#i was gonna write a proper fic about it but the writing Could Not Get Into Gear so this outcome happened instead. im fine with it tbh

[thegreatyin]

On heartbreak, homunculi, and the small yet very awkward matter of shooting one's girlfriend in the neck over your ex

OR: How The Doomed Scientist has been coping in the aftermath of his ambition (Badly. The answer is very very badly indeed.)

OR: A loosely abridged summary of an RP between myself and @superoffbatter, posted on Tumblr for OC lore purposes.

OR: Major spoilers for the entirety of the Nemesis ambition, as well as minor spoilers for Bag a Legend and a brief spot of blog-typical spoilers for a certain "powerful" ending of Heart's Desire.

OR: What The Plutonian Shadow's deal actually is.

So.

In order to explain this long and complicated tale, we're going to need to set a good bit of groundwork first. For some, this will effectively be a recap. For others, it will be important new lore that will harm us later.

Let's dive right in, shall we?

The Doomed Scientist- also known by his real name, Caeru- has a long and storied history of obsessing over serving others. He's always had this concept in his head that he needs to help, he needs to give himself up for the good of everyone around him, and if he's not doing that then he barely deserves to live at all.

This is the mindset that drove his quest to kill Mr Cups. He wasn't doing it for himself. He was doing it for everyone Cups has hurt, everyone Cups has murdered, every other victim that died so it could fulfill its need for stories of vengeance and misery. During his ambition, he very much saw himself as nothing more than a tool and a weapon to be pointed and used as the dead saw fit.

His own emotions didn't matter. His own grief, all-consuming as it was, didn't matter. Cups needed to die.

Cups- Cups needed to-

Oh, fuck.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't take it. He had an obligation towards those that died, towards his lover, towards everyone who ever wanted the beast dead. He couldn't take it. He just couldn't.

No matter how much he desperately, desperately wanted to.

For the first few weeks after his ambition concluded, Caeru was inconsolable. He was wracked with guilt over ""failing"" to save his former paramour, even more than he was already- for god's sake, the man could've been revived! He could've lived again! He deserved to live again!

And Caeru failed him. He failed to serve him. To be useful. To be good. To be worthy of living.

He... lost it, just a little bit. He became obsessed with fixing this perceived flaw in himself. This perceived flaw in everything. He couldn't sleep yet, he couldn't die yet, not when his love deserved to live.

Deserved to come back.

And. I mean. Well.

How hard could it be, really?

Cups was a Master, yes, and the Masters are lying conniving tyrants- but this was a promise it staked its life upon. A promise it gave on its deathbed. It clearly knew that Caeru could kill it, will kill it, and thus it had no reason to lie-

Cups could have brought his lover back. The Scientist knew that, intimately.

What he didn't know was how. But... well, that's alright, isn't it? He's created life before.

Lenses are arranged, corpses are arranged in a circle, their skin parted carefully with a knife. When the lenses are aligned correctly, the flesh will coalesce into the correct shape.

There are some venge-rats that dedicate themselves to a vengeance so thoroughly that there is nothing left of them but this one desire. When they die, their corpses are saturated with this emotion- but nothing else. When the Academic's machinery leaps to life (more slowly then the one at Station VIII, of course) it drains this, and leaves only withered shells in its wake. Perfect vessels.

Soon, the Knot of Tails reappears in the mirror. In its little coils of many paws, shimmering lights rest- memories. Reflections of rays of light long forgotten by the waking world.

And the false-Noman twists.

It turns.

Second by second, it looks more and more like a person.

When it looks up and smiles a shaky smile, its face is human- and two delicate flowers adorn its hair. The snow lacing its body curls like silk, the nails on its hands delicate and precise and perfect

It doesn't move, for a second. Two. Three.

And then the Rosette Yearner opens her eyes.

All he has to do is perfect the process.

The Yearner reaches a trembling hand up to her head, pursuing her lips in thoughtful silence. She blinks, slowly- once, twice. The silence is finally broken when she speaks, a trembling lilt, her words falling like petals from their stem.

"I'm alive.”

It's cold, unfeeling, distant. Like she's only talking about the weather.

Caeru's first attempt at artificial life, The False Yearner- she who would later be dubbed The Vake Yearner- is a complicated figure. Born out of an insanely long RP exchange with @superoffbatter, she is a ghost in all but name. A failed attempt to replicate a certain Scoundrel's past self, all while her makers were unaware that her and the Scoundrel were one in the same.

Except while the Scoundrel pursued ambitions of power, glory, and transformation, the Yearner ultimately took a different path. A darker path.

The Yearner stumbles over the mirror as they both exit through the window of the Royal Bethlehem. She sighs. "Where to go, now?" she whispers. "I can't stay here. I don't want to stay like this. I want to... do something."

The Silverer shrugs. "It's up to you. I suppose you could hunt the Vake if all else fails?" It's an offhandedly thrown joke, but the Yearner stops moving.

She considers it in her head. She takes a deep breath.

The Vake, huh. The Vake.

She became an avid hunter of the Neath's most infamous monster.

Her relationship with her creator is strained at best. For the most part, they've refused to acknowledge each other- they've hardly even spoken since the incident of her creation, save for a brief yet notable encounter at the Captivating Princess' last masquerade ball.

Someone steps closer to the Scientist, staring him in the eyes. The atmosphere grows colder.

It's a woman in a large fur-trimmed overcoat, with thick gloves and a staggeringly realistically furred marsh-wolf mask. The cosmogone shade of her eyes reveals her identity- the False Yearner- or, as some have taken to call her, the Vake-Yearner. The mask, now that the Scientist gives it a better look, is very obviously made from a real marsh-wolf, but the expert skill behind it... it's Snuffer-made.

The Yearner got a Snuffer to pull off a wolf's face for her. How curious.

"My other self's fiancé." she says, in a monotone. "And their pet Drownie. How curious. How droll."

The Scientist's face may be hidden behind a mask, but nothing could ever hope to conceal his alarmed blanch, the widening of his eyes, the shift of his stance- distinctly defensive, like a prey animal ready to flee at any moment.

"Yearner." his tone is one of forced detachment. "I never took you as someone who'd.. enjoy this sort of thing."

A glance to the side, where violant eyes (albeit from a distance) still gleam amidst the other invitees. Their mask is smiling, even if their lips are pulled into a wickedly fanged frown.

His mask tips downward. He doesn't retract this statement.

It ended... well. Shall we say. Poorly.

He is allowed in the scene- and witnesses the frozen corpses.

Dead, for sure, though how permanent it will be is yet to be tested. A thin layer of frost clings to their skin, and the scene is obviously filled with signs of struggle. Eight bodies, all trying to leave the room as they were cut down- all trying to escape.

Signs of a blunt instrument. Some of them were smashed against the walls, against the ground- one had both arms torn off. Frozen splatters of blood cover the walls.

The Yearner is nowhere to be seen.

The Yearner, after all, is what can best be described as an immortal and unmelting Noman, sustaining herself off of nothing but sorrow and human hearts. Her very existence is built upon blood and misery. She thrives off it. Needs it to survive, to live, to flourish.

Nobody deserves that kind of existence. Not even the Scoundrel's very own doppelganger.

But she's alive. And she did come back from some sort of death, hellish and ironic and false as it may be. It can be done.

The Scientist has done it before.

He can do it again.

He will do it again.

And so Caeru works. And works. And works.

To serve. To fix. To help. Finally, he's going to rectify his mistake, going to make everything better, going to give his lover the life he knows they deserve. This is a noble service. A noble obligation. The last attempt may have failed, but this- this cannot fail- he will not let himself fail, not again, not ever.

And nothing can stand in his way. Nothing except-

"Caeru?" a voice can be heard, knocking on the door to the Scientist's laboratory. "Are you there?"

Were one to look through the one-way glass window, they would see the Silverer, looking worried. "Where were you?" she says. "I haven't seen you all week. What has got you locked in there?" she taps again, more hurried-

-His current paramour, The Snowswept Silverer.

A loud crash echoes at the Silverer's sixth knock. Someone curses. The door slams open harsh enough to send her flinching back, the Scientist standing in the doorway with a look of pure vitriol- then, far slower than his typical reaction speed, his fury ebbs.

"Louise." his voice is gratingly hoarse, his hair tied in a half-hazard bun via a thoroughly exhausted ribbon struggling to keep the strands together (it would be a cute look, if not for the blue hue in his cheeks and the blood and dirt caking his arms). His laboratory is- cold. Blisteringly cold. He's barely even shivering, but- surely it can't be healthy, staying in there for so long-?

"I'm... working." he stresses the word as though it's an obvious and irrefutable explanation. "Can we talk in-" he looks back, "A month?" he has the audacity to pause thoughtfully. "Two?"

And thus the preamble concludes, and the pieces and players of our play all finally fall into place.

"...Caeru, I’m not stupid." Louise replies, giving him a throughly unimpressed look. "Is this yet another Yearner situation?"

The accompanying dumbfounded expression that her paramour produces would cause her some amount of delight, were this any other situation. As it is, she is simply more worried- and a fair bit annoyed, as well. "Yes, I know you were involved with her creation, somehow. You and the Academic were rather obvious about it. Whatever you've been doing inside this laboratory, Caeru, it's not nearly as discreet as you think it is. You have a budget, and whenever you ask for it to be extended or spend carelessly on a new batch of supplies, people see it happen-”

Her paramour squirms uncomfortably. She continues her rant unabated.

“-The GHR is in fact a major supplier of experimental materials for the University. As long as it's an import from the Hinterlands, I know what comes in here and what comes out. And I know for sure a certain Yearner has also been looking around your laboratory. I would have left you to your devices, but this will lead to a disaster if I don't interfere."

Her hand- which he notices is clawed- is putting quite a lot of pressure on his shoulder. "Tell me, Caeru. What have you been doing?"

He gulps. The look in her eyes is... serpentine in its wrath, even. Like a Knot who's just caught a scout from the Court of Cats intruding into its home. It's a look that demands an account.

His expression twists- regret, guilt, frustration, desperation. "Louise," he says softly, "Please, just- just give me more time. A week or two more, and- and this will all be done and over with. You'll never have to hear about it again. Please."

He tries to shy away from her hand and take a step back- it's not exactly successful, given his strength relative to hers. His hands tremble. His arms are slick and ruby red- weeping scars, never bandaged-

"I don't want to fight you." a rustle, as one hand drifts down to his pocket, so quiet as to be barely noticeable. "Please." he begs again. "Please don't make me fight you. It's not like the Yearner, it's- it's important, I can't just- please don't make me. Please."

Needless to say, things quickly go from bad to worse.

"Go ahead. Fight her." another voice, intensely recognizable, echoes through the corridor. The Scoundrel's voice- but colder. Less shrill. Less amused. "She won't leave you alone, and neither will I."

The Yearner stands there. Her feathery black dress is covered in blood- fresh. Going by the faint gurgling sounds, someone tried to block her way- and she reacted as she often does.

"I could feel something happening down here. I didn't know what it was, but it felt... important. Thank you for the confirmation that it was very important indeed." she steps forward. In her hand is a large spike of ice, the size of a sword. "Will you let me see it, Caeru? Or shall I tell your husband of what you’ve done? Of how I came to be? I still have that to hold over you, at least. I wonder if they would like to know what happened to that cufflink." the word is hissed, and she smiles in delight at the way he flinches.

(It's... so recognizable, Caeru realizes, and yet so twisted. They sound completely identical. If one were to ignore the face made of ice, they would even be able to identify the similarities- and the sharp differences. It's a little bit disquieting, to see her face. The Scoundrel does... does not make this kind of expression, even at their worst. The only kind of person who does is a certain Mr Veils. It's the sort of look only someone who delights in misery shows.)

He has no other options. No other way out.

He will not fail again. He will never let himself fail again.

A thousand possibilities run through his mind, all at once, before he can even so much as blink. The window- no. The door- terrifyingly fragile. The mirrors- if they weren't already swarming with serpents, he'd be shocked. No solution comes without violence, without- he can't lose again, he can't leave again, he-

The Scientist draws fast as a lightning bolt and shoots his paramour square in the chest, flipping the pistol and shooting a second time for good measure. The desperate scream of his apology can barely be heard over the slam of the door, the clicking of several dozen locks, the mad dash to retrieve something before what little safety he has inevitably gives way.

His prize is bundled in rags, apocyan soaking through the white cloth, pieces of shattered diamond and wood clippings scattered half-hazardly all over the floor-

Run. Run.

Thus the infamous girlfriend shooting incident. Don't worry, she gets better. For the most part.

Everyone else, well... they get substantially worse.

The Scientist acts on instinct, cradling his experiment against his chest. Not again. Never again. He turns when the door inevitably gives way and fires again, futile as it may be.

The bullet does not do much- not when the door is promptly kicked off its hinges, the locks snapping and shattering as the sheer force of the Yearner's kick propels it forward. In that moment, Caeru realizes that while the door was very secure, the frame is nothing but a few planks of wood. It wouldn't hold.

On the floor, bleeding profusely through the wound in her neck (though the ambery growths around it show it will be closing soon, whether it wants to or not), is the Silverer- who stares at the Yearner in horror. "This was not our deal." she hisses.

The Yearner shrugs. "I don't care."

And then she lunges for her prize like a woman possessed. Her eyes gleam, staring fixedly at the bundle in the Scientist's arms. "Either you tell me what that bundle is and why I feel so intensely that I need to see it, or I'll make you tell me." she purrs. "Make the choice, my dear creator.”

He desperately curls around the bundle, hugging it close enough for it to nearly bend under his grip- nearly. Whatever it is, it's sturdier than it looks.

"You can't take him." he gasps without thinking. "You can't- you can't take him, you can't hurt him, you can't-" he backs up against the wall and trembles. The weight makes him stagger with every step. When the Yearner approaches, he flinches. "You can't hurt him."

A delirious sob. The room is freezing. His skin is tinted such a vibrant shade of blue. It's a miracle he isn't already dead from hypothermia. Slowly, carefully, still keeping his gun aimed at the Yearner, his other hand pulls back part of the cloth- and the hand that dangles free is clawed and formed almost entirely from lacre.

Just like her.

"He's mine." Caeru whispers, pressing his head to the apocyan stains with equal parts guilt and adoration. "He's mine. And nobody will ever take him again."

The Silverer stumbles into the room, a gun in hand. The Yearner waves dismissively- and fractal spikes of ice erupt from the ground to block her advance. From the mirrors in the room, Fingerkings hiss and spit in fury- the Yearner should probably stay away from Parabola for a few weeks. She turns to look at the Scientist in disdain.

"Bringing back the dead." she spits. "Once again. You should know it gets you nowhere. Look at what you did before. You tried to return me to the world, when I wasn't ever real at all!" she yells. "An illusion. A dream! Delusions of high society and bohemian dreams of a waif that was never anything but a facade!" she roars, coming closer. "Who was it this time?! Tell me! Who was-”

She pauses, before smiling. It is not a nice smile. "Your lover, wasn't it? The seventh victim. Did you realize that killing Mr Cups would never return what you lost!?"

The words sting. They sting, because she doesn't know, how could she know. Her eyes are wild and mad. "Drop it. Let it go. You don't deserve to have them back.”

The Scientist chokes on a sob. He doesn't deny a word. His knees buckle- he slides down to the floor, holding the bundle like a lifeline and a precious piece of treasure, all rolled into one. "I know." his voice is calm, even with the tears sliding down his cheeks. "I don't deserve him."

He's- the Silverer recognizes the look in his eyes. He's never been more confident about anything else in the world.

"I'm not doing this for myself," the words ring slightly hollow when he's clinging to his creation on the floor, "I'm doing it for him. When Cups died, it-" his tone wavers. Caeru swallows. The despair and guilt in his voice is intoxicating, especially to a Noman standing so very close indeed.

"It begged for its life. It gave me an offer. It could bring him back, if I spared it." he looks beyond the Yearner- staring intently at a shadow on the wall, as though somehow it could stare back. "I couldn't- I couldn't, for everyone else it murdered, I couldn't-" he chokes. "I failed him. I failed him. He deserved to live, he deserved to come back- and I failed, and-"

He kicks at a spare diamond on the floor, watching it twist and freeze into place within moments of making contact with the Yearner. "I'm fixing it. I'm fixing him."

A kiss to his prize. To his magnum opus. His eyes stay fixed on it- nothing matters so long as it is in his arms. "I'm serving him. I'm fixing him."

🐈💙🐺

"No." the Yearner snarls. "No, you're not fixing him. I'll be the one doing that. Give him to me!"

She moves before he can say a word. Only a Licenciate's instincts save his head from being separated from its shoulders by a sharpened spike of ice. He dives out of the way of a furious flurry of stabs, and stumbles to keep hold of his prize- only to see the Yearner tear off her dress in front of him.

He blinks in disbelief before seeing it- connected to her body are numerous pulsating hearts. The blood vessels tear holes in the thin shirt she wore underneath, and wet the fabric in frozen blood. Nourishing her as they draw ever closer to death. How many people have been killed- perhaps permanently- to sustain her existence?

She grins wickedly, cosmogone eyes shining with Parabolan light. "You won't bring him back. Cups wouldn't have done it either, I'm sure. The Masters have experience with bringing the dead back- done it five times now. But it never works, not really, does it?" she spits out the words. "You don't know what it's like. To live knowing you are a failure. A failed attempt to bring someone ELSE back!? Do you want him to live like this, you bastard?! Give him to me. I'll give him life- his own life! He doesn't deserve to be the monument to your vanity!”

🐈💙🐺 🔫⛄

“You barely know how-" the Scientist curses and ducks around another flurry, flailing in a desperate attempt to keep his 'lover' close. He ducks and weaves around the room with expert precision- but his movements are more than slightly hindered by the weight of a corpse larger than he is tall. That... no, that can't be right-

"He won't be a failure." Caeru spits back, pressed against the spikes still binding the Silverer- can't she hear, some part of his mind wonders? What does she think of him? Of what he's done?

He gasps for air that comes stiff and frozen solid. His pistol is long-since discarded- useless, now, but he can't help looking at it and swallowing down his guilt. All the more reason to throw himself down the nearest well, really. At least it's worth it. At least he's worth it. At least it'll all be over soon.

"He's not finished, he's not fixed yet-" he dives away from yet another attempt to spear him in the head. "Do you really think I'd attempt the same experiment twice without learning from my mistakes?! He'll be better. He'll be- he'll be different. He'll be everything." he sounds utterly delirious. "He'll be everything you were meant to be."

The Yearner hisses- and her blade moves for the Scientist's neck with unbelievable speed. There will be no dodging this one. Encumbered as he is, he has to drop the bundle if he wants to dodge- and that he will never do. He closes his eyes-

And only opens them a second later, after the sound of flesh being cleaved resounds. He is- he is not on the slow boat. He sees the Silverer before him, blocking the Yearner's blade with her own arm. A steady trickle of blood is falling from the grievous-looking wound- the cut was such that it exposed the bone.

"Oh, hello. Does it hurt?" the Yearner remarks.

"Not... at all." the Silverer scoffs.

"What if I do this?"

The Noman wriggles her arm and the blade twitches on the spot it's stuck on. The Silverer yelps and wrenches herself free, before falling. There are holes torn all over her legs- even the Shapeling Arts couldn't hold back the blood loss indefinitely. She collapses, overwhelmed by pain. The sound that emerges from the Scientist's throat is one of near-inhuman agony.

For no reason in particular: Did you know Caeru's biggest fear is watching his loved ones die in front of him (especially while he's unable to save them?)

The Yearner laughs. "Guess it's just the two of us again. Now, hand it over. Or I'll tear your arms off.”

Caeru drops the bundle without thinking, kneeling over the Silverer and cradling her in his arms, barely acknowledging the Yearner's presence. Louise's name is all but chanted under his breath- he struggles to breathe. Blood soaks through his coat. Her head is held close against his heart. His hands scramble to stop the bleeding, to fix her, to save her, to- to-

His head darts up as the Yearner takes a step towards the bundle. His eyes are wide. An utterly distraught sob. He doesn't stop her. He only turns back to his (still living) paramour and desperately tries to keep her that way.

"Idiot." he mumbles into the Silverer's hair, still on the verge of delirium. "You didn't need to- you didn't-"

And thus, the Yearner wins this round. But the story isn't over quite yet.

He looks back just long enough to glare up at the Yearner. He spits. "I should've fed you to the Knot of Tails when I had the chance."

"You should have." the Yearner nods. "I agree on that, now."

She kicks the Scientist square in the jaw. Her delicate shoe goes flying off into the distance, and she leaps for the bundle. Before the Scientist can recover from his daze, she rips the cloth around it, and then her arm moves for one of the hearts in her chest- tearing it off in one clean motion. Blood- deathly cold- sprays everywhere. She shoves the heart into the chest of the Scientist's project, and it- horror of horrors- twitches. It opens its eyes, and gasps- before once again falling into utter silence.

"It worked." she grins. "That's what it needs, right? Life. You've been working with mountain-sherds, trying to breathe life into it- but you don't know anything. You don't know what you are doing, you've been getting nowhere. Your love needs life to come back. Life has to come from somewhere."

The many hearts on her body twitch and wriggle as she turns to leave, the body still in her hands, bathing her in apocyan light. "Don't worry. I have a lot of life to give."

She runs off, and Caeru can see-

The body is half-lacre, half-skeletal, and all mannequin. A horror of sable wood casings enveloping the lacre beneath like a shield, virtually impossible to separate without ripping it all apart. His chest is exposed just enough to betray the underlying array of cracked ribs, and inside lays a diamond shining brilliant apocyan. The light floods his body and leaks freely out of an exposed, half-finished eyesocket.

He's sturdier than the Yearner, clearly. Built to last. Built to survive. Not an accident, like she was, but something else entirely. He shudders, white hair flowing in waves down to her feet- his hands dig into her shoulders on instinct.

He meets Caeru’s eyes. He doesn't say a word.

Caeru watches them go, and tries not to scream. He fails spectacularly.

He stumbles to his feet, still cradling his paramour- he takes one step after them, then sobs. The Silverer twitches in his arms. His mind races.

If he leaves her, if he fails again, if he-

He turns tail and shoves coils of hissing Fingerkings aside, ducking into Parabola as the Yearner escapes. He'll regroup, he swears, he'll come back, he'll fix this, he'll fix everything, he'll-

He sets his paramour down and frantically sets about bandaging her wounds. The past can wait. He only has one Louise.

"I love you." he whispers uselessly. "I'm sorry. I love you. I'm so sorry-"

The Scientist's involvement in this tale ends here- left with many regrets, many things to answer for, and many wounds to try and heal.

Some, he succeeds at. Others, he does not.

But this was never about him in particular.

Far away is the Yearner, retreating to a lair in the swamps. A knock on the door, two knocks- and the Scarred Naturalist looks at her in disbelief. "What on earth is that?"

She enters, and places the body on the dining table without a word, knocking wooden plates and silverware (a strange contrast, indeed) aside. The body twitches, the sole heart connected to its chest pulsating madly as it slowly but surely withers into nothing. Her hand hovers over a cracked rib.

"We'll have to find replacements." she whispers.

The Naturalist shrugs. He doesn't know what this is all about, but he supports her interests, as always. He finds the Yearner is a surprisingly good influence on his master. Why, the master of silks has been startingly cheery since they've started their rivalry. "The swamp will provide," he notes. "Plenty of bodies around.

The Yearner nods. "Tell Veils I'm calling in that favour, too. It can provide far better materials than that fool of a scientist could. Ask it for wood- sturdy. Elder Continent- something that soaks in the light of the Mountain." she pauses. "Keep him safe. The box of hearts is under my bed- feed one to him every hour. I'll be leaving. I believe Fires had a shipment of apocyan lanterns sent over to Varchas? Surely nobody will notice if I take one..”

She takes a heavy coat, and steps out of the shack. She has a mission.

-

The body does not move for... quite some time. It merely stares up at the ceiling in idle bafflement, digging its claws into the table. It opens its mouth. All that emerges is a sickening click-

He closes his mouth. The heart shudders, and he goes with it. He rolls to his left and spends minutes on end staring at his hands in open fascination- another click.

He twists the joints on his fingers. He lifts his head, and while he may not have proper eyes- the empty stare of his eyesocket and the sickening glow of the apocyan leaking from his face is nothing short of disturbing.

He watches at the Naturalist for a long moment. Another click, as he opens his mouth, and then closes it. A claw unwisely pokes around the heart on his chest, another hand gesturing vaguely to the house around it. Finally, it manages to croak in a low rumble, like an oncoming storm- "Where?"

The Naturalist raises an eyebrow. "Bugsby's Marshes." at the confused look he gets back, he raises it further. "Watchmaker's Hill?" a pause. "The Fifth City, Fallen London? The Neath?" he chuckles. "My my. You're quite uninformed. I suppose it's just fair..."

He walks over to a cabinet, and takes out- is that skin? Human skin. A face. "You've just been born, haven't you?" He offers the face. It's fair-skinned and pudgy. He grins devilishly. "Perhaps a trip to the city would alert your senses."

(The Yearner didn't say he had to stay in the cabin. Just that he had to be kept safe- and that he needed the hearts.)

The Naturalist looks at the homunculus in front of him expectantly, and smiles again. It's not a nice smile.

The body's own face is carved from wood, and thus, cannot blanch- but its face certainly does scrunch up in noticeable revulsion. "No thank you." he says quickly, practically shoving it away. "I'm," he pauses, "Not, hungry?"

He reaches up- the heart beats faster. His finger dips into his eye. He could swallow, if he knew how. He sits up and stares down at his own body in obvious bafflement.

London. He's in London. In... what was it? Bugsby's Hill? This must be a dream.

He slides off the table, trips over his own hair, and falls facefirst onto the ground with a loud thud. A very strange dream indeed.

"...a trip would be appreciated, thank you..." oddly polite, for a newborn homunculus. If a bit laughable.

"My, you're clearly not fine." the Naturalist says. "And you can't go out like this, either way. I'll find you a suit. I have... one." the fact it belonged to someone the Yearner had hunted and killed probably doesn't matter. "Hm. But it's not your size. Maybe..."

He leaves the room to fetch something while the homunculus twitches on the ground. The body practically claws his way up to the wall as he tries once more to get his footing. 'Practically', of course, meaning 'leaves stark grooves in the wallpaper as though he was a particularly rambunctious kitten'.

Finally, the Naturalist returns with a cloak- torn in several places and repaired with careful carelessness. A trophy of war, a legendarily expensive article of clothing torn from the body of a Master and carefully, extensively defaced. Reworked and remade. He offers it.

"Thank you." a stiff sigh as he wraps the cloak around himself, tugging the hood over his head without a second thought. The illusion of anonymity is only slightly marred by the apocyan glow and uncomfortable resemblance to a Master of the Bazaar.

One hesitant step, then another. One more, for good measure. The homunculus looms above the Naturalist, voice rattling like gravel. "Who did you say you were..?" he looks at the door. "You and that- ah. Ice...? Ice. Woman. With the. Eyes." his tone reeks of disbelief.

"Quite tall..." the Scarred Naturalist mutters. "Ah, well. I am a Scarred Naturalist, just a humble scholar living here after my... let us call it an involuntary exile from academia. Unfortunately, prejudice tends to get in the way of scientific advancement... no matter." he coughs. "My associate is the Yearner, a hunter living on the marshes in search of a particularly elusive beast. She brought you here. Given by your state you must have been in quite a situation! Do you remember anything in particular? Have you an address to return to, perhaps?"

The body tilts his head roughly 45 degrees and ponders for a moment. "I run an inn," he looks up, vain as it may be, "Quite far from here. My, ahem, business partner- last I recall, I was bidding him farewell for the morning..."

He trails off and stares into space, not lost in any specific memory, but simply caught in a wave of utter bafflement at the holes in his own mind. "Next I remember, I was carried here by the Yearner. And now I look like-"

He stops, and raises a hand once again. The lacre coats his palms- fresh, vulnerable spots where his mannequin-like casing has not yet been applied. The apocyan dims. "-Like, this." he stands in silence for a long minute. His gaze, though unreadable, is inevitably drawn back to the face- the. Face.

He takes a step back. "Well! Now that I think about it! I really must be going!" he spins on his feet and twists the doorknob with forced cheer, barely able to keep the tremors out of his voice. "It was lovely meeting you, I'm quite grateful for your assistance, tell your associate she's a delight, but if you can just direct me to the nearest path back upwards-?"

He smiles. His mouth is full of uneven, half-formed teeth. "I'd hate to take up too much of your time. I'm sure you're busy doing... busy marsh things."

"Upwards...?" the Naturalist mutters. There's a grudge here. "Never been upwards." he says, too low for the homunculus to hear at all. "Not like they'd take us. The sun hates us more then Stone does. No, no path upwards for me…”

He composes himself, and gives his conversation partner an amused look. "I am loath to inform you, but there is no path upwards. Have you seen yourself, young man? The sun would scour you utterly. To ashes. It does not take kindly to Neathy things- and perhaps you should take a look at yourself? Thoroughly Neathy, that body of yours."

He reveals a mirror, and on it, the cloaked shadow can finally see his face. He tugs down his hood and stares. He's quiet for a time. A trembling hand caresses his cheek (hollow and wooden and false), then scratches at his beard (snow-white and soft as silk), then traces along his scars (carved deliberately and carefully into his face, as though replicating something that was already there).

The Naturalist continues, regardless of his guest's confusion. He sounds quite amused by the whole affair. "Do not worry. I am sure my roommate could not let you go without a shelter for the night- and when you wake up, Penstock's Land Agency will be ready and waiting. We could find you a home here- and perhaps arrange for mail to the Cumaean Canal? I'm sure that ‘business partner’ of yours might have explanations for what happened- and for these apparent gaps in your memory."

A soft sound escapes the body's mouth, indecipherable. He brings a hand up to the apocyan-lit hole in his left eye- and flinches on instinct when his claws dip into it with ease. "Thoroughly..."

There's awe, yes. Horror, most certainly. A hint of amazement. Most of all, complete and utter bafflement.

"But- I have people to get back to, I can't just-" he blinks. "Mail... that. Would be appreciated, yes. Thank you kindly." he looks back at the door. Without speaking, he steps outside- and stops, staring up at the false stars in open awe.

One tentative step, then another. He marvels at the world like a newborn babe.

"What is this?" he doesn't particularly expect an answer. "What... am I?"

The city is alive. Even at this hour, Watchmaker's Hill bustles with activity.

The Starved Embassy's ambered glow and the visitors from the Roof who walk the streets, the Clay Men who pass in stoic silence- the hawkers, the conmen offering rostygold for whoever beats them at arm-wrestling (hiding brass tacks between their fingers as they brag about their prowess), the marksmanship competitions for prizes of jade! The scholars debating the nature of the stars, taking blind steps towards the observatories. The criers announce Feducci's fighting rings, the chittering of surprisingly articulate insects and the growling of the marsh-beasts.

Fallen London stands before the Shadow in all its glory, this strange and wild city of a thousand stories. It gazes at him with mirth.

The Shadow gazes back.

He tugs up his hood and strolls along in absolute wonder- his hand dwarfs a wrestler's own as he pins their arm with ease, barely noticing tacks against wooden 'skin'. His voice is eager and enthralled as astronomers entertain each and every one of his questions about the 'stars' in the 'sky'. A sorrow spider creeps up his elbow- he plucks it by the leg and dangles it in front of his eyes. A half-hearted smile. It disappears into his cloak, and does not return.

Everyone gives him a wide berth, but if this bothers him, he doesn't voice it. This must be a dream- it is a dream, surely, but even so, there's no harm in enjoying it while it lasts.

He'll wake up eventually. He'll see his partner eventually.

Anxiety dies as he stops on the edge of a hill and gazes up at the firmament. London's invitation is easy to accept- after all, in a city of a thousand stories, surely an explanation lies within one.

Barely glancing at the Naturalist behind him, he wanders off into London's heart. Lacre trails in his wake.

It's a beautiful day to be alive.

[transhetanybodys]

It's funny how Sweeney Todd almost exclusively kills men and it's *not* a feminist thing, it's literally just that men are the ones who see barbers. Of course you could probably get some deeper analysis out of the fact that he mostly kills men, but it's not a feminist thing even though his wife and daughter were horrifically abused by a man and his friend/lover of convenience Mrs. Lovett's husband clearly wasn't great (at least in the movie? I haven't seen the play in a while.) Once I saw a fundraiser for a version of the story where he and Mrs. Lovett are specifically going after male abusers and that could be cool, I hope that got off the ground.

[orphicsun]

can you write a pit fighter vi smut fic where the reader works at a restaurant in zaun and vi comes in drunk and starts flirting with her pretty please 😼

Thank you sm for the request:3 hope you enjoy!

Content: 1.5k words, dub-con (Vi is drunk), casual sex, use of strap-ons (r! recieving), oral sex (r! receiving), slight overstimulation, this is rlly filthy blame anonymous for giving me the ammo to write this

Your hands are busy with several plates and your feet are sore in your shoes. Customers in Zaun have no decorum, either!

Being a waitress is not fun, especially not in a dingy restaurant like "The Sludge Pit." It's where most people are coming back from watching fights next door and want a cheap meal. To say that you hate you job is an understatement. But...money is tight, so choices are limited. It could be worse. You could be a prostitute at Babette's.

You've heard rumors that the fight tonight is going to be huge. There's a recently been a new fighter people have been placing bets on - a girl named Vi. You've heard the name before, of course. Jinx's sister, someone who was involved with a Piltie girl. You hated to get involved with all of the drama in Piltover, though; it was all meaningless. It was all just pointless drama that ended in another person in Zaun getting the short end of the stick or dead without a proper burial. Whatever happened was so hard to care about when it felt like an everyday thing.

However, something about the girl you've been hearing rumors about intrigued you. It is apparently often that this Vi chick is bulldozing men in the ring, getting drunk off her ass, and fucking Babette's whores. She got her heart broken, now she's all bitter, and you can't help but wonder what this girl is even like. What could she possibly be like when she's this well-known in the under-city?

It's around midnight. The fight is over because a huge crowd is occupying The Sludge Pit. You've got your poor hands full, tasked with scribbling down rude men's orders and serving them. Some are fucking creepy, too. You wonder if the Vi girl will be coming in tonight, but your curiosity is suddenly dashed when you hear the restaurant BOOMING with cheers from the main area.

When you walk out of kitchen, the first thing you see is the back left table seated with a black-haired girl. She's got no shirt on, just bandages that hug her body and a leather jacket. Her jeans are tightly fitted, sculpted onto her meaty things. The black pigment on her face is all messy. Next to her is a burly brunette man, facial hair covering most of his face. You've seen him before - "Loris."

When you approach Vi's table, she looks up at you and lets out a slight laugh. You look devourable, your hair back in two braids, fly-aways from the day's work. Your eyes are wide, and you look pretty terrified. Poor waitress. She's already decided that you're gonna be her next slut.

"Hi! I'll be your waitress today, what can I get for you-" Your voice is so shaky, oh fuck.

Usually, Vi wouldn't be so forward, but she just got back from the bar. There's too much liquid courage in her system, so now she's gonna get what she wants.

"Don't worry 'bout me, baby. Get my friend Loris here a burger."

You almost choke on your own spit.

Her voice isn't at all what you expected, not raspy or deep, but actually soft and persuasive. She's slurring her words slightly, but you're too focused on her eyes, the soft blue sparkle in them and the half-lidded, carefree look that is complimentary.

"Uhhh, okay! One burger coming right up!"

You soon come back with a shaky hand, plate in your palm. You set the burger down and look up down, adjusting your waitress skirt.

"One burger!"

Vi gives you a wide, lazy smile. Loris is just laughing, he's probably as drunk as her.

"Thanks, baby. How much will that be?"

"Ohhh....well, it's on the house. Since you won tonight, and all.." All rationale seems to leave you when Vi's calling you baby. Your boss is gonna chew you out for this, but the drunken giggle that leaves her mouth is so worth it.

"On the house? No, baby..c'mon, lemme pay."

You laugh and blow a stray strand of hair out out of your face. Her voice makes you imagine her throwing you around on your bed. "No, really, it's fine.."

"Hm..well, if you're not gonna let me use my money, why don't I pay you back in some other way?"

You stare at her for a second.

"What...?"

She chuckles at the cute but shocked look on your face. "Seriously. I wanna pay you back for the burger, since you're such a cute little waitress.."

She's got you in her twin-sized bed as she pounds into you at a pace you're surprised doesn't break the bed. You look utterly cock-drunk underneath her as her hips slam into yours: eyes practically rolled back into your noggin, whining on each and every thrust she gives your sopping pussy. Fuck, she's already obsessed with you.

Her hands are holding the back of your knees to keep you in position, and she pulls the cock halfway out of your pussy and slams back in, earning herself a wounded squeal from you.

"That's it, baby. Take all of my cock like a good girl," she coos, her eyes moving down to watch the hot-pink silicone disappear in your pretty pussy, and she's almost drooling at the sight.

"P-Please!! Please fuck me, oh my god!" You're screaming for her (soon you'll be creaming), and all Vi can think is how she wants to lick the cum out of your pussy when she's done plowing into you.

She laughs and spreads you legs back so she can hitch them around her own waist, still throwing sloppy thrusts into you. Your legs automatically wrap around her sides and she collapses onto your body, mouth wet and lazy on your throat. She's hardly thrusting now, just grinding up into your cunt like a dog in heat.

"Ohhh, fuckkk...this is the best pussy I've had in so fucking long, did you know that?" She's whimpering like she's not the one slinging strap..

You can't even answer with a proper response, only offering up a broken moan because in this position, the cockhead of the toy is bullying your sweet, spongey spot and making you see stars. By grinding into you, the base of the harness is catching on Vi's clit perfectly, making her her pace grow less and less composed She's fucking you like a touch deprived cave-man, for fuck's sake.

You hear feel her body tense up, and now she's pounding into you, each time your skin connects her body is pressing further into your, grinding her pussy against the harness, making you whine her name.

"You want me to cum inside you, huh? I bet you'd just love that. Wish I actually could cum inside this sweet little pussy." Her words grow more and more deranged the longer she's fucking you, and they send you right over the edge with a gasp and a cry out. For mercy, or for bliss, she isn't able to tell.

You poor legs are shaking around her waist and your voice is chanting her name like a prayer along with cute little cries of "I'm cumming for you, Violet!!" You indeed did cum, your face all flushed and your hips bucking up into hers, making her own cunt clench with need as she hits her own peak. She kisses you to swallow your sweet whines, tongue sliding against yours so you can taste the Vodka on it. She's just rutting into your pussy, and she swears she can feel your walls milking her cock like it's real. The alcohol in her system really does make her delusional.

When she's done, she pulls out of you and throws the strap-on somewhere in the floor, immediately moving down your body to suck the cum out of your tender hole.

You whine and protest, "V-Vi!! Too sensitive!"

She moves her lips to give your clit a firm suck and holds you legs open, "shh, just need to clean you up first.."

Her tongue moves to fuck your pussy as deeply as it can, filling you with the hot, wet muscle, and grazing your overstimulated g-spot until you're begging for mercy and she relented to go swirl around your previously neglected clit.

Her hands are groping your tits, your own tugging at her shitty dye-job as you buck your hips up in the air for more. She doesn't stop, giving you exactly what you want, sucking at your engorged clit and flicking it shamelessly with her tongue.

"Fuckk, V-Vi!! I'm gonna cum again!!"

Your juices paint her face so perfectly, mixing in with her black make-up and making an even bigger mess of your sopping cunt. She pulls back to see your face all red, soft little pants leaving your lips, and your chest heaving like you just ran a marathon. You look perfectly ruined, your hole still wrecked from the cock she fucked you with and your braids messed up into oblivion, but you look satisfied. She really paid you back for that burger, didn't she?

Safe to say, The Sludge Pit is her favorite place to find a meal at.

[slutzforbueckers]

I love your sub p writing. Would you be open to writing a fic where reader invites Paige over to ‘Netflix and chill’ and reader starts teasing Paige and they end up getting yk freaky -💋

netflix and chill— p.b x fem!reader

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

warnings: smut

synopsis: inviting paige over to chill but it’s never really just chilling.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

“stop looking at me like that.” paige mumbled. she wasn’t even supposed to be here—sitting in your living room with her back against the couch cushions, passing a blunt back and forth. she was supposed to be a celebratory dinner with her team, laughing and reminiscing about the good and bad times they shared together, but you called. you called and she came. every time.

she made some lame excuse as to why she had to leave early—the same lame excuse she used every time— and gave each of her teammates and coaches a hug with the promise to see them tomorrow. she caught a uber to your place without even second guessing. you had said you wanted to just chill, something casual, but your “just wanna chill” always turned into something more and she couldn’t stop herself from giving in.

neither of you ever brought up what you were, a label for what was happening, you just went with the flow. neither of you were seeing anyone else, it was a silent rule. there had been times when she had mentioned someone else and each time you nearly lost your shit, and vice versa. but somehow it worked for you.

“like what?” you feigned innocence, tilting your head to the side as you placed the blunt between your lips, taking a slow drag. paige watched as you exhaled, her eyes flickering down to your lips for a split second.

“like you’re tryna fuck me.” she rolled her eyes but there was no heat behind it.

“maybe i am,” you shrugged and pulled your legs from beneath you. you placed yourself in paige’s lap and she welcomed you with open arms, her hands immediately attaching to your hips. “let me show you something.”

you hit the blunt and just before exhaling you placed your fingers under her chin and tapped twice—silently telling her to open her mouth. paige’s lips parted and you blew the smoke right into her mouth, she inhaled as you exhaled, her eyes on you the entire time. without taking another thought, you kissed her—hard. paige moaned into your mouth, her grip on your hips tightening as she pulled you into her.

the both of you fought for dominance, tongues and teeth clashing. nothing about the kiss was proper—it was messy and hot. you pulled away slightly for air and she chased you, desperately clawing at you in efforts to have your lips back on hers. you used your free hand to grip her hair and tug it back, making her look up at you with low, glossy eyes, and kiss-swollen lips.

“need you so bad.” she whispered, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. you leaned in, brushing your lips against hers just to tease her. her lashes fluttered, she could feel your breath mingling with hers and her skin was nearly on fire. “please.” her voice came out in a broken whimper, catching in her throat halfway.

you placed a quick kiss to her lips and slid off her lap so that you were standing in between her legs, you ran your fingers through her hair one last time. “you know where my room is, p.”

in a blink of an eye she was up, rounding the couch and heading straight for your room. you smiled to yourself and took one last hit of the blunt before putting it out. you could hear her shuffling around in your room, and you waited a second before going in.

when you entered your bedroom, paige was laid on your bed, nothing on, her knees bent, and a flushed face. her blonde hair fanned out messily on your pillow, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

"you gonna keep me waiting?" she asked, impatiently squirming, you shook your head with a chuckle and made your way to the bed. paige's legs dropped to be flat on the mattress and you crawled over her. paige’s hands came up to your shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt. you kissed her again, slower this time, lingering. her arms wrapped around your neck, and she pulled you down with her, your body settling gently on top of hers.

your hand slid down her side, fingers gliding over her waist, her hip, until you cupped between her legs. she gasped softly, her eyes fluttering shut. she was already warm, already soaked. you touched her slowly at first, running your fingers through her folds, just enough to get her breathing sharp again.

“god, you’re always so wet,” you muttered, voice barely audible as you watched her reaction.

“only for you,” she whispered back without thinking, and her honesty sent a rush of heat through you.

you slid a finger inside, slow, then another, and she arched slightly, her mouth parting with a soft whine. her body tensed for a second, then relaxed into it, her hands clutching your back, like she needed something to hold onto.

you kept your forehead resting lightly against hers, watching every twitch of her face, every little shiver. her legs shifted, feet planting against the mattress as her hips rolled up to meet the rhythm of your hand.

“right there,” she breathed out, quiet, almost surprised. “just like that…”

you didn’t speed up right away. you kept it steady—deep, careful strokes, your thumb brushing her clit with gentle pressure. her body started to tremble beneath you, her breathing turning uneven.

“keep going,” she begged, her voice cracking. “don’t stop.”

“i’m not,” you whispered back, brushing your lips against hers again. “i got you.”

paige clung to you tighter, her mouth opening in a moan that she tried to swallow down. you could feel her legs starting to shake, her core tightening around your fingers, her nails digging into your skin without even realizing it.

you kissed her again, slow and warm, and she broke in your hands—body tensing around you as her orgasm hit. she buried her face into your neck, muffling her moan as her hips bucked up, chasing every last wave.

you stayed with her through it, not pulling away, not moving too fast—just holding her, kissing the side of her face while her breathing slowed again. her grip on you loosened, and she exhaled hard, laughing breathlessly against your skin.

“holy shit,” she mumbled, her voice hoarse. “i needed that.”

you smiled and kissed her temple. “i could tell.”

she rolled onto her side and pulled you in with her, your fingers still wet as they rested against her hip. you didn’t say anything for a second, just breathed with her.

“stay the night?” you asked quietly.

she didn’t even hesitate. “yeah. always.”

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

[digiflora]

╭┄──── 𝐈 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔! ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

featuring. genshin men 〆 wc. 1.2k

art creds. こは on twt 〆 contains. suggestiveness and brief smut!!, toxic fwb dynamics, jealousy

gia's notes. i drank too much coffee and now i feel sick and can't sleep ughhhhh 😞😞 n e ways enjoy these headcanons while i work on a proper fic (kinda) about this premise :3. i was gonna write more for this but then i kinda ran out of juice so... y'all rocking with this ⁉️⁉️

╰┄➤ ❝ request. anon 〆 HELLOOO I read your friends with benefits angst and IF UR COMFORTABLE WITH IT could u write if they found out you had someone else on the side as well? If they’d care, if they’d be bothered by it and just little headcanons and stuff, anyways, I hope u have a good day/night !!! 🎀❤️:3 ❞

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ HE’S COMPLETELY FINE WITH IT… RIGHT?

-these guys are your most dependable to get into a friends with benefits relationship with, simply because they’re very good at drawing a distinction between being around you to fuck and maybe cuddle afterwards, versus wanting something more

-and before this had all started, you had drawn out some very distinct ground rules

-one. if you start to catch feelings, tell the other person

-two. If you start fucking someone else, tell the other person

-three. ESPECIALLY if you’re doing it raw with number two

-and this has you wringing your hands pathetically in your lap, fingers twisting themselves into knots as you can barely meet the eye of the man that you had called to come over a mere twenty minutes ago

-he wasn’t stupid- the fact that you hadn’t yanked him into your place by his shirt before ripping it off of him made it clear that the nature of his visit was… not for the ordinary reason

-another great sign was the way your leg bounced incessantly, eyes darting everywhere in the room but him as you chewed at the edge of your thumbnail

-the silence was killing him, though, so he decided to put an end to it

-he calls your name, trying to be stern though you can both hear the playful edge to his voice. he also plants a warm hand on your knee, enough to make you finally look up into his eyes

-”you gonna tell me which rule we need to talk about today?”

-your eyes widen, gaze darting off to the side once again and he chuckles at your bashfulness

-fuck, had you really been so obvious?

“look, i understand, honestly i’d fall for me too if i were you, what with the way i fuck-”

-“-it’s rule two”

-and back to silence

-”ah. i see”

-you’re scanning his face now

-you weren’t even sure that you knew what you wanted him to be feeling right now. jealous? hesitant? indifferent?

-”and are there… any other rules you need to mention?” the silence hangs heavy in the air, any of the other numbers you could mention opening doors to such avenues that you firmly wanted locked right now

-”no”

-you look him in the eyes for this, again. you didn’t ave anything to hide

-and you watch with surprise at the honest to god grin that crosses his features, as if you had given him a birthday gift early

-”well,” he begins, shifting his weight to face you, knees brushing yours as his hand begins to travel further up, smoothing over your thigh

-”that’s a relief to hear”

-”it is?” you sound breathless, and he uses this as an excuse to lean in closer as if to hear you better, only to whisper his own words right into your ear

-”i must be your favourite, because you’re going to have to definitely mention that rule three to him”

-your scandalised retort dies on your lips when his head dips lower, lips and tongue latching onto your neck, tracing patterns and leaving love bites in his wake

-”thereee we go, that’s more like it,” he chuckles into your skin again, hands leveraging you onto his lap so that he can continue his ministrations

-he’ll have your brain so muddled by the end of tonight that you’ll question why you even needed a rule two in the first place

-and maybe, just maybe, when you do break things off with whoever he was, you’d need to stipulate a rule one as well

KAEYA, ayato, WRIOTHESLEY, capitano, itto, THOMA, zhongli

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ THE LOVERBOY… WHO’S DEFINITELY NOT HEARTBROKEN!!!

-sleeping with him, even in this little undisclosed fling, is sweet

-you can tell that he cares about you, more than whether you cum or not, and there’s adoration in his eyes when he runs his hands all over your body

-it’s enough to twist that little knife in your chest that much further every time he bites his lips when the two of you are making love

-(fucking, you would correct him hastily)

-you see how hard he fights to keep what he wants to say inside of him as you ride him, hips slow and sensual before slamming back down against his thighs

-you see the way his brows crease, his eyes roll to the back of his head as he feels you clench around him, a strangled moan just managing to escape him

-and when he cums, deep inside you, you’re left with the cloying taste of guilt in your mouth when he kisses you feverishly before anything else, like a lover

-and it breaks your heart to do this, it really does, but you have to remind him that at the end of the day, you’re not exclusive

-”i’m seeing someone else”

-you try to slip it into a conversation as casually as possible

-the two of you are sat at his table, eating a meal that he had insisted on cooking for you, only candlelight illuminating the room, and some soft music playing in the background

-the scene felt so domestic that you were scared he would ask you to be his girlfriend any second now, and it just slipped out before he could get another word in

-you’re digging around your plate, pretending to fix yourself a forkful- he really was a good cook- though you can’t miss the way that he tenses in the corner of your vision

-your throat feels dry, and that knife just can’t quit twisting- but you need to make this distinction clear. for yourself. for him

-”i don’t know what to say”

-you quirk an eyebrow at this

-”really?”

-he pauses now, thinking, not enough to hide the hurt in his eyes. it’s injected into every feature of his, and he picks at his own plate now. the blade’s embedded deep in your chest, and it hurts now

-”i’m… sorry”

-you technically didn’t do anything wrong- you both agreed that this would be casual. but why did it feel like you had betrayed him?

-it’s an agonising silence as you both process what you just said. you’re not sure if he’ll ever speak again until you hear a hoarse voice croak out “i think that you should go”

-you didn’t have to look at him to tell that he was crying- you at least had the dignity to not mention it, to not fight it as you nod silently, feeling numb as he walks you to his door

-it all feels too final as he looks you in your eyes one last time, searching for something there before he looks crestfallen and sighs, beginning to close the door

-”goodbye, y/n. get home safe”

-you can only see the paint of his door now- some shuffling on the other end of it before you’re left utterly alone, stabbed clean through with the dripping mess of your grave mistake pooling at your feet

DILUC, neuvillette, CHILDE, dainsleif, ALHAITHAM, cyno, kaveh

➤ IF YOU LIKED THIS, TRY ... she hold me down like gravity

[hyukascampfire]

𝓖INGER & 𝓢NAP ` ꕀ. k.th

you were the last person taehyun expected to appear on his doorstep. sweet and fluffy and oh-so-proper; he never thought he’d see you again. but... there you stand. and, much to his own chagrin, he fears that nobody else could get him more bothered. ׄ ⋆ ִ

་༘ ՚՚ ꒰ 🪵 ꒱ ･ 7.9k

ρairings gingerbread!taehyun x frosty puff!reader

𝒢 ‧̥ smut, fantasy, strawberry shortcake au

⍵arnings brat taming, brat tamer!taehyun & brat!reader, his cum is frosting, creampie, ofc no sex ed in strawberryland, thigh riding, oral m!receiving, cumming into mouth, cum eating, corruption of innocence & innocent!reader, banter, chubby!reader and buff!taehyun, manhandling, he throws her around a bit and she's so into it, they don't like each other but also def do, he likes to teach her manners, reader is also spoiled & rich and taehyun is not, hair pulling, he gets mean, no protectiom, let me know if i missed some!

✎୭ ashlynn's note this collab has been seriously so fun. writing fics is fun, but there's something about talking your friends and scheming all the yummy ways you can incorporate certain things into your fic. @thetxtdevil mae baby, thank you so much for being the best and even coming up with this idea. your mind amazes me... like actually. everybody did so unbelievably good, and i'm blessed to have been a part of it. now... let's get foody and smutty lol. some of this was written in a benadryl haze, but that's the fun part. i'm sorry mine came out a lil later than everybody else's, but hopefully it's still fun!

... back to the masterlist ⌇ back to strawberryland

Raising your fist to the door, your knuckles rap against it with a few thick knocks. The door is frosted around the edges in little swirling white puffs of icing, framing the gingerbread door. It’s the same all around his house: gumdrops and candy canes and the like, all twinkling with sugar crystals.

It’s all so sweet—unbelievably so. The man that calls it home is the very antithesis of sweet. He does not take after the gumdrop, nor the sweetness of the icing, and most definitely not the brown sugar and molasses of the gingerbread. Taehyun is the quick snapping of a leg, or the sharpness on your tongue when you get to the cinnamon and nutmeg. 

You loathe it. Even being stood here, knocking at his door, you hate. He is everything uncouth and abrasive—he is everything you should not entertain. 

Here you are, entertaining it. The door swings open. Your fingers and toes have begun to slow with the cold, like frosty-whip in the fridge. Through the forest, stepping over sugar bushes and cocoa streams, you had fought the bite. Why did he have to live all the way out here? Secluded, as though the rest of Strawberryland were beneath his meddling. You know why: it’s that he believes it. He is exactly as your parents told you he’d be, all those years ago. Of course, they were right. They always are.

When he catches sight of you at his door, his distant eyes morph, and his lip tugs into a scowl. The rise of his brows ruffles your feathers with an infuriating ease. “Is there something you want?” he asks. His tone is infuriating, too. It’s the kind of question that means much more beyond the words said. You catch exactly what he means—how he intends to get under your skin.

Hidden behind the door, he has one hand on the handle. It's an unspoken thing, too. He wants you to remember that he could close it. You can’t let him, or else you’ll have drug your pretty new furry winter boots through the powdered snow for him to slam a door in your face. “Yeah, actually. There is.” You run preening fingers through the ends of your hair. “We’re partners for the bake-off.”

“I don’t do the bake-off,” he says. His eyes would be chocolate and smooth if it weren’t for the way he wields them sharp. “Sorry. You’re gonna have to find somebody more your speed for that.”

Barking an incredulous, perhaps even snobby, laugh, you look around. Snow comes down on the ground, sweet and creamy. It’d been enough of a battle to come here. If you were going to give up so easily, you would’ve turned your little bottom around perhaps two hours ago. Does he think you hadn’t considered that? It was a long walk; you had plenty of time to mull over the many things he might do. Sometimes, you imagined him diplomatic and affable. You stomped those wispy thoughts out. Perhaps it’s been years since you’ve spoken with him, and perhaps what happened between the two of you is dusted over, but you know better. Here he stands in front of you: bitter as ever. 

“You’re just gonna leave me without a partner?” you say. Your jaw trembles, seized finally by the cold. “Everybody is already paired up. Literally everybody.”

Shrugging, he says, “I don’t see how that’s my problem. I didn’t sign up for it.”

Your brows knit. That means somebody else had signed him up. You have a sneaking suspicion who might’ve—Blueberry Kai always tells you that he just feels excluded. It’s hard not to laugh when he does. Taehyun? Excluded?  He is exactly where he wants to be. Where most are sweet in Strawberryland, the snappy gingerbread finds it easier to justify his bitterness when he lives off in his little gingerbread home, out and away in his own neck of the forest only to be found by a winding gumdrop road, where he can pretend he’s above it all.

It’s entirely ironic. Him, better than you? Gingerbread, and all his ruggedness? His unpolished edges? Once, you’d believed that the two of you weren’t so different. That you could be friends, even. Seeing what he’s grown to be, you think you understand why your parents stepped in. Back then, though, as just that soft little girl who followed the charismatic boy around with crystal stars in your eyes, it had been the worst thing to ever happen to you. He had been so gravity-defying, moving through the soft, marshmallow edges and the sugar-whipped reality of Strawberryland as something different.

No. Not gravity-defying. Rather, in the powdery and sweet sweet Strawberryland, you think that he is the only thing with gravity.

“That’s not fair.”

“Not fair?” he echoes, letting a little patronizing laugh out along with it. “That’s sweet.”

It’s hard not to shift or cross your arms over your chest, abraded by the dripping sneer.

“What? It’s not. It’s not fair that, just because you don’t want to at least give it a try, I can’t participate,” you say. Really, you should just crawl back home and beg to join somebody’s duo, but you can’t lose like that. You can’t lose to him. If you leave it like this, then he’ll have gotten the better of you. 

“Can’t get everything we want, huh?” he says, straightening up and taking the door in his hand once more. “Just because everybody else has bent backward to give you what you want doesn’t mean that I will.”

“Wait,” you say, sighing in a white swirl. “Don’t close the door. Don’t you know your manners? It’s rude. You’re just going to let me freeze out here? I walked all the way out here, and even got snow all over my new boots, just for this, just for you to slam a door in my face? I mean, a gentleman would at least invite me in to warm me up.”

Lips twitching into a laugh and his eyes suddenly alight, he says, “A gentleman, huh?” He pulls the door open a little further. The warmth from his home, warm and spiced and oh-so-inviting like oven-warmed gingerbread, brushes over your twinkling skin. “Sure. Show me your manners, then. I want you to ask me nicely.”

Your jaw tightens. Sending him a once over, sharpening your eyes, you decide to just do it. His tone is nasty, but you don’t want to be disqualified for not having a partner. Even if he’s the worst you could’ve been paired with in all of Strawberryland. Or maybe the best, because it’s a gingerbread house competition this year. “Will you just do it?”

“I said ask nicely. Say please.” 

He wears a mean smile—he’s having fun watching you squirm. So, you make a conscious effort to straighten up. “Will you please be my partner for the competition?” you say, making your voice sugary and batting your eyelashes in an overdone way. He thinks he’s funny.

Stepping out of the doorway, he motions you inside. It might look gentlemanly if it weren't for the sting in his eyes. You swallow down petty words and push through, your arms full with supplies. Arms aching, you finally let them clatter down over the countertop. The inside of his home is fresh-baked and spiced, aromatic like a true gingerbread cookie straight from the oven. You’re sure the glowing fire helps carry the smell in warm air. It wraps your cold bones up and smooths over some of the frayed edges. You’d been out there for so long… Nobody else had to walk that far for their partner.

Better just to get this done as quickly as you can. You just have to put up with him today, and you’ll be done, and then you can have fun with the competition. He won’t even show up for it; you’re sure. 

“I’ll do it all if it’s that big of a deal,” you tell him, laying out the walls and warming the icing between your palms. “You can put the peppermint on, I guess. So then we can say we both worked on it.”

Hair the fluffy brown of true gingerbread and dusted with snowflakes like powdered sugar. Taehyun shakes his head, and it moves with him. “No,” he says, the corners of his lips still turned up as though he knows something you don’t. He rolls the sleeves of his gaudy, knitted Christmas sweater up to his elbows. The corded muscle there, flickering with movement, catches you off guard. Gingerbread, built like that? Tearing your eyes off him with the effort of metal tearing itself from a magnet, you watch him approach the kitchen counters. “I’ll help. We’re partners, right?”

No matter what he says, there’s a twist of something sparkling in those sharp eyes that has you watching him closer—has you trying to gauge exactly what he’s playing at. “Uh… Yeah. Sure. If you want to, I guess.” You gesture at the walls. “Two for us, and ten for display. Can you start the walls?”

“Ten?” he says. “We’re making twelve gingerbread houses?”

With your lips pulled taut, you say, “Yeah… Twelve. Is that too much? I didn’t think any amount of gingerbread houses would be too much for you. That’s a little ironic.” Everything is warm in his home—even when you look down at your own hands to tug off your white woolen gloves, your skin that usually sparkles like frost rests just beneath the surface is tinged with the warmth.

“I can handle it just fine,” he says, taking the wall and base sections of one. “Just wouldn’t want you to ruin your pretty outfit. Twelve is a lot of icing.” He spits the word pretty out like it tastes bad. On his tongue, you’re sure it does. He never cared for pretty things the way you do. Your mommy always said that he was just jealous, but when the both of you were little, before your parents’ meddling, you learned that it was just a different lifestyle. One that you don’t understand, perhaps. Who doesn’t enjoy dressing themselves in lush furs and sugar crystals over their necks? 

“I’ll be fine,” you say, snipping the tip of the piping bag open. “I wore these knowing they’d get dirty. They’re my baking clothes. My boots already got all messed up…” 

“Oh,” he says. “You put on cashmere knowing you’ll get it dirty. Mommy and daddy paid a pretty penny for that, huh? And it’s your throwaway outfit?”

“Look. If you like it so much, I’ll let you have it when we’re done, yeah? Maybe you’ll make a pretty penny off selling it.” You ice a warm white line down the length of a wall. “Can you hurry? I’m already icing. I don’t want to be here all day.”

There’s  a few long, thrumming moments of quiet, where only the sound of your piping back crackling fills his home. Finishing a wall, you tear yourself away from your work to spare a glance his way.

Taehyun’s jaw is tight, a muscle flickering where he grits his jaw in the low light that washes over him. There’s a fire blazing in his eyes, and though he doesn’t turn them on you, the smoke rolling from them is enough to make your skin warm. You’d successfully gotten under his skin. Why stop here, when seeing that look on his face is so fun? He looks as sour as an apple; as spiced as cinnamon. “Wall?” you say, sharp and haughty as you offer your hand out to him in an impatient demand.

Snapping his head up, he hands you a wall with the heat of a thousand ovens in his face. You feel the scald he intends for you with it, and you revel in it.

You bark commands at him, watching his shoulders grow tense and his lips twitch with each. Crush the candy canes, you tell him. Melt the icing. Sprinkle these over that. Soon enough, you’re sitting back and watching him work more than anything.

He doesn’t say a word. You see them brimming in his eyes, but he doesn’t let them burst out all venomous like you know he wants to. It’s quite the show. 

“Would you at least help me hold this up?” he says, holding the walls of a house together with one hand. His hands are a mess of runny sugar and powdered sugar for snow, and yours are perfectly clean. You can at least help a little bit if you want to claim any part in the competition. 

You reach for the piping bag, fat with the sweet sweet icing, and straighten a wall up. You trace the seams with it, thick and like glue. With a bit too much pressure, the side of the bag bursts. White rivulets of slow icing run down your fingers and over the table. You curse, dropping it to the counter. That’s all of your icing, flopped down and deflating over the surface all sad-like. It’d been so much, that you thought it would last you each house and then some. Of course, you hadn’t brought extra.

Bringing your sticky fingers up to your mouth, you suckle the mess off. It’s so very sweet—warm and weeping, nutty and spiced with something like nutmeg. It’s Taehyun: the smell of it, the way it spreads over your tongue… You stick your tongue out to catch it where some drips down your forearm. “Mmm,” you say, sticky-armed. “Tastes good.” That’ll be good on the gingerbread houses; maybe the two of you do have a chance at winning. 

When you look up to Taehyun, he stands frozen in place, his hands still holding up a half-constructed gingerbread house. His eyes are different. It’s a look you don’t recognize—a look you’ve never seen before. Rather than deep and warm, his eyes are blackish and heavy. A swallow goes down his throat; a tense, barely contained thing.

 You frown, your lips still a sugary mess. “I didn’t mean to make a mess. Sorry. I’ll clean it up…”

Clearing his throat, Taehyun says, “Yeah…”

He watches you clean the counters, where the icing had pooled, and now the bag is empty, with the same intensity. You can feel it on your skin in a foreign, itching way. You swipe and scoop and work at the spill, and still, he watches. He does not speak. 

You survey the houses you’ve managed to finish. They’re pretty, and absolutely competition ready: looping swirls of icing like shingles on the roofs, peppermint chunks all red and white catching light where you’d sprinkled them into the frosting, gumdrops lining the paths true to Taehyun’s own home, and powdered sugar sifted over the entirety of it like snowfall. It’s all great, but there are only four.  “What are we supposed to do now?” you say, lips pouty. “That’s all the icing I brought. We literally can’t make any more.” You wipe at a smear on your cheek. How’d that get there? “I think I’m gonna have to come back tomorrow… Can you hold on to the houses for me?”

“Yeah—yeah, sure. Tomorrow,” he says, blinking something away. He straightens. “It’s a long walk. I think you should get going.”

You want to say something snarky or ask him why he wants you out of the house so fast, but it’s true. Night’s creeping over Strawberryland, and you have no icing, and tomorrow’s the last day before the bake-off. If the two of you don’t work harder tomorrow than you did today, then you won’t even make qualifications. You’ll lose before even starting.

You never lose. Not like this, and certainly not to the man standing before you. 

ꕀ

“C’mon. You can do better than that, can’t you?” Taehyun says, drooping icing from rooftops like icicles as you sprinkle crushed candies over the top. 

You grit your teeth. If he’d been snappy yesterday, he’s made it his mission to be your worst nightmare today. You think it’s his sort of revenge for ordering him around how you did. “What would you like, then?” you say. Maybe it’s feeding right into what he wants, but your life has lent you a short fuse. “You don’t even care about winning. Why does it matter? Let me do it how I want.”

He’s in another sweater. The sleeves are bunched up to the elbow just like yesterday, but you think he’s making a point with it this time. The shifting of his muscles is a bit too intense for piping icing. You’d made it through three more houses, wrangling your inner demons with each passing snide remark or nasty smile the whole time. It doesn’t help that he keeps his home terribly toasty, and you run cold down to the core. You melt and melt until all that is left of your temper is a puddle on the floor beneath you. Gone. 

“We’re partners, remember?” he says. He doesn’t even look at you as he says it. “I don’t do things half-assed, Frosty.” 

You’re sent reeling with the old nickname. It’d been sweet then, back when it was just the two of you against the world, but now it’s gone sour like milk. It even comes from his mouth soured. It’s something that you thought you’d left a million lifetimes ago, never to hear again. With Taehyun, though, it’s hard to pretend that you are no longer that. 

He will not let you forget that, at one point, the two of you were friends. An unlikely pair, especially looking at you now. You thought it was all nothing to you, but seeing him has kicked up dust. 

“You don’t?” you say, shooting him a quick glare from the side of your eye. “That’s funny.”

Strong brows shooting up, Taehyun quits mid-piping to look at you. “Funny? What’s funny about it to you?”

You can’t settle the obnoxious smile that curls at the edges of your mouth, mean and taunting and falsely sweet. “Oh, nothing.” You shake a sifter full of powder against your palm. It falls like true snow down over the house. 

“No, tell me,” he says, his eyes trained and heavy on your dismissive shrug. “Tell me what you think of me. I wanna hear it.”

Oh, this will be good.

“It’s just that,” you say, “you’re not really known for doing things the best way, you know? Living all the way out here, an ass when anybody tries to talk to you… Well, really, it’s just that nobody likes you. But, don’t worry! I’m sure there’s at least somebody that does.”

His face falls, the twinkle of delight at taunting you that he’d been holding in his eyes gone away. All that’s left is the peaking of something deeper and roiling from out of the cracks. You get the funny feeling that maybe you’ve taken it a step too far.

But, you never lose.

“Is that what it is?” he says. “I work for my shit. You? Everything you’ve ever had has been handed to you.” He measures his words delicately. Like a measuring cup full over the top, he cuts the excess words and coarseness off. He doesn’t say all that he thinks, but you see all he leaves unsaid toiling furiously behind his eyes. 

His eyes. They’re clear and, sharp as they are, they pin you. It’s a reflection of that look he gave you yesterday: deep and swirling and wild. It’s more than that, this time, though. It’s laced with anger and bursting at the seams of him. You’re not sure he’ll be able to hold back whatever it is that storms just beneath his skin, this time.

“It is,” you say, punctuation your words concisely. “It’s exactly why my parents said I shouldn’t hang out with you. They said that I’m above… all this.”

Oh, you’ve absolutely taken it too far now. You don’t really mean it. Sure, that’s what they told you, but you don’t really believe it. For some time, you did, but not now. It’s too late for sorries, though. Taehyun’s jaw goes tense.

For a long, awful moment, you just stand there and burn in his silence. It’s worse than any words he might spit. It’s hot—hot, hot, hot, and you turn liquid in it.

In a blink, nothing more, you collide against his countertop. Something clatters and thuds behind you. The gingerbread houses? That doesn’t matter right now—all that your dizzy mind can manage is his body crushing you and his fingers biting into the plush of your cheeks.

Where he had fractured, like true gingerbread, he snaps. You can see it in his eyes; even you know when you’ve pushed too far. Perhaps you ought to have seen this coming.

His knuckles curl white around the edge of the counter beside you, and his fingers dig deeper into your face. He’s oh-so-hot up against you. “I’m sick of your fucking mouth,” he snarls. His breath is hot as it fans over your face, too. “Someone needs to put you in your place. Where are your goddamn manners?”

Your heart thrums in your chest, and your pulse goes wild in your neck. You can’t form the words to answer him.

“Quiet now, huh?” he says. The husk in it makes the place between your thighs feel weird. You don’t know what’s wrong with you.

He shut you up real quick. You’ll give him that.

That funny feeling does flips, roaring to life when his fingers hook under the waistband of your bottoms. “That’s your problem.” His eyes send a chill up and down your spine. “You’ve never been told no. You’ve always gotten what you wanted.” Peeling down all the layers, he tugs your knitted stockings and your little fur skirt, and your sweet frosty panties, too. They bunch at your feet. Between your thighs, right where those foreign, throbbing waves reign, cool air laps at a wetness there. The hair all over your body rises. You’ve never felt anything like it. “Not with me. I'll set you straight. I don’t put up with spoiled brats.”

“I’m not a brat,” you say. “You’re just an ass.” They’re the first words that come to you. Damn your temper.

With the same hand he’d been holding your face in place with, he curls his fingers right into your scalp and yanks hard, baring your neck to him. You lose a strained squeak, tears pricking the corners of your eyes at the sting. If your heart had been racing before, it runs wild, now. You strain your eyes to look at him and his curled lips. Painted with a sneer, he says, “Watch your mouth.”

A swallow goes down your throat hard. It’s all unfamiliar: the aching between your thighs, the burning in your blood, and the dazing of your thoughts. “Taehyun, I… I feel weird. It feels weird.”

Something knowing passes over him. “Yeah?” he says. “Show me where. I can help.”

Show him? You hesitate, searching his eyes for an ounce of joke or aversion. You find none, and that pounding is syrupy-sweet, and he says he can help. That’s all you want; all you need. Taking a trembling hand, you bring it down your body, running the palm down the planes of your belly and resting it just over the spot where the lower bit gives way to the apex of your thighs. Going any further—the thought tightens your throat and pinkens your cheeks the color of strawberry frosting. “There. It feels weird there.”

Taehyun smiles a snappy, spiced smile. He likes that. “Want me to make it feel better?”

Your thoughts feel replaced by something powdery and weightless. You give him a dumb nod.

“Say please.”

Something bratty crawls up your throat, but you want help, and he’s the one who will give it to you. He’d meant that: teaching you a lesson. Melted around the edges already, you say, “Please, help make it feel better.” Your voice wavers.

“There we go. That’s how good girls talk. That’s how you ask to get what you want.” He nudges your thighs apart with a knee and slots it between them, pressed right up against that coolness. Right up against that need. “Grind down on it.”

Neck aching at the angle, you say, “Grind?”

He brushes his clothed thigh right up against you. The friction is delicious—sweet and melty and just what you need. It shoots yellow sparks throughout you.

It feels so good. Your mouth waters in anticipation.

“Grind,” he says. It’s harder, this time. Not a sweet suggestion.

You bring yourself back down on it, gasping at the contact, and you do. You grind, tummy tightening at every brush of the fabric hard and delicious. Your chest constricts, one hand flying up to dig your fingers into his shoulder and the other fighting the hand he has still in your hair. It aches and hurts, and so does the friction as you grow more gaspy and frantic. 

It feels so, so good. You want more—you want him to touch you there and everywhere else. He smells just right all over you, nutty and musky like a gingerbread twist. “Taeh—hyun,” you mewl. It burns, but something slick eases the burn a little bit. Just enough for you to enjoy that burn.

“That’s it,” he coos. It’s not a sweet coo; it’s the type of sound one might make when you play right into their mean game. It’s mean. “Make yourself a mess on my thigh. I don’t even have to touch you. What would mommy and daddy think of you now, huh? What would they think if they saw their precious princess fucking herself on my thigh?”

No. That would be the end of you. You whine, thighs twitching. Something twists in your center, scary and foreboding, and still you chase it. None of your thoughts are solid enough to stop. Each time he flexes a muscled thigh or presses it harder into you, you shudder and curl your fingers into his shirt harder. 

“Don’t like that, huh?” he laughs. “Then you haven’t learned your lesson. You’re no better than me; I mean, look at you.”

You want to cry when he pins your hips back to the counter, stilling your wild bucking. Squeezing your eyes shut, you claw and reach for that wave, even as it recedes from you. “Why?” you say, voice thin. It’d been so yummy—the sweetness still rests on your tongue. Your heart thumps hard, longing for it.

“I said, look at yourself,” he growls, taking his hold on your hair to crank your head down.

Right where you’d been on his thigh, there’s a sticky, marshmallowy mess. Your mess. 

Taehyun releasing his grip on your hair is almost a relief, but he doesn’t even give you time to relish it. The walls of his house blur around you. All that you register in between the motions is his shoulder in your belly and your limbs dangling from you. You dig your hands into his back to balance yourself, but he’s got you.

He has you slung over his shoulder. He’s carrying you like you weigh nothing at all. That place between your thighs flutters anew. In all your life, you never worried too much about the plushness of your belly or your thighs. It is who you are; all mallow and soft around the edges and starkly sweet. But you did get nervous when somebody tried picking you up. Usually, you protest and giggle it off. Watching somebody strain to pick you up when they lift other girls like sacks of flour is just something that makes you feel a little strange.

But, Taehyun does not strain. He doesn’t huff; he carries you right down the hallway and into his room, and he even manhandles you down onto the bed with a bounce without so much as a sound. He is a solid pillar beneath you, and then he is a solid, muscled chest above you. With strong fingers, he pins your hands to the mattress above you. With the other, he leads your shirt up.

He’s so warm against your cold skin. His breath like waves from the oven over your mouth, he says, “You think you’re so much better than me because you have all this?” Curling his fingers around a necklace circling your throat, he tears it off with a clattering of a few snow-drop beads.

 You gasp, glaring right into his eyes. “What the hell?” you hiss, arching your chest to wiggle beneath him. Your necklace. Who does he think he is, breaking your stuff? That was one of your favorite necklaces, and now it lies all over his floor. Still, your center pounds and longs for the return of his touch. Everything about him just calls for more from you. You don’t know how you went so long without him, or how you made yourself forget just how drawn you are to his magnetism. Maybe he is just what your parents turn their nose up at, and you too, but that does not make him any less a powerful personality. 

He knows exactly who he is and what he wants, as solid as the gingerbread cookie. And you, plush and impressionable as whipped marshmallows, take to him just right. It’s something you once knew, but the sneered words of adults obscured that memory.

“Don’t whine,” he says. “I want to see your pretty neck without all that shit. That’s your problem: you’re spoiled.” He reaches down to mess with his pants.

His length springs free. Cheeks flushing, you take it in. You can’t look away, even as embarrassment crawls spindly legs over your skin at the interest you take in the sight. You’ve never seen anything like it—long and hot and weeping something thick and white from the slit at the pinkish tip. A pearl of it dribbles down, landing on your belly in a string where he holds it.

Taehyun collects that wetness and then urges more from the tip with a few drags down the length of it. Wrapping his fingers around it, he begins to slowly work his fist up and down it. It’s nothing short of impossible to tear your sights off it—it’s another thing that inexplicably fans the flames of something roaring in your center. “Do you want to touch it?” he says, watching your tongue dart out to wet your lips. 

The sight of him growing restless over his pumping fist is enough to get you nodding. 

“Fuck,” he says, sharp and under his breath. He lets his hand off it. “Go ahead. Touch it. I won’t tell anybody you did.”

When he frees your pinned wrists, you reach out a slow hand. You curl your fingers around it the way he had. Your fingers don’t even touch around jt. The weight and warmth of him in your palm makes your blood tingle. Looking up, you search for guidance in those intelligent, swirling eyes. His bangs hang over his eyes as he watches.

Placing his hand over yours, he drags it up and down his rigid length the way he had been doing a few beats ago. “Like that,” he says. “Just like that.”

You pump your closed fist up and down him, encouraged to squeeze harder and flick your wrist faster with each tight breath he lets slip. The skin of your palm gets stickier and stickier, the slick sounds sending your ears and core burning just the same. You like that it makes him feel good—that he’s making those noises just for you. 

He twitches under your fingers. “Feels just like I thought your pretty hands would…” he says, stomach tight. “See—what happens when you give up that bratty fucking act? Shit… harder—give it to me harder, Frosty…” Shivering at the name, you oblige him. You reach your thumb up and collect more of that beaded liquid from the slit, and you work your arm harder. Faster. Your forearm begins to burn, but you don’t let it slow you. All you want is more of this; more of him. Finally, he lets sounds out from his chest freely. He grunts and hisses through his teeth, letting his head fall back. “Holy shit. I’m gonna—gonna ice your face, okay?” he says. “You said you liked the taste, huh? Wanna taste it again? Give me your tongue…”

Whatever that means, you push yourself up and situate your face in front of his length, your tongue out. Taehyun’s sounds tighten, and his hips begin to stutter and chase your hand. He picks his head back up to look down at you half-lidded—to watch. With only a few last runs of your palm down his length, skin so slick that your hand just slips and slides up him, he growls through gritted teeth. The weight of him in your working hand twitches once more, and from that weeping tip he shoots dancing ribbons of white. It lands on your tongue hot and sweet, melting out all spiced and snappy.

Snappy like gingerbread. Like gingerbread icing. Swallowing it down, you meet his gaze. He pants, chest rising and falling, but there’s something clear and knowing in his heavy eyes when you do. You think you know now, why he’d been so dazed as you made a show of licking that same sticky icing off your hands and said how good it tasted. 

When you release him from your palm, it glistens with his sweet essence. He softens in front of your eyes just the littlest bit.

Eyes just as hungry and still catching his breath, Taehyun says, “Open your mouth. I wanna see your tongue.”

Belly doing wicked twists, you do. You stick your tongue out for him, still laden with the headiness of his taste. He does taste good. 

“Swallowed it all down?” he says, eating the sight of you with your mouth dropped open up. “You really are so nasty. They all think you’re so sweet—you think you’ve got them all wrapped around your finger.” He pushes you back down to the bed with a palm. “Well, not me. I know that you’re just as filthy as you are spoiled. Somebody had to deal with you.”

Like always, snarky words swirl in your mouth. All it would take is letting them fall off your tongue. But you don’t—not with the feeling between your thighs, and not with the way your blood, frost turned to snowmelt, begs for him to fix it. Not when you know that all it will get you is more of Taehyun’s wrath. 

It’s not like what he says is true, or anything. That’s what you tell yourself anyway.

“Taehyun, please. I need it…” He takes a marshmallow thigh of yours, pressing it up so that it melds with your belly. Cool air reminds you once more of that strange wetness between them.

Dark, blown eyes catching the sight of it, his lips quirk into a scoff. “Need what?” he says, reaching a hand down. At the contact of his fingers, just as they had against his thigh, your hips jolt and an explosion like the breaking of sugar glass shoots down the muscles of your thighs. He scoops that stickiness up from its source, bringing the soft cream up to his mouth. Tongue darting out, he has a taste of you just as you had tasted him. “Shit—you taste good too, frosty. You’re so sweet, how’d you turn out like this? That’s okay. I’ll deal with you, and then you’ll be just as sweet as you taste.” That fat tip of him presses flush to the source of all your want. “I’ll straighten you out.”

You don’t know what that means, and you are absolutely sure that you don’t deserve it, but any sass is staunched with the utter sweetness of the stretch in your center. Taehyun presses his hips up into you, slowly and internalizing the dropping open of your mouth, the pinching of your brows into a worrying line, and the press of your palms to his broad chest. He takes it and metabolizes it down like cream cake or the plumpest fruits, and he gives you more. More, all the way up until there is no length of him left to give, and nowhere else for him to go.

You feel so, so full. No amount of twinkling jewels or new skirts hold a candle to this. You don’t know what it is, and you don’t know why Taehyun knows, but whatever. Who cares? Breathing out a shudder, you squirm beneath him to search for that dazzling feeling he’d made you feel earlier.

“Stay still,” he barks, steadying himself beside your head with a sturdy, powerful arm. When had he lost his sweater? You don’t know. You might drool over the definition and warm skin there if he didn’t pull the length of him out until just the tip of him threatens to pop out, and then drive right back in before you could. A gaspy breath falls from your mouth, devolving into mewls and whimpers when he does the same over and over and over again, quick with snapping hips and the smacking of his skin against the soft skin of your bottom. Your thigh quivers in his hold, his fingers digging into the fluff of your thigh as he holds you into it. 

Each and every time he slides up against something inside you that makes you feel different. Different from what you felt when you were on his thigh, and different from anything else you’ve felt in the entirety of your life. It’s deeper, right at the very bottom of your belly, sending your veins lazy and your hips twitchy. You want to chase it as much as you want to hide from its power, so all you do is stay in a hazy limbo of sharp gasps and long, drawn out mewls for more.

“No,” he says, his face right in yours. The smell of him, manly and so very sweet like oven-warmed gingerbread, settles over your bones and wiggles its way through your thoughts. It does something to your melted mind, planting a need to cling to him right in the center. Your hands perch all over him: the hair at the back of his head, his working waist, his biceps that flex and strain with his effort, and finally around him so that you can push your cheek to his chest and feel his heart racing there. “You’ll take exactly what I give, and thank me for it. You don’t get to ask for more; not with your mouth.”

“Why?” you say, whining. “I want it—so bad. Please? I’ll be so… so good…” Your voice bounces with each collision of your bodies, and your toes flex and curl at the twisting in your core. Nonetheless, you want more. Whatever this is—this syrupy, pure goodness—Taehyun has shown you something that you will never be whole without again. He has bloomed a flower right in the chest of you, something hungry that will want and want this, and you fear that he will be the only one able to satiate it. 

The thought of the smile he’ll wear, should you come crawling back to his doorstep just for this… 

Taehyun stops, pushing off you with a curled lip. “What will it take to get you to fucking listen?” he says. He pulls himself from you, leaving you to whine and long for that feeling once more. You want to complain and pull him back over you, but with the fire churning in his dark gaze and the sight of his length, covered in that same white, whipped stuff you’d left all over his thigh. 

You’d made a sticky, frosty, frothed mess all over him once again. Really, what would people think of you now? Your mom? Your dad? 

Manhandling you again, he flips you onto your hands and knees and shoves your face into the bed. Any yelp or gasp that tears from your chest is muffled into the sheets. Taking the swell of your hips, his fingers like bites against the powdery, soft skin there, his voice comes from behind you. “Won’t you just listen to me? If you’re gonna be mine, you’re gonna have to start learning how to hear no.” Curling your hair up and pulling it like a handle, he snaps your head back into another stinging, awful tug. It turns the arch of your back into something that you can imagine is a sight to be seen. If the burning where you feel his eyes raking down the curve of it has something to speak of it, that is. You squeeze your eyes shut as if that’ll help you any. “You don’t get everything you want. That’s not how this works.”

You don’t say anything. You have nothing good or sweet left to say.

“Say thank you, and I’ll give it to you good, okay?” he says, running a flattened hand down your spine. “That’s all I want to hear. Show me you can be good.”

The last thing you want to do is to thank him. That would mean admitting that you’ve lost, and that ruffles your preening feathers. But you want that goodness back, you want his hips snapping into you and that tight knot back in your belly. You’d do anything for it; even forget your ego.

Your mind is gone, anyway. Whatever your rational self would do, it doesn’t matter. There’s one thing that you want right now, and getting it is so easy. “Thank you, Taehyun. Thank you so much… I’m sorry I’ve been a brat, and I’m sorry about what I said to you. Please, just… help me. Please, I need you so bad.”

You? Sorry? It’s absurd, and yet, you entirely mean it. Maybe it’s your lazy brain talking, or maybe he really has won.

“See? So sweet when you act right,” he says. “Let me show you what happens when you do.”

You could cry real tears when he sets that same pace, his hands bracing on your hips to pull you deeper into each thrust and the front of your body bouncing against the sheets with each. Your cries grow hoarse and beyond needy, and your insides twist and turn even more dangerously.

You are on the brink of something divine. Something that will melt down so well, good on the tongue and as smooth as chocolate, but as sharp as the snapping of gingerbread.

And, snap, he has.

“Yes!” you cry, straining your shoulders as you reach behind you and curl your fingers around the place where he meets your skin. “S..So good! Right there—thank you, Taehyun!”

He doubles down on you. His length hits a spongy spot in your core, pounding up against the walls there and turning your insides against you. It’s almost too good. “There we go,” he says, voice shaking with a growl. The delivery of his thrusts grows sloppy. You think he feels just as good as you do. “That’s what—” Falling over you, he supports himself with each strong arm dug into the mattress beside your head, his solid front melded to your soft back. “That’s what I like to hear. Here you go—fuck, I’m gonna give you what good girls get, okay?”

You hope it’s more of that melty icing he shot from his length earlier. The knot in your belly tightens, just on the brink of a glittery, bright explosion. “Mhm!” you say, your voice cracking. You want it—you want it so bad. The intensity of it, turning over in your veins and rendering your thighs jelly, sings in your ears. It’s a frightening greatness, but you rage against the urge to drop your hips into the mattress and run from it. You need to finally taste what you’ve been chasing. “Taehyun! Right there—please, don’t stop!”

You were demanding more from him again, but Taehyun didn’t stop this time. Not when his growls and whines against your shoulder tell you enough about how he’s feeling. He tongues and nips at your shoulders, the only sounds echoing off the walls of his room, the hollow smack of his hips against your bottom, and the only smell of the sweet mingling of his gingerbread sharpness against your heady marshmallow. It’s good enough to eat.

Crying out with a frantic whine, the feeling deep in your belly changes once more, and you’re writhing and squirming against him. Your hips buck and chase and run, wild and just as explosively as the tightness shooting down your thighs and up through your lower back.

Everywhere. You feel it everywhere. It’s in the continued bouncing of your body, in each nudge of his tip to a sweet, spongecake spot deep inside you, in his breathless pants into your skin, and in the curling of his fingers into your hair when he releases a hip to do so, and in your pleads when he chases his own delicious release. Your throat tightens, and suddenly the sheets are all too warm around you, and you realize with blistering intensity that another one of those knots builds up in your belly. It’s quicker, short, and bright. You’ve barely even made it through the last, but still, it comes.

“Holy shit,” he growls, hips stuttering and then stilling. He reaches a hand down between your thighs and finds a very sweet button. The breath in your throat catches, and in nothing more than a blink of an eye, you crash again, and then your bodies are two twitching, elated things. He presses himself impossibly deeper into you before shooting that same hotness, sweet ropes of sugary icing right into you, and your fluttering insides hold him tight and eat it up. Your heart pounds in your chest, running amok in your ears and your neck, and you try to catch running breaths to no avail.

Occasionally grinding up into you, though there is hardly any space between your joined bodies to do so, Taehyun shoots more lazy spurts for a few long moments. His breaths slow against your skin, and yours do in your chest. Slowly, you recover as two entangled bodies, all clammy and melted like left in the oven for a bit too long.

Pressing hot, wet kisses to the back of your neck, and then down your spine when he pushes off you and pulls himself out, his tongue darting out against your skin for some, he says, “Taste so good… So sweet, even on your skin…” He brushes the wild tangles of hair from your face and adds, “I wonder if you’ve gone all sweet inside, too? You look like it…” The mess of you, your thick creaminess staining your thighs and his runny load pooling from your hole, is all over. It even makes the sheets beneath you dirty with dribbles of his release as it drips. “I told you I’d get you sweet.”

If that sluggish, sugary thing moving through your veins is sweetness taking over you from the inside, perhaps you have gone sweet. Or, perhaps you now have every reason to become his worst nightmare—just if it gets you this.

You’ll play sweet for now. The softer kisses he seasons your skin with are no less enthralling than the delightful goodness still ebbing away between your thighs. You think that, for the first time, you have lost. 

And, to your very own dismay, it tastes so very sweet. 

... back to the masterlist ⌇ back to strawberryland

✎୭ ashlynn's note BRAT TAMER TAEHUN, amirite?

﹙📋﹚ @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @hyucktapes , @bewitchless , @prince-jjae , @blankliving , @yaoizee , @stormy1408 , @missychief1404 , @izzyy-stuff , @miukuui , @lunesdesire , @304files , @sunoolver , @cherricola-star , @lickingan0rchid , @xylatox , @hmusunoo , @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @joycelyjjj , @sunoolver , @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @apeachty , @fandomtrashsblog , @bewitchless , @yezzns2 , @hhoneyhan , @ethystclove , @darkdayelixer , @calumcxke , @biteyoubiteme , @bamgeutsz , @soobabby , @little-shiny-starr , @bambammtori , @bunniebun-posted , @heeambi , @bunnisoobin , @hwanghyunjinismybae if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!

[not-neverland06]

Hey! Love your writing and love Flux!! I was hoping to request a kind of angsty/fluffy fic with the worst!wolverine where the meet her in the void and maybe Logan knew her just not very well and he’s finally letting himself open up and be close with her (likewise with reader/flux towards logan) and they get into an argument or maybe logan has a nightmare and he ends up stabbing her with his claws and maybe the aftermath of him beating himself up and sabotaging the new relationship until reader finally snaps him out of it and says it was an accident and she still loves him?? Thanks!!

mistake

Logan Howlett x fem!reader

a/n: I want to thank you for this request because I've been having the worst writer's block in the world. I was worried about having to go into another unofficial hiatus, but this made something in my brain click together and I knocked it out in two hours. my life is yours 🙏🙏 Summary: You know him. Or, you knew him. And you never blamed him for what happened in your world. It wasn't his fault that everyone you loved died and you barely escaped with your life. But you never actually thought you'd have to see him again. You don't know what to do when all these feelings resurface with his appearance.

No one truly knew who you were back in your universe. After the horrific incident at the mansion, you had run. You’d run as fast and as far as you could from the slaughter of your friends. You’d barely escaped with your life, and from the amount of blood and gore they’d left behind, most people just assumed you were dead. 

It’s not like anyone cared about you. Scott, Ororo, and Jean had been the real heroes. But it didn’t matter because they were still mutants at the end of the day. It didn’t matter how many people they saved. How many lives they positively changed, no one would ever see past the fact that they were mutants. 

Being one of the newer members of the recently disbanded X-Men gave you enough anonymity to get through daily life without being recognized. It did not, however, protect you from being sucked into the shit fest that is the multiverse. 

You’re not sure what it is about you that just attracts bad luck. You don’t know if it’s some hidden power that’s a part of your evolution. You’re just apparently perpetually fucked. The TVA had determined that you were interfering with the proper flow of your timeline or some bullshit. 

Now you’re here. Stuck in the void with nothing but decay and drunk former superheroes. If you have to watch one more Captain America ‘rally the troops’ you’re gonna kill him yourself. You’ve considered switching teams and joining Cassandra Nova at times. If only so you don’t have to deal with Johnny Storm and the rest of the dipshits. 

You get along with Laura, at least. She likes to tell you about her Logan and you like to dodge her questions about yours. She doesn’t need to know that not every version of Wolverine has a golden heart and story worthy of tears. Yours was a fuck up, plain and simple, but you never thought the incident was his fault. 

As much as others tried to push the blame on him. The people who raided the mansion were determined. There was no other way that day was going to end up. You’d just have one less X-Man. But people always love a martyr more than a victim. 

After a couple of years, you get used to the monotony. Your days are only occasionally broken up by dodging Cassandra’s henchmen and trying not to get sucked up into the soul destroyer. Other than that, you spend your nights getting drunk with Gambit and pretending you know whatever the fuck he’s talking about. 

“Laura! I managed to find some chocolate!” You run into the hideout looking for the girl. It’s rare to find good food that isn’t already a month past its expiration date. You weren’t planning on sharing the candy with her but you figured she’d smell it on you and it’s not worth the fight. 

Instead, you stop short as the familiar blue and yellow uniform you’d always try to force on him comes into view. He’s stealing Gambit’s liquor and you know that’s not going to go over well. What you don’t know is why you are so sure that this is your Wolverine. 

You’ve never had a Wolverine in the void. Not once. This could be any one of the hundreds of thousands of variants. But you see that look in his eye. That familiar watery gaze shows just how much he hurts, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. 

“Logan?” You breathe his name out in disbelief. Bypassing the Deadpool standing nearby. You’ve dealt with enough of those in your time down here. He takes a step back, fixing you with a distrusting look. 

He keeps the bottle of alcohol clutched close to his chest like he thinks you’re going to take it. You track the movement and you scoff. “Right,” you shake your head and stop short. “Of course, the only thing you care about is still getting fucking drunk.”

He glares at you, taking a step forward like he thinks it might actually intimidate you. “Do I know you, bub?” He reaches forward, probably to jab his finger in your chest. You drop your gaze to his outstretched hand and narrow your eyes. 

The material of his suit fluctuates, pulling back and rippling over his arms like liquid and not spandex. He doesn’t notice the manipulation of matter until it's his skin you target. It melts off his adamantium bones and he stares down in horror. 

You know he's scared because he’s watching his body dissolve but he’s not feeling any pain. You could make it hurt, but that’s not what you want. You just want to see if he’ll remember you now. If there’s anything half-decent left in that alcohol-rotted brain of his.

“Flux,” he grits your X-Man name out through his teeth like it hurts him to say it. 

You nod and his skin and suit go back to normal, like you’d never tampered with it in the first place. “You do remember me, then?”

“Thought you fucking died with the rest of them.” Your face drops before you feel an astonished smile on your face. 

“You know, it’s a comfort to know nothing about my world has changed. You’re still the same spineless dick that left us all to die.” You shake your head and storm out of the hideout. You don’t know how long they’re planning on staying but you pray they leave soon. If you have to deal with him longer than a week, you’ll just kill him. 

You step outside just as Laura’s coming back from the bonfire. She greets you with a stiff smile and you wonder what’s got in her in a mood. It only takes a glance over her shoulder to find the reason.

Logan is sulking by the fire, nursing yet another bottle of whiskey. He’s drinking it like water and even with his healing, his liver should have turned to mush by now. “I can see why you didn’t tell me about him,” she mutters as she passes by you. 

You know she tried to be quiet but you can see the way Logan’s head tilts slightly towards you. He’s heard her and you know it has to sting just a little.

You glance down at the leaves under your feet, eyes glazing over as you feel the guilt sink into your stomach. You shouldn’t feel bad, you didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t hurt him, technically, just reminded him who you were. But you still feel bad for what you said. 

You’ve never blamed Logan for what happened. And if you did, you would be a hypocrite. Because you survived too, and you left them all behind. You ran like a coward. You could never blame him when you failed to save them just the same. 

You take in a deep breath and steel yourself. You’ll just apologize, walk over there, and explain to him you didn’t mean what you said. You know he’ll be a dick about it. Claiming he doesn’t want your apology. You’ll just leave him alone after. 

You’re about to step forward when he barks out a gruff command, “Don’t fucking stare at me like that. I don’t want your company.” He turns back to the fire and takes another swig from his bottle. 

You roll your eyes and walk towards him. “You can be as miserable and self-pitying as you want, just let me say one thing.”

His head whips towards you so quickly you’re surprised you don’t hear it snap. “I’m not fucking pitying myself,” he grits out. You quirk your brows in amusement, glancing towards the bottle in his hand and the clear way he’s sulking. He turns his attention back towards the fire, intent on ignoring you again. 

“I don’t blame you for what happened,” you tell him. You ignore the warning look he shoots you, taking a seat beside him even if he doesn’t want you to. “I-” you choke on the words, struggling to admit to yourself what you’ve never wanted to. 

“Don’t.” You know it’s meant to be a warning. But when you look at him and see how completely broken he is, it sounds more like a pathetic plead. 

But you need to say this. As selfish as it is, you need to say this to someone., Need to unload this guilt you’ve carried for so long. “I was there, Logan. I could have saved them and I didn’t. I fucking ran.”

“Kid, don’t do this-”

“Jean was still moving,” you blurt out. You feel the way your heart speeds up at the admission. Your fingers shake and the air around you stills. 

His face drops and he slowly turns towards you. You’re afraid to look at him. You feel like a bunny staring down the snout of a wolf, there’s no escaping this. You’ve created this trap for yourself. 

“What?” He demands. His voice has lost that tremor of vulnerability. Instead, he sounds like he did when he first found out what had happened to you all. That same deadly level of calm that makes you want to bolt again. 

“She,” you stare into the fire until your eyes burn. You don’t know if it’s from the light or the smoke but the pain focuses you. “She was shaking on the floor. There was blood everywhere and she could barely breathe. They had gassed us with something. None of us could use our powers, it’s the only reason they got a one-up on us.”

You can feel yourself slipping back into that moment. You feel the warmth of the blood on your skin. It seeps into your suit and makes the material cling to you. Your gut is split open and the only thing holding your intestines in is your hands. 

Jean is in front of you. Her hands are twitching by her sides. There’s blood pouring out of her lips, dribbling down her tongue and cheeks. Every breath is a rattle so deep you feel it in your bones. 

Each inhale sounds like someone dragging glass through the membrane of her lungs. Her chest rises and sinks shallowly as she gasps for air. She’s practically convulsing, eyes twitching every which way.

The gas has faded from the halls. The people have left, satisfied with the carnage. You’re alone, surrounded only by the blood and bodies of your friends. None of the others are moving. Some of them are so mangled you can’t even tell who they are anymore. 

Jean’s eyes lock onto yours. The only anchor she has. And you can see it, the frantic, wounded animal gaze on her face. She knows she’s dying. She knows there’s nothing she can do about it. 

You can only stand by and watch as your friend dies. You could be her comfort. You could be the last face she sees before she dies, distracting her from the sight of her dead fiancee behind her. 

But what do you do?

You hold your guts in your stomach and you run. You can’t look at her. You can’t look at any of them. You can hear her croaking behind you. And even when you’re out of the mansion, when you’re in a hospital somewhere getting repaired and Logan’s on a rampage, you still hear her. 

You feel something heavy on your arm and it’s like you're being forcibly dragged out of a trance. Logan’s looking at you with something you’ve never seen before. But it’s something you’ve always desperately craved. 

It’s like he’s seeing you, really seeing you. For the first time in a long time, you feel that ache of guilt ease away ever so slightly. It doesn’t disappear, but you’re sharing the burden with someone else and it’s a relief you’ve desperately craved. 

“You’re not a bad person for leaving, kid.” He swallows roughly and you place your hand over his. He doesn’t look completely comfortable with the touch, slightly flinching away from it, but he doesn’t move. “If you hadn’t, you would be dead.”

You squeeze his hand, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I never blamed you for what happened.” emotion is so thick on your tongue and in your throat that the words come out a whisper. “Their deaths weren’t your fault, and what happened after wasn’t.”

He clenches his eyes shut and jerks his hand out of your grip. You sigh, knowing you’ve lost him. “I slaughtered them.”

You scoff, “They slaughtered us!” You nearly shout, anger bubbling hot in your gut. When you heard about him killing those who had hunted down your friends, you’d celebrated. And when you heard the way the public was crucifying him, you realized that no matter what you did they would never love you. 

You would always be nothing more than a mutant to them. 

“And the people who didn’t hurt them? The innocents I killed?” 

You don’t have anything to say to that. You just stand up, placing a hand on his shoulder as you pass by him. “I never blamed you, Logan.”

You don’t see Logan again after that. At least, not while you’re in the void. What was left of your little resistance was sucked up into the purple cloud of death. Only you and Laura are left with the carnage. 

Logan and Wade have disappeared to who knows where. It stings, to be on your own again. Sure, you have Laura, but she’ll never understand the pain of what happened to your universe. 

As much as it hurt, at least with Logan, you had someone to share the pain with. You could share your burden with him. You feel lonely and cold. Like there’s a part of you missing. You finally figure out what that ache is when the TVA comes to collect you and you see him again. 

He’s standing behind Wade as he enthusiastically tells you and Larua all about his world. But you can’t take your eyes off Logan, or the tentative smile on his face. Whatever had happened during that fight with Cassandra Nova had changed him, for the better. 

You smile back at him and it feels like taking a breath of fresh air after years. 

Apparently, whoever this world’s Flux had been, she was fucking insanely rich. And dead, which sucked for her but was great for you and Logan. 

It’s not hard for you to fake some government identities and explain that you’d been mistakenly marked as dead. It’s apparently pretty common in this universe. Superheroes are blipped out of existence all the time. You couldn’t get all of her assets as some had been liquidated, but you did get her giant ass house. 

You let Logan and Laura stay with you until they decide where they want to go. It’s better than living with Wade and his coke-fiend roommate. Laura finds her groove pretty quickly, it is her world after all. But you and Logan struggle to figure out what to do with yourselves. 

Neither of you has an interest in being X-Men again, and it seems like they’re not incredibly present in this world either. You also hadn’t been the best of friends, even before everything went wrong, back home. 

You’re not strangers, you’re not friends, you’re that awkward place in between. Each day is another opportunity to get to know each other. The progress might be slow, but you know that you’re getting closer to something real. 

It’s why you don’t feel any qualms about running into his room when you hear him shouting. You burst into his room and the door slamming against the wall isn’t even enough to wake him up. 

He’s writhing around in the bed, sheets twisted around his waist while sweat beads down his forehead. The noises he’s making remind you of a wounded animal. There’s something heartbreaking about this. 

He doesn’t get peace even when he’s sleeping. It makes you hurt for him. You want to smooth over the aches and pains he carries and burden yourself with them. 

The thought snaps you out of your reverie and you’re shocked by the revelation. You’d been growing closer to him, but you hadn’t thought you were growing this close. You feel so strongly for him, but you’re not ready to put a name on what it is that you feel for him. You just know that right now you want to make him feel better. 

You approach the bed cautiously, taking a seat beside him. The bed ripples and jolts underneath you as he tosses and turns. You place a gentle hand on his arm and shake, “Logan,” you whisper. You don’t want to startle him too bad. 

But he’s not responding to anything. It doesn’t matter how much you shake him or call out his name. Finally, you can’t handle it anymore. You get on your knees, sitting over him and bringing your palm down across his face as hard as you can. 

In a second he’s shooting up. You don’t even notice his hand until you see the way his vision clears. The visceral panic fades and something is aching in your gut. “Oh god, no no no,” he says the word so many times it stops sounding real. 

You look down and see the blood dribbling down his palm, the claws buried in your stomach. It’s almost funny, how perfectly aligned they are with the scar that already lived there. The reminder of your friend’s death being erased and reformed by Logan’s hand. 

He pulls his wrist back and you quickly snatch it up. “Don’t!” You shout, jaw clenching against the pain. “Don’t pull them out, I’ll just bleed out.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” You know he’s worried, that’s why he snaps at you. But it doesn’t help the way you feel yourself fighting back tears.

He sees them drip down your cheeks and his face drops. His other hand, the one not in you, comes up and cradles your cheek. “What do I do?” He whispers, and he sounds more desperate than you do. 

You know he doesn’t want another death on his hands. But there’s something beyond that. He doesn’t want to be the reason you stop breathing. There’s a startling clarity when you’re slowly dying. 

He cares about you. Just as deeply as you do for him. You can’t make him go through this pain again. Can’t let him suffer alone, not when he’s made so much progress. “Slowly,” you tell him, guiding his claws out inch by inch. 

It’s hard not to black out. You’d barely felt it when he’d gotten you the first time. You think it’s because of how fast and sudden it was. But this, having them oh so slowly slicing through your insides is the worst form of torture. 

But you don’t heal like him. You have to close your eyes, focus on the pain, and forcibly reknit your skin back together. It’s a clever manipulation of your powers, but it’s a slow one. You could never take serious damage on the field because you wouldn’t be fast enough to repair yourself. 

This is easy to repair. But that doesn’t make it hurt less. It feels like an hour before he can safely draw them the rest of the way out. The second he does, you’re sinking into his arms with a pained sob. 

He clutches you so tightly to his chest you worry your back might snap. He keeps muttering apologies into your hair, hands desperately grasping at every inch of you he can hold. You’re too tired to say anything. 

You realized you should have. You should have told him you don’t blame him. You were the one who snuck into his room. You should have been smarter. But it doesn’t matter how many times you tell Logan not to blame himself, he always will. And you were too tired to try anyway. 

You only realize what’s happening two days after the incident. You figured he might need some space to process what happened. And honestly, you did too. It was awful and incredibly draining. You’ve felt fatigued ever since. 

But when you try and approach him and he just brushes past you like you weren’t even there, you know something is wrong. You watch his retreating back with a disturbed glare. You connect the dots quickly, already knowing what he’s doing. 

He doesn’t want to be responsible for hurting another person he loves. He can’t handle a loss like that again, even if it’s not by his hands. He wants to make sure you don’t want him, that you don’t care for him. Like that might ease the pain and guilt. 

But it wouldn’t. It would just make him feel worse. It would make you feel worse. 

You don’t waste a second, following him up the stairs and barging into his room before he can slam the door shut. It bounces off the wall and he lets out a deeply irritated sigh. He doesn’t turn to look at you, just walks over to his nightstand and rummages around through the doors.

You know he’s not looking for anything. He’s just trying to ignore you long enough for you to give up. It’s not going to happen, he should know better. 

You take a step further into the room and the smell of chemicals slams into you. Your nose wrinkles in disgust. It smells like he pumped Lysol into the vents. Your eyes dart to the bed and you sigh. 

Your blood, you’d completely forgotten. He must have been cleaning it up the morning after. You can’t blame him for wanting to get rid of the remainder. But this seems excessive. 

“Strong nose,” he mutters. You hadn’t realized you’d spoken aloud and you glanced over at him. “I can still smell it, even after cleaning.” He takes a seat on the bed and you hate the way his shoulders are slumped. 

He’d seemed so much more comfortable with himself lately. It’s like one accident has undone all his progress. “Logan,” you start, taking a step towards him. He holds his hand up, still not looking at you. 

It’s driving you insane. You wish he would just meet your eyes. You feel like you could change his mind if he would just see you. Maybe that’s why he won’t. He won’t let himself be happy. 

“Look, that night just made me realize what a huge fucking mistake this was.” He gets up and slides something out from under the bed. It takes a moment for you to register what it is. A duffel bag, packed with all his essentials and what little clothes he owns. 

He’s going to leave.

You act without thinking. Pure panic making your powers surge out. Logan grunts and the bag falls out of his hand. “Quit it,” he snipes, bending over to pick it up. But he can’t because it’s so heavy it’s making the wooden floor splinter and crack under its weight. 

“You don’t get to just leave when things get hard, Logan.”

He stands up, hands propped on his sides. There’s a challenge in his eyes that makes you nervous. “Fuck this,” he scoffs and brushes past you. 

It’s beyond manipulative to use your powers against him. But sometimes, someone is such a fucking idiot, they need a little outside help. You slam the door closed and the handle disappears, locking you both in his room. 

He turns towards you with a fierce glare on his face. “Open the goddamn door before I break it down.”

“You can try,” you taunt, a nasty tone to your voice. You’re sick of this. You’re sick of running from what you want. You’ve been miserable and alone for years. You want to be happy. For the first time in forever, you want something. 

And you want Logan to be happy with you. You can’t force him to feel the way you do. But you can stop him from actively preventing this. “Stop acting like a goddamn child and just talk to me!” You shout at him. 

There’s a disbelieving look on your face. You don’t understand why he won’t let this happen. Why does he have to fight so hard against any semblance of happiness in his life?

“I’m going to hurt you. That is all I do. I hurt the people I love and I cannot hurt you too.” Your eyes widen in shock at his outburst. Beyond anger, there was so much fear in his voice it was almost enough to make you miss what he’d said. 

“You love me?” You can see the realization dawn on him. The fact that he let slip why he’s so hesitant to be around you. You know he wants to leave, his eyes are darting around the room for an escape route, but you’ve blocked them all. You can’t let this go, not now. 

“Logan,” you snap, demanding an answer from him. 

“Fuck you,” he mutters, something vicious on his face. 

He’s going to hurt you. He’s going to lash out and say something cruel so that this doesn’t happen. You know him because you’ve been him. He will take every possible route to get out of this if it means he doesn’t have to face his feelings. 

You roll your eyes and take a step forward. You jerk him towards you and throw yourself on him before he can say something stupid. The kiss is brief, just enough to snap him out of this ridiculous headspace he’s in. 

When you pull back he looks dazed, but he’s relaxed in your hold, sinking towards you. You grin up at him, “I love you too, dumbass.” You lean up to kiss him again but you dart back at the last second, a mean glare on your face. “Pull some shit like this again and I’m going to melt your dick off.” 

You kiss him before he can respond, but you feel the smile against your lips. You can taste the defeat on his tongue as he wraps his arms around you and tugs you into his chest. He’s not going to push you away and you’re not going to let him. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte  

@mrs-ephemeral  @wolviesgirl @allllium  ♡ 

[woniiez]

ᴛɪʟʟ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ᴇɴᴅꜱ | ₗ.ₕₛ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢꜱ. brothers bestfriend! heeseung x fem!reader

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ. You were sleeping when jay started banging on your door “y/n heeseung is gonna stay with us for the summer”. Lee heesung, your brothers best friend and the boy you’ve had a crush on since you saw him 5 years ago in your living room.

|| ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ. 4-6k (wrote this on my phone so i have no idea, tried to check it but it kept giving me different word counts)

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ. smut, brothers bestfriend.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ. nsfw! smut lmk if there’s anything else.

(hii this is the first fic I’ve ever written, I obviously have a long way to go lmao but I hope you like it. This was written with really less detail and not too many complications something simple I guess. There might be a few spelling mistakes or the paragraph formation is messed up so bear with me on that 🙏🏻. Since this is the first time I’ve written it’s not really fully “fic coded” you could say Ig but I’ll learn in time, it could be different writing wise from a proper fic.Anyways I hope you enjoy and if you have any questions regarding this or anything else lmk.)

————————————————————

You’ve never really talked to Heeseung much. He comes over a lot but jay doesn’t let you hang out with them much, it doesn’t really bother you much but what did bother you was when jay started banging on your door to wake you up on a weekend at 8am to tell you “ Y/N!! Heeseung is gonna stay with us for the summer”

You couldn’t wait for summer break to come but now you’re grateful there’s still a week left.

you RAN to karina’s house which thankfully was next door. She was obviously still asleep.

“Karinaaa!! WAKE UPPP” you say while pulling the blinds up, “y/n it’s 8am please I haven’t slept all night” karina said while pulling the blanket over her face

“I need to tell you something. ” you looked at her with a very serious face waiting for her to sit up “yes y/n goodmorning to you too” you smiled at her and murmured goodmorning back “ok get this jay said Lee heeseung is gonna stay at ours for the summer..the WHOLE summer!” You let out a sigh you didn’t know you were holding. You waited for her to say something She looked at you like you ate her cat or something, she really is cranky in the morning “can you say something why are you looking at me like that” she took a breath in and out. Oh no u hate when she does that, it feels like she’s going to pounce on you “y/n..is this what you wanted to tell me so badly to wake me up at 8am on a Sunday?” She said in a calm and low tone. You just looked at her as u blinked slowly and nodded slowly, she wasn’t having any of it “y/n it’s not a big deal it’s just heesung and jay is best friends with him you literally see him everyday” well that was true but she didn’t know about the crush you had on him, you just couldn’t bring yourself to tell her.“This is gonna be a looongg summer” you thought to yourself.

It was the first day of summer.

As you woke up the golden sunlight peeked though your blinds, casting stripes across the room. Making you think “it’s finally summer” you smile to yourself. You yawn as you watch the dust particles flying around the window.

You threw your blanket away from you and went to freshen up exited for the summer. You tie your bikini around your hips and back, then throw on an oversized shirt and some jean shorts.

You walked down the stairs each step filled with excitement, thinking about everything you were gonna do this summer with karina, going to places we’ve never been or just hanging out in your backyard. You took a deep sniff smelling waffles from the kitchen. The smell of the batter, the sound of the waffle maker, and fresh maple. You ran to the kitchen to see jay cooking. You love your brothers cooking especially his waffles it’s something he only makes it in the summer. “Jayy you’re making waffles?!!!!???!” You said giggling

and grinning, doing a silly dance “when I met you in the summerrrrr~~” you sang as a smile spreads on jays face. He hums with you.

“Sit down y/n 5 minutes more” he said looking back at you raising his eyebrows. You were walking around the wall to sit on the counter and suddenly you saw heesung sitting on the chair “WHA-“ you were totally surprised and feeling like an idiot since you just sang and danced and HEESEUNG SAW YOU. You completely forgot he was supposed to be here.

You feel your cheeks heat up as you try to laugh the embarrassment off. You looked up at heeseung who was already looking at you up and down. With a slight smirk on his face he tilted his head to the side. “What’s up?”

he said. His tone is relaxed and raspy. You feel so small in his presence , you feel your cheeks burn and u look up at him “hey I heard you’re staying here for the summer”you say trying to relax your voice, you sit down on the chair next to him and look up at him waiting for an answer “mhm” that’s all he says. You think if you’re going see him the whole summer you need to get to know him better atleast. You tilt your head and ask,“Can I ask why?” Your eyebrows raise in curiosity and a gentle smile forms on your lips showing you’re genuinely interested, before he said anything jay came up to the counter and sets the waffles in front of you with a light frown he glances at you and says “y/n don’t bother him” his eyes meet yours and he slightly smiles. Heeseung takes a waffles and puts it on his plate, jay walks away to get the ice cream he looks over at you but you were already looking at him, you look away “im moving to New York after the summer cause of my dads work” he says,his tone relaxed. He shrugs, his eyes glancing away for a moment. “he’s already there so I’m staying here till I leave” he lets out a light laugh and takes a bite of the waffle. You look at him, your heart skipping a beat at the news. A mix of surprise and a touch of sadness washes over your face. “New York, huh? That’s a big change,” you say, trying to keep your tone light despite the flutter of emotions inside. You bite your lip, thinking about why you feel sad you barely know him?!. “Are you excited about it?” you ask, your eyes searching his, hoping to catch a glimpse of his feelings. He shrugs a bit. “I’m not really worried” he says nonchalantly. Not wanting to show too much emotion you take a bite of the waffle “oh okay” you said kind of sad but you think jay might be really sad since they’ve been best friends since they were 10.

It’s been about 2 weeks since you talked to heeseung. Even though you’re living together there’s not much interaction between you too, well there are moments when you’re going out in your prettiest clothes and he undresses you with his eyes. You try to ignore it as much as you can, you can’t betray jay like that no matter how much you want to right?

Eventually you decide invite Karina over and take a swim in the pool. The cool water feels refreshing, and the familiar scent of chlorine surrounds you, bringing a sense of comfort. As you float on your back, Karina asks you a shocking question “do you like heesung”she says looking at you with her eye brows raised and crossed arms. “Karin-“ you pause cause heesung is standing at the backyard door by the pool. Did he hear what she said? You’re just looking at him with a confused expression. Karina looks back and smirks to herself. You can’t help but say something,it’s getting awkward “hey Heeseung do u wanna swim?” You ask, Karina noticed how your voice sounds way different from when you both talk. He scratches the back of his neck and says “yea can I?” Looking between Karina and you. You try to communicate with Karina through your eyes “ofc you can” she says with a smirk on her face as she looks at you, you look at her with a confused face as you raise your eye brow asking what she was doing. Heeseung walks towards the pool and slowly with a confidence smirk he pulled off his shirt, his toned body revealing itself to you. You flinched at the sight, you thought how it would feel if he was on top of you and you touch his toned abs..

Suddenly water hit you and you fell of your floaty into the water “what the hell!” You looked at Karina thinking she did that but you heard deep chuckles coming from the side, it was Heeseung “sorry didn’t mean to do that, just diving” he shrugs and looks you up and down like he’s ready to undress you “oh yeah btw there’s a party here tonight” he said. You looked at him in confusion since your parents are home. He continues “oh um jay told me to tell you, your parents have to go to a wedding” you tell him you’re going inside to talk to your mom and jay. You get up and wrap yourself in a towel, by now you think heesung has a staring problem.

You take a shower, change and head down with Karina.

You see jay helping your mom pack you walk into the room “mom where are you going” you ask since everyone knows except you.

“Y/n honey me and your dad have a wedding to attend it’s in the next town so we’ll be back in the morning” you tell her to be safe, you look at Karina and smile looking forward to the party. “Jay take care of y/n and don’t do anything stupid” she looks between you and jay, you put your hands up.

As soon as your parents leave jay picks up his phone and starts calling people over. Since it is your last year why not have a party.

You walk up to jay as he’s wearing his watch he looks over at you “soo who did you invite” you ask out of curiosity since he didn’t tell you about the party which is in YOUR house. He looks at you smiling “anyone and everyone” he winks. You wonder what’s gonna happen tonight your head already hurts. You weren’t really into parties, just going if your friends invited you or when you need to get your mind off something. But tonight it’s someone. Jay looks at you thinking to yourself and says “y/n I’ll keep an eye out for you tonight” you already know what that means. Jay isn’t much of an over protective brother but when it comes to his friends or guys in general getting involved with you, he hates it. Since they’re not someone he fully trusts.

As you get ready in your room, the sounds of the party downstairs filter through the door. Muffled laughter and music. Making your heart race with anticipation. You can hear the clinking of glasses and the cheerful chatter. As you finish your final touches, someone knocks on your door “come in!”

You look at the door as it opens and it’s heeseung hes wearing a black Prada button up with black pants he looks. Your heart skips a beat you blink, he stands there effortlessly attractive. You can’t help but admire his face shape the way his body fits in his clothes, how his jawline is shaped perfectly his eyes are captivating.

Closing the door behind him he walks towards you with a knowing smirk leans down to your ear and whispers “baby you’re staring”. You’re taken aback, you take a step back but he still walk towards you. “I think you’re the one with a staring problem hee” you say fixing the collar of his shirt, he��s chuckles shocked by the sudden nickname and confidence. He presses you again your closet behind you and he slowly puts his thumb over your lips. Before he can do anything else the door opens and you push him away.

It’s jay he looks between both of you “uhm Lee let’s go Jake’s calling you” he says while looking at you. You feel trapped not knowing what to do. Heeseung winks at you secretly and heads back down. Jay raises his eye brow “y/n what the fuck don’t you remember what I told you” he says in a low and angry voice though you can tell he’s hurt. You try to say something with your heart racing, you try to scan jays face but he just walks away.

You walk down after fixing your lipstick. You spot Karina with some of your old classmates and join them.

The party is in full swing when you find yourself in the kitchen, pouring drinks for your friends. Suddenly, Heeseung appears beside you, leaning against the counter with that trademark smirk. “Need any help?” he asks, his voice low and teasing. You nod, trying to ignore the way your stomach flips at his proximity.

As the night progresses, the atmosphere becomes more charged. Laughter and music fill the air, but you can’t shake the feeling that something is about to change. You catch Heesung watching you from across the room, his gaze intense, and you feel a pull toward him that you can’t resist.

Later, as the party continues, you find yourself in a quieter corner of the house, away from the noise. Heeseung follows you, the tension between you crazy. “It’s crazy how we’re both here together,” he says, stepping closer. The air feels thick with unspoken words, and before you know it, he puts his hand on your waist leaning in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tentative kiss.

Your heart races as you kiss him back, the kiss getting deeper. The world around you fading away. You know you shouldn’t be doing this, but it feels too right to stop. Just as the kiss deepens, you hear your brother laughing, pulling you back to reality.

You break apart, breathless, and heesung looks at you with a mix of desire and uncertainty. “We can’t do this baby,” he whispers, but the way he looks at you says otherwise. The party goes on, but in that moment, everything changes. You kiss him again and deepen the kiss.

As you pull away from the kiss, your heart races,his forehead on yours. You glance toward the living room where the party is still in full swing. You can hear your brother laughing with friends, completely unaware of the moment that just unfolded between you and heesung.

“Maybe we should go back,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, still feeling the warmth of his lips on yours. Heeseung nods, but there’s still hesitation in his eyes.

“Are you sure?” he asks, searching your face for confirmation. His hands go up and down your waist. The last thing you both want to do is betray jay, but you can’t help it after liking him for so long.

“I don’t know,” you admit, biting your lip. “But we can’t let anyone see us like this.” You take a step back, trying to regain some composure, but heesung reaches out, gently pulling you back toward him.

“Then let’s keep it our little secret for now,” he suggests, a mischievous glint in his eyes. His hands back on your waist moving upwards. You nod, the thrill of secrecy making your heart race even faster. You both go back into the party agreeing on keeping this a secret.

As the night progresses, you and heeseung have moments together, glances across the room, whispered conversations in corners, and the occasional touch that sends sparks through your body. The chemistry between you is undeniable, but you’re also acutely aware of your brother’s presence, and the potential consequences of your actions.

At one point, you find yourselves outside on the patio, where the sounds of the party fade into the background. The night sky is dotted with stars, and the cool breeze contrasts with the heat radiating between you.

“Do you think he’d be mad?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. Heeseungs expression softens as he considers your question.

“I don’t know,” he replies honestly. “But I don’t want to hide this if it means something.” His words send a thrill through you, you’ve wanted heesung for such a long time but the thought of your brother’s reaction hangs in the back of your mind.

As everyone starts leaving it’s already 2am and jay is extremely drunk. You ask heesung to put him to bed.

You’re sitting in on your bed still wearing your black mini dress when the door opens and closes with a bang. It’s heesung he’s charging towards you suddenly he gets on top of you. You’re just looking into his eyes looking for something but they’re just filled with desire. As you’re about to say something he puts his lips on yours capturing them into a kiss.

It starts of slow, he sits against the headboard and you climb on top of him, your knees on the sides of his thighs. He pulls you in again for a deep kiss, he puts his hands on your waist tightening them. They way yours and his lips are moving next to each other feels unreal, he pulls you even closer towards him, you release low moans now needing him as close as possible. As the kiss gets heated you feel his tongue licking your self asking to go in, you let his tongue enter and explore your mouth he groans. He puts his hand on your zipper, you look at him and nod.

He quickly takes it off and looks at your perky boobs “so fucking sexy baby” he looks like he wants to eat you. You gasp when he takes one of your nipples in his mouth “hee-“ and swirls his tongue around,he gives the other one attention aswell taking it in his hands god. His hand goes down to your clothed core as he starts rubbing over it. “Hee please” you cried out, “please what pretty, say it” he whispered

You moaned and squirmed against his hard cock, making him hiss “baby u need to stop moving”.

He laid you against your back and started placing kisses all over your neck and breasts making you breathe heavily. As he placed kisses all over your body he reached your wet core. He took his shirt off revealing his toned body you started kissing him everywhere until It all went too fast when you suddenly felt a hot wet sensation licking your pussy slow. Your eyes rolled back, feeling hee’s tongue going deep in your pussy and sucking on your bud. Your moans could no longer be held back, letting them out freely for everyone to hear.

“H-hee ah- wait!” You cried out feeling your orgasm coming faster than you thought since it’s been 2 minutes. Heeseung didn’t stop, feeling your pussy tighten and open and before he knew it too, his tongue was getting covered by your juices. He licked his lips while looking at you, you thought you could look at him like this forever.

As he takes his pants off with his underwear you look at him surprised at how big he is. You gulped.

Heeseung notices your expression and smirks “you ready baby?” You nod aggressively not wanting to wait another second.

He kissed you everywhere complimenting every little thing, he leaned over and positioned his dick at your whole and slowly pushed it in. “HEE! Fuck” you moan, he thought you looked so pretty with your mascara running down your face because of him.

“Fuck baby you’re so tight” he groaned

You let out a ragged breath feeling him in you. He felt so big and you felt so full. Heesung looked at you asking if he could move “u-h you can move” heeseung nodded and moved slowly watching your face as you roll your eyes back in pleasure.

That’s when he started moving faster, you both were a moaing mess. Panting against each other.

Heeseung groaned feeling you squeeze against him, he could feel his orgasm coming.

You felt your orgasm coming as he went in and out “f-uck hee im cu-ming” you moaned and closed your eyes as it came over.

Heeseung thrusting in deeper while you got off your high. He let out a raspy laugh.

You both were breathing heavily after he came and laid down with you. “that was-“ you said panting

“great. “ heeseung looked at you and kissed you once more before he got up and got a towel from the bathrooms and cleaned you up before laying back down.

“Hee?” You said laying down on his arm. “Yeah baby?” He pulled you closer under the blanket “when will you leave for New York?” You said. Your voice not above a whisper, he looked at your sad expression and put a strand of hair behind your ear “I told my dad already im not leaving”he said. You sat up holding the blanket to your chest, “wait really?!” You said smiling so big it hurt. “Yea. “ he said. Hugging you tightly. “I love you hee” you said looking into his sparkly eyes as u pecked him on the cheek “I love you too baby”. He kissed you back.

The sun was out ask you opened your eyes, you rubbed your eyes the memories of last night came flooding back into your mind and you couldn’t believe that actually happened. A smile crept onto your face.

You felt heeseung holding you tightly by the waist. You shifted to look at him, he looked so pretty while sleeping as well. You started tracing his lips and his nose even his eyes. He started blinking and smiled “goodmorning” he said, his morning voice so raspy and attractive. “Morning” you giggled and put your face into his neck.

You suddenly pulled back hearing your door open. “y/n wake uppp!” It was jay.

He stood there looking at both of you naked under the blanket.

He started blinking in disbelief.

Heeseung tried to cover you with his body which made you laugh.

You totally forgot you were in the same house as jay through all that.

Jay just walked out. You looked at heeseung confused why jay didn’t punch anyone. You and heesung got dressed and went down to the kitchen to talk to jay.

You both sat on the chairs in front of the counter where jay was making breakfast.

You started “jay uh.. can we talk” you felt like you’ve betrayed your brother big time, your mind had a lot of things to say but you need to tell him the truth first.

Jay looked back at you with his eye brows furrowed he nodded letting you know to go on but before you could heeseung started talking “look man im sorry it happened this way, I never wanted to hurt you or y/n” he lets out heavy breathing.

You could see how hard this is for heeseung because this is his only one friendship he cares about.

Jay looks at him very angrily “if you didn’t want to hurt me you shouldn’t have done this” he said in a higher voice as he crossed his arms. You felt bad for heeseung for getting the blame “jay it’s not his fault I also wanted too” you say searching jays eyes for something but they were just empty “y/n I know and that’s what I hate more, I told you so many times not t-“

You didn’t let him finish and told him the truth. “I love him” you say.

Heesung hold your hand and jay looks at heesung for an answer. “I love her aswell” Heeseung says in a very straightforward and sincere tome. Jay turns his back, you both give him some time to think. He turns back and sets breakfast up he glances over to both of you “Heeseung you better treat her right or she’ll have to witness your funeral” jay said while smiling as he hugged heesung. You looked at Jay with a smile “im sorry and thank you” you hugged him back.

In the evening you invited Karina over for a barbecue your dad was hosting. You told her everything.

She was really happy for you.

After the barbecue ended all of you jumped into the pool.

Heeseung pulled you to him and gave you a peck on your lips he whispered “I love you” you giggled and splashed water on him.

————————————————————

© won!!ez , 2024. do not copy, steal my stories

[moni-logues]

Pairing: Bangchan x reader (afab)

Genre: friends-to-lovers but mostly just smut

Summary: Chan has just returned home from tour and you hope you aren't wrong that something has changed between you. Only one way to find out…

Word count: 7.8k

Content: hand job, oral (f receiving), protected piv sex, chan pov in the last part

me: i won't repost stuff from the old blog

Also me: ....

anyway, @minisugakoobies reminded me that this fic exists yesterday and I have been writing for Chan recently (don't ask, it's gonna take ages) so here we are. unedited. {note this was originally written as a single drabble and then I wrote two more parts to it so if any bits feel a little disjointed, that's why.}

* * *

It wasn’t weird and it wasn’t uncomfortable. But it was different. It was definitely different this time.   

Chan sat in front of you, between your legs, his back against your chest and his head in the soft space between your shoulder and collarbone. You leant against the arm of the sofa with your hands on his stomach-   

That was different. You had the hem of his T-shirt between your fingers, toying mindlessly, while your other hand rested on his warm, soft skin beneath it. He had one hand resting over yours, his fingers not exactly entwined with yours, but not exactly not.    

You’d held hands before. On occasion. Entirely casually, platonically. Except for the part where you wished it wasn’t casual, wished it wasn’t platonic.    

You’d had feelings for Chan for as long as you could remember, since you first set eyes on him. Honestly, you were used to it. Comfortable with it even. You knew you weren’t going to do anything about it and that meant it didn’t worry you. It would be your little secret and you would soak up all the time with him you could, you would enjoy all the friendship privileges he offered you and you would clutch them close to your heart in the absence of any actual body to hold.    

It was only before he went away this last time, a couple of months ago, that you felt something change. Something about how clingy he had been the night before he left, a little more tactile than he usually was. He was ants-in-his-pants fidgety and wouldn’t sit still. He was wrestling you into a hug one minute and then pushing you to the other end of the sofa the next. He held you so tightly and for so long when you hugged him goodbye that you had joked it was like he was going off to war. He had laughed only half-heartedly, which, for Chan, might as well have not been laughing at all. He had pulled back and looked at you intensely with his hands still on your waist and you had waited and waited for him to say or do something else but he just kept looking.   

“Are you going to like, actually leave?” you had asked.   

He snapped out of his trance and ruffled your hair.    

“Course I’m going! Why? Trying to get me to stay?”   

You weren’t, because you knew he was going to leave, anyway, that he had to go, but he sounded hopeful (or were you imagining it?).   

“Yeah. I did consider locking you up for a second, but taking care of one animal is enough; I’m not sure I could cope with having to feed and care for you, too!”   

He had done a proper laugh then and you were reassured that whatever had just happened, it was a blip, a glitch, nothing more. He had hugged you one last time, shorter, looser, and then turned to leave with a salute.   

Then he was back, hugging you just as hard, fresh off the plane (rather un fresh, actually, and he had the cheek to ask to use your shower!).    

And it was the same as it had ever been.   

But it was also different. Because he had told you so many times while he was away that he missed you; he had said ‘wish you were here!’ so often that you actually believed it; your gallery was full of ‘found you!’ photos of ugly statues and ‘thought you’d like this’ shots of architecture and souvenirs—souvenirs he’d actually bought and brought home for you. He didn’t usually do that.    

And now, there you were, with your hands on his skin and your cheek resting lightly on the top of his head and he was laughing at the film you were watching and taking your hand from the hem of his top, crossing it over his torso and holding it there. He closed his fingers over yours. Holding hands. You flattened your palm over his stomach and stroked sideways, the circle of your arms tighter around him, and you wanted to ask what this meant. Did it mean anything? Had he just been lonely on the road? Did he just want some physical contact? Were you just... there?    

You weren’t one to be stuck in indecision. You didn’t have the patience for it. You decided, when you first met, that you weren’t going to act on your feelings because trying to date an idol was an insane thing to do. And you didn’t need the stress.    

But you also didn’t need the long, drawn-out stress of a ‘will they? Won't they?’ scenario with one of your closest friends.    

And, if you were going to be really honest, you kind of did need a good fuck. And you’d thought about fucking him a lot, one might say too much. And if he was interested, if something had changed and he saw you differently now, well, then the bedroom was calling for you.    

“Chan?” you said quietly.   

He twisted his head a little. “Yeah?”   

“Can I... touch you?”   

You drew your fingers back, softly grazing your nails against his abs. He giggled.   

“What do you mean? We already are touching!”   

You slipped just the tips of your fingers beneath the waistband of his jogging bottoms and the waistband of his boxers.   

“No, I mean... touch you.”   

“Oh, sh-… Uh.”    

You didn’t move your hand; you felt his heartrate quicken, thumping back against your chest.    

“You don’t have to say yes. It’s ok if the answer’s no.”   

“Yeah, no,” he said. “I mean, the answer’s yes. It’s ok.”   

“Are you sure?” you asked.   

He swallowed and nodded and put his hand over yours, carefully encouraging it lower. “Yes, I’m sure.”    

His hand left yours as it disappeared beneath the fabric of his clothes and you couldn't breathe as your fingers ran over the velvet skin of his soft cock, which twitched on contact. As you pushed his trousers and his boxers down, you almost couldn’t look, couldn’t bear the thought of disappointment, after all this waiting, after every fantasy, but you needn’t have worried. Of course, it was fucking perfect. Just like the rest of him. You wrapped your fingers around his semi-hard length and he shifted.   

“You don’-” Then he hesitated.   

“Don’t what?”   

“Uh, you don’t have to be gentle...”   

Then he wrapped his fingers around yours, squeezed a little tighter, and your thighs squeezed, too. You chuckled, a little embarrassed, a little shy actually, a little over-awed.   

“Channie likes it rough, huh?”    

You didn’t need to see his face to know he was blushing; you could feel the heat radiate from his cheeks.   

“Um, well, uh-”    

He was stammering now and you were amazed that he could be bashful with his cock in your hand, shy even though he was directing you.   

“I like it,” you whispered and you felt a shiver go through him.    

He kept his hand over yours and you smiled to yourself because you should have expected this. Control freak Chan, perfectionist Chan, Mr ‘I’ll just do it myself’ Bang. It was cute. But you weren’t going to let him get away with it. You let him control you, let him show you how he liked it, let him get himself to the point where his breathing was heavy and his bottom lip was bitten between his teeth and his brows were furrowed.    

“Hey,” said, nudging his head with yours. “Who exactly is giving this handjob? You want me to just leave you to it or...?”   

He spluttered and stopped and immediately let your hand go. “Sorry, I-”   

“You don’t have to apologise; I know you. But I want to do this for you, y’know?” You turned your head and gently bit the top of his ear before pressing a kiss to it.    

“Yeah, got it. All yours.”     

“Thank you.”   

You had him panting again in seconds, because he had already given you his secrets, and when he tipped his head backwards and whined, it made your cunt pulse.   

“Ok, you’re right, you’re right,” he gasped. “This is better. Fuck... Oh shit.”   

He was moving like he couldn’t help himself, his hips snapping up, fucking himself in your fist and you could feel his thighs twitching, feel the tension coiling in his body.    

It was building in you, too, as you soaked through your underwear. He wasn’t quiet and every moan, every grunt, every gasp of your name made your head spin. You hoped it wouldn’t stop here. After all this time, something was finally happening and you needed it to keep happening, you needed him to feel you, too. A moan fell from your own mouth as you imagined him fucking you, imagined that it wasn’t your hand around his cock but your cunt. That he liked it even rougher when he was inside you. That the deep black intensity he had inside him came out. That he fucked you like he danced, with every inch of his body and every ounce of strength.    

“I’m-.. I’m-…"    

You didn’t need him to tell you. “I know, babe. Go on, make a mess. Make a mess for me.”   

With a shudder and a cry trapped low in his throat, he came, over your hand, over your fingers, over his stomach and his T-shirt. He was gulping in air with his eyes closed and a hand clenching and unclenching at his side.    

“Oh, shit,” you whispered as you swiped a finger through the mess on his skin. “Who’s going to clean all this up?”    

You raised your hand and brought it almost to your own mouth, then pretended to think twice before pressing down on his bottom lip. It was a bold move, you knew, but you were feeling emboldened.    

Then he opened his mouth and took your cum-sticky fingers in without a second’s hesitation. Would the night’s surprises never end? He licked your fingers clean and ran his tongue over your palm before he swiped his finger through the mess on his stomach and lifted it to your lips. You laughed.   

“I can do you one better.”    

You shuffled and climbed out from behind him, pushing him down and straddling him. It was the first time you had been face to face; you both blushed when your eyes met and you couldn’t stop the giggle that rose in your throat. He giggled back and you recognised that you were on the verge of hysteria; if you let that giggle become a laugh, it wouldn’t stop until you were both crying. You tried to rein it in, this strange, self-conscious shyness that was gripping you, this wild giddiness that made you want to scream with laughter and cry ‘I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW!’. You were looking at Chan and you knew he felt it, too; his eyes glittered and then all but disappeared as his smile widened. He bit his lip to try to keep it in, but it was no use.    

He snorted and covered his face with his hands as a loud laugh bellowed forth. You never could resist his mirth. You were helpless to it at the best of times. He was curling over, his whole body shaking, and you were climbing off him, flopping to the floor, weak with it, the laughter sapping your strength and overriding any capacity for being serious. It was too absurd. That this had just happened. That one day—one moment —you were friends and the next you were making him come over himself, that he was licking his own cum from your fingers. That you had wanted this for such a long time and sworn off it. That you had no idea it might be something he wanted. That you never even thought to ask! That it could have been this easy? All this time?    

Your brain was elsewhere as your breath shuddered and tears streaked your cheeks. You thought you had got yourself under control: your breathing was shaky and your stomach hurt but your eyes were dry and you sat yourself up. Then you looked at Chan, face also tear-streaked, flushed with glee, and you both collapsed again.   

“Don’t look at me,” Chan said, his voice thick and wobbly with laugher some minutes later. “Don’t look at me, please, I can’t laugh anymore, but can you get me a fucking tissue or something?”    

You shut your eyes, scrunched your face, and pressed your fist to the bridge of your nose; you couldn’t laugh anymore, it would kill you. But you knew that if you turned to look at him, helpless and messy on his back, that another fit would catch you. You crawled to the end table and threw the box of tissues in his direction.   

“Thanks.”   

You leant back against the edge of the sofa and let your breath resume its normal rhythm, let your heart slow down, let Chan wipe himself up and tuck himself away. You felt him sit up as his knee knocked your shoulder and you turned so you could just see him out of the corner of your eye. He looked down at his cum-stained T-shirt and gingerly pulled it over his head. Then he looked at it, displeased. 

“This was clean on like, an hour ago.”    

“Oh, shit, sorry, dude. You want me to take the handy back or something?”   

He looked alarmed for a second. “Do you want to take it back?”   

“No.”   

“Good, neither do I.”   

“I would kind of like to know where the fuck it came from though.”   

“What are you talking about? You started it! You offered!”   

“Chan, you were holding my hand . We don’t hold hands! Look at all this shit you bought me!” You gestured broadly to giftbags and boxes, trinkets and jewellery on the coffee table. “Besides, I’ve always wanted it; you haven’t.”   

He stared at you, mute, looking like you’d just asked him a long division question. “You always wanted it?”   

“Yep.”   

“Why didn’t you say anything?!”   

“Because you didn’t want it!”   

“How would you know?! You never asked!”   

“Ok, well, did you?”   

He looked up; he looked down. He looked thoughtful. He looked a little apologetic. “I don’t really know,” was his eventual answer.   

“Well, there you go. That’s why I didn’t say.”   

Silence reigned and you didn’t want this to collapse, to fizzle into awkwardness.    

“Do you want it? Now?” you asked.   

“Yeah.” At least he sounded sure about that.   

“What changed?”   

When he looked at you and caught your eyes, there was a look there you hadn’t seen in them before. It was almost painfully soft, tender in a way that pierced your heart. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at you like he was looking at something precious, something sweet. Then he shrugged.   

“I’ve never been away from you that long before.”    

“And?”   

“I didn’t want to be. It made me not want to go at all. And I couldn’t work out why it mattered so much. I’ve been away before. I’ve been here , even, and just been busy and not seen you for a while. But it felt different this time, somehow. I really didn’t want to go. And I talked about it and everyone told me I was like, the world’s biggest idiot. They all apparently thought—or knew?—I had feelings for you already and they all just said ‘tell her! You’ve got to tell her! Go for it!’ and I wanted to. I was going to, the night before I left, but then I realised I’d be confessing all that stuff and then just... fucking off. I didn’t want to do that. So, I... did nothing, I guess.”    

“Fair enough.”    

“You wanted it all this time? Me, you wanted me?”   

That he even had to ask was adorable, broke your heart a little. Who wouldn’t want him? He was everything you could have asked for and more; he ticked every box; he made your sad little heart sing like a songbird. And he still had to ask.    

“Since the moment we met.”   

“Shit.”   

“Shit.”   

“I had no idea.”   

He looked like he meant it, too: a little dazed, a little confused, just a hint of wonder on his face.    

“So, what now?” he asked.    

You shrugged. “You mean right now, or general future ‘now’?”   

“I guess both?”   

“Can I be honest?”   

“Yeah.”   

“Right now, I would really like to do something about how badly I want to fuck you.”   

And he was bashful Chan, again, his eyes wide and the tips of his ears pink, his mouth slightly open with surprise. You watched his Adam’s apple bounce as he swallowed.    

“I... am amenable to that.”   

“Want to try that again with something even slightly sexy?”   

And he blushed bright, covering his face with his hands. “Fuck, ok, give me a second.”   

You laughed and moved from the floor to sit opposite him on the sofa, your knees touching. You waited patiently for a second or two, then tapped his leg.   

“I’m flustered, ok!” he cried. “You’ve got me all... flustered. I don’t know... I-.. Agh. I swear I’m not this bad usually. I promise. I just--… this has really taken me off-guard! Fuck, I didn’t know. I-”   

You interrupted him to climb into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. He lifted his face to yours and you kissed him, just a light peck on his petal pink lips.   

“How about you let me lead, then?” you asked, your voice soft and low. “Can you do that? Can you let me take control?”   

He looked at you pleadingly, his eyes round and wide, and you were worried that it meant no, that he was going to say he didn’t want that.   

“Yes, please.”    

Fuck.    

With your hands on either side of his face, you pulled him closer and kissed him again, deep this time, deep and slow and breathless. He tasted of honey butter chips, which you had never liked before that moment. His tongue rolled with yours, soft and sweet and every bit as good as you had imagined. He whined quietly, just barely, when you pulled back, when you sank your teeth into the plush pink of his lower lip. When you looked at each other, nose-to-nose, his eyes were wide again, sparkling and bright and looking at you like you were the whole world.   

It wasn’t weird and it wasn’t uncomfortable and it wasn’t awkward; it didn’t feel like crossing a line or pushing a boundary; it felt like you should have been doing this all along. It was different for the two of you, sure, it was different. But you’d been ready for this change since you learnt his name, since he held his hand out to you and smiled politely. This different was good. This different was everything you’d ever wanted.    

* * *  

You could have kissed him forever. Would have were other parts of you a little more patient, a little more willing to take things slow. But you’d wanted Chan for weeks, months, almost years, and now he was finally here, beneath you, kissing you, hands skating softly up the curve of your waist, hesitating at your ribs.   

You weren’t hesitating. Not anymore. You pulled back from him so you could strip yourself of your top and you threw your bra with it. Didn’t give him a chance to react, to take you in. Just took his face in your hands and his bottom lip between your teeth again.   

“Touch me,” you mumbled, mouth still pressed against his, and you guided his hands upwards, cupped them over your breasts, prayed you wouldn’t have to keep coaxing action out of him.   

Because he had said he wanted it. He was kissing you like he wanted it. He had said so. Well, he had said he ‘was amenable’ to sex, which wasn’t exactly gushing enthusiasm but you would take it.   

“Chan,” you whispered, taking a beat.  

You sat back on your heels, inhaled deeply, and looked at him. He looked at you, colour high on his cheeks, ear burning, a little dazed, a little unsure.   

“Are you sure you want to do this?” you asked.   

You were crossing a line. That was certain. You were pretty sure that, if you stopped now, you could take it all back. You could rewind this evening and just be friends again. If he wanted. But going forward meant going forward . No returns. You would rather have him as a friend than nothing else, so you needed him to be sure now, right now at this moment, with your toes just over the line.  

“Yes!” he said, urgent, emphatic. “Yes, I do. I’m just...”  

 He groaned and dragged his hands down his face. He didn’t look at you when he spoke next. “I’m fucking nervous.”  

“Why?”  

“Because it’s you.”  

“What am I?”  

He looked at you then, wide and open and the cutest he’d ever been. His hands hesitated in the air, not quite reaching out for you, but not not. You held them, shuffled yourself forward on his lap again, pushed his hair from his forehead.   

“Hmm,” you said, contemplating his brow. You tapped it lightly with one finger. “I think you might be thinking too much about this.”  

“That doesn’t sound like me,” he laughed.   

“Close your eyes, Channie.”  

You didn’t. You kept them trained on his face. You needed to think now; you needed to slow yourself down so he could catch up. You’d had months to think about this, fantasise about it, dream about it: a thousand scenarios, a thousand acts, a thousand kisses... You had had time, you reminded yourself, to wait for this. Much longer than he had.   

And you still had time. This wasn’t a race. The ache in your core was persistent, was impatient, but you didn’t have to be.  

You put your lips to his and kissed him. Slow. Deep. It didn’t have to go anywhere, you told yourself, hoping that Chan was somehow getting the message, too. He didn’t have to be nervous, because you wouldn’t do anything he didn’t want to.   

You just needed to know what he did want and you would give him the time to tell you.   

Eventually, you felt his body relax a little; he leant back, shuffling down on the sofa and pulling you with him. He let his hands roam, grazed a nipple with his thumb a little experimentally until you moaned into his mouth for more. His hands were warm, like his heart, and firm, kneading at your breasts, pinching at your nipples and then pushing you backwards.   

With no hesitation this time, no nervous giggles, no shy glances, he put his lips around your tight bud and sucked. He kissed and he licked and he carefully grazed his teeth over you, fully absorbed in the moment. His hot breath against your skin made you shiver and his wet tongue made you wetter.   

When you felt as though he had traversed the peaks and valleys of your chest quite enough, you gave a tug at his hair and he finally flicked his eyes to yours. They were black and glazed and the look in them was like nothing you had seen from him before. It sent a thrill racing up your spine and you were about to tell him: how much you wanted him, how good that mouth was, how you wanted it elsewhere, but he spoke first.  

“I want to go down on you.”  

You choked, shocked out of your lustful stupor. You laughed. “I thought you were nervous!”  

His eyes lightened then, eyebrows raised. “Are you? We don’t have to- I-”  

“No!” You were quick to cut him off, desperate not to let him start thinking again, very happy with where his feelings were leading. “I want to. I want you to. Just... wasn’t expecting you to say it like that.”

The blush was back on his face but he wasn’t so bashful this time. Not quite. There was too much desire there, too much greed.   

You stepped off from the sofa and, in one smooth motion, pushed your leggings and underwear to the floor. You kicked them off your feet and rejoined Chan on the sofa, swinging one leg over him, leaning down onto your elbows to resume where you had left off. Your lips were almost touching when his hands came down onto your hips and he swore.  

“Fuck! Fuck, you are naked.”  

“Yes, that tends to happen when you take your clothes off.”   

His touch rounded your backside, another curse escaping on an exhale as his hands roamed this undiscovered territory. You took the opportunity of the distraction to kiss him, but it didn’t last long.  

“You’re fucking naked ,” he said again, as if it were really a wonder.  

“And you’re not ,” you countered.   

“Fair point.”  

And he slapped lightly at your bum to encourage you off him, so he could push his own trousers down, discard his own underwear.   

“Now we’re both naked,” you pointed out.   

When your eyes met, there was a frisson of tension that you’d felt before, and you knew where it was going, but you forced the laughter down, couldn’t collapse into hysterics – not again, not right now.   

“Is this weird?” he asked, thinking again. Always fucking thinking.   

“Only if you make it weird! Do you want it to be weird?”  

“No.”  

“Because it’s going to be if you keep saying it is.”   

You sat back in his lap, arms draping over his shoulders, as he rubbed at his face again.  

“It’s just...”   

He swore quietly as he nuzzled his nose into your neck, dragged it down your jaw and across your cheek until his lips found yours again. 

You could feel him beneath you, stirred, re-awakened, and it sent a spasm through your walls. You’d held him in your hand but what you wouldn’t have given to squeeze him in your slick cunt.   

“Chan,” you breathed out. “I want to fuck you.”  

He was kissing you in reply, moaning for half a second before he stopped. “Wait- no. I want to go down on you.”  

“Can’t we just fuck first?”  

You pressed your forehead against his, rolled your hips over him to make the point for you.   

“I just want to fuck you,” you whispered. “Please.”  

He shook his head slowly, carefully, still pressed against yours. “Later. I want to go down on you.”  

And you couldn’t deny that hearing those words, not once, not twice, but three times now, made you want it, too. Made you think about his lips and his tongue and fingers and the piercing, blinding reality of this. That it was happening. That none of this was a dream.   

“I owe you one,” he continued and you paused.  

“Owe me what?”  

“An orgasm. I had one. You haven’t.”  

“Are we counting?”   

He snorted and denied it. “No, I just think- I just want it to be even.”  

You smacked a kiss against his cheek. “Well, if we’re keeping score, we’re going to need some kind of chart.”   

He couldn't stifle his laugh and you joined him, letting a little of the tension go, aware that this could easily careen out of control, abs still hurting from the fit you both had earlier that evening.  

“I don’t want a chart, I just...”  

He looked at you and you looked back. The merriment fell away, discarded in an instant. Because this wasn't actually funny. Not really. It was hot. It was thrilling. It was frightening. You could see him thinking in those dark eyes, trying to find the right words; you wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to try so hard. Not for you.    

You could see him thinking in those dark eyes, trying to find the right words; you wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to try so hard. Not for you.   

“I want this to be good for you.”  

You resisted the urge to scoff, because you knew he meant it, and because this meant something to you. Something. Everything.  

“It is good for me,” you told him, lips close enough to touch his. You closed the gap and kissed him, firmly. “I want you so fucking badly.”   

He tightened his arms around you, crushing your body to his as he latched his mouth to yours. He still tasted like honey butter chips and you knew you’d never be able to eat them without thinking of him, thinking of this. You were definitely crossing a line. The line. And you could not contain your excitement. It smeared between your lips, slick beneath you as you rolled over Chan’s hot, flushed cock.   

“I want-” Chan broke away, breathing heavily, “I want to go down on you,” he said, with greater determination this time. “I want to eat you out.”  

Without waiting for a response, he tipped you carefully, moving out from under you, pulling your hips to the edge of the sofa and pushing your thighs apart.   

“Oh shit,” he breathed, just looking at you.   

His hands squeezed at your inner thighs as his jaw clenched. You had seen this kind of focus in him before: on stage, powerful and performing and dripping with sweat, determined to leave everything he had out there, to die before he gave up. A shiver of anticipation rippled across your skin and no sooner had it settled than Chan shifted closer, dropping a surprisingly chaste kiss to your thigh. Another followed it, then one more on the other side. He kissed you all over, some barely there, some that you knew would leave a mark.   

“You know you’re literally dripping?” he asked and there wasn’t so much as a hint of his former nerves, his bashfulness, but there remained a quiet awe, a slight disbelief at what was about to happen.

There was also his cheeky, little smirk, and eyes black as pitch, wide like an open mouth. Hungry.   

“I’m very fucking aware,” you retorted, the admonition undermined by your breathlessness. “Get on with it.”  

He rolled his eyes at you, playfully, like he had done a thousand times before. Then he did something he had never done before. With one hand gripping each thigh, he put his mouth to your lips and licked a broad stripe up to your clit. You quivered, whimpered, swore when he did it again, when he gathered all your arousal on his tongue and swirled it over your swollen bud.   

It made you forget every fantasy you’d ever had. You couldn’t remember if you thought he’d be like this or not. Couldn’t remember if you’d imagined correctly the soft, sweeping pad of his tongue flat against you or the hard flick of its tip. Couldn’t recall for even a second if you’d thought to imagine the way his hands would squeeze and pull at you. Had you guessed that he would moan like that? Had you dreamt the feel of his hair between your fingers?   

Your hips were moving on their own now, uncontrolled by you. Uncontrollable. You couldn’t stop them rutting against his mouth, couldn’t stop the noise resounding from yours.   

“Chan, fuck ,” you gasped as he sealed his lips tight around your clit and slipped two fingers inside you. “Like that, oh shit, like that. Please... Please...”  

He moaned in response, continuing precisely as he was, like that. Just like that. His tongue flicking at your clit like a switch that only turned on. His fingers curling, pressing hard inside you, pushing and pulling in one direction only. He was firm and precise and confident.   

You remembered the way he had, just minutes ago (was it really minutes ?), taken your fingers in his mouth, sticky with his own cum, after he had finished. You shivered with the heat of it. The thought of the taste of him mixing with the taste of you sent fresh arousal flooding into Chan’s hand; he was quick to catch it, his lips popping as his tongue slipped down to swipe at his sticky fingers pushing the juices from your pussy. The slick sound of it all made you blush, the noise of his enjoyment deepening the heat in your cheeks and your core.   

He let his fingers work for a second, his breath washing over your flushed cunt like a hot wind.   

“Fuck,” he panted, leaning back on his knees and tipping his head towards the ceiling.   

You opened your eyes when you felt his other hand leave your thigh, watched him squeeze at the base of his cock – so dark, so hard, so wet with precum.   

“You ok?” you gasped, still rolling your hips against his hand.   

He nodded, still looking skyward. “You’re so fucking hot,” he replied.  

His head fell forward and his eyes caught yours, the look in them making you suddenly shy, a giggle slipping out before you could stifle it. Though you needn’t have worried it would start the hysterics again because it was stopped short, cut off by the gasp elicited by Chan’s tongue, licking up your lips, circling your clit, teasingly light and then harder with every rotation.   

You gripped the sofa cushions tight, knuckles white, as the slow ticking of the pleasure bomb inside you grew faster, accelerating towards explosion with great intention. You knew it all too well: the tightening, the quivering, the deep, heavy drag that, in a split-second, sprang high, ricocheting from head to toe, gushing forward in a scream of delight.   

You flopped back into the cushions, sticky with sweat, chest heaving, head lightly spinning. Chan left a playful trail of kisses up your torso, onto your chest and your neck and then your mouth. He grinned at you, dopey and sparkling.   

“One all.”  

* * *  

“Please,” you gasped, voice still high and tight, breath caught in snatches. “Please, can we fuck now?”   

And the starting pistol was fired. You moved off the sofa and Chan moved with you, stumbling towards your bedroom, though he didn’t know why. Didn’t know why the sofa wouldn’t suffice, why it was somehow sullied now. Didn’t care. As long as this happened, kept happening, as long as he got to see you and hear you and touch you some more; his desire yawned open in his chest, awake and hungry. Let out of its cage.  

These past months, away from you, Chan had thought was for the best. His confusion and these feelings that he didn’t believe, didn’t understand, he didn’t want to face you with them. Didn’t want to face them at all. Because it wasn’t what you were. You were friends. That was all and he didn’t want to ruin it. Thought that he was sure to, somehow.   

But now it was a tangle of limbs and sticky skin against sticky skin. All sweat and salt and a kind of feverish urgency he hadn’t expected, hadn’t even dreamt of. He had kept his feelings on lock-down, thought they might go away if he didn’t prod at them, didn’t acknowledge them, but he couldn’t ignore them now: now with your mouth on him like that, with your hands roaming his body, as he swallowed your moan down his throat.   

This pent-up desire was free and he was dizzy with it. Tripping over his feet and tumbling to the mattress on top of you; making up for his clumsiness with kisses on every inch of skin his lips could reach.  

And you, asking, begging, again, one more time, still, even when his lips crushed yours and cut off your words; the second you broke free, you were saying it again. Fuck me. And he was going to, was about to, was pushing himself to his knees and then it hit him.  

“Oh shit,” he breathed, sitting back on his heels with a sigh, hands braced on his knees to try to catch his breath.  

“What?” you asked, similarly panting. “ What?”  

“Condom?”  

“ Fuck!”  

He watched you twist, your legs trapped between his, to scramble at your bedside unit. He watched your hand search and come up empty, drag open the second drawer and repeat its motions.   

“Do you have one?” you asked, head turned away, struggling to get to the bottom drawer without moving off the bed completely.  

“Why would I have one?” Chan asked back in a squawk though he wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt self-conscious, defensive even.   

“I don’t know; don’t guys carry them in their wallets or something?”  

“You’re my friend ; wouldn’t it be weird if I came here with a condom?”  

You turned to look at him, then. Sat up, naked, still squared in with his knees either side of you. You looked at him. Blinked.  

“I don't know, dude, you tell me what the fuck we’re doing here, then.”  

And it came out harsh. Chan blanched. Because what were you doing? Were you really asking? Had this ruined it? Because he felt guilty that he didn’t have a condom in his wallet. Like he usually did. Always did, though he couldn’t really have said why. It was the same fucking condom he had in his old wallet that he transferred over to the new one. The same one that he looked at before coming here tonight. That he wouldn’t have thought twice about before—wouldn't have even remembered it were there. But it was you and something was different and something told him that he shouldn’t go to your place with a condom in his wallet as if he expected something. As if something could ever happen between you. It was presumptuous. It was arrogant. It was foolhardy.  

But nothing about the night had gone the way he had expected it to and now... That fucking condom. If only he had it.   

“Sorry, you’re rig-”   

Apologising on reflex, his chin dipping to his chest, because he’d only gone and fucked it up by overthink-  

Then your hand was on his face and your lips on his, your fingers sneaking into your hair.   

“It’s fine,” you murmured. “It’s fine.”  

And he didn’t know if it was, but you kept kissing him all the same, so he kept kissing you back. Was it fine if this was as far as it went tonight? His cock said one thing and his head said another. Maybe it was better this way, he thought. Maybe rushing headlong into sex would be a bad idea. Mayb-  

You pulled away.  

“I’ve got some,” you whispered, your urgency returning as you scrambled off the bed. “One sec.”  

Oh, thank god. He watched you walk away, the fingers of one hand encircling his hot, heavy shaft, unconsciously, automatically, unable to stop himself. Unable to stop his heart racing as he looked down and remembered your own fingers around him. The softness of your skin. The jolt of arousal when you had teased him, like you usually did but also nothing like that.  

You returned before he had time to think more and extracted one shiny packet from a box which you then let fall to the floor. There was something about you that was shy: lips a little pursed, eyes looking away. He knew you well enough to tell that much.   

“Forgot I had these,” you said quietly, still not looking at him as you knelt on the bed and made your way towards him. “Bought them earlier.”  

Chan’s shock made him laugh.  

“In anticipation of this...?”  

“No!” your denial was swift. “No, it wasn’t like that! I wasn’t planning anything! I just-”  

But he didn’t care. Was laughing because it was he all night who had been flustered by this. It was he who kept saying the wrong thing, wrongfooted all the time by the turn the night had taken. He enjoyed it being you. Enjoyed that the dynamic between the two of you didn’t have to be entirely different. You could still tease him. He could still tease you.  

“I didn’t plan this,” you said, performatively sullen, pouting.  

“But you want it, right?”  

You laughed and pushed him back towards the head of the bed, not bothering to answer with words. You made him sit, made him once again cede control of his cock to you; he let your fingers wrap around him, watched as you stroked him slowly, as your wrist twisted. His eyes fluttered closed for a second, just a second, and when he opened them again, you had the condom packet between your teeth, tearing it open with your free hand. It was boring, really—a mundane gesture—but his dick throbbed, a drop of precum leaking from the top as you spat the empty packet away from you.  

“You sure about this?” you asked, with the tip of his sheathed shaft at your entrance.  

He nodded eagerly, barely able to stop himself lifting his hips to push into you himself. Then he stopped nodding, flicked his eyes to you because why were you asking?   

“Aren’t you?” he replied, a swoop of doubt flying through his guts.  

You nodded back. “I’m sure.”  

A swoop of relief. “I’m sure.”  

And then he placed a hand on your hip and used his other to hold himself steady, so you could sink down on him, slowly, with a long moan stretching to the ceiling. And, truth be known, if he could have, he might have asked for a second, just a second, to get used to it. The feeling of you. All warm and wet and tight and your burning skin so soft, and your lips so sweet and your eyes dark and sparkling like the brightest night sky. And his heart hammering in his chest like time was running out; his blood boiling, reduced to a thick, sticky syrup that he told himself wasn’t love, not exactly, but wasn’t entirely not. Just a second to gather himself not just because you felt so good but because it was you .  

You didn’t give him a second. No sooner than you had lowered than you raised yourself up again; you set an impatient pace, urgent, running towards something at breakneck speed. Chan, too, then was running. Chan, too, was urgent in his kisses, in his praise, in the way your name caught at the back of his throat when he felt your walls squeeze around him.   

He wished he’d had longer to think about it. Because he hadn’t given himself the chance to imagine this, to get used to the idea of it, to think about how good you would feel, how sweet you would taste. He hadn’t had the opportunity to picture you in his head before you were right there in front of his very eyes. Real. More than real. A kind of hyperreal that made him able to smell the sound of you and hear your taste. He could feel every one of your gasps in his chest. He could moan out the taste of your skin. He could smell your hair and it would feel like satin.   

It would’ve been less overwhelming, he thought, if he’d given himself an imaginary dry run-through. He would be doing better if he’d had a second. If he got a second to get himself together, he’d be able to get over the shock of it. He’d be able to get a hold of his senses and-  

You slowed. Sank down on him, as deep as he could get, and took his face between your palms. Took his lips between yours then slipped your tongue between them. Rolled your hips and moaned into his mouth. It was the tiny bite of pain when your teeth sank into his bottom lip that brought him to his senses. Like the tug on his hair before, the little jolt was enough to bring him around and he pulled back, determined once more to make the most of this for you.   

“I wanna move,” he said, mumbling the words against your mouth in a final kiss before you slipped off him.   

The fact that you then knelt, waiting to be told where he wanted you, made his guts clench. He traced his fingers lightly over your face and then pushed at your shoulder, encouraging you onto your back. He slipped his hands beneath your ankles and lifted, your knees bending as your thighs reached your chest.  

“This ok?” he asked.  

You nodded, settling your ankles over his shoulders, then crossing them and using them to pull him towards you. He laughed, because it was just like you, to never let him get the last word, to never quite let him be in control. He laughed because he liked it, in this capacity even more than any other. In the seconds before he sank himself back into your hot, wet cunt, he imagined you testing him, pushing at that boundary because you could, because he’d let you, because he knew that you liked this as much as he did and if tussling for control was the game, he wanted to play. Even if he let you win.  

As he snapped his hips with his hands tight around your calves, as your walls spasmed and clenched around him, as his ears filled with the slick squelch of his cock in your heat, his head felt clearer. Still hyperreal but in a way that made sense. When he tasted the sound of his name on your tongue, it tasted right. When he smelt the brush of your soft skin against his like roses, he knew. All his anxiety about fucking it up, ruining your friendship, everything that he had been hiding from while he was gallivanting about the globe, it was pointless. It was wrong. It was useless noise in his brain. Because he’d always believed he wasn’t worth it, wasn’t worthy of you, wasn’t worthy of getting what he wanted. But there you were, beneath him, every bit what he wanted and more. Every bit his.  

*   

“You know there’s no going back now,” you said, lying on your bed, stretching your arms and legs long, still naked and glistening.   

“What do you mean?” he asked as he returned to join you, condom neatly disposed.  

You turned on your side to snuggle into him, pressed a firm kiss to his lips.  

“This,” you answered. “We’ve had sex now so you can’t turn around to me and say you actually just want to be friends.”  

He laughed. It was preposterous to him that you might think he would be the one to change his mind. “I don’t want to be your friend.” 

“Good.” Then you piped up again. “I never really liked you much anyway.”  

He chuckled, knew it was a joke; knew it because it was followed by a smile that was all syrup, that left a sticky sweetness on his mouth after you kissed him.  

“Fat chance I’ll believe that. Horse is out of the barn, mate; you just said it yourself: you can’t take this back.”  

“Fuck. I guess you’re stuck with me.”  

“I think I can live with that.”  

[doiliedaze]

Hiiiiii I just read your All Night Long fic and I loveeeeeee it so much!!! Can I request a fic about the reader doing a break up prank on sevika? Maybe she starts out dodging her kisses, and ignoring her calls? can it pls include smut if you’re comfortable?

Warnings: mean/pouty sev, lowkey breaking and entering, kitchen sex, reader gets strapped from the back, orgasm denial (reader receiving), degradation (reader is called a dumbass)

Genre: smut with a little plot

A/N: omg im so excited!! This is my first request and anon that idea is so cute!! I hope you enjoy it!! I really appreciate that you love All Night Long😙 also if you guys want to start like anon emojis we can!! Reader owns a flower shop.

───────┈ · ·

Your little mind decided to come up with a funny idea!! Plan a prank on Sevika!

Pranks can be all in good fun, if it’s funny but your girlfriend is hard to trick. You’ve tried multiple pranks in the pass and they all have failed so when you saw a breakup prank you knew this was the one!

It had to be natural and you are dedicated to all your plans. So slowly but surely you stop responding to her texts, ignore her calls and when she went to your job to check on you, you were distant and nonchalant. Sevika wasn’t sure what was wrong with you but she knew maybe a kiss would make it better but when she tried to kiss you, you find anyway to avoid it!

At this point she was getting fed up. Your girlfriend isn’t the most rational person so to get to the bottom of it, she broke into your apartment. Looking for anything she can find to be an indicator as to why you’re acting different. She was dumbfounded when she found your computer and saw your search history. “How to do a breakup prank”, reading this made her eye twitch.

Sevika isn’t one for games especially when it comes to you. So if you want to be unfair she’s gonna be too.

You enter your apartment after closing for the day. When you walk past Sevika in your kitchen you say hi to her, until you realized you just said hi to Sevika in your kitchen.

Before you could say anything else her metal hand grabs your jaw and pulls you close, “you’ve been avoiding me over some stupid prank?” You nod

“Do you want to leave me?” She glares until you shake your head no, “then why?” She scoffs as she lets your face go.

“I thought it would be funny” you whimper as you rub your jaw. “Counter. Bend over.” She demanded and you obeyed.

With a harsh pull she rips your panties off and spreads your legs. “You can be such a dumbass y’know that right?” Sevika states as she bullies her way into you.

Your nails scratch against the flat surface, “Sev wait-”

With your plea she went faster, slamming in and out of you, “I don’t ask for much from you, so why can’t you just respect me?” She moves her flesh hand to pull you by your neck making you arch uncomfortably.

“‘m sorry Sev” you cry, I’ll be good” you whisper wanting your sweet girlfriend back.

It’s hard on her to be hard on you for long so she does slow down but she keeps you on your position, “promise me you’ll be good. I don’t like having to be like this with you.”

“I’ll be so good I swear it!” You tap on her bicep as she slinks its around your throat.

She flexes the muscle against your throat and you feel her hips shake. Still a little mad she speeds up again to chase her own orgasm. “I love you” she whispers in your neck.

“Love you too” you moan as she gives you one final shaky thrust. When she lets you go you look at her, “but I didn’t-”

“You don’t deserve it babe.”

You pout and she shoots you a glare, “I don’t deserve it” you repeat, understanding you need to listen to Sevika more.

───────┈ · ·

A/N: i was beyond nervous writing this and I couldn’t figure out a proper ending! I hope you enjoy this anon🫶🏿

Taglist: @manfuckthisimout @bambishaven

Dividers- @dollywons

[mscherub]

Hallo, if it’s alright could I request the Second Years (if it’s too many then just Ruggie, Azul, Jamil and Silver) x fem!reader who’s insecure of her belly pooch? Romantic please :3

To keep it kinda short, whenever reader sits/lays down she’s reminded of it, also holding her arms in front of her, slouching to try and minimize it. Trying various things to seem slimmer.

Feel free to delete if the topic’s too sensitive, but if you do thank you in advance!

A/N: AHHH HEYYYY!!! thank you thank you thank, my lovely, for this request. I smiled when I read it ngl. ANYWAYS. I added a few things, barley, just so I could get some storyline :3

Let’s see if my writing got any better cause like…man I’ve been struggling, lmao. I tired to keep it a little funny, that’s just how I write, enjoyyyyy.

Reader is Fem!reader, although I don’t use she/her, Fem!reader is heavily implied, called various pet names and Shrimpy (by Floyd)

Characters: Second years!

Tags: Belly pooch, Romantic ❤️, short headcanon list + fic, slightly and implied established relationship but not mentioned

Warnings:

Suggestive(possibly)???

(If suggestive it’s cause of the leech twins…)

Swearing

Talks about readers belly

Sensitive topic…

Spelling -_-

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Fem!Reader x second years

Riddle 🌹:

Riddle is indifferent to most things you do. You break a rule? No you didn’t…not in his eyes at least

Same rule applies with your body. Man will worship it if you just give him a chance— he thinks that way, but when presented he will back out

He doesn’t care so long as you’re happy and healthy ❤️

If you’re not happy then of course he’s gonna need to cheer you up somehow. He may not be a pro, but he’s determine

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

“Hello, my Rose.” Riddle smiles uncharacteristically wide. It’s funny to see such a big goofy grin on his face, but it’s the telltale sign that he’s just so overjoyed. “I’m very thankful you could finally attend an unbirthday party again. It has been a while since you’ve been able to.” Grim being Grim, zooms by and takes his seat, barely controlling his little paws from grabbing at every piece of food within sight.

Riddle brings you over to the decked out table, every other student who had helped to set up the party on edge and awaiting the cue for him to let everyone run loose. Riddle pulls out the chair for you, which was stationed right next to his, rightfully so, and then he begins the unbirthday party with a swift speech and the wave of his hand before he settles down in his own chair. Everyone scrambles about the table, loosely following etiquette as much as they can to stay in line, well, at least to a certain degree.

Laughter rumbles about, jokes are poked around, people eat with bright smiles, Cater snaps away at the confections before pushing the plate off to Grim then grabbing himself something other than sweets. At least they’re having fun…you sigh and lean forwards in your seat, idly messing with a sugar cube you had dropped n your tea and watching it dissolve.

“Do not slouch…bad posture can lead to many problems. Also, may I add that your elbows should be off the table. We’ve been over the proper etiquette, no?” He gives you a critiquing gaze. With him it was practically a sixth sense to correct anything out of the ordinary, but his words were not harsh as they usually were with others, they were just a gentle reminder out of care. You give a small nod and sit up straighter, well, as straight as you could manage while still trying to conceal your stomach. You fold your arms and attempt to cover it that way, it still looked a bit odd but it got the one done.

Riddles attention drifts off to the tarts, taking one down off of the display and placing it onto his plate and quickly doing the same for you.

“Oh…I’m not in the mood for a tart…not now.” You look away at a card tower to lessen the awkwardness. The silence between you two now is far from comfortable. You can feel Riddle boring holes into the side of your head with his incessant staring.

“Are you alright, my Rose?” He blurts out, the tart long forgotten on his plate.

“I’m fine.”

“It is against the rules to lie to the Queen. Do not have me collar you now. Come, let’s head to the rose gardens and discuss this. I will not allow you to dwell.”

“Riddle since when—“

“Follow.“

He gets up and offers you his hand. You take it and the both of you escape off for a moment.

“What’s the matter? Now do not lie.” He forces you to sit down on a bench with him, watching you do the same actions to cover your belly.

“Ok, geeez, chill out.” The exasperated look on your face says everything and gets him to shut up. “I just…I mean look. I was just trying to hide this flabby thing. So sorry for with messed up way I sit.” You gesture to your stomach, shaking your head and looking down.

He tilts his head, slowly, his brows quirking upwards and his lips pursing as he tries to understand. “I don’t follow, my Rose…what is wrong?”

“What’s wrong? My stomach…that’s what. Pokes out.” You murmur out weakly.

“How is that wrong? It is not healthy to be just skin and bones…muscle and fat is there to protect all the vital organs within.” He adds on.

“You don’t need to get scientific.” You roll your eyes.

“My Rose, you needn’t worry over such things. Why does it matter to you what others may think? It certainly doesn’t bother me in the least.”

“You’re…I don’t understand.”

“What? That you having a healthy body doesn’t bother me? Now why would it? I’ll always love you for you, my Rose. Get rid of whatever mindset you have about yourself, you’re…too sweet to let something like that affect you.”

“Riddle, honey…” you sigh. You lean in and kiss his cheek, earning that usual priceless reaction of him going as red as his hair. “Love you.”

“Love you always, my Rose.”

Ruggie 💰:

He doesn’t care. Like why would he?

In his defense, there’s more to love, and more to claim— WHO SAID THAT—

Loves you no matter what. You already like…belong to him, so why are you worrying?

His top priority is that you’re happy and not on the verge of wanting to kill him or throw him out, very important things

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

“Yooooo, baby, I managed to get leftovers from my shift at the lounge today, so we can cuddle and binge away, Shyeheehee!” He comes over to the bed with a bag and he plops it down, flopping down himself and sprawling himself out over the sheets with a small groan of pleasure.

“Cmere…we can watch a movie too if ya want.” He stretches his arms above his head and lets out a small yawn before sitting up quickly and practically ripping open the bag and pulling out multiple containers of random leftovers from the day.

“Sure…I guess. I’m not hungry right now, though.” You murmur, settling down next to him. Just out of insntinct you reach for a pillow and nestle it comfortably in your lap to conceal your stomach. You felt more covered and secure that way, and it helped to hide what you hated most.

“Baby, move the pillow, cmon, I need cuddles here, not that shitty thing. I swear that thing gets more attention every time you’re in my room instead of me, your actual boyfriend. I might start taking offense here.” He huffs, glaring at the pillow as if it insulted him itself.

“Huh? I…sorry.” You murmur out almost weakly, still reluctant to peel the pillow away from your body. If you did then, well, in simple terms you’d feel exposed. It’s not a thing your proud of—

“Hey…you ok?” The bed creaks slightly as he sits up and looks you dead in the eyes. His gaze is unwavering and he searches for something slowly within your pupils, trying to understand something deeper that you won’t even tell him.

“I’m good…”

“Don’t pull that. What’s up?” He shakes his head. “You know you can tell me anything, right? We build this relationship on trust and understandings.” He pushes a finger into the pillow and narrows his eyes at you.

“I’m not withholding any info. You’re just crazy.” You roll your eyes at his antics.

“You knew that when you started dating me. Baby, you know I love you for everything? Even if you steal my food…which you’re on thin ice there, but whatever.”

“Ruggie…”

“S. P. I. L. L.” He spells it out.

“Fine…I dunno. Just my stomach. I hate it, like it pokes out.”

Ruggie is silent for a moment, longer than a moment, maybe equivalent to a few minutes before he straightens up and gives you the most confused look you’ve ever seen cross his face.

“Ok? I don’t get it? Why do ya hate it? I think it’s hot. Andddd, bonus, great pillow. You shouldn’t care what others think…unless you’re trying to win their gaze?”

“Ruggie! No, that’s not what I’m…look it’s just something engraved in my brain. Can’t help it.”

“I’m messing around, it’s ok. Seriously, though, you’re gorgeous. Now shut up and let’s cuddle.” He moves the pillow away, and to prove his point even more, he settles down and wraps his arms around your waist, nuzzling his cheek right into your stomach.

“Fucking comfy. Now pick a movie…”

“I…you’re something else Ruggie. I love you and your stupid antics.”

“Awww, you do? Heyyy, I’m just playing. I love ya too, Shyeheehee! But I’d have to argue your boobs make a better pillow—”

“That’s enough out of you.”

Azul 🐙:

He’s been there before…he knows it well, that uncomfortable feeling of being in your own body

But you shouldn’t be thinking like that…

He loves you for you, and that’s all that matters, no? He just needs you to be the way you are

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

The lounge is as busy as always and super loud with all the hustle and bustle and other students sitting and yapping away. You can see Jade and an unenthusiastic Floyd wiping off tables with a scowl on his face. You walk briskly past them, of course for your own sake so you don’t have to face the wrath of one of Floyd’s moods, nope! You choose life today, and you weren’t here to pay them a visit anyhow.

You knock on the door once, then twice, before you slip in seamlessly, shutting the door behind you with a click.

“Hello, my pearl.” Azul shifts in his chair, leaning back and taking a few documents with him in his hands.

“Working as always, I see.” It’s common to find him hunched over his desk running on fumes most times, though, he looks a little better than usual today. You sit down on the, still, stiff couch in his office. You lean forwards a bit and drape your hands around your stomach as you do so, an action you do without even thinking about it.

“It’s a must…of course to find better business opportunities, as well. I can’t pass up the chance, you know.” He spares you a small glance before he’s back to reading through the papers swiftly, flipping pages in a matter of a few seconds.

“What are those papers for, anyways?”

“The documents?” He asks. He finally takes a look at you, a good one, and he notes your posture almost instantly. “Bills and what not…the usual conundrum of running a business…” He sits back up and adjusts his glasses.

“Oh, mkay…” you purse your lips and look at the table in the middle, noting the never ending sea theme on everything in the dorm.

“Anyhow…I’m not so busy currently.” He stands up and walks over, taking a seat next to you. His actions are so smooth, the wrapping of his arm around your waist, but when you look at his face, the tips of his ears betray his true feelings as they turn a crimson shade. “I have some time to spare.”

He urges you to scoot closer and he tries to push your hand out of the way. “Azul…”

“I don’t mean to point it out…but I couldn’t help but notice the things you do…” he sighs and takes his hat off, pushing it to the other side of him on the sofa. “It’s most likely not the best way to approach a situation like this, but when I was younger I had the same posture to…lessen…the visibility of my stomach I suppose. But just no there’s no need to be self conscious about such…beautiful things.”

“Azul…don’t make me cry what the hell, dude…” how did he manage to be sweet but also kinda scary at times?

“I’m just stating a simple and obvious truth, my pearl. You don’t need to try and hide it. You’re amazing in every way imaginable, and you’re more than what I could have ever asked for.” He leans his head against yours. He locks his arm around your waist tighter and he turns his face away from yours. He’s embarrassed, but he’s trying.

“Your cheeks are beet red, honey—“

“Shhh, you’re imagining things.” He grumbles.

“Sevens I love you, you know that?” You murmur out, giggling quietly at the sight of him. He looks so stupid.

He chuckles and nods along to your words. “You make it an obvious fact.” His eyes meet yours again and the embarrassment fades into unashamed admiration and fondness. “I love you more, if not more.”

“It’s not a competition, Azul…”

“I know.” He stands up and walks back over to his desk. “Would you like to stay for a late dinner with me?”

“Sure. You’re paying right?”

“When don’t I…” he rolls his eyes.

Jade 🫧:

…

He likes it

Squishy, comfortable, adorable, that’s how he thinks, doesn’t show it per se, but the thoughts are persistent

I don’t know what else to say here so pretend I’m actually saying something factual yes yes yes. LOOK IM SAYING LIKE ACCURATE THINGS WOAHH

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

Jade links his arm with yours as he drags you off to his dorm room, his sharp teeth glinting in the hallway lights betraying his enthusiasm ten fold.

You had agreed for him to give you another tour of his newer terrariums that he had made, as well as his ever growing mushroom collection, and he’d be happy to show you that as well if you wanted to see it, just saying—

“My dear, I made one with one of the plants you had picked out…I must say it holds a certain charm to it.” He pushes open the door and lets you step in first.

He walks over and pulls it down off of his shelf that he kept his most prized ones poised on. He sets it down on the table and ushers you to stand by him with a small side glance. He never usually showed this much enthusiasm, but this time he was especially happy to be able to show you something he was proud of, the thing he made that represents you.

“Dear, whats you your input on this?” He already knew what you were going to say, his pieces were never not short of being pretty. It’s like he managed to shrink down an actual fairy forest and put it into a jar.

“As amazing as always…I know I say it every time, but I think this is your best one yet.” You nod.

“Would you like to try your hand in making one? I believe it would be a…what you call a bonding experience.” He murmurs. His hands idly grab items already.

“I don’t wanna mess it up.”

“Nonsense, I’d show you, of course. Though, it would be funny to watch you fail at such a simple thing.”

“You’re…weird.”

“As are you.” He retorts.

“Ok…why not. I’ll try it out.”

Jade nods curtly to your statement. You decided to just clear off Floyd’s side and take his chair, but before you can, Jade yanks you down into his lap and snakes his arms low around your waist, pressing right against your stomach.

“Jade!”

“What is wrong? I don’t see anything wrong?” Oh…that sly bastard—

“I could have taken Floyd’s chair—“

“He would not have been appreciative. Trust me.”

“Baby, no offense, trusting you is sometimes a bad idea”

“You’re going to make me cry.” He sighs and shakes his head. Of course he was just fucking around with you like usual. He always does it, but you’ve discovered it’s his way of affection, as awkward as it may be…

“I didn’t think by bonding you meant melding to me…” you grumble. His hands wander a bit across your abdomen, dancing about and tracing light circles and a few other shapes which suspiciously kinda feel like mushrooms, but whatever.

“It is nice to have you like this.” He nods. “I feel my body relaxing. How peculiar. Plus, you make quite the comfortable thing to hold. Especially here.”

Now he’s done it. His hands come to a halt on your tummy and he grins even wider. It was hard to tell if he was enjoying his absent minded caresses, or if he was just enjoying seeing you squirm and try to move away. Probably both.

“Hands off!”

“My, my…what are you so sensitive for?”

You stop moving. You slump your shoulders and accept defeat. There was no getting away from him in the start, anyways.

“What’s the matter with it?” He asks

“I just don’t like it.”

“Why?” Did he have to know just everything?

“I just don’t like it. That’s really it.” You repeat.

“And you think i wouldn’t like it? Opinions and bias can be skewed and differ from person to person. It depends on the viewpoint. It does not bother me, dear. Simply…enthralls me. Your beauty is certainly unmatched. You outshine many others.” He sets his chin on your shoulder and leans his head against yours.

He’s…being oddly docile.

“Need I go on? I have a whole mantra if you’re interested.” He smirks again, bearing his sharp teeth.

“I thought you couldn’t get any weirder.”

“You must not know who I am, then. I love you, dear.”

“Love you, too, Jade. Let’s start these terrariums then, shall we?”

“Of course.”

Floyd 🫧:

Squishy! (I can’t think of anything else being his mindset…)

He loves it. More to squeeze on ya, and that’s important

Cuddles are always amazing with you. He stands by that. Anyone else who says otherwise will get squeezed in the bad way, of course

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

It was yet another long day at NRC, running around, doing everything and anything for students, teachers, Crowley…anyways, and the last thing you wanted to do was get dragged around by Floyd, but, you know, he was, quote, “your main priority now”. You picked him, so now you gotta deal with him. Simple. So when you think you finally get a moment alone, you’re wrong. So wrong.

“Shrimpyyyyyy, cmon. Let’s have fun.” He giggles from behind, wrapping his arms around you tight and resting his chin right in the crook of your neck. “I’m bored…” He lazily traces abstract shapes onto your arm with his fingers.

“I can tell…I’m tired, though…I don’t feel like doing anything.” You shake your head.

“Still doesn’t mean we can’t have fun… Hmmm, I don’t wanna be walking around right now either…me and you should just go cuddle shrimpy. Come come.” There’s no room for protests with his words. He shimmy’s his hand into yours and holds on tightly. So now you’re being yanked along by Floyd down the path from your dorm to the mirror chambers, then into Octavinelle, and then right into his dorm room. Could have just used your room, but, it’s Floyd after all.

Floyd drags you down with him onto the bed with a muffled plop as the sheets morph around the both of your bodies. He pulls you against him, your back against his chest, and his hands wrap around your waist and rest right on your stomach…and if he couldn’t make the situation any worse, Floyd does what Floyd does, and he practically palms it through your shirt, an almost goofy grin spreading across his face.

“Very Squishy.” Of course his actions are…not exactly what you had intended, let alone wanted from him.

“And you’re very ignorant.” You huff, rightfully so, and try to move away, shooing his hands off of you.

“Hmm? Ignorant?” Floyd grumbles. “What did I do?”

“Move your hands somewhere else…”

“Why?”

“Because…it’s awkward. I don’t like your hands there.” He blinks a few times, really considering and weighing your words out in his head. You seemed mad— about his hand placement, nonetheless— he was confused, and him being called ignorant kinda ticked him off. He didn’t do anything bad! “What did I do? I didn’t do anything…just held ya? Is that against the law now?”

He sat up, then you sat up. He crossed his arms and then you followed suit. He didn’t like the mimicking.

“We’re supposed to have fun Shrimpy…not you being mean to me!” He pouts. His anger is building up, you can tell, and he’s honestly a lot less cumbersome to deal with if you just let him do what he wants instead of making him mad and then having to deal with a soured mood Floyd.

“I just don’t like your hands on my stomach. So drop it.” He sees the way you drape the covers over you so they rest in a way to cover up. He notices how you hunch over, now kind of looking like an actual shrimp…he narrows his eyes at you for one more moment before it finally clicks. He lets his arms back down to his sides and he smirks at you.

“Aweee, just like Azul when he was just a lil octotwerp! So self conscious about his little tummy!” He giggles. “Don’t be like ‘zul, Shrimpy, I like it. More to squeeze.” His sharp teeth glint in the light. “And if anyone else has anything to say, I dunno, maybe a bad thing, then tell them they can come to me for a lil chat.”

No other threats are made, so that’s good, but he pushes you back on the bed, hovering over you before he lowers himself down, resting his cheek on your abdomen. He gets all comfy, shifting around and— for sevens sake is this so embarrassing! Like what was he doing, what was he trying to accomplish—

“More to squeeze…and did I say bite too? Guess I just gotta show you how much I don’t mind it, huh? Silly Shrimpy. Heh…”

…

Oh.

Kalim ☀️:

Bro didn’t notice in his fits of admiration for you. Can you really blame him though? You are a work of art in his eyes, and on top of that, you’re his?

Like, you’re his to cherish and love? Say the word and he’ll spend millions

He wants you happy. If you’re happy, he’s happy, so, cue the confused nosies of Kalim when he says something, without knowing, that people find insensitive

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

“Baby!” Kalim hums happily. He swiftly approaches you in the hall of Scarabia, Jamil apparently no where in sight…oh that’s kind of concerning. Whatever, your with him now. The smile on his face grows even larger as he gets closer to you, of course that bounce in his step as clear as day.

“It’s been like…a day since we last seen each other!” A day, dude—

“Sorry, I’ve been busy.” You shrug. He pounces on you and laughs melodically, the blissful tone heightened.

“I could always help…or Jamil! I know how hard you have it , I think Jamil wouldn’t mind too much to help—“

“I think Jamil is busy enough.” He simply shrugs and giggles happily.

Completely ignoring any other words, he takes your hand and drags you off to the lounge. He throws himself down on the couches and hastily pats the spot next to him, to which you give a small nod and settle down on the cushions as well. He scoots closer and clings to you tight, his grip clearly showing he’s not going to let up anytime soon. PDA was a big thing with him, so…other students watched you two, and when they catch your eyes boring right back into theirs, they turn their heads and look away quickly.

“Your stomach when you sit.” Kalim smiles.

You freeze. Sure you loved him, but that was really rude of him to say…you pry him off of you and scoot away. Other students look over and snicker at Kalim’s “mess up,” though he didn’t know any better since everyone knew his social cues were in the lacking.

“Huh? What’s wrong?” His brows furrow in confusion and his head tilts.

“That was…kind of insensitive you know…geez. Didn’t have to say it outright. I’m gonna go…” you stand up but you don’t get very far before Kalim follows you like a lost puppy, sputtering out apologies in attempts to mend the situation.

“Wait! I’m sorry, what did I say? I’m sorry, please…” His voice is a quiet murmur and, sevens does that hurt you to hear him like that. You stop and turn to him. It was a sensitive topic…

“I know my stomach is…well. You know. You just didn’t have to point it out. Kinda rude…and I don’t like that.” You cross your arms. Kalim, in turn, tilts his head even more and seems horribly confused.

“What did I do? I just…”

“What you did was saying something super insensitive…around people too? Like…” you grumble. It was pointless trying to argue with him whenever he didn’t even know what he did wrong. Like talking to a brick wall.

“What? No, no, no, no, no, I didn’t mean it like that baby. That wasn’t…I think it’s cute! I love you always, no matter what! I didn’t…I’m sorry.”

You let the words sink in, but he continues to blab on to further prove his point, hitting you with the most fluff filled sentences ever.

“I love you so much it kinda hurts, and— you’re gorgeous! So, so, so gorgeous! You know what, I’d even love you if you were a worm.”

“Seriously, Kalim…” you finally crack. It’s comical the way he brightens up again at your positive feedback, so much so he pounces on you and tackles you into a hug. He wraps his arms around you tight and pours all the love he can muster into it…and it’s a lot.

“Sorry…but no, I mean it. Love you always…you’re my sunshine. You make me happy all the time and then I’m never lonely when I have you. I’d never say anything mean like that…I didn’t know you didn’t like it. Oh! What if I buy you whatever you want to make up for it? You’re budget can be any amount of money. Thousands, millions, billions—“

“Kalim…that’s not necessary.”

“But—“ he whines.

“I don’t need it. All I needed was you to understand and now you do.”

“Can I marry you now?”

“KALIM!!”

(After denying his offer to spend so much money on you, you could have sworn you heard a breath of relief that almost sounded like Jamil…)

Jamil 🐍:

Ok?

What he doesn’t care. More food tho?

Like all the other ones, he just wants you to be happy and content, for if you are that way, there is a less likely chance that he’ll have to also supervise you

He already has Klaim to deal with, don’t do this to him…

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

“When you said baking I thought I’d be actually helping you…not just sitting here.” You lean your elbows on the counter and glare at him with your bored expression. Baking with Jamil, sounded fun! And of course you’d bake with him, you loved him, but what you didn’t have in mind is that he’d force you to just sit down while he did all of the work…you wanted to pitch in at least a little.

“I’ve decided I just want you to sit there and look pretty while I do the work.”

“That’s not fair…I wanted to help.”

He smiles and looks back at you over his shoulder. He likes this sight, just you gazing at him. It’s something simple, the shared time you two partake in, that’s so special and dear to him. “It’s as fair as it will be. Fair is foul, and foul is fair.” He chuckles.

“Just sitting here is boring…I could be actually contributing to the cause of making cookies…” you shake your head. “Really, Jamil…”

He slips the tray with the rolled up balls of dough into the oven and closes the door to it with a clink. He’s quick to set the timer then wash off his hands.

“I don’t know why you’re complaining about having to not do work…” he hums softly as he dries off his hands on a stray towel before strolling over to you.

“Because I just wanted to help…baking is fun.”

“Just being able to talk to you without distractions is fun for me.” He smiles softly. He gently spins you around on the stool you were perched on. Your arms instantly fly to your lap to cover your stomach and you hunch over a bit.

“Oh, are you ok?” Jamil’s eyes go wide for a second and he looks you over.

“I’m fine…sorry.” You reassure him.

He goes silent for a moment, piecing things together but he doesn’t say anything else, instead, just wrapping his arms around you and hugging you.

“What’s up? looks like you have some things on your mind…” his words are softly murmured, his hands splaying across your lower back.

“You’re one to talk, honey…but I’m ok. I promise!” You smile.

“You do that every time I’m around you…when you’re sitting at least. I just wanna know if something’s wrong…”

Oh…well, ok then. Of course he’d pry into it…

“It’s nothing concerning you—“

“You’re important to me so it should concern me to a certain extent.” He pulls back and places his hands on your shoulders. “Now say it before I make you say it.”

That…threats from him were not nice. “Ok. Since you just have to know…i mean…look it’s a sensitive topic and I’m not proud, ok? I know it’s not—“

“Stop stalling.”

“I don’t like my stomach when I sit, ok? Happy? Now can we drop this.” You mumble.

Jamil cups your cheek gently. “It doesn’t bother me…it’s natural.” He shrugs. “And it won’t ever…I’ll love you always no matter what.” His cheeks flush with a small tinge of pink and it’s an adorable sight to see, and an even greater look to witness on him.

“You’re…something else.”

“I tend to have to be that way…I may not be the best at reassurance but…you’re always gorgeous in my eyes so…”

He moves his hand off of your cheek and he moves in to press his lips to yours, but—

The timer for the cookies rings and echoes throughout the room. Has it really been 30 some minutes already? Jamil gives you an apologetic smirk as he backs up and slips on the oven mitts before he pulls the tray out of the oven. It clinks against the top of the stove and he takes the gloves back off.

“They need to cool a little more…but they’re better when they’re still warm…do you want one?”

“Jamil, who in the right mind would say no?”

“Alright then…”

Silver ⚔️:

Pillow…OK IM SORRY

Another one that doesn’t care. Why should he? It’s not his body…and plus he loves you so much anyways

He’s here to protect you as your personal knight so let him do that :3

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

The forest critters chirp and chatter about as you and Silver walk under the tree shaded path, flowers and other plant life dancing away carelessly in the wind. It was peaceful, walking around like this without a care in the world it seemed.

Silver wanted to show you the animal population around school again. You two escaped to just hang out with the animals for a little and bask in each others presence along with the wildlife. It was fun!

Silver‘s hand was intertwined with yours, and he drags you under one of the tall trees along the path. He settled down on the ground and you follow suit. Almost instantly, birds start to flock around and land on branches above your head, squirrels climb down and glance at the both of you, making small squeaks of acknowledgment and interest.

“This is always nice…” you murmur. A deer pops up from behind a bush in the distance and prances over.

Silver pulls out a small acorn from his coat pocket and hands it off to a squirrel that had jumped down and perched on his shoulder.

“There seems to be a lot more today…” he matches your tone of voice, keeping quiet and to set the example of not scaring off the animals.

“Mhmm…” The deer bends down and begins to eat at some of the grass. But, as usual, Silver yawns and you know your time with him being awake will be a little cut short.

“I’m sleepy…” his words are slurred and his eyes droop closed slowly.

“Do you wanna head back to your dorm then? Mine?” You suggest.

“I won’t make it…too tired.” He turns to you, and instead of leaning his head on your shoulder like he usually does, his head takes refuge in your lap and he pushes his face against your tummy, keeping his arms lazily wrapped around you. He yawns again, practically burying his face against your stomach. He places a few small kisses which do everything to make you even more embarrassed, and of course he’s oblivious to it.

“Love you…” he mutters. And then he’s out like a light in the matter of a mere second.

The varied array of animals also seem to quiet down, moving to rest up against you two. Bunnies hop over and move to rest along your legs, the birds quiet their chirping, the deer kneels down and rests its head on Silvers leg…the scene is surreal and comforting.

It’s no use waking him up. The situation is insanely awkward, but you don’t have it in you to wake him up, and you most likely wouldn’t be able to, anyways. Silver is smiling blissfully as he lays there cuddled up against you like nothing else mattered…and that tells you all that you really need to know.

I got it done somehow? I tried…sorry silvers was the shortest one. Anyways, LOVE U, MY LOVELIES <3

Master List

Please don’t steal or copy any of my work! You may, however, reblog if you’d want to!

Pictures belong to Disney Twisted Wonderland but are edited by me :)

[nameless-jamie]

Hi, your PA series is amazing! Can you write a fic about the team celebrating a big win and some people try to flirt with both PA and Jamie but they are so absorbed by each other they dont even notice other people? And the team notices and starts a bet when they'll stop being idiots amd get together, so Richard decides he wants to win and a couple days later he starts flirting with PA (because I imagine Richard flirting with women is his only way of comunicating with them) so PA is not bothered and thinks 'oh just Richard being Richard', Jamie is so confused he's speechless and the team has a laugh. And afterwhards Jamie shyly tries to find out from PA or Richard what the hell is going on.

Thanks :)

Bet On It

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

TW: cursing, flirting, suggestive language

A/N: Thank you for this awesome request. The bet part is going to be very important to Jamie and PA's story, so thank you for that! Also it is a very long chapter and I've been writing it for ages, I don't wanna spam so I'll schedule it for some day...

The pub is buzzing with energy. AFC Richmond had just secured a massive win, and the entire team, staff, and their closest friends had taken over their usual spot at the Crown & Anchor. Pints were flowing, chants were being sung off-key, and spirits were soaring.

Y/N is there, obviously. Jamie had made a whole thing about how she had to come—something about “ya can’t celebrate a win if ya don’t have the best PA in the league with ya”—so she hadn’t stood a chance.

In the middle of of the bustling chaos celebration, Jamie and Y/N were exactly where they always were—next to each other.

They had claimed a small corner booth, sitting so close their knees brushed under the table. Their drinks sat untouched as they laughed over something ridiculous, because, of course, Jamie had ordered the most absurd drink on the menu: the 'Red Card', which came with a tiny plastic whistle attached to the straw.

Y/N was still giggling as Jamie twirled the whistle between his fingers. “Oi, don't laugh, this is class,” he said, grinning as he took a sip.

“It’s literally just a vodka cranberry with a fancy name,” Y/N teased, shaking her head.

Jamie gasped dramatically. “No, it’s got passionfruit syrup. Proper exotic.”

“Oh wow, passionfruit? That totally justifies the fact that it came with a side of gummy footballs,” Y/N deadpanned, picking up one of the tiny candies.

Jamie smirked, leaning in slightly. Too close, too warm. “Bet ya won’t eat it.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“‘Cause they’ve been sittin’ in that jar at the bar since the 2014 World Cup,” he said, nodding towards the counter.

Y/N immediately dropped the gummy. “Jamie!” she shrieked, laughing.

Jamie cackled. “See? You need me to keep ya safe.”

“Oh yeah, protecting me from stale candy is really heroic,” she quipped, rolling her eyes.

They were wrapped up in each other, completely oblivious to everything else happening around them. They barely even noticed when Sam and Dani slid into the booth across from them, smirking.

“You two are disgusting,” Sam declared, taking a sip of his beer.

Jamie frowned. “Nah, this drink’s actually well nice. And we didn't even eat the gummies, so.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Sam muttered under his breath, exchanging a knowing look with Dani.

But before Y/N could question it, Keeley and Rebecca waved her over from across the room.

She nudged Jamie’s knee with hers as she stood. “I’m gonna go talk to them for a bit.”

Jamie pouted dramatically. “Oi, don’t be gone too long, yeah?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of pink on her cheeks. “Try not to get another ridiculous drink while I’m gone.”

“No promises,” Jamie called after her, grinning.

And that’s where everything started to spiral a little bit.

The evening kept going on and on. Spirits were high. The music’s loud, drinks are flowing, and Richmond is riding the high of a victory that had the entire stadium on its feet.

Jamie, of course, is loving it.

He’s alone now, perched at a booth near the bar, lounging back like he owns the place, sipping his ridiculous drink. A girl—tall, blonde, very much into footballers—leans against the table, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

“So,” she says, all sultry. “You were incredible tonight. Saw the game on the telly.”

Jamie flashes her a quick, polite smile. “Yeah, I know.”

She laughs, clearly thinking he’s flirting back. "You must be exhausted. You should let someone… take care of you."

Jamie blinks. "What, like a physio?"

She pouts. "Like me."

But Jamie isn’t paying attention anymore, because across the room, Y/N is also getting hit on.

Some guy—tall, good-looking in a finance-bro kind of way—is leaning way too close, grinning down at her like he’s won the lottery.

"So, what do you do at Richmond?" the guy asks, flashing a cocky smile.

"I'm Jamie Tartt's personal assistant," Y/N replies easily, taking a sip of her drink.

The guy raises a brow. "Oh? That must be… exhausting. Bet he has you running around all day."

Y/N smirks. "Yeah, well, he's a handful. But I keep him in check."

Finance-Bro laughs, taking this as an invitation to keep going. "Bet a girl like you deserves a little break. How about I buy you a drink?"

Jamie physically flinches.

The almost-forgotten blonde girl notices. "You alright?"

Jamie waves her off. "Yeah, yeah—hold up, sorry, what'd you say?"

But she’s already gone, rolling her eyes as she walks away.

Jamie doesn’t care.

Because now? He’s glaring at that guy again.

Across the pub, the Richmond boys watched the scene unfold with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

Y/N had returned to the booth after her chat with Keeley and Rebecca, sliding right back into her spot next to Jamie as if drawn by some unspoken gravitational pull. The two were locked in their own little world again—laughing, teasing, Jamie leaning in way too close just to whisper something in her ear that made her swat at his arm with a smile.

It was painfully obvious to everyone watching. Except, of course, to them.

Sam, beer in hand, shook his head in disbelief. “Are they serious?”

Dani sighed dramatically. “So in love and yet, so blind!”

“Unbelievable,” Colin scoffed, arms crossed. “They’re literally flirtin’ with each other every day, but the second a random person tries, they’re suddenly deaf to it?”

The team had just witnessed it firsthand.

Not five minutes ago, some bloke in an expensive-looking jacket had been chatting Y/N up by the bar. She had been polite—maybe even a little amused—but completely unaffected. Meanwhile, across the room, a girl had been twirling her hair and giggling at everything Jamie said, and he hadn’t even noticed. Jamie Tartt hadn't even noticed!

Jamie had barely glanced at her, too busy craning his neck to see if Y/N was coming back.

They were ridiculous.

Jan Maas huffed. “Five quid says they’ll keep doing this for at least another month.”

Isaac perked up. “Oh, we bettin’ now, bruv?”

He immediately stood, cracking his knuckles like this was serious business.

“Alright,” Isaac declared, pointing at Jan Maas. “One month. Jan Maas. Noted.”

Dani grinned. “Two months.”

Colin tapped his chin. “One month. No, wait—three weeks.”

“Three weeks?” Sam echoed. “That’s bold.”

“I’m an optimist,” Colin said, shrugging.

Jan Maas scoffed. “You are a fool. They will never confess because they are cowards.”

Isaac let out a low whistle. “Harsh.”

“I am only honest,” Jan Maas replied.

“Two weeks,” Isaac announced, crossing his arms. “Tops.”

The boys all turned expectantly to Richard.

But Richard just smirked and swirled his wine. “Oh, no. I will simply… speed things along.”

Thierry nudged him. “You’re not betting?”

Richard shrugged, ever the picture of confidence. “Why would I bet when I can guarantee a win?”

The team exchanged wary glances.

They all knew exactly what that meant.

“...Richard,” Sam said cautiously. “What are you planning?”

Richard simply took a leisurely sip of his drink. “You will see. Put me down for one day.”

The rest of the team watched him suspiciously as he glanced over at Y/N and Jamie.

Jamie was currently leaning in close, again whispering something in Y/N’s ear that made her laugh.

Richard smirked. Time to make things interesting.

As expected a day later, Richard makes his move.

It starts at lunch.

Y/N is mid-bite when Richard slides into the seat beside her, all effortless charm and intentional mischief.

"Ah, ma chérie," he croons, reaching for her hand dramatically. “How is it that every time I see you, you grow even more beautiful?”

Y/N barely looks up from her sandwich. "Mmhm. Thanks, Richard."

Undeterred, he tilts his head, smirking. “You know, I have written poetry about women like you.”

Y/N finally looks at him, lips twitching. “Yeah? Lemme guess. ‘There once was a girl from London town…’”

Richard chuckles. “Non, non. More elegant. More… French.”

Jamie, sitting across the table, furrows his brows. His fork is frozen halfway to his mouth as he watches this unfold.

What. The. Fuck.

Richard keeps going. “Ah, you do not believe me? Perhaps I shall recite it for you, oui?”

Y/N laughs, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Jamie blinks.

Wait. That’s it? That’s all she’s gonna say?

Richard is laying it on thick, calling her ‘ma chérie’ and acting like some French Casanova, and she’s just laughing? Richard can't believe it.

Jamie however shoves a bite of food into his mouth, chewing aggressively.

But it only gets worse.

Later that day, it happens again.

This time, in the locker room.

Y/N is talking to Will when Richard casually drapes an arm around her shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Ah, la plus belle femme du monde,” Richard sighs dreamily. “You must tell me, how is it possible that you are here every day, yet I still lose my breath when I see you?”

Y/N snorts. "Alright, Romeo. How many times have you used that line?"

Richard gasps, clutching his chest. “You wound me, Y/N.”

She pats his cheek. “Aw, you’re such a cutie, Rich.”

Jamie short-circuits. His entire body goes rigid. Because—what the actual fuck?

Did she just call him cute?

Colin, sitting nearby, is already cackling.

Jamie snaps his head toward Sam. “Oi.”

Sam looks up innocently. “Yes?”

Jamie gestures wildly at Y/N and Richard. “The fuck is goin’ on?”

Sam blinks. “What do you mean?”

Jamie waves a hand. "He’s bein’ all… French at her! He don’t usually do that, right?"

Sam shrugs. “Oh, you know Richard. He flirts with everyone.”

“Yeah, but—not her,” Jamie argues. “Like—not this much.”

Sam tilts his head. "Why? Do you have a problem with it?"

Jamie freezes. “What? No. Just weird, innit?”

Sam hums, suppressing a grin. “Interesting.”

Jamie glares. “It’s not.”

Sam just smirks. Because it very much is. And Jamie Tartt?

Jamie Tartt is about to lose his goddamn mind.

Later, in the locker room, Jamie corners Sam, arms crossed, brows furrowed.

"Oi," he says, voice low and serious. "Don't fuck around with me right now. Be honest, Sam. What the fuck is goin’ on with Richard?"

Sam looks up from tying his laces, blinking innocently. "I literally have no idea what you are talking about, Jamie."

Jamie gestures wildly. "He’s obviously flirtin’ with Y/N! Am I fuckin' goin' insane right now or are you lot just blind?"

Sam tilts his head. "And what if he was flirting?"

Jamie lets out a sharp scoff. “What d’you mean ‘what if he was’? That's not okay, right? Like—she's mine—my assistant I mean. And mans is callin' her ‘ma chérie’ and shit.”

Sam barely holds in a laugh.

"It's not fuckin' funneh!" Jamie insists, voice rising slightly.

Sam studies him, amused. "It bothers you. Do something about it."

Jamie opens his mouth—then immediately closes it.

Because the statement was very obvious.

But he can’t just say that.

He scratches the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at Sam. "It don’t. She can do whatever she wants, so yeah."

Sam hums, way too entertained by this. "Right."

Jamie glares. “Fuck you, mate.”

Sam smirks, but says nothing.

Because at this point, Jamie is digging his own grave.

The locker room is nearly empty when Jamie spots Y/N grabbing her bag from the bench. He hesitates, heart racing for reasons he can't fully explain, but he has to do this.

Jamie walks up to her, trying to act casual, but his voice comes out a little more strained than he planned.

"So," he begins, shifting on his feet. "You and Richard, yeah?"

Y/N raises an eyebrow, not quite sure what he’s getting at. "What about me and Richard?" she asks, her tone curious but not overly suspicious.

Jamie scratches the back of his neck. "Y’know… he’s, uh… been flirtin’ with ya."

Y/N lets out a short, surprised laugh, not a bit phased by the whole situation. "Oh, please. That’s just Richard."

Jamie blinks.

"What?"

Y/N shrugs, clearly dismissing the concern as nothing. "Jamie, he’s Richard." Her voice softens, almost like she’s explaining something obvious. "He flirts with everyone, especially me. He’s a flirt. It’s what he does. You’ve known him long enough."

Jamie stares at her, a mix of confusion and relief battling inside him.

So… she doesn’t like him? Richard’s flirtation is just… a thing Richard does?

It’s almost like a weight lifts off his chest, but that weight is immediately replaced by an even heavier, more uncomfortable feeling—one that Jamie can’t quite put a finger on yet. His mind starts to spiral.

“Right.” He rubs his face, trying to come off like it’s no big deal, but Y/N can see through it. She can always see through him.

"Jamie, you okay?" she asks, her voice soft but teasing. She knows he’s not acting like himself.

Jamie glances away quickly, his heart thumping harder than it should. He’s so relieved that he doesn’t have to worry about Richard and Y/N becoming a thing. Still, he’s struggling to make sense of why it felt so wrong when Richard was all over her.

But then his eyes flicker up, and he notices something he hadn't before.

The team.

Standing at the entrance to the locker room. Watching.

Watching him.

These idiots were fucking with him.

He turned back to Y/N. "Yeah, I'm all good. Just Jamie bein' Jamie, yeah?"

Y/N looked at him, now equally confused. "I guess."

"You want to grab a pint?" Jamie said, not letting her answer the question and quickly grabbing her by her wrist. "Alright, c'mon then,"

They walked past the whole team, Y/N wasn't even wondering why they all stood there. Jamie just mouthed a 'Fuck You' towards all of them and pulled Y/N along.

Richard is officially the first to lose the bet.

[chosove]

Like a Friend | g.s

synopsis. Gojo fell in love with Utahime’s stepsister the second he saw her. Unfortunately for him, you were taken. You were also about 3 years older than him. It wasn’t fairing well for Gojo since you’d always see him as the awkward kid you grew up with.

warnings. Literally none LOL I think this is cute but let me know😼 I think some parts are suggestive but other than that I fink it’s good?!

an. Um this is my first time writing like a proper fic…bare with me🥲 let me know if u like it…if not don’t tell me dawg. if this is liked I will make more parts

wc. 2k-ish

Satoru still remembers the first time he saw you.

Or rather, the first time you saw him.

He was standing on your front lawn with Utahime in front of him, a hand of his reaching behind her head to slip her hair from the accessory she held it in. He’d just arrived home after his first day of junior high school, deciding to blow off some steam upon seeing his favorite upperclassman.

“Give it back, Gojo!” Utahime shrieked, one hand gripping the hair now hanging down her shoulders after being freed from the bow she’d tied it into.

Satoru smirked as he continued to bounce the accessory above the older girl's head, laughing at her attempts to reach the ribbon.

“Aw c’mon ‘hime, ya gonna cry?” He taunted, delighting in the cherry red color her cheeks were painted with, her face contorting into pure rage.

“This is not how you treat those who are older than you!” Utahime shouted at him, now lunging towards his neck with her arms stretched out as he held her back with a hand on her forehead.

Before he could come up with a quick retort, he heard a voice speak behind him.

“Hmmm? And what would you know about respect, Utahime?”

Gojo lost focus when he turned towards the source of the sweet sound, heat rising to his cheeks as he made eye contact with the girl he identified as Utahime’s new stepsister (like really new. like, ‘6 months ago’ new. not that he kept tabs on Utahime- he’d just remember if he saw a pretty girl). Using his state of awe to her advantage, Utahime kicked at Satoru’s knees, knocking him to the ground before landing on him with a grunt and pulling her ribbon from his hands.

“First of all, you’re only like a year older than me. Second, do NOT group me in with him.“ she grimaced as she spoke the last word, a disgusted nudge of her chin towards the man on the ground.

You scoffed at her remark, finally looking towards the eyes that were burning a hole into you. “whatever you say ‘hime.“

Gojo blushed fiercely as you continued to make eye contact with him while saying the same things he did. “Doesn't really seem like you two hate each other right now…I’d go as far as saying I see a spark.”

Realizing the position he was in, he quickly shoved Utahime off of his body, ignoring the grunt that left her as she fell onto her back.

“Ew!” Gojo shouted, turning to you once he’d gotten up. “S-she wishes she were my type, as if.”

Did he just stutter?

Sure, he was a loser that loved digimon and unexplained physics problems, but usually he was the one to make people stutter. Even if he used too much axe body spray and had the odd pimple or ten- he was undeniably beautiful.

You smirked at his shy demeanor, a drastic change from the boy who had just been tormenting your younger sister in a way you thought only yourself capable of.

You turned once again towards Utahime. “You coming for dinner or you just gonna play with your boyfriend all night?” your voice teased, giggling at the anger emanating from your younger sister.

Glancing away after seeing her nod, you made eye contact with the young man in front of you- his intense gaze scanning all your features as if to memorize them.

“You’re really good at getting on her nerves y’know. She talks about how much she hates you like, all the time.”

You leaned in towards his ear before continuing. “Don't worry, I’ll put in a good word for you.”

Before he could emphasize that they really were just friends (even if Utahime says the opposite), you were skipping off to the door of your house.

It was that day he fell for you.

-

It wasn’t until about…eight years later Satoru realized he was not gonna get over you. He also realized after all these years, that maybe he wasn’t that normal about his crushes. Not in the “I’m sooo crazy, I found her moms facebook!” way- no, it was much worse.

“Listen Satoru, y’know I’m gonna support your weird shit like you do mine” Suguru sighed, shaking his head in disapproval as they continued walking deeper into the Victoria’s Secret you worked at. “But isn’t this kinda…too much? How do you even know she’s working today? Or wait, how do you even know she works here?”

Satoru rolled his eyes as if his best friend had just asked the most obvious question. “I looked at her schedule? Duh?” he scoffed, pausing to look at a matching set he just knew you’d look perfect in. Did you own anything from here? Were you required to wear this kinda stuff since it was your job? Your whole wardrobe was probably filled with lacy sets that would just be so easy to rip-

“Dude,” Suguru spoke while waving his hand in front of Satoru’s face. “I’m gonna ignore the borderline stalker shit you just said, plus the fact you’re gonna cream your pants while touching some discount thongs, but why would she even talk to the creepy guys from her neighborhood?”

Suguru had endured every awkward stage Satoru went through- mostly because he was right next to him for it all. From their secret obsession with soap operas and cheesy rom-coms, all the way to those nights of stealing their parents alcohol which would end with Satoru crying as he wondered why you wouldn’t like him back- Suguru stayed.

Unfortunately for Satoru, the boyish charm of this crush wore off when Satoru started doing lowkey scary shit like finding out where and when you worked, for example.

Gently setting down the lingerie he had made a mental note to buy as a first date gift for you (he wasn’t getting ahead of himself, you were gonna be head over heels in no time), he shook his head at his best friend.

“Suguru, Suguru, Suguru” he sighed, placing his hands on his friends shoulders in exasperation. “Obviously you know nothing about love- first of all” Satoru began, puffing his chest out to signal he had no shame over his crush-turned-obsession. “Girls love surprises and grand gestures. This is like, two in one. Second, I didn’t STALK. I mean sure, I did beg Utahime to use the washroom since I ‘conveniently lost my key’ just to get into their house…but thats like, cute.”

Satoru was glad to finally put an end to Suguru’s disapproval when he saw his friend's mouth agape, proud of his actions which were 100% reasonable to him. It wasn’t until he felt a soft hand snake around his shoulders that he realized Suguru still thought he was psycho, it was just the person he was psycho about that made Suguru’s jaw drop.

“Moving this fast with our little ‘hime, hm?”

Snapping back, Satoru flushed deeply at your implication, also wondering how much you’d just heard.

“N-no way!” Gojo nearly shouted, hands desperately waving in front of him to indicate that the only person he’d ever consider in Utahime’s family was you.

You giggled at his wide eyes as you shoved his shoulder, the melody of your laughter becoming his new favourite sound. “I’m kidding ‘toru,”

Oh.

Oh God.

He really was gonna cream his pants- would it be weird if he called you a nickname too? He had so many he wanted to try out, plus he had the practice to back it up- he spent so many nights trying out the different pet names he could call you while he thought of caressing your body, the sound of your voice crying toru toru toru ringing in his ears as he-

“I’m assuming you’re here for a girl though, yeah?” you questioned, watching as the boy behind him shoved Gojo forward. He got so lost in his thoughts that he forgot the main topic of all his wet dreams was right in front of him.

Awaiting his nod of confirmation, you reached across him to grab a light blue pair of lingerie, body pressed against his while you dug through the bins of lace behind him.

He’d be more excited over the color and the fact it matched his eyes if it weren’t for the fact he could feel your tits pressed right against him.

Would it be wrong if he took a peak? Maybe he could pretend to fall and ‘accidentally’ land face first into your chest.

“This one’s my boyfriend's favorite.” you sighed dreamily, fingers running against the frilly edges while you reminisced on what he assumed to be very mediocre nights with your boyfriend.

Huh.

“Looks good on, but even better off” you spoke, outlining the pretty floral details detailing the set. You leaned in to speak in his ear, “plus, it’s super easy to remove, if you get what I mean.” finishing with a wink.

He gulped and nodded at your (far too extensive in his opinion) knowledge.

“S-sounds good, can you ring me up?” Satoru asked, grabbing the set from your hands and racing to the register.

You and Suguru both stared at his broad back nearly falling on his way to the checkout, a curious smirk forming on your lips before you strolled over to the counter. It felt weird seeing the little kids next door grow into…men. Of course Satoru was buying lingerie- he’d grown so handsomely into his lanky feature, now filling out the shirts that you swore were baggy on him just a few years ago.

You carefully scanned the set, folding it oh so prettily before placing it in the sleek black bag, finishing the purchase with a hot pink tissue paper to cushion the bag. Satoru watched your hands methodically do this process as his mind went a hundred miles a minute.

No, Satoru didn’t know what size it was.

Yes, he was devastated at the fact you had some sleazy, lowlife boyfriend (who wasn’t him).

Yes, he was painfully hard from your proximity and suggestive language.

As far as priorities go for him, his goal right now was to successfully make it out of here without you seeing the heartbreak on his face or the fact he got a boner after being near you for like 5 minutes.

It felt like years before you finally passed him the card machine, beginning to speak but quickly being cut off as a beep! rang out and the bag was ripped from your hands. “Did you need a recei-“

“NO THANKS GOTTA GO SEEYOULATERMAYBETHANKSBYETHANKS” Satoru shouted, crumpling the package in his hands and speeding out the doors to his car, Suguru on his tail.

It wasn’t until he was out of the mall that he finally took a breath, the realization that fuck, he actually didn’t have a chance with you? really hitting him.

Yeah, he was a creep who sometimes stared with his mouth open for a bit too long when you would ask him something. And okay sure you saw his awkward phase with braces, then the lisp he had from retainers, then braces again because he didn’t wear his retainers- but still, he was attractive enough right?

Preparing for a scolding from Suguru for almost leaving him behind, Satoru didn’t hide the heartbreak written across his face.

“Hey, I’m sorry man…There’s so many girls who’d die to get a chance with you, don’t worry” Suguru comforted, patting his friends back as he rested his head on the steering wheel.

mumbling something to the floor of the car, Satoru groaned loudly before finally picking his head up. “Not worried. just annoyed. Gonna be harder now.” Satoru whined, closing his eyes as he recalled the way you bit your lip and squeezed his arms. Was he imagining it or did you need him just as bad?

Hearing no clever retort from his friend, Satoru turned his head to find Suguru with pure confusion etched on his features.

“Fuck it. Never let your boyfriend stop you from finding your husband, right?” Satoru spoke, key turning in the ignition as he was filled with a new dedication.

One way or another, Satoru was going to make you see how good you two would be together.

Preferably an easy way where you confessed your love to him first so he didn’t have to fold, but somehow nonetheless.

[imjustdreamingig]

Isn't that sweet, I guess so

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

summary: The secret's out, Steve's proud of himself, and you can't seem to keep your mouth shut

A/N: chat there is no way I put out 2 fic in the past week, this has never happened to me before! yay everyone cheer. again, i have no idea where this story is going how far im gonna go, i def want to try writing other stuff and idk if this is the best place to put and end to whatever this series is but again, we shall see i guess. thank you all so much on the love on my last two works you have no idea what that means to me! please please PLEASE send me asks or comment what you'd like me to write next or if you want a pt4 i need help people

warnings: sfw, swearing, fluff, idiots who like each other

Facing your fears is tough. No matter what it is, no one would actually choose putting themselves through a situation in which they know would cause them extreme distress. For some that may be going on a rollercoaster, interacting with a clown, going into a dark forrest alone, it could even be making a phone call by yourself to schedule a doctor's appointment (which is a valid fear to have, thank you very much.)

And here you were, facing your fears: being sat in your living room with Steve Harrington 3 feet away from you for an extended period of time. It's only been about 15 minutes, where no talking has happened since minute two.

You hope you can get to 30 minutes without fainting.

As you attempted to focus on the book in front of you, Jane Austen's words, who usually kept your focused for hours on end, were not being absorbed by you in the slightest. How could they, when Steve fucking Harrington was in your house.

Steve is the type of guy who Jane Austen would write about, you thought, eyes flickering towards him as he hunched over his book, face crinkled in concentration, trying to understand said author's musings.

The swoop of his hair, the two moles near his neck, his deep, beautiful, chocolate eyes, his gorgeous smile, and my god those arms? Yep, Jane would be absolutely obsessed with him.

"God, why did I agree to do this book?" You are snapped out of your daze at Steve's words. "What do you mean?", you replied. He gave you a look that can only be described as "seriously?"

"I mean, that I can barley understand what any of these characters are saying half the time, and honestly, it's a bit boring. I thought you would have better book recommendations," he said, running a hand through his hair to push it out of his face.

A scoff left your mouth before you could stop it. "Excuse me, are you actually hating on Pride and Prejudice, the best romance story of all time, the romance story, period." You leaned over and snatched his book. "I mean, come on! You are literally only 6 pages in, you can't just judge it that quickly, you haven't even gotten to the good parts yet!", you exclaim.

Steve watched you with an amused look on his face, unbeknownst to you, who kept rambling on, trying to convince Steve this book was worth continuing.

"— and Elizabeth, she is just funny, like actually hilarious. There is one part where she basically tells someone that I'd rather not be wasting my air talking to someone like you, like please, how did she even come up with that? Also, I'm just obsessed with this proper English style of speaking, or writing I guess, because they're basically talking shit but covering it up with fancy words! And when—"

"You talk a lot, don't you?"

You look up from the book and towards Steve, eyes widening slightly, realizing you had indeed been talking too much.

"One of my greatest faults, some may say, and by faults I mean my mom, but she only tells me this when we're arguing, so..." You glance away from Steve's face for a little reprieve. God, he's so hot.

"Well, like a good partner," you continue. "I'm trying to help you get some of this project done, and maybe if Robin were here, she could've helped," you defended yourself, crossing your arms, "which I'm still confused about, by the way. You said something about her telling you earlier how I invited you guys and some other people to work on the project together, but then she doesn't show?"

Steve leans back in his chair, also crossing his arms. You glance down for a quick second and send a quick thank you to anyone who's that Steve is wearing a tight shirt that beautifully enunciates his biceps. Or maybe you should be mad at them, you don't know yet.

"Maybe it's the fact that she noticed, like I did, that it's been a month since this project was assigned and we haven't even started," Steve countered, "which is unlike you, you usually want to get stuff done ASAP."

You look at him in confusion. "How the fuck do you know that?"

Steve smirks, "I also happen to know that you don't have a sister, thanks to that lovely dinner with your mom." You shake your head in disbelief, mentally making a note to yell at your mom later.

"Isn't that what you said one of the many times I asked you to work on the project?" Steve looked so amused with himself, all cocky and proud that he had uncovered your lie. Your brain tried desperately to come up with a realistic enough explanation, but nothing was coming up.

You throw your hands up in defeat. "Ok, fine! I lied! Is it just so hard for you to believe that maybe, just maybe, not everyone in that high school wants to spend time with you outside of it?" Oh my God, why the fuck would you say that, you screamed internally.

Steve stared at you for a second before letting out a chuckle. " You know, I did think of that actually, but only for a bit." He reaches out for the book and grabs it from your grasp, flipping to a random page.

"You can only run away from a guy so many times before he catches a hint," he peers over at you, " and I mean literally, you're a fast runner, did you ever do track?"

"Yeah, in middle school," you answer quickly. Steve lets out a hum of agreement before placing his attention back on the book. You open your mouth, about to quip about being careful to not rip the pages when he speaks again. "I know I'm dumb, but I'm not an idiot, ya know?"

Your gaze snaps to his face. "Steve, I don't think you're dumb." He doesn't look too convinced. "Eh, I think you do. But you're interesting, you took me a lot longer to figure out than the others since girls just typically throw themselves at me."

You make a face of disgust, "Ok, you sound like a total prick, you know."

"Yep, heard it after I said it, but that's not the point here." He point his finger at you, "You have a crush on me."

You splutter out a sound of indignation. "Hello, what?" In your head, fire alarms are sounding. It's a code red, all hell is breaking loose. "Pfft, no I absolutely do not."

Steve raises his eyebrows. "Then how else do you explain the running away when you see me anywhere at school? You always have an insane excuse why we're not able to meet up to start the project, which some are hilarious," he admits, "but you've got me complaining about not doing homework, look what you've done to me!"

At this point you've gone silent, mouth agape with an excuse stuck in your throat refusing to come out. Steve's expression has changed, his eyes bore into yours with earnest, almost as if he's anticipating a certain answer, hoping for it. "So?"

You muster all the courage you have left and just when you're about to respond, Steve interrupts you again for like, the 15th time.

"Anyways, I've to get going, have some things to do and whatever." He gets up, shrugs on his jacket and then places his books in his backpack. You get up too, having absolutely no clue how to tell him not to go, that you want him to stay. "Steve, what do you mean?"

He glances over at you, "Nothing, I just have to go. I'm a busy guy." He starts making his way to your front door, leaving you behind in the kitchen, trying to understand what the fuck just happened. First, he accuses you of having a crush on him, which you do, and then he just thinks he can leave?

Oh, absolutely not.

With a new wave of determination, you catch up to Steve just as he's finishing putting on his shoes. "Say thanks to your mom for me for dinner, it was great," he says as he grabs the door handle. You don't let him continue with whatever stupid thing he was going to say next.

"Listen Harrington, I don't know what the fuck just happened back there, but the fact you think can just, leave after dropping a bomb like that is ridiculous," you say, glaring at him in annoyance, and Steve's just staring back at you with that stupid, stupid, smirk that has not left his face since the moment he stepped foot in here.

"So what if I did like you, huh? What if I did have a crush on you? Because I do, but that, quite frankly, is none of your business, none of your concern, actually, so... yeah." Steve is looking at you and you're looking at him, a little out of breath after your declaration. You don't have the energy right now to fully process what you just said.

All of a sudden, Steve seems to break character, the smugness gone, replaced with subtle endearment. He leans down and presses a swift kiss on your cheek before whispering, "Well, it's a good thing I like you too." He straightness back up and says, "I told you I knew you were different, you're a mystery. You're lucky running away seemed to work on me, by the way. I don't think it would for everyone else," he says while you stare at him in shock. You've been rendered silent once again, with nothing but the thought that Steve likes you back, repeating over and over again.

You clear your throat before speaking, "Well! Um, yay?" You truly have no idea what to do right now. Steve chuckles at your reaction, like he can't believe his words have caused you of all people, who continuously talk and talk and talk, to not have anything profound to say for once. He's kind of into it.

Steve grabs your hand and encases it with the other. "Come over to my house tomorrow after school, I'll drive you. We can work on the project and you know, talk, if you want." You nod fervently, "Yeah, yeah ok."

He smiles and drops your hand. "I really do have to go though, I wasn't making that up," he remarks as he opens the front door. "Oh, sure, that's fine," you reply. You hold open the door for him and watch as he descends the steps and makes his way towards his car. You watch him, holding onto the door for dear life.

As Steve gets into the car, he looks over at you and waves, "I'll see you tomorrow!" You wave back and yell back, "Yeah, tomorrow!" You don't go back inside until the car is out of sight. As you shut the door, you press your back against it, trying to wrap your head around what exactly happened in the last few hours.

Holy shit, you though, Steve Harrington likes me. Steve fucking Harrington. You let out an involuntarily squeal of excitement and immediately regret doing it as your mother calls down from upstairs. "Mija, are you ok? What happened?" Hearing her voice reminds you of her involvement over the events that transpired tonight.

Putting your happiness on hold for a moment, you start to storm up the stairs. "Mom!", you yelled, "How could you embarrass me like that, asking him to stay over for dinner, you know how I feel about him, I just about fainted 5 times throughout the night, how does that make you feel!? You almost killed me an—"

You would thank your mom later, because ultimately she helped, but for now, you'll stick to this.

[queenie-official]

going with ani to the cafè for pumpkin spice latte only for him to be super nervous since we are so cool and he's some random engineering nerd ☝️🤓

‘Fall In Love With Me’

main masterlist Word count: little over 3k

pairing: modern!Anakin skywalker x fem!reader

a/n: you sending this request in as soon as i mentioned wanting to write fall fics is iconic of you and i love you for it 💋

“come on y/n, this is the only good thing about college! skipping without any repercussions” Honey continued to beg as you walked across campus.

“that’s easy to say when you're skipping a language class you’re already fluent in” you protest as she clings to your arm, pleading like a child.

“you don’t even care about French class, you just wanna ogle your little crush” she retorts before tugging on your arm as she comes to a stop forcing you to stop with her.

“okay that’s only half true, i like French class” you hardly believe your own lie as it tumbles out of your mouth. judging by Honey’s deadpanned expression she doesn’t believe it either.

“you were complaining just yesterday how the Teacher refuses to speak in any other language than French and you had no clue what was going on.” if only you didn’t vent to her about everything maybe then she wouldn’t be able to call you out on your bullshit.

“you’re gonna make me late” you sigh, slumping forward solemnly. she rolls her eyes not buying the act for a second.

“good, if you’re going to be late then it just makes even more sense for you to skip with me.” you let out a groan, gently pulling your arm out of her hold before starting to walk again. “you could at least talk to the guy if you’re gonna keep going just to look at him.”

“he’s too smart for me, i mean he’s a mechanical engineering major for gods sake” did he tell you that himself? no, you and Honey just did a little snooping through instagram after you got his full name and found out for yourselves.

“i have a friend who dated an engineering major and she told me they are not as smart as they think they are.” right but he was, he had all A’s it was a known fact around campus. Anakin Skywalker the college’s golden boy.

academic wise anyway, he didn’t socialize with anyone. you had guessed it was because he was much too focused on keeping his grades as good as they were, he had to if he wanted to keep his full ride scholarship… was it considered stalking if you got this information on a public platform?

“yea well Anakin’s different Honey” you can feel the look she’s giving you and you hate it. she jogs up in front of you now, forcing you to look her in the eyes.

“fine don’t skip but you have to talk to him, you’ve got the confidence and social skills to charm a snake y/n stop selling yourself short” you both stare at each other, a silent challenge that you always lose.

“alright!” you huff defeated and she cheers, throwing her arms up in victory before doing a celebratory dance.

“have fun talking to the boy of your dreams” she teases before spinning on her heel to walk in the opposite direction as you.

“have fun skipping spanish” you snort and she shouts back a quick ‘i will’ as you continue walking towards the building.

your professor was the type of teacher to close the door as soon as class began. ’if you want to waste my time by being late, don't bother coming at all’ was the first thing she’d said at the beginning of the semester, it was the only sentence she’d said in english.

which is exactly why you speed walk past her right as she’s starting to head to the door, keeping your head low when you see the annoyed look on her face as you do. internally counting your lucky stars that you somehow managed to make it before she’d closed it.

Anakin was always one of the first people to arrive in class so it was no surprise he was already there when you get to take a proper look at your surroundings. he was sitting in his usual spot; last row, second to last seat from the aisle.

you take a deep breath mustering all the courage you have as you walk down the aisle past your usual spot and straight to one of the empty seats next to him. he stiffens, hands freezing mid type on his laptop before he forces himself to relax and continue like normal.

you spare a glance at his laptop screen, wondering if it was related to the class. maybe you had missed an entrance ticket or something. you’re met with a shit ton of equations that makes you want to do a double take, unable to even process what you’d just seen.

the sound of your professor starting the lesson pulls your attention before you can. not that you could even understand what she said, all of it going in one ear and out the other. still you pretend to listen, wanting to give it a little time before you possibly ruin this man’s whole mood.

you pretty much dissociate, resting your hand on your palm without a thought in your mind. it’s about thirty minutes later when everyone who didn’t already have their laptops open are pulling them out of their bags that you snap out of it, following their lead you take yours out before turning to Anakin.

kind of a perfect way to start a conversation if you think about it. “sorry, but do you know what we’re supposed to be doing?” you tilt your head slightly watching as it takes a second for it to click in his mind that you’re speaking to him.

“we have to go onto canvas and answer the newest discussion post and then we have to comment on two other people’s answers all in French” he says after clearing his throat, his voice a soft rumble that makes your heart flutter.

you smile warmly at him, a whispered “thank you“ rolling off of your tongue before you turn back to your laptop. you’re about to copy and paste the question into google translate when you realize you could use this as another excuse to talk to him. “don’t suppose you’ve got any clue what this is asking us?”

his attention is on you again, eyes flicker over your face with uncertainty before he looks at your screen “comment prépares-tu la journée?” he reads it out loud in an accent that rivals the professors “it’s basically a formal way of asking how you prepare for the day”

you nod thinking of your answer only to remember a second later you’d have to respond in French. you bite your lip fighting back the urge to ask another question, afraid that you may start to annoy him. you tap on the table lightly locked in an internal debate, and right when you’re about to cave and go back to your trusty friend google Anakin speaks up again.

“do you need help forming your answer in French?” you can’t help but laugh as you turn to him, a shy smile growing on your face.

“is it that obvious i’m struggling?” you joke at your own misery and he rubs the back of his neck, nervously chuckling.

”no, no i wouldn’t say that…” he trails off before finishing with “well maybe a little bit” which makes you snort and cover your mouth to make sure you don’t laugh too loudly.

“help would be much appreciated, thank you” he smiles, wiping his palms on his jeans before clearing his throat again.

“it’s no problem i already finished my work anyway, i was working on homework for another class” he says while closing his laptop “i’m Anakin by the way” he extends his hand and you're quick to shake it. his palms are clammy, his grip gentle yet firm.

he was definitely nervous, even more than you were which somehow helped fuel you with more confidence. “y/n, it’s nice to meet you” you greet back, releasing his hand and turning your laptop screen more towards him.

“it’s.. uh nice to meet you too” it’s almost funny how awkward he is, you’d expected the college golden boy to be more.. well suave. it was endearing though, and you wish you’d made the effort to talk to him sooner.

you tell Anakin your normal routine before leaving for the day and he translates it for you, at first you were the one typing it but when he saw you failing to spell out the words correctly he offered to just do that as well.

of course you agreed, sliding your laptop more towards him. he reaches forward immediately retyping what he’d told you, and you get a front row seat to watch his mind work. so casual and effortlessly translating each thing you told him onto the discussion post. you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t attractive.

thanks to Anakin’s help you’re able to get the discussion post done and comment on two other people’s posts in under 10 minutes, leaving you with nothing to do as the professor waits for everyone to finish before continuing the lesson.

“so do you usually finish all your work early and work on homework for other classes?” you ask wanting to spark conversation again before he gets the chance to reopen his laptop.

“yeah, French is kind of my first language- my mom had me speak both French and english growing up” he answers, shifting in his chair nervously. uncomfortable from the attention you were giving him. “so this is sort of.. my easy pass class, i just took it for the credits”

“i wanted this to be my easy class, and then the first day she spoke almost purely in French and i knew i was fucked- it’s a miracle i’m passing” that miracle was your usual seatmate who would always give you the answers.

“not to be rude but uh.. how are you passing?” you can tell he didn’t want to come off too blunt but there wasn’t really another way to put it that wasn’t beating around the bush.

“lots of google translate and help from peers” he laughs at how proudly you say that, and you can’t help but smile enjoying the sound of it.

“right, that makes a lot of sense” you raise your brow at that unable to resist the urge to mess with him.

“a lot of sense is crazy wording” you act offended and he instantly starts to panic, backtracking his statement while attempting to apologize. you can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you making him freeze when he realizes you weren’t actually upset.

he doesn’t respond even as you apologize, simply shaking his head with a faint smile. he relaxes in his seat, a look on his face like he wanted to tease back but was still unsure.

once you’ve calmed down and chosen to ignore the looks you were getting from the people around you there’s a brief silence until your professor speaks up, calling everyone’s attention. all of the discussion posts must have been turned in as she now continues the lesson.

it’s not until the end of class that you and Anakin speak again, you turning to him as he packs his stuff away. “hey, we should hang out sometime” you suggest, rather bold for someone who was afraid to talk to him a little over an hour ago.

he whips his head towards you, completely caught off guard. “i- i…” he stutters, his brain trying desperately to catch up with the situation.

you wince worried you misread him, maybe you had actually offended him with your joke or perhaps he had no intentions or desire to talk with you after today.

when he sees you physically pull back he forces an answer out of himself in an almost panic. “no! well i mean yeah- i’d like that..” he squeezes his eyes shut cringing inwardly.

“you’re cute” you giggle, and he reddens. eyes snapping open as he tries to catch his breath, you’re too much for him. like taking a sip of coffee that has way too much sugar and cream in it.

“cute?” he repeats practically breathless, he swallows hard. looking down to his bag for a distraction, busying himself with zipping it closed.

“there’s a cafe i like to go to with my friend that we could go to together?” you offer while pulling your phone out of your pocket. readying it for him to put his number in as you sling your bag over your shoulder.

he hesitates for a moment before taking your phone; typing in his name and number, eyes flicking up to you every once in a while like he expected you to change your mind and tell him to stop.

“i’d love too” he finally responds, handing your phone back with his number officially saved into your contacts. you have to hold in a giddy squeal, doing your best to play it cool.

“great it’s a date!” you cheer singsongy, putting your phone back in your pocket. Anakin looks like he may pass out, every time he thinks you can’t surprise him more you do. “i’ll text you the details later tonight”

his mouth opens and closes, every possible response dying on his tongue. you give him the time he needs, brows knitted together in understanding.

he fakes a cough, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “okay, i look forward to it” he says voice cracking slightly which he tries to play off with another fake cough, turning away from you and heading out of the classroom in a hurry.

as soon as he’s out of sight you let out the squeal you’d been holding in, jumping up and down before excitedly running out of the classroom to go find and tell Honey about what happened.

you wait just outside of campus. rocking on your feet as the cold autumn breeze rushes past you making your nose cold, honestly you were far too happy to care.

i’d been two days since your interaction with Anakin and today was the day you’d both agreed to meet up after classes finished. the wait was agonizing but worth it, especially when you see Anakin heading towards you.

he had on a flannel overtop a gray shirt, hair tussled from the wind. palms sweaty which he tried to keep under control, alternating between wiping them on his jeans and trying to fix his hair.

he hasn’t noticed you yet, mumbling something to himself as he walked. you contemplate whether or not to say something, afraid you may startle him if you do but thankfully he finally looks up from the pavement eyes locking with yours. he stiffens mouth snapping shut before standing tall as he tries to look relaxed.

“y/n hey..” it was awkward for sure and you had to bite back a giggle not wanting to make him second guess himself.

“hey, you ready to go? it’s not too far a walk from here” you point behind you in the opposite direction from which he came. he nods, robotically coming to your side as you begin walking.

there’s a awkward silence between you both, Anakin wanting to talk to you but unsure where to start. “sooo…you like coffee?”

you laugh, unable to hold it back this time with how strained his question came out. “i do, it’s a college student's saving grace don’t you think” you half joke, after all there have been many times coffee has actually saved you from passing out and turning in a late assignment.

he smiles, relaxing with your easy going nature. “oh yeah, coffee the holy grail for all college students” he jokes back for the first time and you beam. “you said you go to this cafe with your friend?”

“yep, me and Honey go all the time. they’ve got the best coffee and baked goods. it’s also the perfect environment to do homework or study” you both round the corner of the sidewalk, walking a little ways down to the crosswalk.

“oh that reminds me i’ve been meaning to ask, what’s your major?” well if he was asking that then he had yet to see your instagram account since it was in your bio. good because you’re pretty sure there’s a photo of you from middle school still up on your page.

“i’m an art history major” his brows raise slightly at that, making you tilt your head curiously. “what’d you think i majored in?” he shrugs unsure what to say.

“i don’t know… maybe psychology” this time your brows raise and he laughs. “you seem like the type” your nose wrinkles unsure how to take that but you ultimately decide to brush it off when it was clear he didn’t mean it in a bad way. “why art history?”

“i wanna become an art teacher, i need a bachelors degree for that to happen and art history seemed like the most interesting.” you both slow to a stop as you arrive at the cafe; Anakin steps in front of you, opening the door and holding it for you.

”thanks” you smile, walking in and heading to the usual table in front of the big storefront window that you and Honey sit at, placing your backpack onto the back of the chair. Anakin follows your lead doing the same with his bag before you both get into line.

thankfully it was short, most students preferred the other cafe directly across the street from campus. “ooo they finally have the fall flavors on the menu” you chirp excitedly upon seeing the newly chalked on pumpkin spice latte on the menu.

“are they any good?” your jaw drops dramatically, turning your head slowly towards him in full theatrics.

“you’ve never had a pumpkin spice latte before!?” he smiles, laughing awkwardly while shaking his head no. “oh we’re gonna fix that right now” you don’t even let him respond before stepping in front of him once the person in front of you leaves the line, ordering two pumpkin spice lattes and apple cider donuts for the both of you.

you don’t let him pay either, brushing him off with a “if i’m the one indoctrinating you into fall culture then it’s only right i pay” he only relents when you add “you can pay next time” a content smile on his face at the prospect there was even going to be a next time.

the cashier hands you a bag with the Donuts as well as two disposable cups with your lattes which you take to the table you saved. animatedly sliding the cup over to him as you pull out the donuts placing them on napkins in front of you both. “come on try it, i bet you’re gonna love it”

“a lot of confidence for someone who doesn’t even know if i like sweets” your face falls not having even thought about that, he laughs instantly making you flush when you realize he was messing with you.

still you smile back, it was about time he got you back. really you were just happy he was even comfortable enough to do it. “alright enough teasing, chop chop Frenchie”

“what am i a dog” he snorts, brows creasing together when he laughs this time. it was hardy and from his chest and gods did it make you warm to have been able to pull that out of him. “okay, okay i’m doing it” he says after you nudge him under the table with your foot.

you wait with anticipation as he brings the cup to his mouth, taking a sip of the warm nutty pumpkin flavored drink. you lean in as he takes his time, one hundred percent keeping a straight face on purpose. “..well?”

he pulls the cup away making a show of smacking his lips together to ‘savor’ the flavor. “Anakin!” you groan and he chuckles, holding his hands up in defense before grabbing the cup again.

“you’re right, it’s delicious” you cheer at the success, and he just watches with a smile. taking another sip of his drink before taking a big bite out of the donut you'd given him. his eyes widening as he tries it. “oh this is a dangerous combination”

“addicting isn’t it?” he nods enthusiastically, practically wolfing down the donut in a few seconds and almost completely chugging the latte. “oh my gosh” you laugh, before taking a sip of your own. “it’s not going anywhere”

“not technically true, you said it yourself these are seasonal items” he says and then chugs the rest of his drink. you may have actually just sent this man on a path of addiction.

“well we’ll just have to make it a tradition to come here every fall then. just for the coffee and donuts” he smiles brightly, more than satisfied with your words.

“is the rest of their menu this good year round?” you nod and he leans back in his chair, fiddling with the napkin his donut had been on. he licks the bottom of his lip in thought, bitting the inside of his cheek to hide his nerves before he finally speaks. “well maybe we should make it a year round tradition”

you lean on your palm, absolutely crushing harder on him with each passing second. “year round dates? kind of sounds like you're asking me out” he practically falls out of his chair, choking on whatever sugar the apple cider donuts had left at the back of his throat.

“i-i…i mean..” he stammers and you start to worry you may accidentally be the death of him. “i’d like that a lot.. you know only if you’re into it too-“ he cuts himself off mumbling a ‘she brought it up of course she is’ to himself which makes you giggle.

“why don’t you ask me?” you wait for his answer, not even trying to give him a break. he’s still barely recovered from your initial tease, cheeks a bright red that he’s trying desperately to push down.

it takes him a moment, before he finally works up the courage to speak again. “would you wanna go out with me?” he’s quiet and you briefly contemplate dragging it out more, just to watch him squirm but the poor boy looked tormented enough so you finally grant him reprieve.

“i’d love to” he smiles, relaxing before laughing at himself and you join in. the two of you lost in a fit of giggles, that’s how it is the rest of the date. the two of you getting to know each other better and tossing jokes around.

the more comfortable Anakin becomes, the less awkward and shy he seems to act. no longer as nervous as he was when you first spoke to him.

the cold weather outside is the perfect contrast to the warm cozy bubble around you both that the cafe helped provide. the beginning of many moments to come.

a/n: hope this okay!! im so used to writing Anakin as the more confident and collected one so this is a little different for me but it was so fun to write 😋😋

also how do we feel about Honey becoming a reoccurring character in my fics and oneshots? would you guys prefer me putting ‘y/f/n’ instead?

anyway hope you all enjoyed reading 🫶🏼🫶🏼 have a great day huns!! Xx<3

[hearts-4-vicky]

g!p julie fics are seriously understocked rn it's a crime

made me bussanut ‼️‼️‼️

warnings: G!p Julie, 5th member reader, reader snuck in cuz she on hiatus😭, fan sign, edging…, semi public sex?, secret blowjob, natty is stupid, u slap her balls like once🎀 kinda short, i think thats it…

um not proofread again…

Everyone at the fan sign knew something had to be wrong with the Julie. To stuttering, gasping, and having her eyebrows furrowed nearly the whole time, people started to get worried. many speculated she missed you, since you were set to be on a hiatus for at least a month due to being accused of being a porn star being debut, (cut me some slack man… idk what to write😭) little did they know you were under the table, stroking Julie’s fat cock.

placing tender kisses along her length and on her tip, never taking her fully in your mouth. Julie had been on edge ever since she sat down, wondering when you would start a proper blowjob. your fingertips teased her tip while you were as the fans started to line up, Julie felt warmth around her tip, making her let out a soft whimper. you wrapped your fingers around the base of her cock, before taking more of it in your mouth little by little. head bobbing on her dick as you take her in your throat. your tongue swiping on the underside of her cock made her let out a low grunt, gaining the attention of the fan in front of her.

“um… are you okay?” the girl asked, before pushing the opened album in front of her

gulping, she answers while trying not to moan out loud “ghk- yeah! how are you though?”

“well-“ Julie had completely zoned out, focusing on trying not to start whimpering in the middle of the fan sign

timeskip… idk what to put man😔

Julie’s facade had started to break as the fansign came to a halt, breathing heavily as showed her no mercy. every time you felt she was gonna cum, you stopped your actions. waiting for the urge to go away before going right back to deep throating her throbbing cock.

As the members were resting, Julie was still trying to be as quiet as she can with her the overwhelming head she was receiving.

“Do you have a ding dong?” Natty whispered to her, breaking the girl from the trance she was in

“H-huh?” Julie gasped out, feeling you play with her heavy balls. your tongue swirling on her tip. Natty continued to speak

“Y’know.. like a… cum gun? pew pew?” Natty started to lean in closer, voice lowered in order to not disturb the other girls. “Or a joystick? whatever you call it!” she trailed off, before noticing the slight sweat around Julie’s neck. “mmfh- fuck..” you took her all in your throat now, pausing for a second before bobbing your head up and down “wha-“ “shhh… yeah I do h-hAVE! one.. oh shit…” Natty looked at her wide eyed as the girl now had her head thrown back. “The fuck?” she questioned the older girl. Before she could respond, Julie felt you bob your head faster, feeling her tip ram into the back of your throat. She brought her hands to her face as to cover her flushed cheeks and to quiet her moans😵‍💫 her cock was throbbing once again as you suckle on her mushroom tip, she prayed you would let her cum deep in your throat. Natty walked away not wanting to deal with whatever was helping with the leader. Julie felt the same knot in her stomach, nearly crying out as she thrusted hard into your awaiting throat for the first time of the night. she painted your insides white with her thick load, making you gag but not rejecting it whatsoever. she leaned back in her chair, riding out her orgasm as she breathed heavily.

“Get up! we’re gonna perform!” Belle called out to Juile. still recovering from her orgasm she panted out a response “huh? i t-thought we would get a little practice before that..” her mind foggy, only thinking about how she would pound your pretty little cunt after this. you giggle at your girlfriend’s cuteness before coughing loudly. hearing this, Belle stepped closer to find the source of the noise.

“what the f-“ Belle lifted the cloth on the table, revealing your topless figure

“oh!- um hi! miss me?”

“how are you here? why is there white on yo- EWW NASTY!”

“nuh uh! not nasty… my babygirl tastes good..”

“yeah whatever.. unnie put your dick away”

hi my loves 🎀 IM LOCKING IN FIX MY ACC RNNNNN n other shit um💪💪💪🤫🧏 wish me luck yall…

Anyway Love you guys and stay safe❤️❤️

-Vicky 💋