingly perfect. You fidgeted with your hands, unsure of how to break the silence.

You hadn’t expected to feel so nervous. After all, you were just on your way to the mall to pick up a few things. It wasn’t a big deal. But the truth was, ever since that dream—that pornographic dream—you hadn’t been able to look at her the same way. You wouldn’t. You’d never told her about it. It was too embarrassing, too raw. She didn’t need to know, not when things between you two had been just fine as it should be. Right?

The images were still too vivid in your mind. The way her grunts sounded in your ear, the soft pressure of her lips against your skin while her hands had gripped you, steady and strong, the feel of her clit sliding against yours. And then, somehow, that moment had shifted—becoming more intense, more dangerous. The vivid image of Melissa in her bedroom, her pale body stretched out in front of you, her ass glowing under the dim lighting of the room. You tried to suppress the memory, but it lingered like an unwanted guest, haunting you every time you tried to look at her.

The silence stretched on, and finally, you cleared your throat, gathering the nerve to ask her something, anything at all, that might distract you from the thoughts that haunted and terrorized you.

“So… what do you do for living?” you asked, your voice soft but hopeful. “When you were on your way to my apartment complex, you said something about meetings?”

Her fingers curled slightly around the wheel as she gave you a quick glance, just a flicker behind those sunglasses, before returning her attention to the road. “You’re looking at it,” she said, her voice clipped and cold, as if the answer should have been obvious. “When I’m not being some bratty kid’s sugar mama, I work in real estate. I manage a few properties. Very high-end stuff.”

“Oh, that’s—” you trailed off, unsure if you’d be bothering her by asking more and honestly, you felt a bit annoyed by the way she referred to you as a brat. Her responses were so curt, almost as if she was reluctant to share even the basics, and still here she was, driving you around, letting you stay in her penthouse, arranging this shopping trip. “Cool..”

“If you say so... I guess that’s one way to put it,” she sighed quietly.

You took another deep breath, hoping to calm your nerves, and tried again. “What about… hobbies? Do you have any of ‘em?”

Melissa snorted, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I got hobbies.” She paused, glancing your way briefly before continuing in a tone that seemed half-reluctant. “I like to smoke. Cigars, mostly. Relaxing as hell after dealing with some motherfuckers at business meetings. And, uh, I watch Real Housewives sometimes. It’s a guilty pleasure, alright?” She smirked, but you could tell there was no real embarrassment there. She wore her quirks with confidence, her own unique brand of unapologetic pride.

“We all have guilty pleasures, Schemmenti,” you pointed out, feeling more comfortable. “What else?”

“I go to church sometimes,” the redhead added, softening a bit, turning distant. “Not every week, but, y’know… enough.” Her words seemed to falter, like there was something there she wasn’t quite saying. She swallowed, adjusting her sunglasses as she spoke, her tone strangely vulnerable. “Goin’ there, it helps me… forgive. Or try to, anyway.” She let out a small, humorless laugh, as if forgiveness wasn’t exactly something she found easy to come by.

The shift in her tone made your chest tighten. You wanted to ask what Melissa Schemmenti needed to forgive—or whom—but something in the features stopped you. Instead, you just nodded, letting her know you were listening, taking in each layer of herself she offered, even if she didn’t realize it.

And then, just as quickly as it had started, she fell silent. Her words ceased, and the hum of the road filled the gap. It was as if the conversation had taken a sudden detour, one that left you both in the moment of reflection. You could see her green eyes flicker to the rearview mirror, not really looking at anything but maybe thinking about everything.

She shifted in her seat, straightening her posture a little, but there was something new in her body language—a subtle withdrawal, almost like she was pulling back from herself. It was an instinct you knew too well, the way people guarded themselves after they’d shared something too raw. Melissa was never one to open up lightly. But now she seemed to be processing something else, something she hadn’t said yet. You wanted to reach out, to break the silence, but you hesitated. Something in the stillness of the moment felt important.

You couldn’t help but notice the way her hands tightened around the wheel, the tension in her shoulders, and the soft furrow between her brows. Her reflection in the mirror showed someone more guarded than she’d been a moment ago, as if the vulnerability she’d offered just a moment ago had been too much to bear. It wasn’t just her words she’d closed off—it was her entire presence.

Melissa didn’t speak again, but you felt it—the shift. And you couldn’t help but wonder what had caused it, what hidden part of her she was wrestling with now.

You glanced out the window, trying to steady your thoughts as the car moved through the city streets. As you sat there, trying to distract yourself from the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in your mind, another thought crept in—one you hadn’t dared to voice. You hadn't really thought about it until now, but the more you focused on the silence between you, the more you realized that you'd never seen much of the Schemmentis around.

Her penthouse was immaculate—every surface polished, every corner filled with the sharp edges of modern luxury—but there were hardly any family pictures, no casual snapshots of her childhood or moments with relatives. Sure, there were photos of friends, some from vacations or casual nights out, but when it came to her family, it was almost like a void. That lack of familial presence was... strange, especially considering how many photos of her with some of the Schemmentis were across the internet.

You found yourself wanting to ask, but hesitation gnawed at you. Was it inappropriate to ask about her family? Did it make her uncomfortable? You tried to imagine how she’d respond—whether she’d offer an easy, casual answer or if it would send her retreating into that unapproachable shell she sometimes slipped into. Maybe she didn't want to talk about them, and maybe you shouldn't pry.

But you couldn’t help it. Curiosity gnawed at you like an itch you couldn’t scratch. You wanted to know more about the redhead—the parts of her life she hadn’t yet shared, the side of her that wasn’t just the successful, confident woman you’d come to know.

The absence of family mementos seemed deliberate, almost as if she were keeping her history behind some invisible line you weren’t allowed to cross. You’d heard her mention her family here and there during one of your meetings to arrange your sugar mommy deal—her Italian heritage—but nothing in detail. And the one time she had let something slip, she’d quickly clammed up, her face shifting to that same, unreadable mask she wore now.

But why?

Did she have siblings? Were her parents close? Had she grown up in a family like the one she’d created for herself—one that seemed full of strength, but also a quiet kind of distance?

You turned your gaze out the window again, pretending to focus on the passing scenery, but your mind raced through all the questions you couldn’t ask. The truth was, there was something deeply personal about the idea of her family—or lack of it—that had piqued your interest more than you were comfortable admitting.

What kind of upbringing had made her the way she was? And why had she chosen to leave so little of that behind in her penthouse? Your thoughts spiraled, pulling you deeper into that place of uncertainty and wonder, your chest tightening as you realized just how much you wanted to know.

You felt guilty for even thinking about asking. It wasn't like you had any right to her history, and maybe it wasn’t fair to put her on the spot like that. So you kept quiet, watching her as she drove, her face set and unreadable.

Still, the curiosity lingered.

“Melissa,” you started again, your voice softer than you intended. “You mentioned Pearl earlier. I didn’t realize she’d been around that long.”

“Yeah, she’s been a part of the family for years. Practically helped raise us—me and my siblings. Eight siblings, yeah. Big Italian family—South Philly’s finest.”

You nodded, glancing down to your lap to avoid her gaze. “Eight siblings… that’s a lot. Must’ve been a full house.”

Melissa let out a soft scoff. “You could say that. It was chaos, pure and simple. We weren’t exactly living in luxury back then. Half of us had to share a room.”

The idea surprised you, though you supposed it shouldn’t have. The woman beside you was successful now, living in a penthouse and offering you a fresh start, but she hadn’t always been here. You couldn’t imagine her any other way, though—fierce, determined, always in control. It was… comforting. Attractive, even.

You bit your lip, realizing you were staring, and quickly turned your gaze back to the road ahead. “I guess it taught you to be tough?”

She chuckled, though there wasn’t much warmth in it. “You don’t survive in a house like that without learning a thing or two.” She paused, then cast you a quick look, her expression softening just a fraction. “I don’t talk about my family much, you know. Or my fuckin’ past.”

Her honesty caught you off guard, and you felt a strange sense of privilege knowing she was sharing even this much with you. “Thank you for sharing,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Melissa waved it off as if it were nothing, but the way she looked at you made your heart skip. “Enough about me,” she scoffed, her tone firm but not unkind. “Today’s about you. We’re going to get you set up properly—starting with a wardrobe overhaul.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, though your cheeks felt warm. “I don’t think I need that much—”

Green eyes shot you a look, one brow raised. “I’m not taking no for an answer, brat. You’re with me now, so we’re doing this my way.” She glanced at you again, her lips quirking into a smirk. “Besides, I like spoiling you, you little shit.”

Ignoring the last words, your heart fluttered at the way she said it, so casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And then, before you could think too much about it, she leaned over at a red light and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

You froze, heat flooding your face as her lips lingered for just a second longer than necessary. When she pulled back, her gaze was steady, almost challenging, as if daring you to react. But words seemed to stick in your throat, and all you could do was stare at her, wide-eyed and flustered.

“Cat got your tongue?” Melissa teased pressing a hand on your thighs, the corners of her mouth twitching in amusement.

“N-No, I just… wasn’t expecting that,” you stammered, cursing yourself for sounding so awkward.

“Get used to it, honey. Mama’s got a habit of getting what she wants.”

The rest of the drive passed in a haze, each kiss she placed on your cheek or forehead leaving you breathless and aching to feel her plump lips on yours. You wondered if she could tell, if she noticed the way your hands fidgeted in your lap or the way your gaze kept flickering to her lips when you thought she wasn’t looking. But if she did, she didn’t say a word.

When you finally arrived at the mall, Melissa led you inside with a hand on the small of your back, her presence steady and grounding. You were still a little dazed, still reeling from every soft touch and lingering look she’d given you in the car.

The mall was bustling, but with Melissa by your side, you felt a strange sense of calm. Or maybe it was just that her confidence had a way of rubbing off on you, making you feel like you belonged, like you deserved to be here with her. She guided you through the maze of stores, her hand warm and reassuring on your back, and you tried not to think about how natural it felt, how right.

As you walked, she glanced at you, a thoughtful look in her green eyes. “We’re going to find something that suits you. Something… fitting.” She stopped in front of a high-end boutique, her tongue clicking as she turned to you. “Because from now on, you’re mine. And I want you to look like it.”

Your mouth went dry, and you felt your heart skip a beat at her words. Hers. The idea made your stomach flutter in a way you couldn’t quite describe.

“Y-Yours?” you stammered.

Melissa smirked, looking at you with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction. “That’s right. My property, my rules.” There was an unmistakable edge of possessiveness in her voice, one that left you feeling both nervous and exhilarated.

You swallowed, your cheeks burning as you nodded, unable to find the words to respond. But She didn’t seem to mind. She simply took your hand and led you inside, guiding you through racks of designer clothes with an expert eye.

“What about this?” the redhead prompted, holding up a sleek black dress, her gaze assessing as she looked you over.

You fidgeted, feeling self-conscious under her scrutiny. “It’s… nice.”

Melissa raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your lack of enthusiasm. “Nice isn’t good enough. You’re going to try it on. And a few other things, too.”

Before you could protest, she had already gathered a small pile of clothes and was steering you toward the fitting rooms. Her hand was warm on your back, her presence reassuring even as she pushed you a little out of your comfort zone.

Inside the fitting room, you tried on each piece she’d picked out, feeling more and more like a different person with each outfit. The clothes were sleek, sophisticated, a far cry from the simple, practical pieces you usually wore. But when you looked at yourself in the mirror, you couldn’t help but feel… good. Confident, even.

Melissa seemed to sense it, too. Each time you stepped out to show her an outfit, she looked you up and down with a smile that was equal parts approval and pride. “Now this,” she said, adjusting the collar of a suit you were wearing, her fingers brushing against your collarbone. “This is what I’m talking about.”

Her hand lingered for a moment, her touch sending a thrill through you that left you breathless. And then, without warning, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to your nose, soft and warm against your skin. The act was quick but enough to make you widen your eyes.

“Perfect,” she murmured. “You look perfect.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, and you ducked your head, trying to hide the smile that tugged at your lips. But the Schemmenti woman wasn’t having it. She tipped your chin up with a gentle finger, her gaze intense as she looked at you.

“Don’t hide,” she spoke softly. “I want to see that smile.”

You couldn’t help it; you smiled, a soft, shy smile that felt a little too vulnerable, a little too real. But Melissa just smiled back, her gaze warm and unwavering.

“Good girl,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Now, let’s go pick out some accessories. Can’t have you looking half-done, can we?”

“No, ma'am,”

You followed her out of the fitting room, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nervousness. Each touch, each lingering look left you feeling more and more like you were on the edge of something—something you couldn’t quite name, but something you wanted more than anything. And as you walked by her side, her hand resting on your lower back, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you were already hers in more ways than you could admit.

As you followed Melissa through the boutique, your mind was still buzzing with the strange excitement and nervousness from her words. You had tried on a few outfits by now, each one more elegant and polished than the last. But something about the idea of being hers lingered in the back of your mind, making your pulse race and your hands tremble ever so slightly.

“Let’s check out the lingerie section,” the green eyed woman suggest, smooth and confident as she steered you toward a secluded corner of the store. The racks here were lined with delicate lace, silk, and satin, all in a rainbow of colors. But it was the deep purple set that caught your eye first.

It was beautiful—luxurious and eye-catching, a perfect shade of rich purple with intricate lace detailing, the kind of lingerie that made you feel like you were stepping into a world of indulgence. You reached out for it, running your fingers over the smooth fabric. The soft, luxurious material felt like a secret, something that belonged to you alone.

The older woman noticed your interest right away. Her gaze flickered to the set, then to you, and the corner of her mouth curled into a knowing smirk.

“Like what you see?”

You felt your heart race as you nodded, a small, awkward laugh escaping your lips. “It’s... it’s gorgeous.”

“Good,” she murmured, taking the set from your hands with ease. “I think you’d look perfect in it. And, if I’m being honest, I’m not just buying you clothes... I’m making sure you're well taken care of in every way.”

You swallowed, the intensity in her voice making your stomach flip. You tried to compose yourself, but it wasn’t easy. The idea of her buying you something so intimate felt overwhelming in the best possible way.

Without waiting for you to respond, Melissa walked to the register, the purple lingerie in her hands like it was already meant for you. She turned over her shoulder as she moved, her expression softening. “Don’t worry,” she added, “you’ll wear it for me soon enough.”

“What?”

You couldn’t help but shiver at her words, a heat flooding your body at the thought of her seeing you in it, touching you in it.

At the register, Melissa didn’t hesitate. She handed over the lingerie set along with a few other items, her face unreadable but her eyes glinting with something you couldn’t quite place.

When she came back to you, the shopping bag in hand, she gave you a little wink. “You’re gonna love it. And so will I.”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak. Your mind was still reeling from the intensity of the moment, from the way she made you feel like you were hers in ways you hadn’t even fully understood. The thought of wearing it for her, of being the person she chose to spoil and take care of, sent a jolt through you, and you weren’t sure if it was nervousness, excitement, or something else entirely.

But as Melissa led you back toward the exit of the boutique, her hand once again gently resting on your lower back, you couldn’t help but feel grateful, in awe of her confidence, her ability to make you feel seen and wanted in ways you’d never experienced before.

As you both made your way to the door, the weight of the shopping bags in your hands seemed to make the moment feel heavier, more real. Your nerves, still buzzing, didn't help the heat in your cheeks from all the attention Melissa had been showering on you. You could feel the weight of the purple lingerie in your bag like a secret, a promise, and it made your heart thud in your chest.

But then, as you approached the car, you hesitated. Your fingers clenched around the strap of the bag, and for a moment, you couldn’t tell if you were excited or terrified. You glanced up at her, who was busy unlocking the car, her back to you.

The way she’d spoken earlier, the way she took control, was almost too much to process. And then, as if sensing the shift in your mood, she turned to face you, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in your lost expression.

Her face softened as she noticed the hesitation in your steps, but her voice dropped into something more serious. “What’s wrong? You’ve been quiet since we left the store, sweetheart.”

“I-”

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. You felt as though something was building inside you, a storm of emotions that you couldn’t quite name. The purple lingerie, her touch, the overwhelming sense of being wanted in ways you didn’t know you could be—it was all too much to process.

But before you could speak, Melissa raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a teasing but commanding smirk. Suddenly, she stopped walking. Her hand shot out, gripping your wrist with an unexpected firmness, pulling you gently but decisively toward her.

“Tell me. What are you doing?”

Instead of answering, you stood there, caught between the pull of her touch and the weight of her gaze, knowing that this moment was more than you could handle and yet somehow not wanting it to end.

And just like that, you were left hanging—unsure of what would happen next.

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x y/n #lisa ann walter #abbott elementary #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary fanfiction

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the-witty-pen-name · 1 month ago

Text

Little Glimpses

Igor (Anora) x F! Reader

18+ Only Blog - Minors DNI

Warnings: smoking, alcohol consumption, cursing

Word Count: 2.5k

Notes: I have not been able to stop thinking about this man since I saw Anora. I just had little parts of stories in my head so I compiled them into one thing.

Little glimpses into the reader’s relationship with Igor.

Everything on the table shakes when the train passes by. You press your hand down, gently holding onto the crystal ashtray in front of you to stop it from dancing around. Your eyes feel heavy. So you tilt your head back, and rest them for a moment until the disruption subsides. You take a drag of your cigarette and exhale in the direction of the open window next to you- letting the smoke waft outside your small studio. Once everything stills, the only sound is the comforting tick of the clock above your stove. You take one final puff before dropping your butt into the ashtray. You watch it smolder as it slowly burns out. You need to get ready for your shift.

You hate your uniform. The bright blue polo shirt and the stupid matching visor- fucking stupid. You feel like you look like a moron and you’ve always found it embarrassing. You always took off the dumb thing when your manager went home for the night. No one comes in after midnight ever- the occasional drunk but they don’t care if you’re wearing your visor or not.

On the slow nights you read, or sometimes you’ll watch trashy reality TV on your phone. With your elbows perched on the counter, you flip through your most recent romance novel as the time passes. It’s well past 1am and the bright fluorescent lights buzz above you.

“Uh- $40 pump two, please,” a polite voice breaks your concentration. It makes you jump in surprise and you apologize quickly.

“Shit- uh, fuck sorry,” you fumble, quickly placing the book down, opened to keep your page. You take the cash he hands you as he offers a subtle smile.

“No need for apology,” he expresses, and you can now hear his accent- distinctly Russian, or maybe Armenian? You aren’t sure. His voice is soft and comforting- very kind. You’re immediately more at ease. He reads your name aloud from your name tag. It’s infuriating as much as it’s endearing.

“You’re all set,” you offer, suddenly shy. You pass him the receipt after it is printed. He nods, tucking it into his jacket pocket. You watch him walk back outside, the cold air wafting in as the bell above the door rings.

As he waits by the pump, he catches you watching him through the window of the store. When he meets your eye, he’s amused when you immediately look away- trying to play off like you weren’t looking the whole time. He’s flattered, and he can’t help but smile to himself. He’s not used to any sort of attention- he tends to go by unnoticed in his daily life. He can be intimidating when he tries- out of necessity, but that’s not him.

He’s so pretty, you observe, like James McAvoy you settle on. You avert your attention away for the final time and decide to turn back to your book and do your best to ignore the headache that’s developing under the store’s harsh lights.

It’s one of those passing crushes, at first. The kind like when you fall in love temporarily with a stranger across the grocery store. You play out the whole thing in your head to inevitably never approach them, go home, and let the cycle of daydream continue another day with another stranger.

---

You’re freezing as you stand on the sidewalk in the long line that has now wrapped around the block. Your ankles hurt from the height of your heels but they’re too cute not to wear. Your outfit is far too short and shows far too much skin for the night air, but in your defense- you and your friends didn’t imagine you’d be outside this long. Your entire body is covered in goosebumps as you wrap your arms around yourself to keep warm. Your friend offers you a cigarette which you accept gratefully as she places it in your mouth for you.

“Fuck!” you exclaim frustrated, “Why aren’t they fucking letting anyone in?” You peer over to try to see the front of the line, and you notice people towards the front are trying to reason with the club’s bouncer- who you immediately hate because you resent his hoodie and puffer jacket he wears to brace the cold. You think about how the moment you can step foot in, you’re making a beeline to the bar and getting a shot to warm up.

Someone, probably a promoter or something, emerges from the inside. He says something to the bouncer, you’re too far away to hear. The bouncer nods, and the guy starts walking down the line. He looks at the groups who are waiting, and he gestures to a few groups of just girls- you and your friends included- and ushers you all inside. You’re too elated to care as he’s saying something about needing to up the ratio of men to women blah blah blah. You quickly stomp out your cigarette and all you can think about is warming up.

You link arms with two of your friends as you head towards the inside, scurrying excitedly to get out of the cold. The bouncer nods to each group as they enter, but puts up an arm to stop you and your friends. “IDs,” he says, and you swear his voice sounds so familiar.

“C’mon man, we’re cold as shit,” your friend complains, letting go of your arm to retrieve her ID from her clutch. Looking in his direction, you immediately recognize him from the other day- the customer from your overnight shift. You aren’t sure if he would recognize you, you're positive you put more thought into the whole interaction than he did. You make eye contact and you swear for a moment he wants to say something, but he just stares. Realizing you decided to go without a bag, you bite your lip and mutter a silent “shit” as you need to pull your ID from your bra to hand to him. He says nothing, just nervously licks his lips as he takes your license.

“Thanks,” he says, handing them back. Your friends huff, and drag you inside. Your eyes linger on him as they pull you and you both watch each other until you disappear from view.

A remix of Von dutch is playing so loud and the club is packed. It’s completely dark except for the raving strobe lights that are synced to the beat of the music. You can’t hear anything over the screams of Addison Rae as your friends get a round of shots. You happily accept, tilting your head back. The burn is such a welcomed sensation to your freezing body. You let the crowd dictate where your body moves, letting yourself start to let loose.

A couple of hours later, you’re more than ready to get out of there. It was fun, but your friends have mostly paired off with men and you’re anticipating that soon they’ll be roping them into wherever the group decides to go next. You aren’t in the mood for another night of splitting a cab with one of your friends and whatever guy is going back to their place. You don’t need the reminder that amongst the group, you’re never the one getting the guy, you think pessimistically. You text your friends, lying about an early shift, and let them know you’re getting an Uber.

Standing outside, you’re freezing again, and it’s almost worse now that your body has been so acclimated to the warmth inside. You lean against the brick building and cross your arms over your chest in an attempt to warm yourself up.

“Here,” you hear him say, and you look up surprised, not realizing he was there. He offers you his jacket for you to take. “You need,” he insists. You offer a thankful smile and slip it over your shoulders. It smells like woodsy cologne and cigarettes. The warmth engulfs you and you swaddle yourself into the warm fabric.

“Thank you,” you say shyly. He nods and puts his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie. He pulls out a small pack of pre-rolls, and offers one to you. You accept and hold it between your fingers as he lights it for you.

“You probably don’t fucking remember me, but like, I think you got gas the other night at the uh place I work-”

“I remember.”

“Oh, okay-”

“You were reading a book and then what’s the word ‘ogled’ me? You ‘ogled’ me when you thought I wasn’t looking,” he teased.

“I was not ogling you!” you scoff, defensive. You can feel how warm your face is from his accusation. “It’s my job to make sure dumbasses aren’t gonna blow themselves up at the pump. It was purely a safety measure,” you lie obviously, making him laugh.

“Whatever you say,” he responds with a sly smile. You see a car start to pull up. Reluctantly, you unwrap yourself from his jacket and hand it back to him.

“Uh, that’s my Uber,” you explain and you swear he looks disappointed. He nods, accepting his jacket back.

“Can I call you?” he asks as the black sedan pulls up to the curb. You nod enthusiastically. He hands you his phone and you quickly text yourself.

“Uh that’s me,” you explain dumbly, cringing because duh. He just smiles, and it’s painfully sincere. You slide into the backseat of the car, and you can feel your phone buzz with a notification before you even finish putting on your seatbelt.

My name is Igor

---

You’re sitting on your couch as you lick the rolling paper to finish off your joint. A metal tv tray rests over your lap acting as your work station. You admire your work and then pass it to Igor, who accepts it without a word. You move the tray table to the floor so you can get comfortable, and you lean into his side as he lights the joint. The two of you share it, passing it back and forth between each other as your eyes are both focused on the TV.

It’s been a few weeks and your relationship with Igor has gone on undefined. Lines have been blurred and you can’t pin point if it’s the substances that are in your systems or if it’s just that when you’re with him, time feels like it stops- a hangout stretching into a couple days without you even realizing.

You don’t know what you’d call this. It’s not friends, and it feels much like it’s much more than casual. You assume it’s exclusive- you spend so much time together; there’s hardly any opportunities for him to see someone else. But there’s been no lines drawn, no labels given- he’s slotted himself into your life seamlessly like you’ve known him forever. His grandmother treats you like her own blood, taking an immediate liking to you. It all just works.

“What is this?” You ask suddenly, looking up at him. His eyes widen in confusion. He takes the joint out from between his lips, exhaling smoke.

“Maybe Idica, I don’t know,” he muses and you sigh in frustration at your inability to be direct.

“I’m sorry,” you laugh, hiding your face in your hands. “No, not that,” you clarify. “I meant like- you and me.”

“Oh, um,” he replies, mulling things over in his head before he speaks. “Whatever you want.”

“I don’t know what I want,” you answer honestly, and he nods understandingly, but you feel him clear his throat and you can feel him straighten his posture. You worry he misunderstood your meaning. “No, no- fuck. I made it weird,” you sigh, “I just meant like, I don’t want to mess it up by changing it. But at the same time, I don’t want you doing this with someone else- and I don’t want to do this with anyone else but you- you know?”

“I know,” he replies, he’s so patient and sweet about it. He kisses your temple and just lets you process. He’s so gentle like that, all the time. “I want the same,” he states simply. “Just us,” he reiterates, taking another hit and then passes the joint back to you.

“Just us,” you smile.

“So does this mean we’re uh, boyfriend girlfriend?” He teases and he laughs at how your nose scrunches in disgust.

“Gross,” you pretend to gag. You shake your head, like your trying to shake out the memory of him saying something so fucking cheesy. It makes him smile.

—

“He’s coming runnin’ runnin’ runnin’ runnin’ runnin’ runnin’,” you sing obnoxiously as Igor’s pulls up to the curb. “He’s coming. Ridin’ round town, they gonna feel this one.” You see his cheeks turn pink as he tries to not laugh.

“What the fuck is that?” He questions, walking around to open the passenger door for you.

“Oh my fucking god, dude. It’s Tyler the Creator- it’s IGOR’S THEME. Did you now know that? I’ve been doing that bit for like two weeks and you didn’t think to fucking look it up?” You laugh a little. You buckle up, and extend out your hand. “Give me your phone, you need to listen to it.”

Without hesitation, he passes his phone to you and then he pulls away from the curb slowly. You start the album from the beginning, and you settle back into your seat. You put his phone down in the cup holder and rest your head against the seat belt. It’s a comfortable silence as you both listen. As he drives, he rests his right hand comfortably on your thigh, his thumb making circles.

Anxiety is a tricky thing. As time passes, you begin to feel insecure for monopolizing the music. You start to feel guilty about the jab you made at Igor’s expense for not knowing this album. You begin to overthink everything, and the music playing starts to make you feel overexposed. And you begin to associate his silence with resentment.

“You can change it to whatever you want,” you say apologetically. He looks at you confused from the corner of his eye, only glancing over so he can focus on the road.

“But you like this?” He asks, puzzled.

“I don’t want to force feed stuff to you,” you try to explain, “I didn’t mean to make you sit through it.”

“I think it’s great,” he offers sincerely, “it’s good.”

“You don’t have to say that, just because I like it,” you counter, feeling insecure.

“I like the music,” he reiterates, “I like it, and I like it because it’s something you wanted to share with me.”

“You don’t have to…”

“I love when you share things with me,” he interrupts you before you begin to spiral. “Do it more often,” he says, encouragingly. He stops for the red light, and leans over to kiss you. “Please.”

He turns his attention back to the road as the light turns green and you can’t help but smile as you watch him turn the dial up.

#anora movie #anora 2024 #anora fan fiction #Igor x reader #Igor (anora) x f!reader #Igor fan fiction #Igor #yuriy borisov #yuriy borisov characters #Igor anora #bald guy from anora #bald guy from anora fan fiction #fan fiction

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fushiguruuzzzz · 2 months ago

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vii ⊹ ࣪ ˖ Knee Socks

Series mlist

Tags — mentions of violence, I couldn’t be bothered to size down the text

Words— 1.2k

Megumi wasn’t watching you. Of course he wasn’t, he wasn’t some sort of creep. Why would he feel a need to watch you anyway? It wasn’t like you were special. No, he didn’t care what you were doing, he barely even knew you so of course he wouldn’t-

He sighed. His inner monologue was beginning to resemble that of Itadori, it was unlike him. No, he hadn’t been watching you, but he couldn’t deny that when he peered through the open window of his dorm room, he hoped to see you outside. When he caught a glimpse of your [h/c] hair roaming the expanse of the cobblestone that stretched around the residence hall, an odd sort of satisfaction shot through his chest. He’d been meaning to return that bag, anyway. Not that he wanted to speak to you properly or anything.

He put a hoodie on, the polyester blanketing him and shelling him from the dull chill of the approaching winter. Snow had yet to fall, but the orange of the leaves was beginning to diminish, everything turning into darker, less saturated pallet of colours. He much preferred it this way, he blended in more. The black of his sweater did nothing to stick out against the masses. The soft echo of his footsteps as he descended down the stairs was the only sound ringing through his ears, aside from the soft murmur of surrounding conversations.

You were simply taking a stroll, headphones resting over your ears as you wandered the paths and walkways of the campus you’d learned to call home. It had only been a few short weeks since you first stepped foot here, but you seemed more in place here than you ever did, even at home. The gentle thump of shoes against ground grew closer and closer, a wave of something akin to what you felt at that Halloween party washing over you.

A figure fell into step by your side, the midnight blue of his eyes meeting your own. His arm was outstretched, and it took you a moment to look down and see the cherry red grasped in his fingers. Of course, it was your bag! The bag you’d left in his car after chugging enough alcohol with Yuji to kill a grown cow… that was rather embarrassing. You felt your face heat up, a bashful smile tugging at your lips as you let your headphones fall around your neck, and gently took the bag from him.

“Oh, I almost forgot about that. Thanks,” you said, your hand falling to your side with the bag within it. You could feel your shoulders stiffen, your heartbeat quickening as the realization that this was only your second meeting in half a decade dawned on you. You could barely hold his gaze, not that he was doing much better. A hint of a smile ghosted over his lips, but it was gone in an instant.

“I figured,” he responded. It didn’t seem as though he’d changed much. There was still a sort of low gravel to his voice, something distant and gruff, but it was more… docile. There was something oddly soft about the way he spoke that felt almost intimate, reserved for those that held a specific importance in his soul. Truly, he was hardly aware of it. Sure, he kept his tone in check. He wanted to be sure that you knew he wasn’t still some sort of delinquent, someone to not be trusted, to not be kept around. He made that mistake once before, he didn’t intend on letting it happen again.

A tense sort of silence settled over the two of you. You didn’t exactly know what to say, what does one say in this situation? It would be one thing if you’d departed like many friends did, forgetting to exchange numbers or simply falling out of touch. But no. You, the only person he even bothered to trust, socked him in the face with a punch worthy of live TV.

“It was… odd. Seeing you again,” he broke the silence, daring to sneak a glance at you from the corner of his eye. It wasn’t spoken with disdain or disgust, simply a fact being stated. You nodded, a soft breath of laughter tumbling from your mouth. “It was. You sort of caught me off guard.”

He eyed you, quirking a brow. “I caught you off guard? You do realize you were standing with my friends, right?” he said. Though he suddenly realized his tone, his voice growing softer as he continued speaking. Of course he didn’t do it too much, though, it’s still Megumi you were speaking to. You chuckled softly once again, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Not fair! Yuji invited me over, it’s not like I infiltrated your friend group on purpose,” you rolled your eyes, a smirk playing at your lips. He mirrored you, too rolling his eyes. Still sassy. Great.

“I was a little scared, honestly,” you continued, your cheeks tinting a gentle pink. You hoped he’d excuse it, assume it was the cold weather to blame. His eyebrows twitched upwards, question written all over his face. Then it morphed, understanding and a hint of amusement written all over his face.

“You did make me bleed.”

Your head whipped to the side, arms crossing over your chest. “In my defence, you beat up the guy I was going out with.” He shrugged. He didn’t want you to assume he continued the bad habit of resorting to violence, but he couldn’t act as if it wasn’t justified. “He deserved it,” he said.

This wasn’t a story you’d heard before. He deserved it? Well, maybe you’d have found out, had the circumstances been different. “How so?” you asked, and it was as if the memory (or lack of) rushed back to him. “That guy was an ass. You didn’t know that he and his friends had a bet on how fast he could get you to… uh, be at his mercy is one way to put it,” he grumbled.

What.

You suddenly felt rather stupid. Of course that wasn’t in relation to the boy, a middle school crush, if you could even call him that. It was about Megumi, the way you acted on impulse as a stupid teen when you were oblivious to the fact he had been protecting you. You internally winced, “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” he mimicked, shaking his head softly. “Anyway, I’m not like that anymore, so you don’t have to worry,” he shrugged, glancing to the side.

You nodded. Yuji had already said so, but hearing it come from him was oddly reassuring. “I assumed so, both considering you have friends and aren’t behind bars by now,” you smirked, growing less anxious as every moment passed. Things weren’t so tense with him, they never seemed to be. He shot a glare at you, though no real heat lied within his eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that. Remember when you hung Chomei and Okumura from a billboard?” He stayed silent, almost shrinking in on himself as you brought up the memory. He shot you another look, though, a gentle push to shut up.

“Or when you piled up half of our grade and used them like stepstools? Or when you-“

“Alright alright that’s enough I get it.”

Taglist !¡ —

@meowymeowbreow @1l-ynn @missunrise @kiss-my-asscheeks @starrysho @good-mourning0 @gumims @beaniesayshi @mrowwww @luvvmae @megumislovedoll @qingpunk @azharyy @starsryi @tibibibi123

the billboard incident being canon is so funny to me

guys please check ur settings and make sure im able to tag you before asking to be on the taglist :(

group collab when

missing school for the second time this week yikes

ty for the love on the most recent chap :3 but also why do some chapters have 90 likes and the other is barely getting 30????? Are we only reading the fifth chapter guys be honest.

watching Saiki k and Mha rn…. Chat I’m expanding…

#jjk #jjk megumi #megumi fushiguro x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smau #jjk x reader #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi #fushiguro x reader

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loaksky · 2 years ago

Text

— 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒖𝒔𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒆 | 𝒂. 𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏

emt!abby x clumsy fem!reader, fluff / angst / smut (mdni!), wc: 8.8k (abby makes me ill).

synopsis: abby’s recuperating from a rocky relationship. tending to you more than once has gotta be fate.

content warnings: language, 18+ content (MDNI!): fingering (abby & reader receiving), oral (abby receiving), standard emotional constipation, non-graphic depictions of injuries / blood. let me know if i miss anything! not proofread well!

tagging those who interacted with my interest post! @eden-nox , @feeeeebbb , @thecowardwrites , @dawn-bunni , @dykefromstatefarm , @kingofcrabs17 , @deadliebalboa , @caitlinisfruity , @matchabxba , @abbysidechick

main masterlist | tlou masterlist

THE FIRST TIME ABBY TENDS TO YOU is an embarrassing circumstance all its own. And not necessarily because you’d hurt yourself, but because of one meddling little sibling in particular.

It’s nearly 2am in the morning, a little brisk outside of the apartment complex, and Abby’s trailing behind her rotation partners up three rickety flights of stairs.

“Seattle EMS!”

The door’s flying open and a frantic girl no older than fifteen is ushering the trio in the apartment.

“It’s my sister,” she says quickly. “She cut her hand with a knife. Won’t stop bleeding.”

Abby’s observing her surroundings, eyes flitting around the space as they file quickly down the hallway, walls neatly littered with polaroids, picture frames, and various other decorations and knickknacks.

As they spill into the living room, Abby’s eyes settle on you, sitting on the coffee table in nothing but an oversized tee and some boyshorts.

There are tiny smears of red across your thighs, right hand applying pressure to your left palm with a wad of paper towels. One look at your face shows draining color and Abby’s setting the duffel on the floor.

“Need her rate and blood pressure,” one of her partners says. “Anderson, can you assess the damage?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Abby says, kneeling in front of you.

She swears she feels a jolt of electricity pass through her nitrile gloves when her fingertips brush your skin. You’re shaky, eyes droopy because you’ve never been great with blood.

“I��m gonna take a look,” Abby says softly, coaxing the paper towels away from you. “That okay?”

You nod, hair falling into your face as she turns your palm over to analyze the wound.

“Sheesh,” she whispers. “What’d you do?”

When you’re silent for a moment, warmth momentarily returning to your cheeks as embarrassment floods your system, Abby’s eyes swing to your younger sister who’s seemingly clocked the considerable tension between you and the hot EMT.

“We were making brownies,” she fills in helpfully. “Big sis was chopping up the nuts.”

One of Abby’s partners chuckles, the one filling out the paperwork, and Abby glances at you again, something niggling in the pit of her stomach when she sees the flustered way you bite your lip.

“Personally not a fan of nuts in my brownies, but that’s a hill I’ll die on.”

Abby’s trying to distract you, take your mind away from a the gnarly gash cut deep in your palm line. It works, she thinks, when you crack a small smile.

“Me neither,” you agree, and it’s the first words you say all night.

Your voice has a sweet rasp, one that makes Abby’s gut twist.

“Guess this means nuts really are a no go,” you say, hissing momentarily when Abby makes start with cleaning your wound.

For a moment she forgets you’re talking about brownies and your little sister’s searing gaze should be confirmation enough, but after gathering all of your important information and spending the next forty-five minutes cleaning you up, Abby’s being stopped in her tracks as they file out of the cramped living room.

Your little sister catches her as the two other techs swing into the third floor hallway.

“My big sis is gay, FYI,” she giggles mischievously. “Like real gay.”

You call her name, absolutely horrified.

Abby can’t help the smile that splits her face.

“Mmm, good to know.”

You’d barely recovered from that moment, still reeling nearly a week later after your failed sleepover party with your little sister that ended in the hottest tech seeing you in the worst condition possible.

And while you thank every force above that Abby hadn’t seemed too perturbed by your sibling’s antics, it’s still something that makes you rub the heel of your palms into your eyes and kick your feet in annoyance before bed.

But just when you think you’re finally getting over it, you cross paths again.

Fate has a cruel way of flexing its humor because you’re turning an especially crowded corner in the freezer section of Whole Foods when your toe catches the corner display.

“Shit!” you hiss, basket clattering to the floor.

Your jar of extra garlic-y marinara is rolling away and a few of your lemons are scattering between avoidant feet.

“Hey, you alright?”

And you’ve heard that voice before, familiar hum haunting your dreams for the past week and a half.

You look up just as the body associated with the voice crouches in front of you, pasta sauce in one hand and trio of lemons in the other.

Of course it’s Abby in all of her glory. Her hair is loosened from her braid, falling over her broad shoulders as she searches your face. She’s in her work polo, few buttons undone and belt somewhat loosened.

Something akin to recognition flashes over her features as she takes you in.

“Thanks,” you whisper when she rights your basket and carefully sets the runaway items inside.

“You’re always hurting yourself,” she teases, standing to her full height before offering her hand out to you.

For a moment you were caught up, so engrossed in seeing Abby again like a direct manifestation of your very fears (and a wet dream or two), that you hadn’t noticed that people were staring.

Your face is hot as your fingers brush her palm and she’s hoisting you up like you weigh nothing. When you shift your weight to the foot you’d tripped on, your face screws up in discomfort.

Abby’s scarily perceptive, equal parts because it comes with the job even when she’s off duty, and also because it’s you. She doesn’t know what’s so different about you, especially because she hasn’t bat an eye at another girl in the past seven months since her previous break-up, but she can’t take her eyes off of you. She’s certain her pupils are blown wide by now.

“Does it hurt?” she asks, steadying you with warm hands.

Abby has to force herself to glance up at you when she happens to notice the way your chest hitches, pendant on the dainty chain that rests between the divot of your collarbones glinting under the fluorescents.

“A little,” you admit.

Abby doesn’t hesitate to take your basket alongside hers and offers you a perfectly sculpted arm.

God you could actually combust, not only because you’re beyond embarrassed but because Abby’s too fucking hot for her own good.

“Easy,” she tells you as you move through the aisles slowly.

She’s guiding you to a quiet corner in the foodcourt, setting you gently against the bench before plopping down next to you.

Your lips part to thank her, tell her that you’ll just rest here for a moment before going about your day, but she’s lifting your leg into her lap and undoing the strap of your sandal wordlessly.

“Oh—”

Her gaze swings to yours.

“Gotta get a better look,” she tells you with an easy smile, fingers gentle around your ankle.

She starts rolling, testing your range of motion. When your expression pinches, she’s rummaging through her basket, only to produce a frozen bag of peas a few moments later.

“Doesn’t look like any bruising is forming and you’ve got your full range of motion,” she observes. “Just a rolled ankle. Nothing some ice won’t fix.”

You stare at her unblinking, nodding stupidly as she applies a slight amount of pressure with the frozen vegetables.

“I, ah—” you let out a low hiss and Abby shouldn’t lick her lips, but her mouth’s dry and the skin of your legs are like butter. “I think I’ll be okay.”

The concern that shades Abby’s features makes you squirm on the bench, ankle still propped in her lap.

“Did you drive?” Abby presses, and she knows that this is a bad idea.

The two of you could be on your way, paths officially untangling, but something inside of her is compelled, tugged hard at the sight of you.

“No…” you trail off sheepishly. “I walked.”

Abby’s lips part, words escaping her before she can stop and think twice.

“I’ll walk you home,” she offers.

“Oh, Abby, you don’t have to do that,” you say gently.

It’s like someone squeezes the air from her lungs at the sound of her name leaving your lips in a rasped hum, makes her wet her lips again because her mouth’s gone dry.

“You’re probably really busy, I don’t want to be a bother,” you add with a soft smile.

“You wouldn’t be,” she assures you. “Just wanna make sure you make it home safe.”

And it’s such a sweet sentiment, one that makes warmth bloom in your chest and your tummy. But there’s a dull ache, a squeeze that makes your thighs involuntarily press together. It’s barely perceptible and you hope to whatever’s in the universe that Abby’s not keen when it comes to body language.

The planes of her face are serious, bump on the bridge of her nose pronounced as you watch the set of her jaw. Fuck, did you want her bad, feel embarrassment creeping because if anyone nearby could intercept your brain, they’d find a slew of less than appropriate thoughts accompanying the more tame.

Without another word, Abby’s hooking your sandal back on, patting your shin gently before setting you right and gathering the combination of your groceries and hers.

You make a move to follow her, but she levels you with a warning glare.

“Stay put,” she urges. “I’ll take care of it.”

“But, Abby—” you splutter.

Your name is stern on her lips and another dull ache ebbs as she stands over you in her uniform, muscles stretching the fabric taut.

She’s off a moment later and after what seems like an eternity waiting almost helplessly, Abby returns with a few paper bags. She’s stuffing the receipt in her pocket and your expression shifts, lips pursing.

“How much do I owe you?” you ask as soon as she offers her elbow to you.

“Don’t worry about it,” she quips, body tensing in the slightest as she acclimates all over again to the feeling of you clinging to her. “Now let’s get you home.”

“Abby!” you whine, drawing her name out petulantly.

It’s so domestic, all of it. Carrying your groceries with your arms looped through hers and the two of you strolling down the sidewalk to accommodate your hurt foot.

“What?” she mocks, and you can’t help but smile.

“You’ll be late for work,” you say softly, unable to stop the passing observation of how sturdy she feels against you.

“I’m off.”

And something like relief, excitement, jolts at the thought. Makes you hush the rest of the way to your apartment building like the courage is still brewing.

The middle-aged woman that sits at her desk in the lobby and plays Candy Crush half of shift pauses to spare the two of you a passing glance as you walk in, eyebrows raising and lips twitching.

“Afternoon, Marianne,” you greet sheepishly.

“Good afternoon,” she parrots, rolling her lips to hide the amused grin threatening to spread.

Abby is none-the-wiser as her eyes flit around the lobby in search for the elevators.

The ride up ends up being shrouded in total silence save for the whirring of the lift’s gears and your shallow breaths. For a moment, Abby wonders if she’s overstepped. If she’s made you uncomfortable and read all the signs wrong.

As the two of you approach your door, the very one her and her coworkers had banged on a little over a week ago, she’s trying to come up with the words to apologize, tell you that she really just wanted to make sure you were okay.

(Even though she’ll only ever admit to herself that perhaps part of it was self-indulgent and the softness of your skin was like a high).

But you’re beating her to it, untangling to shift your weight to your uninjured foot and turning to face her.

“Do you…” You swallow and blink once, then twice, gathering the rest of your courage. “Do you wanna come in?”

Oh— Abby hadn’t been expecting that. She’d been expecting you to fumble with your groceries and close the door in her face for good. But now you’re looking up at her through thick lashes and a shy grin and all she can think to herself in this moment is that she’s a goner.

“I’m making dinner,” you add. “If you’d like to stay.”

Another slice of domesticity that has Abby’s wires crossing.

“Sure,” she agrees easily, and it takes everything inside of her not to teem with too much excitement when you turn to slot your key into the lock and the door springs open.

Your apartment is just how she remembers it from the little details she’d picked up the last time she was here. That same scent of lemons and what she thinks could be incense. Though it’d felt a little out of line, unprofessional to be too engrossed in her surroundings the first time, especially when her eyes caught a particularly suggestive photo among the wall hosting polaroids.

You’re with a group of girl friends, bent over in a too short skirt so that the swell of your ass is pressed to the girl in the center’s front. The shot gives a perfect eyeful of your cleavage in a tiny little triangle bikini top and the cherry on top is the pair of red cat-eye glasses sliding down the bridge of your nose as you wink at whoever is behind the camera.

You pause at the end of the hallway when you notice Abby’s no longer close behind.

“Looks like somebody knows how to have a good time,” she observes jokingly, but her cheeks are so incredibly warm because christ you’re beautiful.

You’re sheepish.

“Definitely retired from that life,” you tell her, and she notes that the neat sharpie dates back nearly six summers ago. “Now I like to bake with my little sister and injure myself.”

Abby can’t help the smile when you start gazing at all the other polaroids tacked into a heart formation on the crisp white walls.

“You seem like the life of the party,” Abby says, eyes lingering on another polaroid of you in what seems to be a dorm room with a joint pinched between your fingers, sporting a feather boa, a paper crown that says ‘birthday girl’ and those same red sunglasses.

You huff out a laugh.

“I wouldn’t say that...”

She wonders if she’ll see that side of you. So far you seem so quiet, reserved. It makes her want to peel away the layers and learn you.

The thought makes her blink hard.

“Kitchen’s this way,” you say after a few moments pass, turning on your heel to pad down the hall and swing left.

Light pours from where you flip the switch to the kitchen’s fluorescents.

Abby finds that the living room and kitchen is far tidier than the last time she’d been here, obviously cleaned after the entire baking debacle with your little sister.

My big sis is gay, like real gay. The words were like a subtle push. One that made Abby weigh the potential.

She’s setting the paper bags on the counter, making a move to go through the bags to help you put the groceries away, but your hands close over hers, slightly smaller and warm as you halt her movements.

“You’ve done enough for me,” you say, smile crooked. “Make yourself at home.”

And the household phrase is so cliche, but makes a split second reel of what making herself fully at home entails. She’d never admit it out loud, but part of it is bending you over the kitchen island.

She swallows the lump in her throat as you limp around the kitchen.

“You should rest your foot,” she says.

Your smile widens.

“I’m okay,” you assure her.

She leans against the counter, watching as you file everything in its rightful place. The muscles in her face involuntarily twitch when you stand up on your tip toes to throw a box of cereal on top of the fridge.

Your ass looks absolutely edible in your jeans and the low cut of your top shows the way your shoulder blades contract.

Definitely doesn’t help her blooming kitchen fantasies.

“You want something to drink?” you offer.

“Just water, please,” Abby clears her throat, gaze snapping up to meet the gaze you throw over your shoulder.

And she has to use the cute little glass you give her as a lifeline, nearly crushing the frosted green glass to bits multiple times over the course of you prepping dinner and the actual thing.

Because not only are you wickedly witty in a way that’s easily overlooked, but you’re phenomenal in the kitchen. Nearly drools watching you cut through your produce while chattering happily about growing up on the west coast and your college years.

You work through the building heat to set a painted ceramic dish piled high with pasta that Abby absolutely devours with nearly as much fervor as she likes to think she would you.

“Good?” you ask hopefully, leaning forward on your elbows.

“Better than good,” Abby says eagerly. “Great, fantastic.”

“Yay,” you cheer pure-heartedly and she could melt. Especially when she polishes off the plate and you sit up straight. “More?”

She easily agrees just for the sake of watching you.

“You should, uh—” You scratch the back of your neck nervously as she continues eating. “You should stop by again. If you, y’know, wanna…I cook a lot and there’s usually a lot left over.”

Abby could scream in excitement. She’s one intrusive thought away from reaching over the island to squish your cheeks and tell you that there’s literally nothing else in the world she’d wanna do than to see you again. Instead she forces her composure with an easy smile.

“I’d really like that.”

And the way she sits back in her seat, legs obviously spreading under the surface to stretch has you wiggling uncomfortably. The last few buttons of her polo have come undone, exposing a freckled expanse of skin that you’d love to sink your teeth into, and somehow, sometime while your back had been turned, she’d opted for undoing the rest of her loosening braid to throw it into a topknot.

The tension is palpable, thick enough to choke, and at times, as the two of you chat over the kitchen island, it has you stumbling over your words.

Even more so when you walk her to the door at half past ten. She’s leaning against the doorframe like she doesn’t want to leave, and truthfully, you don’t want her to. Want to spend as much time as you can caught up.

“I’ll call you?” you bite the bullet despite the tremor in your fingertips.

Abby nods, arm banded around her paper bag of groceries, a tupperware of leftovers nestled on the top.

“Yeah, please,” she hums.

And there’s one final moment of tension that clings between the two of you as she kicks off the doorframe and you close the door, back pressed against the wood.

After that night, the lines you dance blur impossibly. Always a will she, won’t she that seems to equally frustrate the two of you for vastly different reasons unbeknownst to the other.

You because you can’t get a read on Abby, always teetering over a steep edge trying to get her to bite your advances. But you know, know that there’s something there. Abby because she’s given more and more reason to fall into you with every passing moment, but can’t seem to take the plunge, entirely too freshly single to think about another commitment that could fail and leave her already mending heart beyond repair.

And she knows it isn’t fair, especially when the tension both romantic and sexual is absolutely brimming. You’re nothing like the partners she’s been with before, especially not her last girlfriend who was practically your polar opposite. You were gentle, sweet, funny. Good at practically anything you could get your hands on.

But something stalls her, keeps her from diving headfirst despite late nights laying on your living room floor talking about things both minute and infinite, cooking with you in the snugness of your tiny kitchen, even inviting you to outings with friends and vice versa.

So you take the plunge instead, one Saturday evening weeks after your first meeting, after spending long swathes of time tangled in each other’s presence.

You’re at a bar with her and her friends, slight buzz giving you the smallest nudge of confidence to cling to her arm. And god does Abby look good tonight, especially so, in a dark button up and fitted pants. She’s got her hair down, tickles your cheek when you nuzzle against her shoulder.

Her friends’ eyes are inquisitive, curious because touches between the two of you rarely linger for longer than a few moments, but you’ve been glued to her side all night. She doesn’t say anything though, doesn’t shrug you off, even wraps an arm around your shoulder when you return from the restroom.

So with a few more drinks and a little more liquid courage, you’re toeing a little over the line. You’ve pushed her hair over her shoulders, pressing your lips experimentally to the skin behind her ear. It’s a sensation that has her freezing up almost imperceptibly, but you can tell with the way her muscles grow taut under your fingers.

“What’re you doing, angel?” Abby asks quietly, span of her large palm gripping your thigh.

“Nothin’,” you hum, nose bumping her ear.

She breathes out a hollow laugh, tries to turn her attention to her friends who are obviously trying to ignore your displays of affection. But then your lips are brushing with more force against her collar and she’s sliding out of the stuffy booth to get some air.

Her resolve is obviously crumbling, even more so when she stands at the bar waiting for the next round of drinks and your arm bands around her waist, the other flattening below her belly button. When your pinkie slides beneath her belt buckle, she’s pushing off the counter.

And for a moment you think you’ve upset her when she gathers all the stout glasses and winds through the crowd to return to the booth you’d previously occupied.

You barely make it to the back of the bar when she’s emerging from the bodies and grabbing you roughly by the bicep.

“Abby—”

Her lips are slotting yours before you can apologize, and she tastes like cherries and liquor. Her arms wind around your waist, one hand on the small of your back, the other grabbing a handful of your ass.

“Abs,” you whisper breathlessly, unable to feel any embarrassment for taking up a high traffic aisle as she bites your bottom lip.

“Your place or mine?” she asks, voice gravelly. “Because you started something that I’m gonna need you to finish, princess.”

And your knees are jelly the entire trek to your apartment, insides liquid and tummy fluttering because a warmth has begun to pool in your panties. The way Abby can’t keep her hands off you through the elevator ride up makes it all the worse.

“You’re such a fuckin’ tease, y’know that?” she hisses in your ear as you miss the keyhole a few times. “For the last six weeks all you’ve done is toy with me and—”

Her breath hitches when she presses her front to your back and slides her hand up the skirt of your backless sundress to feel the stickiness forming between the plush of your thighs.

When you finally force the door open, Abby’s kicking off her shoes and her fingers are making work of her top buttons. You’re quick to swivel on your heel, shoving her roughly against the front door to push up on your tiptoes and pepper kisses over the curve of her jaw.

“Me?” you huff petulantly, an uncharacteristic gleam in your eye as your fingers are deft on her belt buckle. You unbutton her dress pants. “You waltz in here all the time looking so…so…fuckable.”

Abby nearly chokes on her breath.

“And you try to play coy, but I see right through you, Abby,” you say in such a gooey tone. She throws her head back and moans. “I see the way you look at me. The little things you do. You’re not subtle Anderson.”

And that’s new. Calling her by her last name.

Your hand’s down the front of her pants, under her boxers and you feel it. How wet she is. Feel the slick between her folds as you circle her clit.

“Oh, fuck,” she breathes, lips parted as she takes the sight of you in.

“Wanna make you feel good,” you sigh, biting your bottom lip as you stare up at her.

She nods eagerly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you hum.

Her hands come up to cup your cheeks, leaning down to steal a few kisses before her hand’s wrapping around your wrist and pulling you from her heat.

“Open,” she barks, guiding your fingers to your lips.

You do so without argument, the taste of Abby making your eyes hood.

You make a noise in the back of your throat, and Abby’s walking you back towards your bedroom.

“You wanna make me feel good?” she asks, back of her knees hitting the edge of your mattress. She’s got you situated between her legs, shucking off her top and shimmying her trousers and boxers off in one go. “Then get to work.”

She’s spreading her legs, gaze locked as you lower until you’re eye level with her cunt. The pale moonlight that filters the window making it absolutely glisten.

You’re kissing the skin of her inner thighs, hands on her knees as you glance up at her, only find her with her bottom lip tucked harshly between pearly teeth.

“Want you bad,” you admit breathily, biting the taut skin before laving at it with the flat of your tongue.

All you receive is a shaky breath, seemingly knocking the words straight from her lips.

“Nothing?” you taunt, biting the other side.

Abby’s opening her mouth to say something snarky, but your lips are on her clit and your middle finger’s sliding in with ease.

“Jesus, fuck,” she whispers breathlessly.

And you’re smug as you eat her out, vibration of your moans rumbling through her core when she threads her fingers through your hair and tugs ‘til the tension in your scalp stings deliciously.

“Shitshitshit,” she chokes when you add another finger.

Under normal circumstances, she’d be embarrassed when her body locks up and her legs shake after what seems like only mere moments, but after she comes down and the fog clears, she’s wiping that smirk off your pretty face.

The sight is one to see, Abby leaned against your headboard with your back plastered to her front. The skirt of your dress is scrunched around your waist, flimsy straps knocked from your shoulders.

She’s merciless, thick fingers plugging you full.

“Ah, Abby,” you hiss, hand wrapping around her wrist.

“Can’t get over how tight you are.” She bites your earlobe. “You can barely take two.”

As testament, she stuffs you deeper. The squelch is downright filthy, your arousal pooling down your slit and onto the sheets. For a moment Abby’s pulling her digits from your heat, spreading her fingers in front of your face to show you the stringy strands of clear that web her knuckles.

“See that, princess? See how wet you are?” she teases, other hand taking a palmful of your tits while her mouth maps each blemish and mark with kisses across your shoulders and neck.

“So fuckin’ pretty like this,” she husks. “Wish you could see how pretty you look.”

You throw your head back, chest heaving as her fingers curl inside the spongy walls of your cunt and applies such a toe-curling pressure against the spot that has you seeing stars. It makes your back arch, knees twitching against the legs that Abby uses to keep your thighs spread.

“You gonna cum, pretty girl?” she whispers, blowing air against the shell of your ear as her ministrations grow sloppy.

You nod quickly, body tensing.

“M’gonna fuckin’ cum,” you whimper, “Please, Abs, don’t stop. I’m—”

Abby could cum all over again when your chest pushes forward into her hold, head lolling back against her shoulder as you let out a pitched whine that sounds a lot like her name.

“Fuck!” you swallow, falling slack against her sticky skin as you gush.

Her other hand drops to your clit, lazy circles making your pussy clench around the fingers still stuffed inside.

“That’s right, princess,” she huffs. “Cream all over my fingers.”

Your breaths stutter, pussy clenching as you let out a needy little moan.

“So good,” she praises. “Such a good girl.”

And you’re absolutely boneless, head knocking gently against hers as you push further into her chest. You feel her weight shift as she reaches, then the gentle feeling of her cleaning you up despite sleepy overstimulated protests.

It’s warm in your room as Abby slinks down the pillows and pulls the covers up. Her chin rests on top of your head as you cozy up to her, mumbling about how much you like her and how you’ve waited for such a moment.

You don’t remember the last thing you say before you doze off.

Abby does, though.

It keeps her up the entire night. Has her eyes blown wide as she stares up at the ceiling and the weight of the evening dawns on her.

Always wanna be with you. You’re my person.

And she doesn’t know how it’d gotten to this point. How did she let herself get so entangled with you? She’d always been aware that there’d been something there, that she was crushing and was almost a hundred percent sure you reciprocated, but this was far more than she’d anticipated.

It’s a step away from the ‘l’ word, and she’s not so sure it’s something she’s willing to fall into.

So Abby does what she does when she’s scared and she’s running. She’s replacing herself with your pillow as the sun comes up, heart squeezing when your cheek nuzzles against the fabric and your lips part to blow a breath.

She’s dressing as she makes her way to the front door, takes a final look at the polaroid wall that stares back at her as she tugs her shoes on, and slips out of the apartment building into the chilly Seattle air.

You’d been prepared for a lot of things growing up and into yourself. Had learned to swallow the bitter side of sweet, but nothing could have prepared you for the splintering feeling of Abby’s absence.

You wake up a few hours after she leaves, naked and hugging one of your pillows. The apartment is eerily silent as you wait in stillness for any signs that she’s just an early riser.

There’s no shower running, no clattering in the kitchen, no shuffling in the hall. And when you survey your surroundings, comforter wrapped around your shoulders, you suck in a deep breath.

Maybe she has work.

It’s a futile attempt to rationalize the situation, but you know Abby. Know that she’d leave a note, maybe a text, or—

You scramble for your phone, but deflate when you find a notification to water your virtual plant. For good measure, you open her text thread, but all that stares back at you is the confirmation that she was picking you up the night prior.

“Oh, Abby,” you whisper to yourself, something like sickness making your stomach twist.

The cursor blinks, keyboard clicking as you type and retype anything that’ll confirm that maybe you’re just being paranoid, reading into things too much.

So you settle on good morning 💘.

It’s almost instantaneous.

Read at 7:47am.

It takes a little under two weeks for Abby to surface again. Not without ample prodding. You’re a communicator, she realizes, as she sits outside of Jo’s Coffee and stares down at the string of texts from you over the past week and a half.

pretty girl: good morning 💘

pretty girl: have a good day at work

pretty girl: i made dinner if you wanna stop by

pretty girl: can i swing by the station with lunch?

pretty girl: just want you to know that i’m thinking of you

pretty girl: meet for coffee? wanna see you.

pretty girl: text me whenever you’re comfortable, i’ll leave you alone til you’re ready 💗

That final text is what makes her crack. Makes the guilt eat away at her. So she messages you when her shift is over.

me: jo’s at 4

pretty girl liked ‘jo’s at 4’

She looks up when the chair across from her scrapes against the concrete. You drop into the seat, fresh-faced and obviously newly showered. But she can see it in your eyes, the bags that puff like you’ve been crying.

And you have, even if you won’t admit it, because Abby’s the closest thing you’ve felt to what love could be like and these past two weeks have been agonizing as you try to pick apart every single facet of your situationship with her.

“How are you?” you ask, giving her a weak smile over the table.

“Good,” Abby lies, but you don’t see through her poker face and it stings, thinking that she’d been so unaffected by all of this.

You nod, fiddling with the fake leaves of the center piece.

“I missed you,” you admit shakily.

And fuck, did Abby miss you too, but she can’t find it in herself to face her fears head on. So she just nods, biting the inside of her lip.

“Didn’t miss me?” you tease, trying to make light of the situation.

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” Abby cuts to the chase, words leaving her lips like a shot that echos in the night.

It makes your ears ring, your brows furrowing as your lips twitch into a frown. Abby braces herself, knows what a brewing argument feels like. It’s sick to say that it’s familiarity, that sharp words and hoarse voices are a norm.

But you just shrink in your seat.

“Why?” you whisper.

Abby sucks in a deep breath.

“You don’t remember what you told me?” she asks like an accusation.

You blink.

“You told me that you wanted to be with me. That I’m your person,” she says.

And you wonder what’s so wrong with that. Especially when you’ve spent two months glued, when you were so sure it was mutual.

“I do,” you affirm softly. “You are.”

Abby squeezes her eyes shut, shakes her head.

“I’m not—” She clears her throat. “I don’t want a girlfriend. I don’t need the distraction. Especially not now with work and my personal life.”

Ouch. That had hurt, Abby calling her time with you and any subsequent moments nothing more a distraction.

“Oh.”

She doesn’t know why your response frustrates her, makes annoyance pinch the back of her brain as she takes you in, but it does. Full force.

“We’re better off as friends,” Abby says. “It’s easier, it’s—”

“Friends don’t fuck each other, Abby,” you say simply, and the calmness in your tone makes her upset.

She’s used to the shouting, to the arguing and being at each other’s throats in conversations like these. But you never fail to amaze her as you keep your composure.

“I have no intention of sleeping with you again,” she says stonily. “That night was mistake. I hadn’t been with someone in months and you were giving me attention and—”

In her frustration with the entire conversation, she hadn’t realized that tears were pooling in your eyes. That you were trying not to cry.

Her face softens when she notices.

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“You what?” you murmur. “What were these past three months, Abby?”

“I dunno,” Abby sighs in annoyance. “Two people enjoying each other’s company? We were drunk and—"

You simply nod, knuckling away the brimming tears before shrugging your bag over your shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Abby sighs when you stand.

“Home,” you answer quietly. “Whatever. Let’s just forget any of this ever happened.”

She grabs your arm over the table, opening her mouth to apologize again, but you’re shaking her off.

“Take care of yourself,” you tell her.

The days blur like the edges of a muddy watercolor.

You start to think that things could look up, that maybe Abby was put in your life for some reason you’ll uncover in the future. But the universe can be so cruel sometimes, knows exactly what to do to shatter the broken pieces you’d tried so hard to glue together.

It comes in the form of a night out nearly a month after you’d last seen Abby. She made no additional efforts, just left you wondering if you’d imagined it all, and your friends are especially tired of your moping.

It’s a surprise!

And you’re not really one for surprises. Especially not now, but they’re dragging you out, carting you across town. Your stomach sinks to your ass when you see the familiar neon lights. Feel your chest tighten on the trek up the stairs to the same bar that preluded your spiral.

You could throw up when you’re situated in a booth with your friends and you glance at the bar by chance.

Abby’s leaned against the counter top, looking as good as ever, but she’s not alone. There’s a girl that hangs off her shoulder, skin umber and eyes warm. She makes no moves to distance herself and you don’t know why you feel the anger begin to sizzle. Abby hadn’t been yours in the first place.

“What do you wanna drink?” one of your friends asks.

“Nothing,” you answer stiffly.

She follows your gaze to the countertop, sees the way your eyes burn.

You’d kept your situation with Abby private, didn’t want to jeopardize such a potentially good thing with your well-meaning meddling friends at such a fresh stage. But now that it’s soured, you stare openly.

“That’s her, isn’t it?” she asks, and your avoidance is answer enough. “C’mon, let’s show her what she missed out on.”

As it turns out, it doesn’t seem like much. Because she doesn’t even blink when you sidle up to the counter with your friend, three patrons between the two of you.

You’d always thought the two if you had a sixth sense for the other, but Abby’s oblivious to her surroundings, too engrossed in her drink and the pretty brunette hanging off her shoulder.

One of the bartenders goes up, asks what he can get for the two beautiful ladies, and your ears perk when her voice sounds. Nearly throw up the empty contents of your stomach all over the bar top when you see the way she slings her arm over the girl’s shoulders.

“Another vodka soda for my girl.”

She’s buzzed, you can hear it, but it’s the most sound declaration you’ve heard from her in the time you’ve known her.

You break away from the bar, and you run.

Abby feels like a shell of herself.

She’d gone out over the weekend, celebrating a visit from a close friend from the east coast. And it’d done a good job of numbing the pain for a little while, of taking her mind off of you.

But it’s Tuesday, the first day of her rotation this week and she hates that this feels worse than her previous break-up despite the unlabeled status of your relationship. You hadn’t even put up a fight, just took her rejection in stride.

It makes her feel infinitely worse, knowing you didn’t have it in you.

She doesn’t even realize she’s spaced out in front of the drink coolers of the convenience store after her shift when a voice snaps her out of it.

“S’cuse me.”

And she knows that voice. It’d been her greenlight all those nights ago.

Your little sister is brushing past her, going straight for the Body Armors and Gatorade. She must feel the way Abby stares because she’s side-eyeing the older girl from her post.

“Oh, it’s you,” she says, turning her nose up in the air.

Abby swallows.

“Hey to you too,” she says hesitantly.

Your little sister humphs, snatching the golden berry flavor and a yellow Gatorade. Abby takes a moment to glance at her basket, sees fever medicine and Tylenol among other things like instant ramen and Vitamin C gummies.

“Are you sick?” she asks.

Your little sister’s face screws up in annoyance.

“No, but my big sis is,” she says matter-of-factly.

That information makes Abby’s heart sink.

“She alright?” she asks carefully.

“She’s seen better days no thanks to you.”

And on a normal day, Abby would laugh because your little sister is witty, just like you. Can see where she gets it from. But right now, all she can imagine is you bed ridden and coughing up a lung.

“I can take a look at her,” Abby offers suddenly. “I—”

“Yeah fucking right,” your sibling scoffs.

Her language stuns Abby and this time she really can’t help but chuckle.

“You think this is funny?” she gripes. “You broke my sister’s heart. She’s been so fuckin’ sad because of you and you’re laughing.”

Abby sobers up quick, shakes her head.

“No, no, that’s not—,” she splitters urgently. “I– I’m laughing ‘cuz you’re just like her.”

Your little sister doesn’t look convinced, uses the back of her hand to wipe her nose as she levels Abby with an unrelenting stare.

“You suck, y’know that?”

“Yeah,” Abby sighs, hands flailing in defeat. “Trust me, I know.”

“And you’re a pussy,” your little sister adds childishly. “I know you really like my sister.”

Abby doesn’t even bother denying it, just stands there with a prepackaged sandwich that pales in comparison to your cooking and a diet soda.

“I do,” she affirms quietly.

“Then do something about it,” she says surprisingly. “My sister’s a catch, the coolest person I know. You’d be the biggest fucking dumbass if you don’t lock her down.”

And her candidness makes Abby crack a smile.

They stand there for a few moments in silence before your little sister is shoving the basket in Abby’s arms and prancing down the aisle.

As soon as Abby’s paid, black plastic bag in her grasp, she finds that your little sister has lingered outside of the convenience store.

She’s shoving a key in her hands.

“She’s too tired to open the door,” she says. “She likes extra lime in her ramen and runny eggs. Also hates swallowing pills so you’ll probably have to crush it up and put it in her water or something.”

“Who’s the EMT here?” Abby grumbles.

Your little sister pins her with a narrowed look.

“Don’t fuck this up Anderson,” she warns. “If Big Sis asks, I took a train to the mall to meet up with my friends.”

And just like that, she flounces away.

You’re asleep when she sneaks into your apartment.

She kicks her shoes off, sets the bag of convenience store goods on the kitchen island before padding through the living room to peek into your room.

Buried under a mound of blankets, just your eyebrows and forehead peek from the top as you snore softly. When she peels the covers away, she not only finds that you’re sweaty and your cheeks are flushed, but you’re wearing her favorite hoodie.

She hadn’t realized she left it here, but seeing you in it has her sinking to her knees by your bedside, chin resting on her bent arm.

“Hi, angel,” she whispers quietly, pushing the sweaty strands of hair from your face. “Missed you.”

You don’t budge, cheek smushed in your pillow as you snooze peacefully. And maybe she shouldn’t have come here, because all it’ll take is you asking her to stay.

She tucks the blanket to your chin, leans forward to press a kiss against your temple.

In the kitchen, she’s only reminded of how much she misses you. Misses this. She’d spent nearly everyday here during your time together. Brushed shoulders with you while you guys cooked together, leaned against the counter while you took extra care plating her food despite her protests of ‘we’re gonna eat it anyways’. You guys frequently laid out on the living room floor, snacking while watching movies, flipping through coffee table books or getting existential.

She’d made so many memories here, made a home out of you.

The thought stirs something emotional inside of her, makes tears prick the corner of her eyes as she rips open the packet of ramen and digs the seasoning sachet out.

Frustration wells as she goes through the motions in your kitchen by herself. Wonders why you had to go and be so fucking wonderful and make her fall for you.

She’s halfway through and angrily brushing her tears away when she hears your door creak open and your voice croak your little sister’s name in question.

When you stand in the doorway of the kitchen, her name is falling from your lips.

“Abby?”

You rub your eyes momentarily and Abby feels like the biggest piece of shit on the planet as you stand there with the hood of her pullover on, Christmas pajama pants and some crew socks.

“Hi,” she breathes.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, bewildered eyes bouncing around the kitchen as you take in your surroundings. The bags under your eyes are swollen, your lips chapped as you fidget in the archway.

“I ran into your sister at the convenience store,” she admits. “She said you were sick.”

“And?” It’s like you can’t fathom the fact that Abby would have any concern for you. Something like anger bubbles at the idea.

“What do you mean and?” Abby asks, eyebrows furrowing. “You’re sick and I… I care about you.”

There’s that normalcy again, that familiar feeling of emotions beginning to reach its boiling point. But she’s not angry at you. Could never be when all you’ve been is perfect to her. And perhaps in the back of her mind that plays the tiniest role, because you’re everything she could ever want, need, but she steady fucks it up every go around.

“Do you?” you whisper.

You look small, defeated, unable to meet her eyes.

“Of course I do, what are—”

“You really hurt me, you know that?” Your breath hitches. “You came into my life like fate, over and over again. Still do apparently. And you— You made me like you more than I’ve ever liked someone in my life. You let me see you, let me fuck you, let me… let me…”

It’s your first real display of heightened emotion. You don’t bother trying to hide your tears, or hide the way Abby’s built you up and ruined you these past four months.

“And then you just left.”

The lump in her throat nearly chokes her breathless.

“I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, y’know?” you continue and Abby’s hands tremble. “That maybe you really just needed the time for yourself, but then I saw you, and—”

“Saw me what?” Abby interjects. “Where?”

“At the bar,” you squeak. “She’s really fucking pretty, and I hope she makes you—”

“What are you talking about?” Abby grills, taking a step towards you.

“If you didn’t want to be with me, if you didn’t feel the way I felt about you, you could have just said that,” you whimper, dashing the tears away in embarrassment. “You didn’t have to make an excuse about not wanting a distraction.”

“I’m so lost right now,” Abby says. “I—”

“I saw you at the bar this weekend,” you tell her straight. “You were with a girl, called her yours.”

And that floors her. She’s almost a hundred percent certain she would’ve felt your presence a mile away, But as you reveal that you’d only been meters away from her, the closest you’ve gotten in weeks, it makes her gut pinch.

She wracks her brain, tries to recall that weekend, tries to think of any woman who’d give you the idea that she’d choose anyone but you.

She draws a blank at first, but then she remembers the bartender’s passing comment.

You and the birthday girl are too sweet.

Abby had fake retched and Nora’d drawn out an exaggerated ewwww as the bartender set the vodka soda before them.

She’d been far too engrossed to realize that you’d been in the vicinity. But she’s not so sure she would’ve done much to take advantage of your presence if she had.

This is her first act of courage in months and she’s falling head first as she crosses the berth between the two of you.

When she stands a few inches away, you look up at her, thick lashes wet and nose snotty. You look like a mess, but Abby’s always thought you were beautiful.

“Nora’s not my girlfriend,” is the first thing she says.

You think you should feel relief, some semblance of hope flickering, but this feels a lot like uncertainty and you hate the limbo.

You don’t say anything, just wipe your nose on the back of your hand.

“I’m sorry,” Abby whispers, hands coming up to grasp your shoulders.

You make a noise in the back of your throat, corners of your mouth turning down in that telltale sign that you’re not done crying yet.

“C’mon, angel, stop crying,” Abby says weakly and the nickname makes your stupid heart flutter.

Her thumbs are brushing underneath your eyes, over the puff of your eyebags before she’s crushing you to her chest, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other winding around your shoulders to keep you anchored.

Your arms wrap around her waist, taking in the scent of her pine body wash and the softness of her detergent.

“I hate you,” comes your muffled hiccup.

Abby only hugs you harder.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

And perhaps she deserves that, but you’re pushing your face further into her chest and she barely hears you.

“I missed you,” you admit a second later, back of her work shirt fisted between nimble fingers.

A shuddering breath leaves her at the admission, makes her body relax as the two of you stand at the edge of your kitchen.

“Missed you,” she murmurs, savoring the way your body feels melding against hers for the first time in weeks. “Fuck, I missed you so much.”

“You’ll stay?” you whisper.

“Yeah, yeah,” she assures you. “I gotta go home and get some stuff, but of course I’ll stay.”

Your hold tightens and your head shakes.

“I mean stay, Abby,” you clarify. “With me. Don’t…don’t run away anymore.”

Her breath catches in her throat, a new onslaught of tears choking her as she nods fervently.

“Yeah,” she croaks, kissing the top of your head. “M’not going anywhere.”

BONUS

You don’t know where the time goes. It all seems to blur together in the moments you spend with Abby, and before you can wrap your mind around the fact, a full year has passed the two of you by.

“You look so pretty,” Abby comments, sitting on the edge of your bed with her legs spread.

She’s watching you through the mirror, blue eyes piercing and unblinking.

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the way she always seems to make you warm.

“Thanks,” you mumble, unable to hide the smile that twitches while you screw the cap back onto your lipgloss to take one final look at yourself.

“Not gonna say it back?” Abby feigns annoyance, pushing up from her seat to wrap around you, one hand bracing against the dresser as her chin drops to your neck.

“Then it’d be insincere,” you deadpan, head tilting to rest against hers.

She humphs under her breath, shamelessly sliding a hand up your dress.

You stop her fingers in their tracks, pushing off from the drawers to create space between the two of you and alleviate the warmth beginning to bloom behind your navel.

“We’re gonna be late for Nora’s birthday,” you quip, fingertips barely brushing the doorknob before Abby’s hands are gripping your waist.

She’s hoisting you to throw you against the mattress playfully.

“She’ll survive if we’re ten minutes late,” Abby assures you wolfishly, climbing over you to cage your body between her thick thighs.

“You’re gonna mess up my hair,” you whine, pushing at her shoulder.

Abby captures your wrists in one hand, other tilting your chin up to slot her lips between yours. The taste of the fresh coat of lipgloss you’d just applied makes her smile against your mouth.

She relaxes a fraction when you reciprocate, tongue languid. A noise of approval rumbles from her chest when you nudge her onto her back and bite down on her bottom lip. With a wicked glint in her eyes, she’s pulling away, hands resting against the curve of your ass.

Now you’re straddling her, manicured hands mapping from her waist to her shoulders to feel the ripple of taut muscles underneath. She’s tense, obviously waiting for your next move with bated breath and kiss bitten lips.

But then you shift teasingly over her zipper.

“Let’s go,” you hum, pressing a final kiss to her jaw before climbing off of her anticipating figure. “No dessert before dinner.”

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson smut #abby anderson fic #abby anderson #abby the last of us #abby tlou

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underdark-dreams · 10 months ago

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This fic will explore the fanon of Tiefling rut/heat cycles: specifically, what happens when a stressed, overworked, sexually pent-up wizard is confronted with his own biology and his feelings about a certain hero all at once?

Thank you @rolansrighthorn for kindly beta reading this chapter!

Rolan x afab!Tav

Birds and Bees - Ch.1

The new Master of Ramazith's Tower hasn't been feeling well. Rolan isn't quite sure what's wrong with himself, but when Tav arrives back in Baldur's Gate, things get much worse.

Tags: Tiefling Ruts, Sexual Tension, Mutual Pining | Word Count: 3.4k [Read on AO3]

Rolan awoke feeling sick as a dog.

He pulled his legs over the edge of the mattress with a wince. The dull ache in his muscles was something he hadn't felt since those first weeks on the road out of Elturel.

He'd slept like hells the past few days; no doubt that was the cause. Once again, bizarre nightmares had left him gasping awake before dawn, covered in a clammy sheen of perspiration.

The dreams featuring Tav, however…

Rolan’s tail shuddered and flicked over the bedsheets behind him at the memory. He pushed those thoughts forcefully from his head. Tav was due back in Baldur’s Gate today—that was the last thing he should be thinking of when she arrived at Sorcerous Sundries.

She’d been away for over a week this time, gathering her materials in the Underdark. He wondered if that meant she'd have enough work to keep her in the city for longer, too. The thought encouraged him enough to rise and dress for the day. He should make sure her alchemy station was prepped and ready for her at the back of the shop, at least.

Down on the main floor of Sorcerous Sundries, Rolan’s improved mood was instantly tested. Cal took in his face wide-eyed.

“You look awful.”

“And good morning to you,” Rolan responded irritably.

“Is it?” Cal trailed after him as he unlocked and threw open the wide front doors. “Rolan, maybe you need a day off. You look like you barely slept.”

“I'm fine,” Rolan said, voice firm. “Where’s Lia?”

Right as the words left him, a teacup appeared at his elbow.

“Had a feeling you might need it,” Lia told him. “Looks like I was right.”

Too tired to combat both his siblings at once this early in the day, Rolan accepted the tea with a begrudging sigh of thanks. The smell of bitter herbs hit his nose before he took the first sip.

“Doctoring me with folk remedies now?”

Lia waved a dismissive hand as she moved behind the counter. “Yeah, yeah, we all know you'd rather get fussed over by Tav. Can't have you dragging your tail and embarrassing us in front of her, though.”

Cal walked off with a snort.

Rolan shut his eyes and wished he could return straight back to bed. Instead, he drank his tea down in silence and said a prayer for an easy day of work.

He did find himself perking up after a while. It was difficult to stay sullen on such a glorious spring day; clear sunlight streamed generously through the high windows above, and the flow of customers milling into the shop settled into a pleasant, familiar hum. Rolan fell into the rhythm of assisting them here and there, locating scrolls and giving advice on spellwork.

It certainly wasn’t the prospect of seeing Tav again that was improving his mood so much. That’s what Rolan kept telling himself, at least.

Another breeze drifted in through the open atrium behind him, bringing with it the fresh scent of spring wildflowers. Rolan was taken with a sudden fancy to move closer to wherever it emanated from.

“Lovely morning, isn't it?”

Tav stood beaming at him from the doorway, despite the full-to-bursting pack slung over one of her shoulders. Clearly he wasn’t the only one affected by the irresistibly nice weather.

“It rather is,” Rolan agreed. Ignoring her usual protests, he unshouldered the bag from her with a tug; its weight made him question whether she’d stuffed it entirely with minerals.

“Ugh…thanks.” Tav stretched her arms back appreciatively. She was wearing a lightweight tunic, carelessly laced, and the motion strained the fabric over her chest.

Rolan averted his gaze, feeling rather warm all of a sudden. He instead led Tav back to her workstation near the stairs.

“Looks busy in here,” she remarked with approval. “Business good?”

“Can’t complain. I take it your travels were as successful?” He punctuated the comment by landing her pack on the desk with a heavy thump. Tav laughed.

“Brilliant, actually. I've got a lot to show you, if you can spare the time.”

“Just give me a few minutes,” he answered, turning back to her.

Tav didn’t reply right away; she was frowning at his face. “Rolan, are you ill? You look flushed—” And she reached a hand as if to feel his forehead.

“Of course not,” Rolan answered, a bit too swiftly. Casting for an excuse to create some distance, he moved to the nearby reference shelves and began shoving the mess of books back into their correct cubbies. “Cal, could you grab another stack of the beginner’s Weave series? We’ve sold through.”

Cal looked up from his work rolling scroll pages. “Er, sure…which wing is that again?”

“Nevermind,” Rolan sighed. “I’ll get them myself. Let me know if your station’s missing any supplies,” he added to Tav, letting his voice soften a bit. It earned him a dimpling smile.

Rolan strode away from her toward the portal, feeling that annoying ache in his legs return as he did.

—

Tav watched Rolan’s figure trudge up the staircase with another twinge of concern. Then she set to work connecting all the equipment on her alchemy station. Lia appeared at her side before long, asking after her week’s travels in the Underdark and catching her up on news and gossip from the Gate. It was so nice to have friends like Lia; ones you could pick up right where you left off with.

Tav had emptied her bag onto her desk and begun sorting the small mountain of herbs into separate piles as she listened. “How’s Rolan been doing with everything, really?”

Lia was turning over one of her shards of laculite, idly catching the sunlight in its facets. “Mostly happy. And stressed, and overextended. And completely neurotic about organizing every shelf in the library. You know, typical wizard stuff.”

“I just hope he’s looking after himself,” she said down to her work. The words left her mouth easier than she wished.

Lia leaned a hip against her desk with arms crossed. “You sound interested in helping with that.”

The quake in Tav’s stomach made her feel very caught out, then very stupid. She let out an exhale of laughter instead.

“Rolan’s made it pretty clear that he is not,” she replied. Her fingers began stripping the blooms from her pile of dried mugwort with more force than strictly necessary.

“Between you and me,” Lia mused, “I don’t think Rolan’s anywhere near clear on that subject. Smart people can be real idiots, you know.”

“Who can?”

Rolan was headed from the staircase with an armful of books; he stood behind Lia with a suspicious look. Tav immediately wondered how much he’d heard.

“Rich people,” Lia answered at once, still leaning casually against Tav’s desk. “Lady Whitburn’s handmaid keeps coming in asking for spell scrolls that I’m pretty sure don’t exist. You think she’d get the picture by now.”

Rolan let out a long-suffering sigh and held out the stack of volumes to her. “Take these. And just send Cal to help her next time, that’s why she keeps coming back.”

Lia threw up a hand as if that only proved her point. “Like I said, idiots.” But with one last glance at Tav, she grabbed the books and ferried them away to the front of Sorcerous Sundries.

For her part, Tav resumed the work of preparing the week’s ingredients—there were several large batches of antidote to get through this morning. Rolan took up his usual spot at the desk in her periphery.

Ever since the first week he’d offered Sorcerous Sundries to her as a home of operations for her alchemy, Tav found herself spending many hours at work beside Rolan like this. They spent the time talking about her travels, or his latest studies with the Weave, or just discussing the last books they’d read. On busier days, he was called away to help customers for most of her visit.

Today, however, Rolan stood unusually silent next to her.

“Sure you’re feeling all right?” She glanced at his back, again noting the tense line of his shoulders.

“Just a bit tired.” Rolan tipped open his massive record of the shop figures. “Haven’t been sleeping well.”

“I could make you something for that, if you like.”

He gave a low huff of laughter as he took up his quill. “From what I hear from my customers, I’d be out cold for days.”

“Really?” She couldn’t help a grin of professional pride, but focused on adjusting the flame under her distilling glass. “Glad they’re selling well.”

“I can barely keep them on the shelves, especially those remedial draughts you make. The last batch lasted three days.”

Though it was satisfying to hear, Tav felt a bit chagrined. “Damn…won’t have more of those for a while. I still need to track down a new materials trader in the Gate. My usual guy moved on to Neverwinter.”

There was a short pause in their little corner, filled only with the sounds of softly bubbling liquid against glass.

“You know,” Rolan said without turning, “you’re welcome to stay here, if it’s easier for you. The guest room’s always empty. That is, so you wouldn’t have to travel across the city on top of finding your new contact.”

“Oh—” Tav tried hard not to read anything into his offer. “Actually, I already left my things with Danis and Bex. But thank you, Rolan,” she added.

Rolan coughed lightly, back still turned. “Of course.”

There was another pause, longer and strangely awkward. Tav suddenly found she needed something more to occupy her thoughts than watching a flask boil. Reaching down for her pack, she pulled her research journal up to the desk.

It had been many weeks since Rolan brought up that subject. Why now?

Cal and Lia constantly reminded her of the long-standing offer of a room in the Tower anytime she had need of it. For unspoken reasons, she’d always found polite ways of declining.

It wasn’t that Rolan had made her feel unwelcome in any way. After all, he’d opened up the expansive resources of Ramazith’s Tower to her use, lending her all of the delicate and expensive alchemy equipment that she’d never be able to cart back and forth in her travels. She owed much of her current success to his generosity.

But Rolan had proven himself a generous patron for all kinds of arcane arts as Master of Ramazith’s Tower. Really, what made her think she was any kind of special case?

The fact that she’d very much like to be that to him…well.

That was something Tav tried not to think about. It only led her to dangerous territory, such as staring at his hands while he worked a spell and wondering what else they might be good for. Hardly conducive to a friendly, professional relationship.

And if she was any good at reading signals, friendly but professional was how Rolan wanted to keep things.

Tav shuffled through her notes a bit too briskly and almost scattered them. That was enough dwelling on that subject; clearly, Rolan had plenty to think about without worrying about unwanted advances in his own home. The least she could do to repay his generosity would be to continue respecting his boundaries.

“Noblestalk propagation?”

She glanced over her shoulder. To her surprise, Rolan had moved closer to peer down at the top page in her hands with curiosity.

“Most valuable thing in the Underdark,” she told him. “Even more than mithril. Actually, this is what I wanted to show you—”

Noblestalk fetched a high price for its alchemical power, certainly, but also for its rarity. The delicate mushrooms were notoriously picky about where they grew; it was part of what made them so hard to find.

Truth be told, she’d been running a little experiment on them down in the Underdark over the past few months. She ran a finger across the charted results as she explained them to Rolan, whose tension seemed to vanish as he listened on with keen interest.

“Obviously the spores took faster in high humidity. But look, they actually did better when I transplanted them in a really cold spot near the river here—which is so odd, most fungi need a bit of warmth—

“Have you tried recreating these artificially? Carrying a sample back to the surface?”

“Not yet.” She scratched her chin in thought. “I’d need to find somewhere underground to propagate it. And I’d rather not spend any more time in the sewers, after that little cult business.”

“Just do it here,” Rolan dismissed, as if it was the plainly obvious solution. “We’ve got quite a few empty vaults now. Shouldn’t be too hard to repurpose one as a greenhouse of sorts.”

As she turned her head to respond, she was caught up short.

Rolan was still peering intently at her writing. But in his concentration, he’d angled his body very close beside her. His chest nearly brushed her shoulder. She could’ve counted the freckles dusting his nose.

When he reached forward to flip over the page, she felt his other hand actually rest on the far side of her waist—the absent way you might touch someone very familiar to you when moving past them. Heat rose in her cheeks at the gesture.

Perhaps Rolan felt her tense. He blinked, and she watched realization dart over his features. He stepped back at once.

“Apologies.” Then he cleared his throat to add—“Your work is quite engaging.”

Coming from him, the words sounded much nicer than they had a right to. She felt her flush deepening, and quickly turned back to reorder her notes.

“Thanks,” she laughed, praying it didn’t sound as awkward as it felt rising in her throat.

Behind her back, she heard Rolan return to his desk on her left. Presumably continuing his work on the Sundries inventory; more likely trying to ignore her obvious fluster.

She clenched her jaw in an attempt to shove that same stupid, fluttery feeling out of her stomach, and returned to the practical work at hand.

—

Rolan stared down at last week’s sales in his ledger. The figures were a blur of meaningless scribbles in front of his eyes.

Was he feverish? Seriously ill? There had to be a sound explanation for the way he’d just…laid hands on her like that, unthinking.

He clenched the guilty right hand responsible, feeling its sharp nails press crescent moons into his palm. Idiot. He took a deep breath to regain his composure.

It only caused that lovely wildflower scent from before to fill his lungs more completely, pulling at his other senses. Perhaps it was emanating from one of the many strange ingredients Tav was always carrying back from the Underdark. Was that what had muddled his mind this way?

He found himself glancing back over his shoulder to where she was bent over her alchemy scales. The pink tip of her tongue was visible between her teeth, a gesture she often made when concentrating.

As Rolan watched, a lock of her hair slipped forward over her shoulder. She swept it absently back behind her ear. The innocuous motion caused another wave of something floral to brush past his face, stronger this time.

“Are you wearing scent?”

Tav glanced up from the powder she was weighing out, brows raised in question. “What?”

“Nothing,” Rolan said swiftly, shaking himself back to rights a bit. He felt very lucky she seemed to have misheard. He turned back to his work before he could say anything else strange or embarrassing.

With effort, Rolan forced his attention back to the comforting logic of sums and figures.

The time passed with blessed uneventfulness after that. The soft sounds of glassware and bubbling liquids from Tav’s alchemy faded to an idle lull at the back of Rolan’s consciousness. Nevertheless, he pushed through the past month’s numbers with more difficulty than usual, scratching through multiple errors as his quill moved over the page. He occasionally had to pause to rub at an uncomfortable crick building in his neck.

A laugh came from behind him. “Do you mind?”

Rolan raised his head to look. Tav was gesturing at the corner of her alchemy station with a bemused expression.

To his own confusion, he found that his tail had traveled there of its own accord sometime in the past minutes. It lay coiled on the wood, its tip flicking back and forth in her direction, as if seeking her attention.

With another chuckle, Tav’s fingers closed around it and lightly dropped the appendage off the edge of her desk.

An involuntary sound caught in Rolan’s throat. The moment her hand connected with his skin, a shock of blood rushed to his groin. He nearly tipped forward in alarm at the feeling.

The rapid redirection left his legs wobbling and bloodless. His knees almost buckled under him; he gripped sharp claws into the edge of his wooden desk to steady himself.

As the ringing in his ears cleared, he heard Tav reading under her breath behind him while she ground something against her mortar. Praise the gods that whatever just happened to his body had escaped her notice.

“Need a book from the library—”

Without a backward glance, Rolan stumbled toward the stairs.

Spurred on by the knowledge that any customers who might notice his urgent departure would certainly see the reason for it, he strode on double-time for the portal. Only once the swirl of Weave closed behind him, depositing him in the quiet of the Tower, did he release the breath caught up in his lungs.

Seeking to ground himself, Rolan glanced up to watch the golden dust motes drift through a beam of sunlight. It was the strangest sensation to be standing completely still and feel a sweat break out over his brow.

How did he not realize days ago? Muscle aches—difficulty sleeping—heightened senses. All clear indicators that his biology had finally caught up with him, albeit a solid year later than it should have.

Rolan gripped a hand to the back of his head with a groan of realization. Not perfume—it had been Tav herself he kept catching scent of this morning. That sweet smell that practically made his mouth water to recall now was nothing but raw instinct laid bare.

Well, he had no right to complain about the timing. Apparently many frantic months of escaping the Hells, surviving on the road, and battling back an invasion from the Astral Plane had done a lot to delay the inevitable.

But inevitable it was, and as of today, very much inescapable. There was never really a convenient time for this sort of thing, was there?

It could be worse—as the new keeper of Ramazith’s Tower, at least he found himself with private quarters to retreat to for the entirety of it. If he was lucky, it would all be over in a week, and then he could go on ignoring this unfortunate side effect of his Infernal heritage for a few more uneventful years.

Lia and Cal could manage the shop for a week without any major calamities, surely?

As Rolan paced the silk carpets of the Tower floor, he forced his feverish mind to finish scrabbling together the plan. His gaze fell on the desk by the window. In the next second, he was putting shaking quill to parchment. Something simple, just enough they’d understand—

Bad week for visitors. Please mind the Sundries while I recover. Tell Tav

The tip of his quill skipped as he paused, letting a droplet of ink bleed into the page.

Tell Tav what, exactly? That he was in his room rutting his brains out like an animal in heat? Likely thinking of her while he did?

That line of thought brought a series of unhelpful and very stimulating images to mind. He swallowed down a humiliating sound as the stiffness between his legs grew painfully hard in reaction. Merciful, bloody hells.

Tell Tav nothing, he finished in a scrawl. Rolan folded the note and deposited it on the floor just in front of the portal, where it would be impossible for his siblings to miss.

Then he turned for the staircase to his bedroom, already mad to rip these chafing gods-damned robes off his skin.

#spicy #rolan x tav #tiefling ruts #eventual smut #bg3 rolan #female tav #heat/rut cycles #rebgrrl writes #underdark-dreams #bg3 fanfiction #tiefling biology

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didyoulookforme · 4 months ago

Text

need you tonight

part of give me a moment (aka stylist au as briefly described in this tag)

warning: 18+, smut. probably grammatical errors, typos.

au masterlist here

-----

“sorry—‘m sorry”

you’re pretty sure those are some of the only words that stumble past his lips as you go down on him. perhaps an apology for his ring getting tangled in your hair, trying to keep you close. but to be honest, the more cynical part of you hopes it's pure regret for fucking someone else just hours before.

it was not strange for you to crave a nicotine hit at this time, more often than not stepping out the bus to smoke a cigarette or two prior to calling it a night, that first inhale always making your head buzz a little as the all-too-familiar warmth runs through your limbs, a much welcome sensation to try leave the tiredness behind.

every day was like clockwork. bus arrives at the venue. stage and lighting are assembled. band soundchecks. you have a quick dinner. then it's time for him. after all, it's what you're here to do, work as matty's own personal stylist during the tour.

you had no clue luck had finally struck when you opened those dms earlier this year.

(13:43) trumanblack: hey (13:43) trumanblack: i found your profile via my friend (13:44) trumanblack: i really like your style n you look pretty cool

(13:58) trumanblack: sorry if this sounds creepy. promise i'm a real human tho (13:58) trumanblack: x

you didn’t recognize him. however from a swift scroll through the feed, you gathered that his name was matty. apparently the front man of a seemingly popular band with a fanbase head-over-heels lusting for them.

mostly him, though.

you couldn't help but gaze at his lanky frame and pale skin adorned with ink, zooming in on certain posts to try decipher what they were. he definitely had a point of view when it came to dressing himself—sometimes a bit messy and chaotic, but for the most part pleasing to the eye, a quality you appreciated given your line of work. his seemingly playful demeanour across photos made it seem like he was perhaps younger than you, this time a google search confirming that, in fact, he was born three years later. april 1989.

countless press photos appeared under his name and you spent the next half hour swiping back and forth between articles, finding him intriguing enough and giving you the surge of confidence to respond.

and that's basically why you're leaning against this tour bus now. the friendly banter with a stranger led you to travel the world and do what you enjoy most. the fancy clothes. the colourful glitz. the wild after parties. this stuff that you always dreamed about was somehow now your own reality that you often had to pinch yourself to ensure you weren't just passed out cold on the sofa back home.

however, this almost too good to be true gig also led you to fall for a guy, the same one whose collar you straighten almost every night.

the most fucking cliché story. some assistant falling for her boss just months after being hired. it actually makes you feel sickeningly stupid, embarrassed. still you can't seem to stop digging yourself deeper into a hole with every hour you spend caring for him, not being made any better by matty being nothing but affectionate towards you behind closed doors.

you know he’s the reason your nicotine addiction has increased tenfold, always finding yourself alone at this hour enveloped in smoke, part of you still wanting to pretend you do so to numb out the sleepless nights. took you a while to finally admit you did it as an attempt to cloud out any thought of him.

tonight’s really no different.

you’re not sure how much time has passed, but it’s enough for the cold to start settling on your skin. perhaps it’s your queue to stop and go back in. you snub out your cigarette, watching the red embers fade just as a car rounds the corner. it halts to a stop only a few meters away, and you catch the faint sound of a door creaking open, followed by the murmur of voices filling the night air.

then you hear it. that unmistakable high pitched laugh that can pull you awake in a single second. him.

and, of course. you immediately know why.

you’d learned pretty early on this was a common end to the routine: matty picks up a girl at the gig, goes fucks her somewhere, and has her drop him off right after.

reminds you of the number of red and purple bruises you often cover up before his show. it wasn't rocket science figuring out the cause, yet he never really addresses it, choosing silence and averting his gaze as your fingertips dab foundation on tender skin, temporarily hiding any remains of nights prior.

you didn't even notice your eyes had closed. not until the car door slams shut, jerking them open just in time to see him blow a kiss in her direction. your heart fractures at the sweet gesture, but only hurts for a second before he's walking towards you, his stupid wide grin mending it better.

"didn't expect to see you out here.”

open button-up untucked. blazer over his shoulder. dark curls frizzy and disheveled. everything making it crystal clear he's just slept with someone else and still not you.

"only making sure you make it back alright so i can tuck you in." of course, you wish that were the case.

it's only a few seconds until he settles next to you, leaning over to kiss your cheek. soft lips gently brushing against your skin. the way he always greets you—but only when no one's watching.

"aren't you sweet, then?"

"trying my best." given the circumstances, it's pretty much all you can do.

he pulls out his beat-up cigarette box, flicking it open and offering you one. you decline, showing him the smothered tip of your own before finally tossing it aside.

"guess it must've been a pretty good time today," you lick the pad of your thumb before rubbing a lipstick mark off his jaw. it’s always ruby red or deep maroon. those same tones which he'll compliment you on. a similar shade you left on his lips the only time your mouth had been on his.

you finish cleaning the stains off his skin, matty murmuring a soft ‘thank you’ for having done so. it’s your turn to kiss his temple. “‘tis my job, you know? making sure you look good.” you should be mad, upset, have some sort of negative emotion. instead, you can’t help but have your heart intermittently flutter when he returns a sheepish smile, his arm wrapping around your shoulders to pull you close.

neither of you say much, but that’s alright. you rest your head on the crook of his neck, noticing how nice it feels. how nice he feels. you see the chipped nail polish on his fingers. the wrinkled fabric of his flowered shirt. the dark hair down his torso. the unbuckled belt at his waist. it’s only then that jealousy creeps itself back in and suddenly your shoes seem all that more interesting than the man standing by your side.

"why do you do it, matty?" the sweetness of your voice never fails to mask the envy you actually feel. or at least you hope it does.

"hmm?"

"the sleeping around.” you finally lift your head to look at him, surprised that his pretty eyes were already on you. the toothy smirk is gone, though, replaced by a thin, expressionless line at his lips. he doesn’t owe you an explanation. you know that. thus why you’re surprised when he actually starts to talk.

"dunno, really.” he lights up another cigarette and you notice as he gets lost in his mind. “i mean, it’s kinda difficult to say no to sex or a blowjob when they’re literally throwing themselves at you.” he seemingly tries to joke, but you don’t have time for funny right at this moment.

instead you wonder if it’s actually that easy.

“let me do it, then.”

“so—sorry?” he chokes mid-drag.

“let me give you a blowjob just like those other girls do. just like she did,” you point at the ghost of that green car from before, “ just tonight.”

it’s like his face cannot figure out which expression to land on, flipping between confusion, surprise, and something else that reads between need and desire.

“what the fuck?” his voice is shaky and it stings when he pushes you aside, yet, he doesn’t try hard to put much distance between you two so it’s not difficult to invade his space, standing right in front of him until your face is a breath away from his. large, calloused hands grasp your shoulders tight, halting you from inching closer.

“don’t.”

“what’s the difference between them and myself, then?” seems like a simple enough question to you. “why can they have you and not me?”

but he has no answer, at least not one that he can properly voice. his hold on you starts to lessen, perhaps giving you some permission to let you do whatever you want.

you bring your hands up to his and pull them away, kissing his knuckles before placing them on your waist. an almost incoherent ‘fuck’ leaves his lips, and, as if on cue, his head falls back willingly, giving you the space to kiss his neck. the faint smell of her still on him.

“please let me,” you whisper against his skin.

it’s not even a question at this point.

his fingers dig into your hips as you look at him once more, now noticing a mixture of lust and care in those almond coloured eyes. for a minute there, you get lost in them, admiring how his pupils dilate when your hands find the button of his pants, and how they shrink back as you finally undo the zipper. you don’t want to waste any more time—you’ve already waited too long—so you slide your palm down his pants to grab his half-hard cock, his eyes instantly rolling to the back of his head when you wrap your fingers around him.

“is this okay?”

you take the buck of his hips as a confirmation, giving you the courage to spread the precum along his length. he feels nice. having him in your hand seems just right and you only hope that he won’t regret this when he wakes up next morning in bed.

tonight is your turn to suck on the skin alongside his jaw, the thought of having to cover your own marks making you smile.

“fuck, baby.”

you’re not sure if he even noticed that sweet name leave his mouth, but you like the sound of it, and it’s all it takes for you to drop to your knees, dragging his pants and boxers down just enough to pull out his dick.

you look up at him once more, his left hand coming to tangle on your head, his other loosely holding his cigarette, almost done and fully forgotten. you kiss his tip, your gaze still not leaving his, thoroughly enjoying yourself as he bites his bottom lip each time your thumb hits that spot under the head of his cock. his scent is almost too much to bear so you take him in one go, feeling his cock twitch inside your mouth. it doesn’t take long before he’s fully hard and hitting the back of your throat.

the plastic taste of latex is still on his skin. a sad reminder that you weren’t his first tonight. that maybe you are an afterthought. just another girl who he uses to make himself come. but at least it means you get to have him even if it’s just this one time.

matty. that’s all that’s on your mind. once again. somewhat difficult to not think about him when you’re sucking him off, those heavenly sounds coming from his mouth making your own slick drip down your leg.

you pull away to catch your breath, using your hand to keep stroking him, pleasantly surprised when he pulls on your hair each time your red fingernails graze the underside of his cock. you do it again and again until he breaks and fucks your hand, apologizing for not being able to help himself. it’s a sight you’ll commit to memory as long as you’re alive.

now that you’ve had a taste, it’s only so long you can go without having your lips around him. and that’s what you do, take him again, hands urging his hips to fuck your mouth. to fuck himself senseless in the hopes that you’ll be the one he turns to when he needs somebody else. he doesn’t deny your request, throwing away the wasted cigarette to guide you, setting a pace that allows him to stay steady on his feet.

purely drunk on him, you're barely aware when his phone vibrates in his pocket, matty muttering 'sorry' before grabbing and letting it drop onto the grass at your side. nosiness always gets the best of you, so you can't help but glance down, catching sight of a text from an unsaved number asking if he could fuck her again tomorrow.

you feel his hips falter. he knows you've seen it.

“’m sorry.”

this time it's a mix between a cry and a whimper. perhaps he did feel bad. perhaps some part of him did care about you in the way that you needed him to.

you reach back to place your hand on top of his, making him push your head further into him, to thrust into you until tears pool at your lashes just as he spills hard and fast down your throat. his taste overtakes every cell of your being as you swallow, feeling him soften against your tongue before you reluctantly pull away.

you didn’t even realize your knees were so sore until you stand up, not wasting a second to ask him is he's going to see her again the following night.

"do you want me to?" his thumb wipes away some of his cum off the corner of your lip. you reach out to suck it, slowly shaking your head in response.

he laughs nervously as his mouth clashes against yours, stealing both the air from your lungs. this wasn't the first time you’d kissed, but this wasn’t like before. the way he quietly moans against your lips. the softness of his fingers resting on your face. the crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he pulls back.

"can i see you tomorrow, then?"

you could’ve sworn you heart stopped. can you truly believe those words after watching him leave you behind all those nights? the soft circles his thumbs draw on your skin do feel sincere, the reassurance you need to perhaps let him in, give him a chance even though you know it’s a slippery one.

it’s your turn to brush your thumb against his mouth, slowly pulling at the bottom lip and watching it bounce back up into place. you kiss him one last time before confirming 'okay', immediately turning to finally head back in. not wanting to linger for too long in case he changes his mind.

you catch his reflection on the mirror, noticing as he tucks himself in, and it’s that slight smile on his face which keeps you awake for hours on end.

-----

for this lovely anon here. thank you for the inspo :) <3

#wrote most of this while high so i apologize if it doesn't make sense #give me a moment #stylist au #matty healy smut #the 1975 smut #matty healy fanfic #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy x reader #matty healy x you #matty healy imagine #gmam #mw

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jmwdoesthings · 5 months ago

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Snape's Search History - Part One

So this has been requested by quite a few people, now. For those who hadn't seen my previous headcanon post: here it is. I will try and tag all those who have expressed interest in the comments.

In short: After stealing Snape's phone and looking through his saddening search history, the trio come up with a plan to make Snape happy. This is how it unfolds, for the Potions Master has little idea what to make of it.

Enjoy and do reblog to inform the others!!

Part One.

All was still in the empty Transfiguration classroom. The dust lay undisturbed and thick upon the solid desks, which in turn were standing silent and endeavouring in their fortitude of unuse. The chalkboard looked dejected, the forgotten endeavours of clearing it of writing still visible in ashy smudges across the charcoal surface. And it would have probably stayed like that for another decade or two if the door wasn’t flung open and three small figures stumbled from behind it, making enough noise for the dust to twitch into the air again. A ‘quick, quick!’ was spat out by one of the disturbers accompanied by a few hisses of urge, then a scrabble as the doorknob was found and the door was pushed.

The dust jumped up from the desk as the door slammed shut and settled back upon it once more as Harry, Ron and Hermoine stood, panting, in front of it.

After a short moment, Ron pushed himself from the door. His face broke out in a wide grin.

“Blimmin’ heck, that was a mess!” He laughed and dusted his hands. “He’ll be looking for it, now, I bet.”

“But we’ve got it!” Harry grasped the trophy tight, as though he was afraid that it would slip from him, back to its owner. “Let’s do it quick, before someone else comes to find us and sees us.”

Hermoine said nothing, but she was far from calm herself - in fact, she was inches from jumping down on the spot and breaking out into a mad giggle. The latter she repressed with difficulty as they all stormed to the nearest table, swept off the perplexed dust from it with their sleeves, then laid out the shiny, sleek device upon its surface.

The device was a phone. It wasn’t any old phone, either, for if it was perhaps only a few of the more eccentric would deem it a subject of interest. This was a working phone, one which withstood any feuds between its power and the magic sparking and fizzing, though quiet and invisible, in the air; even better yet - this phone belonged to a certain man whom the three giggling and bending over its shiny, black surface, hated with a vengeance. This phone belonged to the Potion’s Master: Severus Snape.

“Go on, Hermione.” Ron slid the phone over to the small witch with bushy brown hair. “You said you knew the password.”

Hermione nodded, growing solemn at the task at hand, shoved her brown mane out of her eyes and bent over the screen, which grew illuminated at the touch of a button.

“Merlin’s beard, what my dad would give to be in our place,” Ron breathed, as Hermoine tapped out some letters and numbers with her forefingers. “A fellytone, and a working one too-”

“It’s called a telephone, Ron,” Harry corrected, though he could barely breathe as he watched Hermione’s fingers working. “Ha, I cannot believe we’ve actually managed to do this. Fred and George are nothing compared to us, now.”

“I’d love to see their faces,” Ron whispered, almost wriggling with glee. “And I’m the one who fished it out of his pocket! Now, all we need to do is-”

“Got it.” Hermione smiled as the screen changed, displaying buttons with different icons upon a plain, dark backdrop. “Now, if I remember correctly, it's called explorer…”

“Why aren’t we doing this in the common room, again?” Ron continued. “I know Percy’s a prefect, but even he wouldn’t-”

“Because, Ron,” Hermoine began as she chose the right button, “we have no idea what Snape actually keeps or searches for on this phone. If it’s all weird, we’d be too embarrassed to even attempt showing it to them. Plus,” she added, when Ron opened his mouth to interject, “it’s not like we’re going to cast it out of the window as soon as we’re done. It’s not magic - at least I don’t think it is - and it won’t just disappear or fly out to find Snape. We can show the rest of our classmates later.”

Ron opened his mouth again, but then understood the sense of this and closed it.

“There it is,” Harry said, as Hermione searched for the right option. “History. Oh, boy, this is gonna be good. If he’s not cleared it.”

Ron rubbed his hands and rocked on the balls of his feet as he leaned on the table. “Yeah, as ‘Mione said, I bet it's all weird. Let's see what’s first.”

Dangling hair and breathing mingled and hovered inches from the square surface as all three leaned in to see. However, there was hardly any giggling, after they all read the first position on the records of what, precisely, the Potion’s Master searched for whenever he had a spare moment. In fact, there was none at all, and the glee was slowly replaced with something that none of them had been expecting.

Hermoine’s eyes dulled and eyebrows furrowed as she read the first position aloud.

“... ‘How to be more approachable’.”

There was a rather awkward pause. Hermione made a rather sad ‘oh’ sound. Ron shifted slightly.

“That’s kind-of sad, to be honest,” he finally managed, frowning.

“Scroll down, Hermione,” Harry waved aside the tension and leaned forward again. “That’s only the first position. Perhaps he’s had a change of heart.”

“And the most recent,” Hermione murmured, but she scrolled down obediently.

“Yeah, I bet it’s all weird further down,” Ron muttered, but they were all disproved again. Their childish glee was completely reduced to something rather prickly and uncomfortable as Hermione ploughed through the searches:

“...Where can happiness be obtained…”

“...How to tolerate children…”

“...Patience, tips...”

“...Wholesome fiction with happy ending… stories with happy ending… which sad books to avoid… books to make one’s soul happy…”

And then:

“...Fast, effective…”

Here, Hermione paused and bit her lip, her eyes sparkling strangely, her brow now heavy. Harry glanced at her, then finished for her.

“Fast, effective headache relief.” He straightened and shifted from foot to foot, then looked at Ron for some sort of inspiration to dilute the thickness of the air. “Did you know Snape gets headaches, Ron?”

“Nope,” Ron offered, looking rather ashamed of himself and his gloating, the tips of his ears pink. “I didn’t think so. I mean, it makes sense though, doesn’t it…?”

“I feel terrible,” Hermione whispered, balling her fists.

“Yeah, we should probably put it back,” Ron said, though he didn’t look as enthusiastic about slipping the phone back into the Potion Master’s pocket than he did about proudly obtaining it. “Should we just leave it on his desk when he’s not in the classroom?”

“And how are we going to do that?” Harry asked, frowning. “We can’t go running around the dungeons. The Slytherin common rooms are there.”

Hermione sniffed, then rolled her eyes, pushing the phone away from her. “You have an invisibility cloak, Harry. This shouldn’t be too much of an issue.”

“Oh, yeah.”

They stood there for another few seconds, before Harry reached out and hesitantly pocketed the phone. “Let’s get back to the common rooms. We don’t need to mention this to anybody.”

“No, we don’t.” Ron said sadly, recalling his former words of potential victory over Fred and George and how they just went down the drain. “Never mind. Let’s just go.”

The dust was rather glad to be free of them, and so was the classroom. Only the desks, however, were rather miserable that they once again stood alone in their fortitude of unuse, unnoticed, only there to be berated and slandered by the students. Just like, as the trio would soon deduce, Severus Snape, the Potion’s Master, was.

A week passed. The phone was returned back to Snape’s desk without much ado. After that, it was unmentioned, and whenever it was glimpsed, three pairs of eyes were averted to the candles or windows, and most certainly not to each other, no words about it leaving their mouths, though they most certainly bounced around in their brains, though some were more cluttered than the others’.

It was through Harry’s mouth that the uncomfortable topic surfaced and it did so on a Saturday evening, in the library, when the day was slowly coming to an end and the sun was sinking slowly outside the mullioned windows. Ron was scowling at his Transfiguration homework, when Harry shot out a sigh through his nose and put down his quill.

“Listen, guys,” he started, nudging Hermione, who didn’t look as though she had heard him and just kept right on scribbling, her nose nearly touching the parchment. “I’ve been thinking… Hey, Hermione, are you listening?”

“Shush.” Hermoine glared at him, then shot a pointed glance at Madam Pince. “We’ll get kicked out.”

Ron’s scowl didn’t shift and was merely re-directed at its favourite subject of complaint with large front teeth and a vehement urge to stuff her head with new fragments of knowledge.

“Not if we keep our voices down,” he said, potting his quill too. “Talk, Harry.”

Harry opened his mouth mainly to play on Hermione’s nerves than to follow through on his plans, when his mind did a detour to the wisdom of him touching on such a sensitive topic in a public place.

“Let’s go somewhere else,” he said with a nod. “Not because this is the library. We need to speak about… you know what.”

This was of enough weight for Hermione’s quill to stop moving. She shot him a glance, then met eyes with Ron and sighed.

“Yes,” she whispered. “We can’t speak about this here. To be honest, I’ve been meaning to speak about this to you both too.”

They latched up their bags, grabbed their stationary, then swiftly exited the library, tripping over Harry and Ron’s untied shoelaces. Hermoine grabbed them by their bags when they turned the corridor towards the portrait of the Fat Lady.

“The common room’s full,” she hissed. “We should go outside. We won’t be overheard there.”

“Hermoine’s right,” Harry said, nudging Ron. “Let’s go.”

They turned around, then began slowly walking down towards the main gates. They all kept silent, their eyes trained mainly to the floor, sometimes only looking up to meander around the other students milling around the corridor. It was probably why they didn’t notice the ominous figure walking towards them until they had all but face-planted themselves into its black robes.

Hermione was the first to look up and stick out her arms to halt the other two, her eyes sharpening after she was prodded out of her thoughts by this slightly unwelcome reality. Harry and Ron had similarly dumb expressions as they blinked up at her, then at what was in front of them.

Professor Snape’s voice was as restricted to nothing but cold disdain as usual, and the black of both his clothes and expression matched this regularity.

“Where are we going?”

Harry opened his mouth, but Hermione beat him to it.

“Outside for a moment, Professor Snape.”

Harry paused, then nodded along with Ron, trying to appear as though they weren’t hiding anything at all. The Potion’s Master observed them for a moment or two longer, before lowering eyebrows and, as it seemed, his guard.

“I suggest you look where you’re going,” was all he said, before drawing his cape about him and turning to pass them. But he didn’t manage to pass them, when Hermoine opened her mouth and after drawing a deep breath, emitted a string of words strung upon the same one:

“I hope you have a good night, Professor Snape.”

It was quite uncanny, really, how all three males looked at her with the same degree of incredulity and astonishment upon their faces, apparently forgetting things like enmity and dislike. It was enough to make poor Hermione flush a deep red and her words to run away from her before she could properly filter them through her teeth and tongue.

“Just being polite, is all,” she muttered, before she tugged on Harry and Ron’s sleeves sharply. “Come on, let’s go.”

She dragged them off with enough force for Snape’s surprise to cool off and his usual stone face return as he watched them stagger, though that was only visible to Harry and Ron for a few seconds before the vehement grip on their arms prevented them from turning back around, in case they both got whiplash.

“Are you mental? What was that?” Ron hissed at her, when they rounded a corner, then he did a double take when he fixed his eyes on her features. “Blimey, Hermione, you’ve gone absolutely scarlet.”

“You’ve gone redder than his hair,” Harry commented, though with a hint of admiration in his tone as he stared.

“Oh, shut up,” Hermione muttered, then dragged them through the main door, into the cool of the evening. “Never mind that. Let’s talk about the subject at hand. And don’t tell me you’ve not been thinking about doing something similar to what I did.”

She glared at Ron and Harry, still flushed. They both pulled faces back, but they dropped their gaze after a few seconds as they trudged through the foliage.

“Alright, maybe,” Ron muttered under his breath, when they reached the black lake. “But it was nowhere near to what you just did.”

“What precisely did I just do?” Hermione snapped. “I was just being polite.”

“You were sucking up to him-”

“No I wasn’t.”

“Yes you were.” Ron put on a high-pitched voice. “I hope you have a wonderful night, Professor Snape-”

“Oh, shut up!” She stamped her foot. “You act as though you’re entirely ignorant. You were there when we looked at his history. You saw it. And if complaining and arguing about this is the best you can do, then I pity you, Ronald Weasley!”

“Alright,” Harry cut in, weakly. “That’s not what we came here to do. Let’s just get it over and done with before curfew.”

Hermione glared at Ron once more before settling down. Both folded their arms and stared at the lake. Harry pursed his lips, for it was much harder to project his thoughts than he thought it would be, now that they were actually all together for that purpose alone.

“I think Hermione’s right,” he began, when Hermione was no longer red. “It would be wrong to keep at… you know.”

Ron snorted. “Being mad at Snape for picking on us for no reason?”

“He picks on everyone.” Hermione said, her eyes narrowed. “We’re no exception. Well, perhaps Harry is, but then you did get off to the wrong start at the beginning of the year.”

“No he didn’t,” said Ron.

“He was talking back to him,” she argued. “And it was the first interaction they had. No wonder Snape hates Harry.”

“And you,” Ron said pointedly. “You’re pretty much every teacher’s pet but his, and do you know why? Because he’s an-”

“Can you two not?” Harry snapped. “Can you two calm down? Please? This is serious.”

The arguing pair scowled at one another and resumed evaporating the lake with their glares.

“So,” Harry said, once enough silence had passed, “I think we ought to… you know, help him a bit. Be, erm, nicer.”

Ron turned and creased his forehead, but Hermione nodded, solemnly.

“We ought to,” she said, softly. “I told you, I was thinking about it. It’s all about perspective, really.”

“Perspective?”

“Yes,” she said. “Think about it from Snape’s perspective. Do you reckon he has a lot of friends?”

Ron scoffed. “Don’t make me laugh. Who would want to be friends with him? ‘Course he hasn’t.”

“Precisely,” she said, though she looked at him reproachfully. “You’re teaching over five-hundred children Potions, all of whom, if I may add, are intent on either not listening, not doing homework, or just being downright rude. Yes, Ron, I know he’s like that too, and perhaps he does deserve it, and if we didn’t know better, we’d be justified in biting back. The point is, he’s clearly sad. He looks it. He looks downright miserable all the time.”

“You’re blowing this over.”

“Oh, am I?” Hermione said. “Tell me one time in which you saw him smile. And I don’t mean meanly. I mean happily. Have you ever heard him laugh? Because I haven’t.”

Ron sucked on his lips, looking torn. Harry listened, looking solemn.

“I haven’t either,” he said, quietly. “At first, I thought like Ron does, but… I’ve lived with the Dursleys my whole life. They’ve held grudges for no reason, for a long time, and it's tiring to be the person receiving them and keeping them up.”

Hermione looked at him with eyes lined with admiration. She nodded.

“Exactly, Harry. We could just be the reason for somebody’s… well, perhaps not happiness, but… tolerance.”

“And how are we going to do that?” Ron asked, still looking begrudging, but not unwilling. “By saying good morning and good night?”

“We could,” Harry said thoughtfully. “That wouldn’t be going over the top, or anything.”

Hermione must have thought about this more carefully than both of them put together, because she started counting out everything they could do upon her fingers as she spoke.

“Not just that,” she began. “We could do everything which is expected of us, for starters. Like doing homework on time, doing it correctly, not just so that it's done and boxed off without thought, the right parchment length, perhaps more… I know, we could get the older students to check it for us, so that we know we’ve done it right… then, we could actually listen in lessons and excel…”

Ron was frowning as she spoke. Even Harry was getting slightly doubtful they would ever manage such a feat.

“...Do extra work. If you don’t want to, Ron, then we could do something outside of lessons. Not necessarily work.”

“Then what?” Harry asked. “Like what?”

“We could… you know.” Hermione’s face became slightly pink again. “We could find out when his birthday is.”

“That’s going too far,” said Ron, firmly, looking slightly agonised. “Imagine his face… oh, no, I couldn’t.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Hermione agreed. “But then, I don’t know what else to do.”

“That sounds like a pretty good start to me,” Harry said. “Let’s start with lessons, Hermione, and if that doesn’t work, we’ll think of something else.”

Hermione’s face lit up, and for a moment both boys were afraid that she’d hug them.

“Great!” She grinned, then began walking towards the castle. “We have Potions on Monday, and homework due. Let’s get this done now! There’s still time. Alicia Spinnet’s good at potions - she’ll be able to point us in the right direction.”

Harry and Ron turned from the lake and began to follow Hermione as she marched towards the castle with an enigmatical spring in her step.

“I don’t know about you,” said Ron, as she talked on, “but I’ve got a weird feeling this is going to end up in a mess.”

“We’ve been in loads already,” Harry said, though there was something uneasy in his chest too, “so it won’t really make a difference. But Hermione’s got a point,” he added, after they reached the steps to the castle gate, “it must be annoying, being Snape. And, as we all know, doing homework properly’s always a good start to everything.”

“That’s utter garbage.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, grinning. “I’m quoting Hermione. She does it like she can’t live without it. And, from a teacher’s point of view, less marking seems like a good thing, at least to me.”

So the endeavours began, though they didn’t hold out to be as constant a flourish and blaze as Hermione made it out to be. Especially not after she insisted that they do twice the usual length as some form of surprise.

“I’m not doing that,” Ron complained, throwing himself back in his chair and folding his arms. “I’ve got enough work as it is. And I’ve already done it to the best possible standard. Even you’ve said it's not bad, Hermione.”

“It looks decent,” she said, unrolling her homework, which made both Harry and Ron’s pale in comparison. “But if we’re going to show that we’re not hostile any more, we ought to try harder.”

So the homework was done somewhat begrudgingly and everything seemed to be going to plan, before Sunday evening. More precisely, the free afternoon of Harry and Ron was disturbed by Hermione suddenly coming in through the portrait hole, clutching something behind her back, then moving swiftly towards them and sitting at the table at which they were currently playing wizard’s chess.

“I’ve got something,” she said, slightly flushed. “You’re not going to believe what I made in the girls’ bathroom.”

The game was paused and the boys looked suspicious as they turned to look at her.

“The girls’ bathroom?” Ron repeated bluntly. “What have you been making in the girls bathroom, Hermione, that could make you go so bloody pink?”

They both looked blank as she withdrew a hand from behind her back and placed its contents upon the surface of the table with a rather proud flourish. It was a glass bottle, the sort which looked rather like a cuboid, stoppered with a round cork. It was filled with a light blue liquid, which seemed to glow faintly as it rested within its cool, glass confines.

“That doesn’t look innocent,” Harry commented, knocking over Ron’s bishop. “What is it, Hermione?”

“It’s a headache draught,” she said proudly. “I found the recipe in one of the books in the library.”

Ron pushed his lips out as he stared at it, then picked it up.

“How d’you know he’ll know this is a headache draught, Hermione?”

“I reckon he’d know, since he’s the Potion’s Master.”

“But doesn’t that mean he’s fully capable of making these himself?” Harry asked. “It’s not like it would be a problem for him.”

“Yes, Harry,” Hermione said slightly impatiently, taking back the bottle from Ron, “but the thing is that some people, men especially, simply don’t bother with taking care of themselves. That’s what my mum once said, and I’ve observed it since. I have a good reason to suspect that Snape isn’t the sort to ensure his health is top-notch.”

“I wouldn’t care if I was him,” Ron agreed. “What’s there to live for, for him? If I had to teach a bunch of snotty kids Potions everyday, I’d probably kill myself.”

There was a bit of an awkward pause - Harry had begun to nod, but lost the ability to move his head as he caught the disapproval in Hermione’s eyes.

“I mean,” Ron corrected himself, “you’re probably right, anyway. How long did it take you to make this?” “An hour,” she replied, “but that was because I messed up the first one. I added a bat-wing too many, so I had to pour that down the sink. Anyway.” She sat up straight again, folding her hands on the table neatly. “It said that half this bottle is to be drunk with fluid twice daily. So we need to make this once a day.”

“We’re going to run out of ingredients within a week,” Harry commented.

“Not unless we take a little too many during Potions,” Hermione said coolly. “It’s a basic potion, using basic ingredients. Nothing Snape doesn’t have in his cupboard.”

“That would be stealing, though,” Ron said.

“No it wouldn’t, though, since we are giving it back to him in the form of self-help,” Harry replied. “And you are going to be making it every day, Hermione?”

In response, Hermoine thrust her hands into her pockets and produced another six vials, placing them with a clink, clink, clink upon the table, neatly. The boys looked at her with varying degrees of astonishment and admiration as she lined the bottles up.

“When these run out,” was the nonchalant reply, though the pink returned to Hermione’s cheeks as it was spoken, “I will do so. Unless you’d like to help me make them.”

“I think I’m good,” Ron said. “You can take all the credit if you want, Hermione - I’ll be happy with just doing extra work.”

“Great,” Hermione replied, ignoring the slight annoyance tinging the last two words spoken. “Then we will start from tomorrow.”

As all three of the enlightened Gryffindors lined up outside the dungeon’s classroom on a Monday morning, all three could feel their hearts beating somewhere in their stomach. Hermione, as usually was the case when feverish with excitement or trepidation, wouldn’t stop talking, even for the danger of any nerves exploding in her counterparts.

“Remember what I mentioned yesterday,” she whispered with obstinance, leaning in so that she wouldn’t be overheard. “If anything happens, try not to shout, don’t argue, just try to be as polite as you can. Yes, even if it isn’t your fault, Ron,” she added, cutting off Ron’s indignant reply. “Just try to be as good-willed as possible.”

A drawling voice cut off this heartfelt advice.

“What are you three whispering about?” Draco Malfoy called from the front of the line. “You must be conspiring, since you’re standing so close to each other. Or are you just trying to kiss Potter, Granger?”

Hermione straightened, Ron scowled, Harry opened his mouth to retort, but they never got to, since the former turned around and raised her eyebrows.

“I hope you’re not jealous,” she replied, coolly, “because that would be gross.”

Malfoy scoffed. “Jealous? Of kissing you? Bleh.” He made a show of shuddering, then nudged Crabbe and Goyle, standing beside him. “Imagine kissing someone with teeth like that. They're absolutely massive. It would be like trying to kiss a beaver.”

Hermione’s lips turned down; Ron flushed a fiery red and took a step forward, but Hermione grabbed his shoulders before his clenched fist could go into swing.

“Snape will invite us in any second,” she hissed. “Don’t be provoked, Ron.”

“Yeah, don’t listen to him,” Harry said, shooting a look of hatred towards the blonde, pinched-featured boy guffawing. “He’s just being an idiot. It’s his natural state, he can’t help it.”

At that moment, the doors to the classroom creaked open, and they all began to file into their places. Harry and Ron began to meander towards the back of the classroom to their usual spot, but Hermione knocked on their arms and pointed towards the front row instead.

“Oh no,” Ron moaned, looking fearful, “no, not the front desks, Hermione…”

“Shut up, Ron,” was all she said before she dragged them towards the ominous front desks, just (oh, horror!) in front of the black board. They ignored the strange looks they received from the others around them and instead focused on unpacking all of their things needed for the lesson.

It seemed that they were all off for a good start, when Harry opened his bag, rummaged around in it for a moment, then looked stricken.

“What is it?” Hermione hissed, noticing, as she laid out her stationary geometrically on the desk. “Did you forget your homework?”

“No, I’ve forgotten to bring my Potions book,” he replied, turning his bag upside down. “Oh, great…”

“Silence,” Snape called from behind his desk, watching them with a distasteful look on his pale face. “Sit down.”

They all sat and slid their bags off the desk. Harry hoped nothing amiss would be noticed and instead of wriggling around nervously, he tried to listen carefully as the lesson began. Of course, Hermione had made the effort of ensuring that she was sitting between him and Ron, so that they wouldn’t give into temptations and burst into conversation with one another during inappropriate times.

Snape’s eyes darted towards them in a rather suspicious nature as the lesson began, as though he was expecting something dishonest at the least from this sudden change of seating and eagerness. However, the three looked back with innocent eyes, which, in turn, made the Potions Master’s eyes narrower, before he turned to write upon the chalkboard.

“You will be working in pairs,” he said, once all the instructions had been written and the sleeping draught introduced, “I expect this to be done and detailed on parchment by the end of the lesson.”

The vehemence with which Hermione threw herself into the task was quite unsettling, at least for the other two. However, since there were three of them, either Harry or Ron was going to have to go and work with another, and since neither of them wanted to be parted from Hermione (who, as usual, looked as though she knew exactly what she was doing) there was a little bit of dithering done.

“Ron, why don’t you go and work with Neville?” Hermione suggested, as Harry slid over to her and almost grasped her arm as though to claim her for the lesson.

Ron looked stricken.

“Are you mad?” he hissed, as discreetly as he could. “We’ll blow up the classroom!”

Hermione sighed. “No, you won’t-”

“Yes we will! It’s already happened twice before!”

However, Snape intervened before anything could be decided. They flinched, feeling the cold of his shadow and turned to see him standing behind them with his arms folded and his eyes still narrowed.

“Well?” He looked at the dithering three, from bushy brown hair to green eyes to freckles on nose. “This doesn’t look like a pair, to me.”

Harry shot a look at Ron; Ron glowered and made no move to move away. Hermione looked desperate.

“I’ll work with Neville,” she said, making them both shoot her panicked looks instead. “You two work together.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Snape said coolly, his eyes darting back and forth between them. “Potter, move your things to Longbottom’s desk. Weasley, you will work with Granger.”

Harry was about to open his mouth to protest, when Hermione stood on his foot and he ended up shutting it and nodding instead.

“Yes, sir,” he said, though sounding slightly dispirited, then obediently gathered up his things and went to sit with Neville, whose round eyes didn’t leave Snape for the entirety of the time. He laid out all of his things, trying not to look at Ron, who looked rather smug at the change of circumstances, then looked up to find Snape’s eyes narrowed more still as they swept over the things he laid out on the desk.

“Where is your textbook, Potter?” Snape asked softly, his arms folded about him, looking much displeased. “Did you perhaps think that the presence of the scar on your forehead makes you unobliged to bring it? Or perhaps you think you know what to do already, without the book’s aid?”

Malfoy, who was working with Goyle to their left, snorted and nudged his crony. Harry remembered Hermione’s words and swallowed down his words, which were far too red and sharp for the plan they were trying so hard to execute.

“I apologise, sir,” he said, managing to sound relatively polite and stop himself from glowering at the same time, then took a deep breath. “I must have left it in the library yesterday. It’s my fault entirely.”

Neville stared at him. So did Snape. Harry turned to the former.

“Can I share your potions book today, Neville?”

“Sure,” Neville stammered out, then slid it over to him. “Here… here you go.”

“Thank you.” He turned to look back at Snape, who was looking incredulous at the least, almost nervous at the fact that he wasn’t firing a projectile of arrogance back at him. “Sorry to be an inconvenience, sir.”

At this, Snape actually took a small step back, twitching his cape around himself as though putting up a shield of defence, his eyebrows unbending themselves and creeping slowly upwards. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Hermione shoot him a huge grin and give him a very big thumbs-up. Ron looked torn between cringing and clapping, but ended up nodding in approval.

Snape must have been so thrown off-balance by this alarming bout of humility on Harry’s part, that didn’t even give him a reply. He just slid away from their desk with a last thorough look at him, probably deciding he was under the influence of some spell and not being worthy of both his time or his nerves.

“Nice job, Harry,” Hermione said to him over her bubbling cauldron. “See, you can keep your cool if you want to.”

“I nearly didn’t,” Harry replied with a grin, feeling some odd sense of pride from this accomplishment. “But tell me, Hermione, how are you going to put that vial on his desk?”

“Oh, I’ve got that all figured out,” she said rather breezily, dropping powdered porcupine spine into her mixture. “I’ll leave my book here, then come and get it during break, while he’s gone to the staffroom. Or perhaps I’ll just do it when his back is turned. I’ll manage somehow.”

With that Harry couldn’t argue, so he turned back to his potion and met with Neville’s intrigued face.

“What are you up to?” he asked quietly, as they cut and measured. Harry thought there wasn’t any point in elaborating, so he just said:

“We’re trying to be nice to Snape.”

“Nice to Snape?” Neville repeated, pausing with his cutting knife hovering above his cutting board. “Why’s that?”

Harry shrugged, stirring his potion the way it said on the chalkboard. “Nothing much. Thought we’d have some fun and do some good, you know, Neville?”

Neville didn’t look as though he understood, but then he shrugged and nodded.

“That’s… nice,” he murmured thoughtfully, then nothing more was said on the matter, though he didn’t look quite as uneasy as he did before. In fact, he looked slightly impressed.

Everything would have ended nicely and according to plan if Harry and Neville weren’t stationed at that particular desk. Their sleeping draught was slowly turning a bright-purple colour, as was Hermione and Ron’s (when Harry glanced over), when suddenly there was a sound of splashing and Harry was slapped in the face with several globs of his concoction; someone had thrown something into their cauldron.

Goyle was grinning. Malfoy sniggered, then moved a few steps back to his desk.

“Looked like it needed more bat-wing, Potter.” He shrugged. “You’re welcome.”

Harry stepped forward and was about to tell him exactly what he thought of him with his fists, when Neville poked him frantically and said, “Look!”

He turned back just as the huge, purple bubble swelling out of the rim of his cauldron popped; there was a sound like a giant slug being squelched and Neville and Harry were drenched from head to toe in sticky goo.

There was a gasp, silence, then a few pounding footsteps, rustling of fabric and Snape stood before them with his eyes black and his mouth sneering.

“You idiots,” he began, whipping out his wand as their cauldron gave another sickening squelch and more gunk splattered out. “Did you not read the instructions? Can you two even read?”

“It wasn’t our fault, Professor,” Neville stammered, wiping gunk off his face, looking worriedly at his ruined robes. “Malfoy threw a bat wing into our cauldron. It was coming along so well, too…”

Snape’s eyes flickered to Malfoy, who pulled a face which was obviously meant to look innocent, then back to Harry, who had taken off his glasses and was frowning as he tried to remove the sludge from their surface so he could actually see.

“That’s right, Professor,” he managed, frowning. “We’d followed your instructions, this time.”

From the corner of his eye Harry saw the shape of Hermione draw something out from her pocket, nip backwards a few steps and discreetly place it on Snape’s desk.

Snape didn’t notice anything, still looking furious. He looked at the purple gunk disdainfully, waved his wand, vanishing it off them and the table.

“Five points from Slytherin,” he snapped at Malfoy, then turned to Neville and Harry. “And five from Gryffindor, for the disturbance.”

This was horribly unfair and normally, Harry would have exclaimed and let him know that it was just so, but Harry had a certain mindset now along with Hermione making frantic motions at him from behind Snape’s back, and so he didn’t say a word as he put his glasses back on and stared at him.

“I apologise for the inconvenience, sir.” He pursed his mouth and shot a look at Malfoy, who’s grin wasn’t as prominent, now that he had been put in his place. “Thank you for cleaning the mess up for us.”

This time, Snape certainly looked baffled. He even looked displeased, his lip curling downwards, though Harry had a feeling it was because he had no idea what was going on, rather than him being disgusted at the good upbringing he was no doubt convinced Harry didn’t have. Ron stifled a snigger with his hands. Hermione smiled.

“Yes,” Neville piped up, surprising all of them, as he examined his clean robes. “Thanks for the help, sir.”

Snape stared at him, then shot a glance at Harry, then made a sound similar to an incredulous scoff and waved his hand for the rest to get on with working. The babble of chatter slowly resumed, as did the clinking of vials and hushed muttering of the flames beneath the cauldrons.

Harry watched Snape walk back to his desk with his eyes still narrowed, sit down, apparently lost in thought, then actually look at his desk and pause.

Hermione’s eyes shot a discreet look at the Potions Master and the corner of her mouth couldn’t restrain itself from twitching upwards as Snape picked up the headache draught in two fingers (it was very clearly labelled in block writing, so that it was unable to tell who had written it) and read the label. The trio watched his eyes grow wide as his eyes scanned over it - he was astonished! - then flash upwards with suspicion.

Hermione had already averted her eyes with Ron, pretending to be reading a passage in the book together, and Harry managed to do the same very shortly after, so Snape simply scoured the room and found no potential gifters in any of the gathered. He looked back down to the little blue bottle. He uncorked it, brought it up to his nose hesitantly (probably expecting a lungful of poisonous fumes, Harry thought), then with the same expression lowered it, corked it and carefully placed it back down on his desk.

Like Hermione, Harry couldn’t keep himself from smiling as he watched the Potions Master’s reaction. Snape looked blankly at the vial for a second longer, then a strange expression of bewilderment came over him: he dragged a hand down his face, pinched the bridge of his nose and began to massage his eyes. He looked impressively beaten. More befuddled than Harry had ever seen him, which was strange, for this was nothing but an apparent act of thoughtfulness - it was as though he had no idea how to react to it!

As the class began to unroll their parchments to copy down the writing on the blackboard and add notes, Snape’s eyes kept shooting reluctant glances towards the strange present on his desk. Once or twice he even picked it up with a strange look of calm and intrigue on his face to study it.

Harry couldn’t sit still, and from the looks of it, neither could Hermione and Ron. Ron kept snickering to himself; Hermione was pink with pleasure and often joined him in his quiet outbursts of laughter. Before the lesson was out, all three were in such high spirits that Neville looked unsettled, because whenever he caught their eye they beamed at him richly, then went back to their work smiling.

“Homework,” Snape called at the end of their lesson, back to his dark mood and expression. “I want you to place it on the front table as you walk out. Now, go.”

Harry withdrew his homework from his bag - this, he hadn’t forgotten since Hermione had checked both their bags thrice - along with Hermione and Ron. They packed up, put on their bags, then approached the desk together. All three parchments were unmistakably longer than anybody else’s and almost rolled off the table as they placed them on the pile.

When they turned to Snape, his face was made of marble.

“See you later, sir,” Ron began. “Good lesson.”

“Have a good rest of your day, Professor Snape,” Hermione added.

“Thanks again for your help, Professor,” Harry finished with a polite nod, then turned and walked out.

As soon as they were out in the corridor and the door was shut, they all burst out, clutched at one another in excitement, hissing out observations and whispering:

“Blimey, did you see his face?” Ron chortled, punching Harry in the arm. “He was absolutely gob-smacked.”

“I bet he feels bad about taking points off you, now,” Hermione added, her teeth gleaming as she grinned. “But listen. In a sense, this is completely worth it.”

“Yeah, we couldn’t get him so out of it any other way if we tried,” Ron added with vehemence. “We’re closer to getting him to quit his job by being decent to him than by being awful. Did you see his face when he picked up Hermione’s vial?”

He pulled a face of bewilderment, doing such a good impression that they all burst out laughing as they rounded the corner, running straight into Professor McGonagall who raised an eyebrow at this buzzing of laughter and jovial mood which they were exhibiting.

“Good morning,” she said to them, clearly looking for an explanation which, unfortunately for her, she wasn’t going to get, for her recipients were having far too much fun in their enigmatical benevolence to provide it to her.

“Good morning, Professor McGonagall,” Hermione sang as they walked past. “You look really nice today!”

“Yeah, enjoy the nice weather, Professor,” Harry added, “while it lasts!”

“Have a good morning,” Ron added as they got out of earshot, then waved and turned back around.

Minerva McGonagall stared after them with her lips pursed, wondering whether to follow them to check whether any charms had been cast on them to put them in such a cheerful spell or to pen this strange enthusiasm as the aftereffect of something ridiculous. The former seemed most likely to be the case, since they had just come out of Potions, and as far as everybody was aware - unless something catastrophic had happened which had temporarily rendered the Potions Master a fool in their eyes - it wasn’t exactly their favourite lesson for obvious reasons.

She made up her mind a moment later, and after twitching the quill she was holding in two fingers, she directed her footsteps towards the dungeons and the Potion’s classroom to find out more about the state of affairs.

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