#it has it's flaws but ey its a start :3
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hunniegl4zed · 5 months ago
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Local drunk man downs 2 bottles and respanws into a pancake tonight.
Tried my hand at a little gif, ish alright :3 blaming @shiny-starbit for making me listen to ''The Living Thombstone - Drunk'' on repeat ✨✨✨
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yueebby · 1 year ago
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happy wife, happy life  — gojo satoru
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synopsis. not fawning over his wife may prove to be harder than gojo thought.
contents. fluff, gojo is so whipped for his wife and everyone is tired (whats new), ooc gojo?
notes. this was pure self indulgence. i wanted to slander and coddle gojo all at once and this was it teehee :3
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the first thing you hear when you stand up to leave the staff meeting is a wolf whistle.
“looking good,” satoru looks you up and down. you roll your eyes playfully, your husband’s behavior is not foreign to you. he taps your upper thigh, dangerously close to your butt as you take your leave. however, the others in the room don't take kindly to the action.
“highly inappropriate behavior gojo,” utahime mutters under her breath from across the table. beside her, nanami is giving your husband a hard stare. 
satoru pays no mind to them though, smiling up at you as you walk out of the room. you shake your head when he continuously blows a series of kisses. he ignores your rejection, opting to mouth crude comments instead.
the moment the door shuts, the strongest sorcerer immediately deflates, disinterested in whatever matters the rest had to discuss about. 
“i don’t know how she puts up with you,” utahime takes a long sip out of her cup of tea. beside her, shoko snorts.
“probably for his body.” shoko is not unfamiliar with satoru’s antics, having witnessed it since his rowdy school days. she applauds him for coming far with you, but it was still fun to tease him.
gojo crosses his arms, emitting a disgruntled sound. “and my golden personality?”
nanami sighs, “ieiri’s conclusion is most likely right.”
the limitless user wiggles his finger playfully. “nanamin, how scandalous of you to fantasize about my body! i’m a married man y’know~” 
nanami looks like he has eaten something sour. unlike you, nanami’s attitude towards gojo has not softened as the years passed.
“i’m surprised she’s still with you.” utahime snickers. “she’s a sensible woman and you’re–” 
satoru frowns at her statement.  he’d never thought about how you felt about his behavior. perhaps that was his fatal flaw. gojo satoru had a nasty streak of negligence. and the last time he failed to notice someone dear to him —   
“well i’m glad she ended up choosing me, yeah?” his frown is quickly covered up by the wide smirk on his face. he leans back on his chair that’s starting to feel less comfortable by the second. the chair creaks under the weight of his body. honestly, how old are these old wooden things? “as much as i’d like to keep chatting about my lovely wife, i’d like to get this meeting over with so i can see her again.”
the rest of the meeting ensues as usual.
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“sensei has been weird… right?” itadori offers his hand after knocking megumi down during a sparring match. the black haired boy grunts as he is pulled up.
“if by weird, you mean normal.” megumi glances back at you and gojo who are watching intently at the first and second years practicing close combat on the training field. it was a bit peculiar to see satoru not throw himself all over you. gojo without pda is like a jigsaw puzzle missing its most essential piece, leaving the overall picture incomplete and lacking the electrifying energy that defines his existence. 
“i feel like i should be happy, but it’s unsettling to see him not initiating some misconduct. do you think they’re fighting?” nobara is panting on the grassy floor. she raises her hand in surrender when maki leaps in to take her head off with a spear.
maki retracts her blade, turning back to observe you and gojo, “nah, gojo would fold at her command.” 
“salmon.”
from across the training field, you turn to your husband nervously, “why are they staring at us?”
satoru hums, his blindfolded gaze focuses on the field in front of you, “hm, maybe they’re admiring their very beautiful [name] sensei.” the blindfolded man pauses. compliments should still be okay– right? satoru can’t imagine a life without lavishing you with love, yet he will content himself with gently sprinkling you with affection. 
you smack his shoulder playfully. to your surprise, your husband doesn’t reciprocate with some form of physical affection. you tilt your head, perplexed. 
quickly dismissing it, you yell at your students to continue their training.
you don’t notice the way satoru clenches his fists, keeping his eyes trained anywhere but you.
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the next time satoru is tempted by your presence is when he comes back home after a mission. it was a walk in the park, but the heavy stack of paperwork that followed it had depleted his energy. all he wanted was to snuggle in bed with his wife, selfishly keeping you all to himself.
and you’re not making it easier to resist with the way you warmly greet him with a smile in nothing but a small cotton tee and those tiny pajama shorts. eyes up, eyes up, eyes up, satoru mentally chants.
he thinks he might actually die.
“toru!” you abandon the book you had been reading to pay your husband taxes (kisses that satoru demands he must have). “you’re home awfully late.”
“mission… paperwork,” his clipped response is mumbled as he hurries past you and to your shared bathroom, avoiding your touch. satoru silently prays to the heavens that you don’t notice his suspicious efforts as he makes his way to take a much needed ice cold shower.
you stand in your spot in confusion, letting your husband go. slowly, you start to connect the pieces of satoru’s strange behavior from his refusal to touch you to his sudden responsible disposition. gojo satoru never does paperwork– not unless you bribe him with a dozen kisses. speaking of kisses, you don’t even remember the last time he had demanded one. something was definitely wrong. 
without missing a beat, you quickly follow your lover’s trail into the bathroom.
to your delight, your husband had failed to lock the door. in the hush of your silence, you can hear the subtle rustle of satoru's garments.
his sky blue eyes go wide when he sees you walk through the door.
“toru… is there something wrong?” your voice is careful. 
the white haired man in front of you nervously laughs as he covers his bare chest, “geez, ask me out to dinner first.” 
“gojo satoru.”
your husband winces at his full name being used, but he puts on another mask. a faux smile plays on his lips as he shrugs. “i don’t know what you mean, gojo.” 
your heart drops at his insistence to shut you out, but you stand your ground. with sheer determination, you walk up to your husband, closing the gap between the two of you. you cup his cheek with a hand while you start to lean closer, your lips nearly brushing.
satoru shuts his eyes, inhaling a deep breath to regain composure. he even sucks in his lips, making him look utterly ridiculous. despite the dangerous allure of your proximity, he resolves to stand firm.
"you won’t even kiss me anymore! satoru, this is absurd. what's happening?" you distance yourself, seeking answers.
despite his towering stature, a snort escapes you as satoru resembles a mere child when mumbling something under his breath.
"come on, use your big boy words."
"i don't want to drive you away," he avoids making eye contact now that his blindfold is off. "i know i can be a bit overwhelming at times."
upon hearing his excuse, you snort loudly, “seriously?”
“seriously.”
“i can’t believe i married such an idiot.” you huff, wrapping your arms around his neck.
satoru pouts, “you’re breaking my heart wifey.”
your lips softly kiss the corner of his mouth. like it was muscle memory, satoru’s lips chase yours even after you pull away. you smile.
“for such a genius, you really are stupid ‘toru.” you flick his forehead. he whines and you know it didn’t hurt, yet you entertain him by leaning up to kiss his injury. “believe it or not, i married you for reasons beyond your pretty face and body.”
“you think i’m pretty?” his eyes shine bright as they lovingly gaze into yours. you take one hand to cup his cheek. he nuzzles his face into it.
“of course you’d say that.” you laugh softly. “but honestly, i’m offended that you thought i would ever be annoyed by your affections. might i remind you that we have been madly in love since our youth? i found myself captivated by your ability to love effortlessly, and the way you hopelessly pined for me for years? i knew i was a goner. that… and your bank accoun–”
satoru kisses you with an intensity that leaves you feeling blissfully lightheaded. lost in the haze of the moment, he showers the rest of your face with tender, wet kisses, and you stand there, surrendering to the sweet assault.
upon withdrawing, satoru wears a broad grin. "i was an idiot today, wasn't i?" you nod, breathless. "how about i make it up to you tonight?" he proposes, drawing you close. you are all too familiar with that feral grin adorning his face.
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ireneispunk · 9 months ago
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Duty
Jacaerys Velaryon x female reader smut
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After a rough start to your marriage, whispers from the palace cause you and your betrothed to start what you should have done months ago; produce an heir.
w.c: 1487
c.w: SMUT 18+, NO use of Y/N, not exactly enemies but y'all beefing, hate sex (if you squint, but more like dislike sex and its more just sass idfk), mention of pregnancy, breeding kink, afab reader, p in v sex, fingering, overstimulation, pls let me know if i've missed any
a.n: so i recently watched the queen charlotte bridgerton spin off and i absolutely loved it, this is very inspired by charlotte and george's earlier dynamic tee hee.
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Four months and 3 days. That is how long it has been since your wedding, and how long you have loathed your husband. The two of you were not exactly close before your betrothal on account of the rapidness of it but the tensions that spread between parts of his family did not help. You both seem to fight every conversation you had thereafter, so it became easier to avoid each other. That was until around 3 months into your betrothal that questions of when you would need your dresses altering had you worried. You were supposed to making heirs but you both exploded whilst in the same room as each other.  You’d visited the prince in his separate room and communicated the issue, he was reading by the fire. You played with your fingers in your hands as he eyed the flaw, thinking intently. He placed his book face down on the table as he petted the bench beside him. You hesitated for a moment, before sitting next to him. “Once a week, we will fulfil our, uh, duty to try and produce an heir. Once you are with child we will stop.” You thought for a moment, before nodding. You couldn’t help but feel your heart sink. This was not what you had wished for in your marriage. Jacaerys was a painfully handsome man, dark curls that framed he chiselled features.
“It is the end of the week today, your grace.” You spoke, not fully considering the implications of the statement. But the quicker your belly was full the better.
He turned to you, hesitated for a moment before moving closer to you and pulled you onto his lap. You were surprised by the sudden closeness of someone, let alone your husband. He looked up from beneath you with a glimmer of what he had on your wedding night, without the naïve hope. His hands slid up from your hips to the bust of your dress, he looked into your eyes before giving the bodice of your dress a quick tug down allowing your breast to spill out. You gasped as his hands cupped over your breasts, massaging them before running a thumb over your nipple. You brought your bottom lip between your teeth as you felt a warmth spread over your body. You didn’t dare look him in the eye, keeping your eyes shut or trained on the ceiling. You felt as one hand left your breast and hike up your dress further up your hips. He sighed to himself slightly, at the sight of your exposed cunt. He could not believe his luck the first time he had saw you. You were quite possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and unfortunately that did not change the more you both disliked each other. If anything, it grew. Seeing you from across the room at formal engagements, gluing to his side when you needed to seem like the happy couple. It made the frustrations between the two of you even more palpable over the past few months, given the lack of relief. You opened your eyes to see his dark eyes looking up at you. He brought his two first fingers up to your lips, “Open.” His soft tone contradicted the demand and look upon his face. His fingers slid into your mouth, gliding across your tongue as you closed your lips around them. Out of sheer lust you grinded your hips against him, needing to feel some release and gaining small jolt at the feeling of your cunt rubbing against his clothed cock. His free hand shot to your waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh. He removed his fingers from your mouth, admiring his spit covered fingers for a moment before they reached between your thighs and lightly grazed across your clit. You jolted, leaning forward to grip the bench behind him.
You could not stop the moan that escaped your mouth as his fingers slowly ran circles across your clit. He smirked as the noises that fell from your lips, knowing how much you couldn’t bare to be around him but fell apart in his arms was a satisfying feeling.  “I did not know you were so needy, dear wife.” The honorific felt like a pin prick. Insincere and laced with sarcasm.
Despite the tightening growing in your stomach, you could not let him have the final word as usual. “You hadn’t been paying close enough attention, your grace.” A flash of frustration flashed upon his face as his hand moved to grip your hair and fingers plunged inside of you. A gasp left you as his fingers thrusted deep inside of your cunt, you had gone from strolling towards an orgasm to being thrown at it. The tips of his fingers curled slightly, deliciously massaging that spot inside your pussy that drove you wild. You jaw fell open, eyes going wide at the loss of contact when he removed his fingers from you. You went to protest before seeing his cock in his hands, brows furrowed as he stroked the length.
You couldn’t hold off any longer before you took a hold of his wrists and pushed his hands away to his sides. You took his cock into your hand giving it a few pumps, watching an expression of lust spread across his face. You leaned over slightly, letting a ball of spit leave your lips and watch as it slid down his cock. He hissed, returning his hands to your hips pulling you closer to him. You took the hint, angling his cock towards your pussy, rubbing the tip over your clit for your own pleasure a few times, before lining him up and sliding down slowly, a large groan left his lips as be bottomed out inside of you. You had forgotten just how big his cock was, and just how good it had felt filling you up. You began to raise your hips up and down, moans leaving your lips as you did. You worked at a steady pace but after being accustomed to his hands began to push up and down with the movements of your hips moving you faster. Your fingernails dug into his shoulders as he pounded into you, no matter how much your stifled your moans, you gave him the satisfaction of them loudly leaving your lips. His hand reached up to yours, removing it from his shoulders and moving your fingers between your legs. You immediately got his instruction, fingers latching onto your clit. You worked tight circles into it as you got filled over and over with Jacaerys’ cock. A familiar tightness returned to your stomach as your head dropped back and numerous illicit words left your lips. Recognising your peak, he pulled you forward by your thighs, almost pressing your bodies against each other as he quickened his pace. Your orgasm cascaded over you, feeling your pussy tighten around Jacaerys’ cock and your body buzz from the overstimulation. You rode out your high atop of him, watching as his eyes screwed shut and his thrusts became sloppier.
You took the opportunity to return your knees to the bench either side of him and bob your hips up and down as fast as you could. His fingers reached the lip of the bench gripping it until his knuckles turned white. “Mmm, my grace,” You moaned out. His eyes shot open, his heart pounding at your remark. “Please fill me with your seed.” You pleaded and moaned, half doing it for a reaction, half because it felt too good. His jaw hung open in shock for a split second before he sputtered a moan from his lips, hips snapping into yours. You felt satisfied as a warmth filled your pussy. Your hips moved slightly, slowly thrusting his cock inside of you still. His hand shot to your hip, mumbling something, before you placed your hand flat across his chest. You bobbed a few more times on his cock, being sure to be as full as possible with his cum. You smirked to yourself seeing his head throne back, lip quivering, veins prominent in his hands gripping your waist, sweaty curls sticking to his neck. You slowly raised yourself off of his cock, standing to your feet and trying to mask your wobbliness as adjusting your dress.
You stole a glance his way, admiring his beauty before he spoke and ruined it. He panted through his mouth, arms outstretched over the sides of the bench. You smirked to yourself, admiring how he too had crumbled for you. The opening of his doorhandle caused him to call your name from behind you. You glanced at him and smiled. “Goodnight your grace, see you in seven eves’.” He opened his mouth to response, but you had already shut the door behind you. You hoped it would be sooner before he fucked you again.
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whoreforsexymen · 2 months ago
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Guess who just finished acrane and is writing this with actual tears on my face!!! I need some Vander fluff- i think i will emplode- it doesnt even have to be anything specific i just need comfort after that shit storm 😭
Yes my child. Mommy will make good on your request.
And don’t even get me started on S2. I can’t bring myself to watch it yet. I’m still not even over S1 and I KNOW for a fact it’s not even as sad as I’ve learned S2 is.
But shhhhh, Mommy’s got you. Here’s the fluff you asked for.
Piltover’s Got Nothin’ On You | Vander Fluff Flash 🍺🤎
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(GIF cred: me <3)
Pairings: Vander x GN!Reader
Pronouns: No pronouns used.
Rating: Slight NSFW because Reader and Vander are presumably half naked in bed, so 18+!! MDNI !! You WILL be blocked
Word Count: 524
Summary: Vander is enjoying a nice cozy morning with you, and reminds you exactly how he feels.
Tags: A little spicy, just because it’s a little maturely themed if you whip out a magnifying glass, Fluff, Tooth Rotting Fluff, Domesticity W/ Vander, OoeyGooeyRomance
Notes: None, just enjoy. Take a breather. 🤍
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“Would I lie to you?” The question hung in the air, light yet loaded with meaning. It was enough to send a familiar flutter through your stomach, a soft, nervous twinge that made your heart skip. The sensation was strangely uncomfortable, yet in the most endearing way—like a gentle reminder of how much he could still make you feel, even in the simplest of moments.
You lay atop the man you were speaking to, both of you bare-chested, the warmth of your skin pressing together in an effortlessly comforting way. The coolness of the morning air was a distant contrast to the heat between you, a calm presence that made the moment feel serene to say the least. His steady breathing beneath you gave the moment a gentle rhythm, and for a while, there was nothing but the simple unspoken connection between you both before you responded.
“Maybe. Depends.” You tease, your words playful but laced with a hint of mischief.
His response is immediate—his large hand slipping into yours with a quiet sense of contentment, the warmth of his grip grounding you. There’s a comfort in the way he holds you, as if, in this moment, the world outside doesn’t matter. His touch speaks volumes, the unspoken understanding between you both more powerful than anything words could convey.
“Someone clearly thinks highly of me,” he teases back, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. Before you can answer, he leans down and places a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead, his touch tender and full of quiet affection. The sweetness of the gesture catches you off guard, a simple act that somehow feels like the most genuine expression of his feelings—a quiet reminder of how deeply he cares.
You smile, a soft laugh slipping from your lips.
“All I was saying is that, as much as Piltover has its minor flaws—“ you begin, your voice light with amusement as you’re stopped short.
“Appalling flaws, really. Humongous, towering flaws,” he interrupts playfully, his tone teasing as he presses a gentle kiss to the back of your hand, still held firmly in his.
You can’t help but laugh at his wit.
“Yes, huge, appalling flaws. But despite all that, Topside is stunning at night. The lights here are beautiful, too, but nothing compares to the glow of Piltover.” You add, trying to make your point clear: a city’s beauty can stand on its own, no matter what darkness might lurk behind the scenes.
He regards you for a long while, his gaze lingering on your face with an amusement that never quite fades. The seconds stretch on, almost too long—what might seem like a few moments in the world’s rhythm becomes an eternity in his eyes. Each shift in your expression, each subtle change in your posture, draws him in, holding his attention as if time itself has slowed. And yet, even as eternity unfolds, it’s still not enough. To him, no amount of time could ever truly capture all he wants to see.
“That may be true,” he says, his voice steady, the smirk never quite leaving his face.
“But Piltover’s got nothin’ on you.”
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keyotos · 1 month ago
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“please stay” after a nightmare from aventurine pls!!! i 🫶 how u write him hehe <3
the way that i am
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summary ↯
aventurine's nightmare has him spiraling left and right. and also into you.
apart of the niche microtropes event!
word count ⎯ 3.5k
tana's thoughts ⎯ i am so sorry i got to this so late! i started working at a hospital this summer (working, not volunteering—BIG SHIFT YAY) so i've been a bit occupied!
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aventurine doesn't even bother to look at the clock when he jolts up. his back is utterly slick with sweat—a feeling he detests. the room feels as though it's spinning slowly, then quickly, and slowly again. the cavity where his heart lies is pounding.
his fingers grip into the hotel sheets as a way to tether himself back to reality. but the attempt proves to be futile. his breaths have gotten even shallower before; aventurine begins to think that he may pass out from hyperventilation.
this is not the first time something like this has happened. aventurine knows what the protocol usually is. he'll be awake for a few more hours, and then eventually fall asleep for an hour before he has to wake up again.
however, this time it's different. swarmed by not only his childhood, but also red splotches covering his hands, rough metal, and thousands of eyes glowering down at him. everything overtook him—multiple topics all at one time, crashing down into his mind.
the hotel room was pitch black and frigid. the thin covers that the "5-stars" establishment provided did not render any heat whatsoever. not that it mattered to aventurine at the moment. his body felt like it was running a fever: how a nightmare could make him sweat, ache, and scalding was beyond him.
his sweat began seeping through his shirt, causing the material to stick to his skin. he needs it off.
aventurine didn't bother to turn on any lights (or use his phone light, even)—he doesn't think he could bare look at himself if he did. when dealing with nightmares, most people usually shake it off, distract themselves, and fall back asleep. but for aventurine, the waves of shame that wash over him are strong. dismay, embarrassment, and regret are some of the few emotions that crash into him left and right.
the mirror is hard to stare at after a nightmare. aventurine recalls one night—when he was a bit younger—where he turned on the bathroom light to wash his face. upon seeing himself in the fluorescent glint; a lethargic, sullen, and heavy reflection looked back at him. sunken eyes and cheeks that sink down to the floor—both paired with a sickeningly pale face.
he retched in the toilet shortly after.
aventurine put on some slippers as he stumbled on the way to the closet. luckily for him, it was right across from the bed, giving him easy access to change. however, the trip to the closet was still full of its' challenges: aventurine ran into the bed-frame multiple times, and almost tripped on his own feet.
yet, he managed to be successful as he hastily unbuttoned his previous shirt to slide on a new one. he would call it luck that he didn't run into the corner of the bed-frame.
aventurine didn't bother to finish buttoning up his shirt. his mind reeled to the next thing his body needed: a cold glass of water.
though the new shirt alleviated some of his discomfort, he was still running hot. sweat still beaded down his head, and he ran a hand through his damp, blond hair to straighten up.
with a bit more shuffling, his hands guided him to the door to leave his room. aventurine considered sleeping on the couch for the rest of the trip—not wanting to be back in that room for the next week—however he was worried you'd begin to question his antics.
you're smart. you catch on instantaneously and you're too quick-witted for your own good. sometimes, your big mouth gets you in trouble, but that's why aventurine is your partner: he's damage control. but your biggest flaw would have to be your nosiness. and aventurine—though he harbors no negative feelings towards you (except the minor annoyance)—is not ready to detail the specifics of why he planned to sleep on the uncomfortable couch for the remainder of the trip.
aventurine opens the door and tries his best to not slam it, just so he doesn't wake you. he rubs his eyes and yawns as he traverses down the corridor. his hands are scattered throughout the walls, and aventurine tries his best to not hit any corners as he walks.
there's a slight murmuring noise as he gets closer to the kitchen, and he pauses. there's a bright light being emitted, but it's not from the overhead light. aventurine slows down his breathing (which—is quite hard in his predicament) to better hear the sound.
aventurine's feet creep closer and closer, until he hears the noise suddenly stop. now would be a good time to go back to your room, he internally voices. but aventurine doesn't move. he's planted on the ground, anxiously anticipating what would come next. he doesn't know if it's due to shock from his nightmare, or because he was too exhausted to move any more.
"hey. what are you doing up?" you turn the corner, shining the light from your phone to see.
aventurine moves his hand up to cover his face from the light, "aeons, that thing is bright." you lower the brightness while aventurine puts his hand down. he continues, "you're going to go blind looking at that thing in the dark like this."
this is how it always goes. pretend nothing ever happened. no nightmares, no terrors, no deep-seated fears. aventurine was just tired, which wasn't exactly a lie.
he just hopes that you won't be able to see through it like everyone else does.
"i'm pretty sure that's a myth," you put your phone in the pocket of your shorts. the dark setting makes things a lot more intimate, aventurine thinks. he gulps—thankful for the darkness concealing it—and tries not to dwell on the topic for much longer.
"pretty sure that it's science," aventurine responds, leaning on the wall.
you mock him, repeating his words in a distorted voice that makes aventurine question what he is still doing here. yet, he doesn't leave. not even when you say, "since when do you know anything about science? aren't you a glorified tax collector? shouldn't you be worried about... tax evasion?"
the blond rolls his eyes, even when you couldn't see it. "it's basic knowledge, first of all. and i worry. how are you supposed to complete our mission if you can't see?" he lets out a yawn afterwards.
"yeah, yeah," you say, voice drawing out, "whatever. i know you just secretly care for me!" you tease, attempting to poke him in the shoulder, yet missing due to the lack of light.
funny, aventurine thinks. real funny.
"you also never answered my question by the way. what are you doing up?" you ask.
internally, aventurine sighs. he should've known that you would've circled back to that. he thought that exhaustion would cloud your judgement too (considering that it was 2:30 in the morning), but alas, it has not.
sometimes, he thinks that nothing could cloud your judgement, even if it was the strongest effort in the world. aventurine has always found it admirable, though he would never admit it.
"no reason. i'm just not feeling tired," he lies, standing straight up. it makes no difference really, because it wasn't like you could see him anyway.
"you lying liar who lies!" you laugh, "you just yawned like... thirty seconds ago."
aventurine brushes you off, "that doesn't mean anything."
"if you yawn that literally means you're tired," you exaggerate, "pretty sure that's science."
"do you really have to mock me at two in the morning?"
"um, is there ever a time to not mock you?"
aventurine groans. this time, not out of exhaustion. "how are you not tired yet?"
"i haven't gone to bed yet," you shrug, "like, at all." in the darkness, aventurine can see you fiddle with the string of your pajama shorts. "i've always been that way—abnormal. but i'm usually not tired in the morning, so i guess i'm fine."
aventurine hums in response. you talk quite often, but it's not usually about yourself. he leans back on the wall again, letting his head rest as you continue to tell him anecdotes about your chaotic sleeping schedule. this is your normal.
it's certainly not his. aventurine made sure to get eight hours (or more) of sleep each night. he had a routine—a perfectly constructed one, in fact—that would ensure he'd be rejuvenated in the morning. and it was good. it helped him forget; the focus on the ritual would subside any memories of his past that would haunt him.
like tonight.
although, it seems as though his nightmares are an abnormality as well, but he doesn't accept it like you do.
"i'm not gonna pry if you don't wanna tell me," he hears footsteps pattering closer to him. he still can't see you, but he knows you're close. his breath slightly hitches, just in case.
you continue, "but, i can invite you to what i was doing. you know, if you can't sleep either."
before aventurine could reject the idea, you open up your phone, the bright light blinding the both of you. you squeak a quick apology and turn the brightness down, just to where the both of you could see each other.
from his point of view, aventurine nearly has you pinned against him. his body is leaning against the wall, while his arm is propped up on it. you're below his arm, leaning against the wall as well; except, your head is underneath his arm.
you don't seem to notice the position the two of you are in, seeing as you are glued to your phone. in other circumstances, aventurine would've made a snarky comment about it, but the ability to speak was stolen away from him. there you are, right in front of him, obliviously scrolling through your social media. you haven't looked up, not even a glance.
part of him thinks that he should be grateful. tonight has been a rough night, and he's sure that he doesn't look particularly pleasant right now. his hair is tousled, blond strands mangled due to the earlier rustling. his eyes must be drooping, since he's not used to waking up during these hours.
but you don't notice whatsoever. you're here, aimlessly scrolling on your phone—searching up whatever (probably some kind of niche reference)—and not even looking up. and that's when the other part of aventurine comes in. why aren't you peering up at him? do you not feel his eyes boring into your body? can you not feel the rigidity of his stare?
aventurine would do anything to see you glance up: to see your breath hitch when noticing the position the two of you are in, or to finally see you be rendered speechless. he wants to see you hide away from his gaze, looking at anything except for him. then, he might able to come up with a remark as good as yours. only then.
he's torn between two halves of himself. you're his greatest relief tonight (shocking, as aventurine would usually refer to you as his greatest nuisance), but also his greatest fear. when he talks to you, aventurine feels like he's feverous: his heart rate increases when thinking of a retort to your wits, and he shivers with chills whenever you make wondrous and logical reasonings. but he's terrified of what would happen if you saw him—truly saw him. would you be able to come up with a witty response, or would you look at him with pity? would you pull back your punches, replacing your ardent jabs for dull responses?
aventurine didn't want to lose that.
"found it!" your excited voice knocks him out of his head. you click on a video of a wooden bowl filled with water and some blocks. or cubes. or spheres?
"um," aventurine peers down, "what is that?"
"wood soup!" you enthuse, scrolling through your social media to find more.
aventurine decides that he is lost. "wood... soup..."
"i don't see why you're so baffled by this," you shake your head, "it's not edible if that's what you're wondering. it's water and wood, ergo the name is: wood soup."
you pull the blond down a rabbit hole of wood soup videos, and aventurine becomes glued to your device with you. the two of you were definitely standing there for more than five minutes. you glance at him a couple times—just out of the corner of your eye—and aventurine has to suppress the urge to swallow every time.
"oh, oh," you pull up another video, "this one is my favorite!"
you've said that about ten times now. you definitely have not been keeping track, but aventurine has. sometimes, his gaze switches from your phone to you. you're distracted enough that you didn't notice him staring. aventurine silently thanked the aeons for "wood soup" being a distraction.
"this one is pretty good," aventurine murmured down to your neck. he occasionally felt his eyes sag, but blinked a few times to get rid of the fatigue. he rubbed his hand against his eyes to wake himself up.
"works like a charm, doesn't it?" you voice is soft when you give aventurine a slight smile. "these videos always put me to sleep."
you look up at him—actually making eye contact—and place your head on the spot on the wall directly under his arm. your arms are crossed over your chest, and you're biting down on your lip in an effort to not smirk or become smug.
aventurine knows this expression. it's your, "i was right from the whole time" expression.
and for a second, aventurine is scared. he should've walked back to his room earlier, instead of getting swooped up in your presence. judging by the expression you're donning at the moment, aventurine can tell you have him figured out. you were right about his lying earlier, and now you were gonna question him. and what was he going to say? what excuse was he going to come up with now?
would he tell the truth and reveal his most vulnerable bits of himself? what would you even think of that? what would you even say to that? aventurine admits, he's always wanted you to be rendered speechless, but not like this.
and what would you two be afterwards? not just coworkers, as aventurine wanted it to be originally. but you two are far away from becoming close friends. you are the person he needs by his side right now; you are one of the most important assets in the game he is playing. he can't lose you now.
and there's one more reason for aventurine's fears. though he will never admit it: he enjoys spending time with you. from a mission standpoint, you are one of his perfect partners. you balance him with your wit and observation, while he balances you with calculation and persuasiveness. but it's not just that. you're funny (annoyingly so) and you distract him. you make it easy to forget everything else when you're standing in front of him. sometimes, his heart races and all he can think about is you, you, you; every beat of his heart is a syllable of your name.
you make him feel normal. aventurine always knew he was abnormal, whether it was due to his eyes or status, he always knew. and then you waltz in, making sure that you are the weirdest person in the room. it makes him feel okay. safe, even.
safe. aventurine's heart is pounding out of his chest, waiting for you to say something. you make him feel safe, he realizes.
he can't lose you now. not like this.
you tilt your head, glancing up at his face. he watches as your eyes move from the furrow of his eyebrows, to his drooping eyelids, to his pursed lips, and to his slightly clenched jaw. you bite the inside of your lip—a sign that you want to say something, aventurine notes—and let a light sigh slip.
"rest up," you nod, placing your hand on his shoulder. your thumb brushes the fabric of his shirt, barely covering his shoulder. you're nearly touching skin. "you look like you need it," you quietly chuckle. if aventurine heard correctly, you muttered a soft, "yeesh," as well.
aventurine let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. you didn't say a thing. and that may be for the better.
you didn't pry, like you normally would. there were no additional questions. no follow-ups, no interrogations. your fingers brushed his shoulder and he had to make sure he wasn't going delirious from lack of sleep.
nothing was ruined. everything is okay. he is safe. it is a mantra he repeats in his head over and over. he had to make sure it was real. aventurine thought about pinching himself, but feeling your hand on his shoulder was enough evidence for him. your hand hasn't moved. neither has he.
aventurine's eyes are wide when he looks at you. you give him another small smile, "goodnight, okay? i don't wanna see you when i'm awake at 3 in the morning," you joke. "i have a feeling you get real cranky if you don't get your 12 hours of sleep."
first of all, it's 8. aventurine fought off the urge to correct you. this moment was too good to be true.
he couldn't go back to sleep after this. not when he'd be thinking about you and your hand all night. not when he knows that he'd be putting his own hand on his shoulder, recreating how you brushed it with your delicate ones. most of all, he felt like he couldn't fall asleep without you there with him. a chilling realization, he notes.
this is definitely one of the most craziest things he was about to do. insane, actually. when you're about to pull your hand off of aventurine's shoulder, he places his hand on top of yours, trapping it there.
"please, stay," he breathes. it's a shaky plead, and you can feel his hand tighten on top of yours.
"um," he looks around the hallway the two of you were in, "in my room."
you blink, "what?"
aventurine begins to chastise himself. this was a dumb idea. you shouldn't do this. run. but he continues, "could you stay with me in my room tonight?"
is this selfish? possibly. aventurine knows that you and him aren't close enough to share a bed. you guys haven't even shared a drink yet. but he needed you tonight. you help him feel safe. secure. okay. normal.
just for one night, could he indulge? he trusts you.
you blink a few more times. your chest has an unsteady rhythm of rise and fall. has he done it? are you speechless?
"uh. um," you pause. aventurine can tell that you're debating between yes and no. he waits, staring back at you. you bite back down on your lip, turning away.
"you know what. sure."
you and aventurine stumble over to his room in the dark. your footsteps are the only audible noise in the hotel room, and it invites an air of close intimacy between the two of you. he falls into bed first, with you awkwardly clambering in after him.
aventurine lies down like a stick at first. you are not much difference. your back is facing him, and you realize that the two of you cannot fall asleep like this.
you sigh and turn around, facing the blond next to you. it's awkward, for sure. anyone would probably be able to tell that neither of you has gotten into bed with another party before. but you've seen your fair share of movies, so you come up with an idea.
"turn around," you mumble. aventurine listens with no retort on his tongue. you gulp.
"let me know if you don't like this, okay?" you inch closer and closer to the man beside you, until your chest touches his back. you feel him tense, and you inch away a little. you bring your arms out in front of you and wrap them around aventurine.
aventurine's body is taut at first. he's stiff as a board, and you let go a bit to get him to relax. his hand slowly comes up and brushes over where your hand is. he grasps onto it—not as tightly as before—but a light touch, as if he was curious if you were still here or not.
"is this okay?" you whisper. your body is so close to his. you feel insane.
"yes," he responds. he isn't sure if he's capable of saying any more words. aventurine is already worrying that you can hear the way his heart his clamoring. he doesn't want to worry about nonsense spewing from his mouth as well.
your chest is pressed directly against is back. his instincts tell him to squirm away, but is body is telling him to stay right where he is.
later, when he feels your chest synchronize with his, he sighs. your head digs into his shoulder, and he's nearly about to fall asleep. his past nightmare has been forgotten. a topic for another time, he thinks.
you speak up again, your voice no louder than a whisper, "did you know that cuddling leads to an easier time falling asleep?"
aventurine lets out a light chuckle, "really? and how did you know that?"
"oh, i don't know. science?"
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0cta9on · 2 months ago
Text
Today
Length: 1.3k
Genre: Fluff
IVE Liz x Male Reader
(Author's Note: Motivation is hard to come by these days, I hope you can forgive my lack of frequent updates. For the sake of my mental health, please imagine that Liz's eyes are the slightest bit of gray, I swear they look gray but they could easily by colored contacts :> Enjoy <3)
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【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★
It’s a Tuesday evening. Tuesdays always seemed like an awkward time of the week—way better than Mondays obviously, but still too far away from the weekend for any real excitement to build. The trees outside sway with the oncoming breeze, flecks of autumnal browns and golds dancing against the current before gently landing on the ground. The spontaneity of their movements reminds you of a certain someone that’s running a couple minutes late.
You take another sip of your coffee, warming and pleasant, as your gaze stays glued to the windowpane of the cafe, scanning each passing visage for a semblance of familiarity. You never had this habit before knowing her. In a past life, you kept your head down, too sheepish to look most people in the eye. Yet now, you're actively searching for the eyes of strangers, waiting until you see that glimpse of gray like the sky before a storm.
It’s a little creepy, you admit, but a billion weird glances are worth it for that split second where your eyes meet and you feel light as a feather, like the autumn breeze could carry you away with the leaves.
Across the street, the crowd splits like curtains at the start of the play to reveal the star of the show—Liz, weaving through the crowd and wearing that same apologetic look that’s become an unofficial symbol for the start of your meetings.
“I’m so sorry for being late!” she says, her voice ringing alongside the jingle of the cafe’s door.
“It’s okay,” you chuckle. “I haven’t been waiting long.”
“Still,” she removes her scarf and drapes it against her chair, the same cyan checkered scarf you bought her last year after she lost her old one, “This is, like, the millionth time I’ve been late, I feel awful about it!”
Liz rests her head against the table in defeat and you fight every urge to pat her head and comfort her.
“It’s really okay, I swear. I don’t mind waiting a little longer for you,” you say.
A smile dances across her lips, and suddenly you’re floating. “You’re so sweet, you know that?”
Your heart pounds against the confines of your rib cage like a lovesick prisoner begging to be set free. You’ve always wondered how someone like her can exist on this planet. Someone so charming, so beautiful, so perfect in every way that her only flaw is her lack of time management. Irises like raging storm clouds, paired with the personality of a calm evening in the shade. The angle of her smile, the dimples that adorn her cheeks, the luscious waves of her hair—
“Hello?” Liz waves a hand in front of your face, bringing you back down to Earth. “Are you alright?”
“Y-yeah, yeah, sorry, I just, um… Anyways…” Timidly, you rummage through your backpack for the reason why you invited her here in the first place, taking a little extra time to calm your nerves. “H-here,” you mutter, producing a fairly hefty box from your bag.
“Ooooooh!” Her eyes excitedly glean over its matte finish. “Are these the noise-canceling headphones you were talking about yesterday?”
“Yeah, I was wondering if you could help me test them out,” you explain.
“Of course!” With an eager grin, Liz takes out the headphones and places them on her head. “Ready when you are!” she exclaims, flashing you a thumbs up.
Liz has this super power of somehow making even the most mundane tasks feel like you’re having the time of your life. As you fiddle with the bluetooth settings on your phone, you forget that it’s just another Tuesday, you forget about the countless pairs of eyes you scanned through earlier just to find hers, you forgot about the fact that you don’t actually need these headphones and only bought them as an excuse to spend time with her.
“There we go,” you say as you press play on a song. Almost immediately, Liz starts to shimmy her arms in a goofy looking dance as she mumbles along to the lyrics. You don’t even try to hide the smirk on your face. “Can you hear me?”
“Huh?” she utters a little too loud.
Chuckling, you decide to see if the headphones are as good as advertised. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Uh, my mother is at home right now, probably watching a show or something.”
“When’s your birthday?”
“Earl grey? I don’t know, I’m not much of a tea drinker.”
You keel over with laughter from her nonsensical answers while she continues to dance on like no one is watching.
Then, an inkling of an idea slips into your mind. The smile on your face fades as that idea begins to form into something new—an opportunity. What was once glee is now replaced with an anxious excitement. Your heartbeat overpowers all the background noise and all you can focus on is the gray highlighting her eyes.
The calm before the storm.
“Liz, I…” you start, voice shaky and laced with apprehension. It’s not too late to turn back and forget about this. And yet, Liz’s lack of a reaction to your change in tone calms your nerves the slightest amount. You take a deep breath and continue going.
“…I, uh, need to tell you something important. It’s been on my mind for a long while. Like, a year at this point, and, uh…”
A choppy sigh empties from your lungs. There’s no going back after this. As the last bit of oxygen brushes past your lips, you take in another mouthful of air and clamp your eyes shut.
“I like you, Liz. As more than a friend. I really, really like you.”
As soon as those words leave your mouth, you collapse face first into the table like a rickety bridge finally crumbling underneath its own weight. You did it. Sure, she didn’t hear a thing, but you finally vocalized what you’ve been keeping inside and that’s good enough for you. Maybe one day, you’ll finally build up the courage to say it when she can actually hear you. Maybe.
The sound of plastic hitting the table jolts you back up. “Oh right, how was it?” you ask, unable to meet her eyes.
“They, uh… good,” she mutters, uncharacteristically quiet. “I-I mean, they work good.”
“G-good. That’s good.” You grab the headphones from the table and put them back into their box, making sure to unpair them from your—
Your eyes grow wide as you double and triple check your phone screen. The headphones are already unpaired.
Your mind starts to race with a million questions, but only one echoes in your head—How long were they unpaired?
You shoot your gaze back up to Liz, her once milky white cheeks now stained with a bright pink hue. Your mouth opens to say something, but nothing comes out. It’s too late. You know what that reaction means. And you know what’s gonna come next.
“I-I should go,” you stutter, clumsily throwing your belongings into your backpack. How could you have been so reckless? Why didn’t you double check before attempting something as idiotic as this? You’ll have to move cities now, fake your death, create a new life on an undocumented island in the middle of the Pacific—
“I like you too.”
Her voice sounds so sweet and harmonious, you wonder if all the adrenaline pumping through your system is giving you auditory hallucinations. You’ve imagined similar scenarios to these countless times before, but to hear her actually speak those words and mean them is a whole different experience.
The tidal wave of emotions washing over you renders you completely catatonic. So you sit. You let the feelings stew. You let the smile creep onto your face until your cheeks begin to ache. You let your eyes take nervous yet excited glances towards the girl sitting next to you, watching as she does the same. Those beautiful pearls of gray, gazing at you in a way that you’ve only seen in movies, TV shows, and your dreams.
Not so bad for a Tuesday.
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sasheemo · 2 months ago
Text
Friday Thoughts
Chapter 3
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Chapter Summary: Sharing dinner with Agatha and Nicholas shouldn't be too hard, right? But Saturday night at Agatha’s has other plans. As the evening unfolds, tensions escalate and desires ignite, promising anything but an ordinary end.
Chapter Tags: Mutual Pining, Power Dynamics, Gay Panic But Make It Domestic, The Tension Is Tensioning, Accidental Eavesdropping, Masturbation
Word Count: 7.4k
A/N: Chapter 3 is here! Spoiler alert: it’s long. Like, the longest chapter I’ve ever written for any multi-chapter fic, it took a lifetime because I wanted to pack in so much. Honestly, I don’t even want to think about how many times I wrote, re-read, and completely tore it apart because I hated it. It’s been through the wringer, y’all.
Am I 100% happy with it? No. Will I ever be? Also no. But if I keep tweaking it, it’ll never see the light of day, so… here it is, flaws and all!
Let’s just say things are heating up, and this chapter sets the stage for the spicy goodness that’s coming in Chapter 4.
As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading, enjoy 💜
Chapter Index
Read on AO3
The clock creeps closer to seven as you sit on the floor with Nicholas, your hands idly stacking blocks while your thoughts wander to the kitchen. 
Agatha has been in there for a while now, the faint clinking of dishes and the soft rush of running water weaving through the quiet of the house.
At one point, unable to resist, you’d stood and smoothed your sweater nervously before edging toward the kitchen doorway. 
“Do you need a hand with anything?” you’d asked, your voice hesitant as you lingered just outside.
She’d glanced over her shoulder, a wisp of hair falling loose from behind her ear. Her lips curved into a faint, almost absentminded smile. 
“No need, hon.” she’d said lightly, returning to the cutting board without missing a beat. “After a day like today, this is how I unwind. Just keep Nicholas entertained, and make sure you’ve got an appetite.”
You’d nodded, retreating to the living room with a strange mix of relief and unease, unsure whether to feel dismissed or reassured.
Now, your gaze drifts toward the kitchen doorway again, catching fleeting glimpses of Agatha as she moves gracefully through the space. The subtle flicker of her silhouette, the fluid motion of her hands as she reaches for something on the counter, it’s almost hypnotic. 
You find it harder and harder to look away, your eyes drawn back to the doorway every few moments.
Then, the realization that you’re about to sit at the same table as her hits you like a brick wall, and your brain immediately kicks into overdrive. Where will you sit? What will you say? How will you stop yourself from staring at her like some starstruck idiot? The thought alone makes your chest feel tighter, and you let out a quiet, resigned sigh. 
Dinner hasn’t even started, and you’re already losing it.
Finally, her voice calls out from the kitchen, announcing that dinner’s ready.
Nicholas springs up instantly, his blocks forgotten as he rushes toward the kitchen. You follow more cautiously, your pulse quickening as you step into the room.
The table is set simply but elegantly, with the kind of care that feels distinctly Agatha. At the center, there’s a steaming dish of herb-roasted chicken rests on a platter, surrounded by golden baby potatoes and vibrant roasted vegetables. 
The scent of rosemary, garlic, and lemon fills the air, rich and inviting, but it only makes your stomach flip—not from hunger, but from the realization of where you are and who you’re sharing this moment with.
Agatha stands by the head of the table, placing the final plate in its spot, her expression is calm as she straightens and meets your gaze.
“Sit.” she says lightly, gesturing to the seat across from hers as though this is all perfectly normal.
You glance at Nicholas, who’s already climbing into his chair without hesitation. Taking a steadying breath, you lower yourself into the seat she’s indicated, trying not to think too much about how surreal this feels.
Agatha moves with her usual composure, taking her place at the table. She leans back slightly, one hand curling around the stem of her wineglass, her gaze drifting over the food before landing on you. It lingers just long enough to send a flicker of heat up your spine, your pulse quickening under the weight of her attention.
“Let’s eat before it gets cold.” she says, her voice warm but commanding, the kind of tone that makes it sound less like a suggestion and more like a quiet decree. 
“This is so good, Mom! Did you make the potatoes crispy on purpose?” Nicholas asks with a grin, already halfway through his first bite.
“Of course.” she replies, arching an eyebrow as her lips curve playfully. “Is there any other way to do them?”
Nicholas shakes his head vigorously, his mouth now too full to reply properly. You suppress a laugh and glance at Agatha, who catches your eye with an amused glint in her own.
“And what do you think?” she asks, her gaze settling on you like a spotlight. “Passable for a last-minute effort?”
You blink, caught off guard by her directness. 
“It’s delicious.” you say, and you mean it, though the compliment feels inadequate. “I think Nicholas might be right about the potatoes. They’re perfect.”
Agatha tilts her head slightly, as if weighing your response, before giving a soft hum of approval. 
“Good.” she says, her voice low and velvety. “I’d hate to disappoint.” 
Her eyes lock on yours, a spark of mischief flickering just beneath the surface, as if she’s gauging your reaction, or outright daring you to respond. 
Then, as if to twist the knife just a little deeper, she adds a slow, languid wink that sends a sharp jolt straight through you. 
You’re left speechless, grasping for a response that never comes. Agatha, of course, doesn’t wait for one. 
She shifts her attention back to Nicholas, asking about his latest castle design, her tone light and engaging as though she hasn’t just left you squirming in your seat. 
As they talk, you force yourself to focus on their conversation, chiming in occasionally, but your mind keeps wandering. Every so often, your gaze drifts back to her, trying—and failing—to reconcile the poised, commanding Agatha you’ve come to know with the one sitting at this table.
There’s a warmth to her, something relaxed and comfortingly domestic. It’s strange, watching her here, casually slicing into a piece of chicken and humoring Nicholas’ endless stream of questions.
And yet, as foreign as this moment feels, there’s something about it that tugs at you, a quiet sense of belonging you hadn’t anticipated.
As dinner ends, you rise from the table, stacking your empty wineglass atop your plate in an effort to make a smooth exit.
“Thanks again for dinner.” you say, keeping your tone light but sincere. “It was wonderful. I should probably let you two enjoy the rest of your evening—”
“Wait!” Nicholas bursts out, his chair scraping against the floor as he jumps to his feet. “You can’t go! We have to watch a movie!”
You gape at him, eyes wide, like he’s just suggested skydiving without a parachute or eating soup with a fork.
“Uh, a movie?” you repeat, glancing between him and Agatha. 
Surely, this is where she steps in to say it’s too late, that it’s time to wind down.
But to your surprise, Agatha simply raises an eyebrow, her expression amused. 
“A movie.” she echoes, swirling the last sip of wine in her glass. “Isn’t it a little late for that?”
“You always say that! Come on, mom. It’s Saturday!” Nicholas complains dramatically, his hands on his hips in a way that’s almost comical.
You open your mouth to help, to offer a dismissal Nicholas might accept—“Maybe next time” or “Your mom probably wants to relax.”—but before you can get a word out, Agatha’s gaze shifts to you.
“You did say your evening was wide open. So, what’s it going to be, hon? Care to join us?” she asks, leaning back slightly in her chair. 
Each syllable feels like a finger pressing to the one thought you’re trying desperately to bury: that not only do you have nowhere else to be, but if you’re honest with yourself, there’s nowhere you’d rather be.
Her lips curve into a knowing smile, the kind that suggests she’s already read your mind and is simply waiting for you to catch up.
“I—well, I don’t…” you start, your voice faltering as your mind scrambles for a coherent response. “I mean, I don’t want to intrude or—”
“Intrude?” she interrupts, her brows lifting in mock surprise. “On my son’s demands and my… oh-so-thrilling evening of cleaning up after dinner?” She leans forward slightly, her smile softening but never losing its edge. “Come now, you’ll have to try harder than that.”
Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you scramble to find the right words, your tongue suddenly feeling two sizes too big. 
“I just thought—you know, maybe you’d rather spend the evening relaxing. Just the two of you. I wouldn’t want to… overstay.” you manage, your voice wavering as your face burns hotter by the second.
“I wouldn’t exactly call the cinematic torture Nicky usually puts me through my ideal way to relax. But if you stay, at least I won’t have to endure it alone.” she muses, the words landing with practiced subtlety, as though she’s tossing the suggestion into the air to see how it falls. 
It’s not quite an invitation, not explicitly—but the subtle curve of her lips and the way her eyes insist on finding yours tell a different story, one she keeps ambiguous enough to leave you guessing.
If you choose the professional route—thank her again, grab your things, and leave—would you ever forgive yourself? Could you really walk away now, knowing you’d just turned down the chance to sit in her orbit a little longer? 
But staying… staying feels like opening a whole other door. The kind of door that leads to a night even more absurd than this one already feels, where the lines between reality and your own impossible daydreams blur so completely, you’re not sure you’d know the difference.
You’re stuck in the tension of that choice, the possibilities pressing down on you, when Nicholas’ voice explodes through the moment, shattering it entirely.
“I’ll go pick a movie!” he announces, his excitement bubbling over as he bolts toward the living room, a blur of motion and enthusiasm. The spell is broken, and you exhale, blinking as reality floods back in.
You glance back at Agatha, half-expecting her to change her mind now that he’s out of earshot. Instead, she leans back in her chair again, her eyes glinting with that usual quiet amusement. 
“There you have it.” she quips lightly, gesturing toward the living room. “Looks like the decision’s been made for you.”
Her words land with a calm finality, and for a moment, you simply stand there, unsure of what to do next. Before your nerves can get the better of you, you decide to grasp at the first thing that feels remotely purposeful.
“I’ll help clear the table.” you offer, your voice quick, almost rushed. “It’s the least I can do.”
You reach for a plate before the words have fully left your mouth, but as you stack the dishes and carry them to the sink, you can feel her gaze trailing you, quiet and intent.
You roll up your sleeves, the simple motion grounding you as you turn on the faucet. The water’s warmth seeps into your skin, and the rhythmic clatter of dishes offers a fragile sort of focus. 
For a moment, you dare to think you’ve managed to steady yourself.
But then, the scrape of her chair against the floor echoes through the room. 
The steady rhythm you thought you’d found falters as you hear her footsteps closing the distance between you. She moves into the space beside you, her presence altering the air itself. 
The faint clink of glasses being placed on the counter pulls your focus for a second, but it’s the feeling of her hand brushing against your waist that makes your body freeze.
With the warmth of her palm burning through the fabric of your sweater, the plate in your hands slips through your grip. You fumble, the sharp sound of porcelain against the sink cutting through the quiet as you catch it just in time.
“Careful, hon.” she murmurs, her voice impossibly close, rich with that maddening calm. But there’s no hint of apology, just the smug confidence of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing.
All of a sudden, the water streaming over your hands feels unbearably loud, each droplet amplified against your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the roaring in your ears. 
Each of your senses narrows, zeroing in on the spot where her hand rests against you. Her touch isn’t pressing, nor forceful, it’s just there, as if she’s delicately testing the boundaries of the moment.
Your cheeks burn, and you’re sure she can see it, but you can’t bring yourself to look at her, not when every nerve in your body feels like it’s caught fire. 
Before the moment stretches into something unbearable, Nicholas’ voice cuts through the stillness. 
“I found the movie!” he calls from the living room, his excitement palpable. “Come on, it’s starting!”
Agatha straightens, her hand leaving your waist, and the absence feels almost as intense as the touch itself. 
“Duty calls.” she says smoothly, her composure unshaken as she heads toward the living room without looking back.
You exhale shakily, gripping the edge of the sink for balance as you force yourself to calm down. With one last glance at the water, you shut it off and follow her, stubbornly pushing aside the ghost of her touch that refuses to fade from your body.
When you step into the living room, Nicholas is already curled up in one corner of the couch, wrapped in a blanket with the remote clutched triumphantly in his hands. His grin is so wide it’s almost glowing, radiating the pure victory of having secured his movie of choice.
It’s a scene of pure innocence, simple and easy, but your focus falters when your gaze shifts to Agatha.
She pauses at the edge of the couch, leaning down to unfasten her heels with graceful precision. The soft thud as they hit the rug feels somehow amplified in the quiet of the room. A low, contented sigh escapes her lips as she straightens, the sound carrying the unmistakable weight of a long day finally set aside.
Then, she sinks onto the central cushion of the couch, elegantly tucking one leg beneath her, folding into the space with casual confidence. One arm lifts to drape over the backrest, her fingers splayed idly.
You hesitate, your heart stuttering as the realization hits.
You weren’t prepared for this. You’d assumed Nicholas would sit between you, a natural, innocent buffer that would keep you at a safe, comfortable distance. But now, the couch looks impossibly small.
Panic rises even more when you realize you’ve been standing halfway between the kitchen and the couch for far too long, awkwardly frozen in place like prey caught in a snare.
For a fleeting moment, you genuinely consider sitting on the floor. But, as always, Agatha’s timing is impeccable. 
Her voice cuts through your inner turmoil like silk, laced with that signature teasing amusement that makes you want to both melt and scream.
“Are you planning to stand there all night?” she asks as her eyes lock onto yours. She tilts her head slightly, patting the cushion beside her. “Come, sit.”
Forcing your legs to cooperate, you move toward the couch, every step slower than the last. By the time you lower yourself onto the cushion, your body feels coiled, as if every muscle is bracing for impact.
You try to sit casually, like you’re perfectly at ease, teetering on the very edge of the cushion as if that extra inch might save you. 
But the effort is useless. The space between you is practically nonexistent, laughably small, and you’re acutely aware of every inch separating you.
She makes no effort to adjust her position or move her arm, leaving it draped lazily across the backrest, her fingers resting just shy of your shoulder. 
You clasp your hands tightly in your lap, fixing your gaze on the screen with a determination that borders on desperation.
Nicholas, oblivious as ever, starts the movie. The opening scene bursts to life on the screen, colorful and loud, his excitement spilling over as he narrates every detail. 
You nod along absently, keeping your eyes fixed ahead. But the truth is, you couldn’t explain a single thing happening in the movie if your life depended on it.
All of your attention is wrapped around Agatha, around her presence and the quiet weight of it. It’s nothing short of consuming, and every movement she makes feels seismic: the subtle shift of her posture, the barely audible rustle of her clothes as she settles deeper into the cushions, the gradual ease of her shoulders as though she’s letting the weight of the day melt away.
You feel like you’re about to lose your mind trying to understand how she can appear so perfectly composed while you sit there, silently coming apart at the seams.
And then, without warning, her knee brushes against yours.
Instinctively, you shift slightly to the side, leaning further into the backrest, but the movement only makes things worse. 
The arm that had been resting lazily behind you is now definitely touching your shoulder.
Your breath catches, your body locking up before you can stop it, every nerve screaming at the contact. 
Surely, she’ll move away. She has to.
But she doesn’t.
Neither her leg nor her arm budges, as if the contact is completely natural, as if she didn’t even notice. You, on the other hand, feel like you’re drowning in the sensation. 
Her proximity completely floods your senses. It feels as if the world has shrunk to the points were your bodies are touching, the faint pressure on your leg and shoulder anchoring you to the spot. 
And then, as if to seal your fate, you feel her gaze on you.
You don’t dare look at her, but from the corner of your eye you can see her head turned toward you. Her eyes are fixed on your face, and they might as well be burning holes through your head for how intensely she’s staring.
Everything begins to blur, the room fading as your thoughts swallow you whole. Once again, you find yourself grasp at rationality, trying to explain away her behavior and your own feelings, convincing yourself it’s all in your head. 
But the longer you sit there, the harder it is to believe that.
It’s been four months since you started working for her, four months of walking into this house, telling yourself you were foolish for even entertaining the thought that someone like Agatha Harkness could ever see you that way, as anything more than Nicky’s babysitter. 
During all this time, you’ve dismissed every fleeting glance, every teasing word, every ambiguous gesture, chalking it all up to her natural charm. You convinced yourself you were imagining things, creating meaning where there was none, deluding yourself into believing you could ever hold her attention.
But tonight? Tonight feels undeniably different. Especially after what she said last night. 
The tension has been simmering beneath the surface for this whole time, each moment building on the last, and now there’s no mistaking it: Agatha’s behavior is intentional, deliberate in a way that leaves no room for doubt.
These aren’t the actions of someone indulging in a meaningless game. Sure, Agatha has a very teasing nature, you know that. But she isn’t careless, she doesn’t do unprofessionalism. She wouldn’t risk making you uncomfortable—or worse, crossing a line—without a reason, especially when it involves someone so closely tied to Nicholas.
You wonder if you’ve been blind to something that’s been there all along, oblivious to what’s been right in front of you—if you’ve had an actual chance all this time and simply refused to see it.
Because at this point, no other explanation fits.
Your heart races, the possibility exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure, a mix of longing and fear swelling in your chest.
When the credits finally roll, Nicholas lets out a loud yawn, stretching his arms above his head before slumping back into the couch. His eyelids droop heavily, but there’s a satisfied smile on his face.
“That was the best movie night ever!” he declares with a sleepy grin, his voice softening as exhaustion starts to win. 
He turns toward you, pushes off the blanket and practically climbs over Agatha to crawl over and wrap his arms around your shoulders in a hug that’s warm and unexpected.
“Thanks for staying.” he murmurs, his voice muffled against your sweater. “It was really fun doing this with you and Mom.”
Your heart stutters in your chest, and you blink rapidly, taken aback by the tenderness of it all. 
Words fail you, any attempt at a response dissolving into nothing as an involuntary smile tugs at your lips. You feel yourself melt into the embrace, your hands settling lightly against his back as you return the hug gently.
Nicholas pulls back, his grin bright despite his sleepy eyes, and he turns toward Agatha, who’s already rising from the couch.
“Mom, can we do this again soon?” he asks, rubbing his eyes as he pushes himself to his feet.
“We’ll see.” Agatha replies smoothly, resting a hand on his back to steady him. “Now come on. Bedtime.”
Just before they step out of the living room to head upstairs, Agatha glances back over her shoulder. Her head tilts ever so slightly, the soft glow of the room catching the sharps curves of her profile. Her eyes find yours, holding them with an intensity that feels almost disarming, and for a moment, it feels like the air stills around her.
“Wait here, won’t you?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper laced with quiet insistence “I’ll be back in a minute.”
You don’t even think, your head nods instinctively, a reflex before your mind can catch up.
As she turns away, you catch a faint glint in her eyes, something unreadable that looks almost like… anticipation?
The quiet sound of their footsteps fades into the background, leaving the room steeped in silence. It’s just you now, alone in the living room, with nothing but the weight of her words and the echo of your own thoughts.
The thing is, the babysitter would have left already. 
You’d planned to leave the moment she was done working, when Nicholas no longer needed you and when Agatha was free to reclaim her evening. 
But then came dinner, a polite invitation you couldn’t bring yourself to decline. And later, when the plates were cleared and you’d readied yourself to go, the movie became yet another reason to stay.
But now it’s late. Nicholas is heading to bed. There’s no reason for you to be here. And yet… she wants you to. For the third time tonight, you’re faced with a choice, though deep down, you know the decision has already been made. 
You’ll wait. Because she asked you to. Because it’s her.
You lean back against the couch, exhaling shakily. Your mind spins, grasping at the threads of the evening, trying to weave them into something coherent.
Agatha descends the stairs a few minutes later, the faint sound of her steps barely registering over the buzz of your thoughts. She doesn’t spare you a glance, doesn’t say a word, moving with singular purpose as she crosses the living room and disappears into the kitchen. 
The faint clink of glass and the soft pop of a cork being pulled echo faintly, carrying with them a sense of inevitability that sets your heart racing.
Moments later, she reemerges with the bottle of wine from dinner in one hand and two glasses in the other. Her movements are smooth, practiced, as if this is all part of some unspoken ritual. 
She sets the glasses on the coffee table and pours the wine with precision before handing you one and taking the other for herself.
Then, despite the now ample space on the couch, she chooses the same spot as before, her knee brushing against yours once again when she crosses her legs.
“Cheers.” she says lightly, raising her glass in your direction.
“Cheers.” you reply, the word coming out softer than you intended as you lift your glass. 
The first sip settles warmly in your chest, cutting through some of the tension of the evening.
For a while, the two of you talk easily. She asks about Nicholas and your morning job, and you gladly share little stories about his antics and your shifts at the café. 
Agatha listens intently, her occasional hums and soft chuckles weaving seamlessly into the conversation.
You ask her about her work, though she keeps her answers vague, offering only the occasional quip about paperwork, tedious calls and demanding clients. It’s clear she’s deflecting, but her tone is so effortlessly charming that you don’t press further. 
Instead, you find yourself relaxing into the rhythm of the exchange, the wine loosening the edges of your nerves.
By the time the third glass is poured, the atmosphere feels incredibly comfortable, like the two of you have settled into a pocket of time removed from the rest of the world. 
You’re leaning back against the couch now, your own legs crossed on the cushion, and the soft hum of casual conversation filling the space between you.
But then, completely out of nowhere, the words spill out of your mouth with an abruptness that shifts the air immediately.
“Do you always drink this much with your babysitters?” you ask, your tone is light, almost playful, but there’s an edge of nervousness beneath it.
Agatha’s response comes slower than expected, but when it does, it lands like a deliberate blow.
“Only the ones worth breaking the rules for.” her voice is low, sultry, and laced with an edge of amusement that makes the room feel impossibly smaller.
Your throat goes completely dry on the spot, and you try to will your brain to keep up, to find something clever to say. A snarky remark, a witty comeback, an equally teasing reply, anything.
You fumble with your glass, taking a sip longer than necessary, the wine coursing through you like liquid fire. Each drop seems to stoke the embers in your chest, unfurling in waves, merging with the simmering frustration that has been tightening its grip on you all night.
Boldness—fueled by the wine, the smoldering tension, and the enigma that is Agatha—surges to the surface.  Before you can think, the words slip out.
“Why do you do this?” your voice is sharper than you intended, and it cuts through the air between you like a knife.
Agatha raises an eyebrow, her smirk deepening as she leans back against the couch. 
“Do what, exactly?” she asks, feigning innocence, though the glint in her eyes betrays her.
“This.” you gesture vaguely between the two of you, frustration bleeding into your tone. “The teasing, the looks, the… the way you—” you break off, exhaling sharply. “It’s like you enjoy watching me lose my mind.”
She chuckles darkly, the sound almost dangerous, and it sends a shiver down your spine. She sets her glass on the coffee table, her movements unhurried, calculated.
“Maybe I do.” she murmurs, her tone dropping into something quieter, more intimate. Her gaze locks onto yours, and she leans forward slightly, slowly closing the distance between you inch by inch.
Your pulse quickens, every nerve in your body on high alert. She’s close enough now that you can feel the faint warmth of her body.
But she doesn’t stop. She leans in further, her face now just a breath away from yours. Her eyes flick down to your lips for a fleeting moment, and your breath catches.
“You’re not the only one losing their mind tonight, you know.” her voice drops to a whisper, low and raw, and you’re pretty sure your pulse flatlines. 
The world around you fades, the only thing grounding you is the way her icy gaze holds you captive. Your heart pounds in your ears, and you think this is it—this is where the line between you finally blurs.
But then your eyes flicker down, catching sight of the glass still clutched in your hand, and reality slams into you like a freight train.
The wine—it’s been warming you, emboldening you, loosening you. And now, with her so close, you can’t shake the fear that it’s not just you under its influence. What if this moment isn’t real? What if it’s the wine, not her, driving the spark in her eyes, the closeness of her breath? The thought twists in your chest, sharp and painful. You don’t want this, her, to be something fleeting, something hazy and tainted by doubt.
You pull back, the movement abrupt and jarring, completely annihilating the moment. 
Agatha freezes, her body leaning back instinctively, confusion flickering in her eyes.
“I can’t.” you say quickly, your voice trembling slightly. “Not like this.”
Her brow furrows, and she tilts her head. 
“Not like what?” she asks, her tone still smooth but tinged with curiosity, fascination even.
“With… with the wine.” you stammer, struggling to find the right words. “I don’t want to— I mean, I don’t know if—” You let out a shaky exhale, setting your glass down beside hers. “I just… I can’t.”
You rise to your feet, your movements hurried and almost clumsy as you try to put some distance between the two of you. 
Agatha doesn’t stop you, but her gaze follows your every move, unreadable and heavy.
“I should go.” you mumble, your frustration bubbling to the surface. Even though you’re not sure if it’s directed at her, at yourself, or at the entire night.
You barely take a couple of steps toward the door when Agatha’s voice calls after you, firm and unyielding.
“You shouldn’t leave.” 
Her voice echoes through the room, and even though her words aren’t a real command, they sure feel like one.
You halt mid-step and slowly turn to face her, your chest tightening at the sight. She’s still seated on the couch, her posture casual but her gaze piercing, pinning you in place.
“It’s late.” she says, her tone measured, as if explaining something obvious. “You’ve had wine. The roads are dark. I’d rather not spend the rest of the night worrying about whether or not you made it home safely.”
Her words are practical, almost dismissive, as though the charged moment between you never happened. But there’s something beneath the surface—a subtle current in her voice that makes it impossible to tell if she’s truly unaffected or simply hiding it well.
“I’m fine.” your reply is automatic, defensive. But even as you say it, the shakiness in your voice betrays you.
“You don’t look fine, hon. You look like someone about to storm out into the night just to prove a point. Agatha says, her tone steady, though her expression softens just slightly. 
There’s still an edge of steel in her eyes, a quiet challenge buried beneath her words.
“I can handle myself.” you bite out, though the words sound hollow, even to you.
She exhales softly, the faintest flicker of something—annoyance? amusement?—crossing her features. 
Then, with a surprising grace for someone that just had three glasses of wine, she rises from the couch and closes the distance between you.
“I don’t doubt that. But tell me this: what exactly are you proving by leaving right now? And to whom?”
Her words hit their mark, and you feel the fight drain out of you. Because she’s right, you’re not leaving because it’s practical. You’re leaving because you’re overwhelmed, unsure, afraid of what staying might mean or lead to.
Agatha’s eyes stay locked on yours as she continues, her voice taking on a tone that’s almost… tender. 
“Stay.” she says simply, the single word carrying so much weight it feels like it might crush you. “It’s late. There’s no reason for you to go rushing out into the night when you don’t have to.”
You glance toward the door, then back at her, weighing your options.
The truth is, you are tired—tired of the emotions, of the push and pull of the evening that’s left you feeling completely unraveled. The idea of staying, of letting the night end on a quieter note, is far too tempting to resist.
“Fine.” you finally answer, your own tone colder than you expected.
“Good.” she says, stepping back to give you space. “The guest room is ready. It’s not much, but it’ll do for tonight.”
She turns and starts toward the stairs. You hesitate for a moment, your mind still spinning with the events of the past hours, before following her.
You sigh, exhaustion settling into your bones as you reach the top of the stairs. Right now, none of it matters—not the tension, not the confusion, not the endless spiraling questions that have chased you all night. All you want is to sleep, to let the haze of the wine fade away in the quiet refuge of a bed. Whether it’s your own or the one in Agatha’s guest room, it doesn’t seem to make a difference anymore.
You barely notice as Agatha pauses by a linen closet, pulling out a neatly folded towel and an oversized t-shirt.
“This should do.” she states, handing them to you. 
Her tone is neutral, almost too casual, as if nothing about the evening had been remotely unusual. Her gaze doesn’t linger as long as usual though, she doesn’t meet your eyes for more than a second before nodding toward the guest room door.
“That’s yours for the night.” she gestures briefly, indicating the room between the bathroom and Nicholas’ door at the far end of the hall. “Bathroom’s just here.” she continues, pointing to the door next to hers on the opposite end.
“Thanks.” you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper as you grip the towel and shirt tightly.
Agatha hums faintly, stepping back toward her room. For a second, you think she might say more, but instead, she simply glances over her shoulder.
“Goodnight.”, her tone is warm, yet the word feels strangely clipped. 
Before you can respond, she slips into her room and disappears in the ensuite bathroom.
You stand there for a few seconds, awkwardly rooted in place. Your own “Goodnight” comes out almost as an afterthought, mumbled into the silence as you step into the guest room and close the door behind you.
The room is elegant and cozy, a neatly made bed dominating the space and a single lamp casting a warm glow over the soft cream walls. 
You drop the towel onto the edge of the bed and hold up the shirt, its fabric soft and worn in a way that feels oddly intimate.
You undress and slip it over your head, only to be immediately engulfed by Agatha’s perfume. It clings to the fabric, potent and intoxicating, and for a moment, you allow the scent to wash over you and flood your senses.
Heat coils low in your stomach, and you shake your head quickly, brushing off whatever effect wearing something of hers seems to be having on you. 
With a steadying breath, you fold the towel over your arm and step back out into the hall, heading towards the bathroom.
The splash of cold water against your face is grounding, but even as you dry off and prepare to head back to your room, you can’t shake the way her scent fills you nostrils with every minuscule movement.
Stepping into the hallway, you’re greeted by darkness, broken only by a faint sliver of light seeping from beneath your door. 
You take a step toward the guest room, but a faint sound slices through the stillness.
It’s almost imperceptible, a noise so soft and muffled that, for a second, you wonder if you imagined it.
You hold your breath as your eyes flick toward the ajar door of Agatha’s room. You think about just brushing it off, receding to the relative safety of the guest room and pretending you heard nothing.
But then you hear it again. 
Your feet move before your brain can catch up, carrying you a step closer, as quietly as possible on the wooden floorboards.
And the closer you get, the clearer the sound becomes.
Another low, broken noise escapes, this time accompanied by a faint rustle of fabric. 
The realization dawns slowly, burning through you like wildfire. Your stomach twists, heat pooling low in your abdomen as the truth of what you’re hearing sinks in.
You consider retreating. You do. But your legs refuse to move. 
Something keeps you rooted in place, drawn forward as though compelled by a force beyond your control.
Your bare feet barely make a sound against the cool wood floor as you edge closer to Agatha’s door, muffled moans growing more vivid with every inch of space you gain. You can hear her breathing now, shallow and uneven, each exhale laced with pleasure that seems to echo in your own chest.
Your knees weaken as you reach the doorframe. And then you hear it.
“Yes… oh fuck, yes.”
Her rough voice rips through you like a physical force. The raw intimacy of it, the unguarded need, sends a sharp jolt straight down your spine. Your lips part on a shaky breath, your thighs pressing together instinctively against the unbearable ache building between them.
Every nerve in your body is on fire, wetness pools between your legs, and you feel a flush creeping up your neck, your skin hypersensitive to even the faintest brush of air.
Another broken moan follows, and it takes every ounce of restraint not to make a sound in return.
You close your eyes for a moment, trying to will yourself back to reality, to sanity. But all you can picture is her—Agatha, in the darkness of her room, her head tilted back, her lips parted as she whispers filthy, desperate things into the still air.
You can’t stop imagining what it would feel like to be the reason for those sounds.
The thought is intoxicating, dangerous, and far too tempting.
But you know you can’t let your mind go there. You know this is the moment to turn around, to leave, to escape before you lose yourself completely.
Pressing your back against the wall beside the doorframe, you focus on steadying your breath, though every nerve in your body feels alive, thrumming with a tension that leaves you trembling. Each sound she makes only tightens the coil in your stomach, the ache quickly approaching unbearable levels.
You take one last, shaky breath as she whispers another low curse that shoots straight through your core. Then, with every ounce of willpower you can muster, you step back, your movements shaky and reluctant. 
Each step toward the guest room feels like a battle, every fiber of your being screaming at you to turn back.
You step into the guest room and close the door behind you, leaning against it trying to steady yourself. Your heart still pounds, each beat reverberating through your chest, your entire body tingling in the wake of what you just experienced.
The room feels quiet, mercifully so, the sounds that had haunted you moments ago are now gone, silenced by the thick walls of Agatha’s home. You take a moment to reassure yourself—there’s no way Nicholas could hear anything, not from his room at the other end of the hallway. Agatha knows her house, knows its secrets. Of course, she’d be careful.
With that thought, you push yourself off the door and move toward the bed. You slip under the covers and reach for the lamp on the nightstand, turning it off. 
Darkness envelopes you, but it does nothing to quiet the sensations coursing through your body. The ache low in your stomach has only intensified since you left her door.
Your fingers tighten on the edge of the blanket, your breathing uneven as you squeeze your thighs together, desperate for even the smallest bit of relief.
But it’s no use. The ache is too insistent, too consuming. The memory of her moans, her breathy curses, fills your mind. You can still hear them, low and filthy, the rawness of her need reverberating throughout your whole body.
Your hand moves on its own, slipping beneath the fabric of her shirt. Your fingers trail over your stomach, climbing higher until they reach your breast. The moment your palm cups the soft flesh, a sharp jolt of pleasure shoots through you.
You suck in a breath, biting down hard on your lip to muffle the quiet whimper that escapes your throat. 
Your thumb brushes over your nipple, circling it slowly until it hardens beneath your touch. The sensation sends a wave of heat straight to your core, your hips shifting restlessly beneath the covers.
Your other hand moves lower, brushing over the waistband of your panties. There’s a moment of hesitation, but it’s brief. The heat pooling between your thighs is unbearable now, and you can’t deny yourself any longer. 
Your fingers slip beneath the fabric, sliding over the wetness that greets you. You gasp quietly, the slick evidence of your arousal coating your fingertips. 
“Fuck…” you whisper, the word slipping out unbidden, the sound barely audible but laced with desperation.
Your fingers glide over your clit, the swollen bundle of nerves already sensitive, and you bite back another moan. You begin to circle it slowly, the pressure just enough to stoke the fire burning in your stomach.
But you need more. You press your fingers lower, sliding one inside yourself, then another. The stretch is delicious, the rhythm instinctive as your hips buck against your hand. 
You curl your fingers, hitting just the right spot, and the pleasure that ripples through you makes your toes curl.
Your hand moves faster now, your palm grinding against your clit with each thrust of your fingers. The wet sounds of your movements would be obscene if they weren’t muffled by the covers, but instead of embarrassment, it only fuels your arousal.
And then, Agatha seizes complete control of your mind. You imagine her fingers instead of yours, the way they’d explore you, claim you. You picture her leaning over you, her voice condescending and commanding as she tells you how good you feel, how she can’t get enough of you.
Your back arches off the bed as your hand moves to your other breast, kneading it roughly. Your nipples are so sensitive now that each pinch, each roll between your fingers, leaves you wetter, the slickness between your thighs growing with each needy, breathless motion, soaking your fingers as you lose yourself completely to the sensation.
You imagine her lips replacing your hand, her tongue flicking over the hardened peak before she bites down, just enough to make you gasp. Your hips jerk involuntarily, the image too vivid, too real.
Her voice fills your mind, rough and low, the way she cursed earlier. But this time, it’s for you.
“That’s it, baby. Just like that. Let go for me.”
You can almost feel her breath against your skin, her weight pressing you into the mattress, her fingers fucking you with a precision that leaves you shaking.
Your fingers thrust deeper, harder, curling just right as your thumb flicks over your clit. The tension in your stomach coils tighter, impossibly tight, until you’re teetering on the edge.
“Agatha…” you whisper, her name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.
The sound of it, the feel of it on your tongue, pushes you over the edge. 
The tension snaps, pleasure exploding through you wave after wave, so intense it leaves you trembling.
Your thighs clamp around your hand, your hips grinding against your fingers as the aftershocks ripple through you. Your other hand grips the sheets tightly, your knuckles white as you ride out every last pulse of pleasure.
For a long moment, you lie there, your chest heaving, your body a trembling, oversensitive mess. Slowly, your hand slips away, the wetness on your fingers a reminder of just how badly you want her.
You don’t bother cleaning up, your limbs too heavy to move. Sleep tugs at you, irresistible in the aftermath of your release. 
As your eyes drift shut, her name rests on the edges of your consciousness, a soft echo you can’t help but chase.
232 notes · View notes
drvscarlett · 10 months ago
Text
Let Him Cook Pt 3
Charles Leclerc x MasterChef contestant!reader
Series Part: 1, 2, 3
Taglist: @bookstore-of-dreams @barcelonaloverf1life @ririyulife @minkyungseokie @mehrmonga @sltwins @charlesgirl16 @six-call @spideybv28 @casperlikej
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"I honestly can't believe that this is actually happening"you told Charles as you sit down on your couch with your laptop.
The past few days have been a lot of preparation for the three most important dish of your life. You have been replicating and timing yourself to make sure that you are a perfectly well-oiled machine during the competition proper.
Charles is currently in Abu Dhabi for the final race which is a complete bummer. He wanted to be there but work is work. So that's why he spends most of his available time doing a facetime with you. It was pretty helpful since his conversations with you helps soothe your nerve and helps avoid overthinking the whole process.
"You got this mon amour. You know I always believed in you since day 1" Charles grinned.
"I really hope that everything goes well tomorrow"
"It will and I will be watching all the way from Yas Marina to hear that my girlfriend is a MasterChef winner"Charles proudly states "I'm really getting so excited, is this how you feel when you watch me race?"
You laughed "Oh mon ami, you are much more stressful to watch with your high speed corners and those wet race misshaps"
"But doesn't this technically make me your WAG if you win? Don't they have WAG gossip accounts that I could be part in?"
It was moments like this that Charles made everything lighter by focusing on trivial things. It helps a lot with the building pressure that everyone has been placing on your shoulder.
Y/NCooks posted a photo.
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Y/NCooks the boyfriend is so supportive. I'm pretty excited for today!
Gordongram goodluck Y/N! Boyfriend reveal when you win?
User1 Gordon is so real for that Y/NCooks thanks Chef! Lets see???
User2 win or lose, you already made it Y/N!
User3 its just so wholesome to see how Y/N keeps the relationship private but never secret. I ship them so much
User4 i don't know if i want to be Y/N or I want to be her boyfriend
User5 goodluck Y/N! Get that trophy!
Final episode.
Former contestants lined up at the balcony with some of your friends and close relatives. It was a very surreal moment because you used to watch this sitting in the comforts of your own home and now you are actually the one being watched.
The moment that the clock starts ticking, you started to work. There was no room for any delays today as you were creating dishes after dishes. You have to use your time wisely so that you can finish the dishes you have in mind.
"Charles, were going out to drink, are you coming?"
"You guys go ahead, I'm going to watch something" The minute that the cars were back in the garage and the ceremony was over, Charles couldn't wait to go back to his hotel room. He was to turn on his TV to watch the live broadcast of the MasterChef Australia.
He was just on time with the last five minutes of the appetizer round, technically he haven't miss much. You were focused in tasting everything and ensuring that all the flavors are there. You plated really well and it shows how much you have grown. Charles is extremely proud of you.
"Aren't you a little worried to be working on the octopus so early on?" the judges wondered. The judges were currently tasting the soup that you have given them.
"I know that its a lot of risk but I have to push for it to show my talent"
The judges find the soup beautifully seasoned but their only slight flaw with the dish is that the octopus is a little bit tough due to the water not boiling hot enough. Its that flaw that sets a 2 point difference with your fellow contestant.
Charles could feel his eyes getting heavier from all the events earlier that day but he really wants to stay awake. He believes that Y/N could do it. The main course was a stronger dish for Y/N which is how she tied the score with her fellow contestant.
The dessert is the make and break for Y/N. Charles knew that its also her greatest opponent as you prefer savory over sweet. However, seeing the way that you are cooking right now that you have massively improved your skills in the sweets department.
It was tense as you run back and forth to the freezer to make sure that the pana cotta is chilled enough while you went back to your work station to mix the pot. Charles almost had a headache after seeing you trip over in the last 20 minutes of the session.
But all in all you pulled it off. The dessert was stunning and exquisite as the judges noticed. It was an elevated traditional pana cotta
"I believe we have made a decision and the scores are very very close with each other" one of the judges concluded.
The guests from the balcony went down to join the homecooks and Charles wishes that he could have been there for you. Instead, he records the moment through his phone. The announcement will be here in any seconds now.
"And the MasterChef Australia winner is....."
MasterChefAU just posted a photo.
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Liked by Gordongram, Charles_Leclerc, and 670,000 others
MasterChefAU congratulations to Y/NCooks you are the MasterChef Australia winner!
User1 That was worth the wait, Y/NCooks is now a masterchef winner!
User2 she was so brilliant! what a performance!!!
User3 tell me why is Charles Leclerc is in the likes, isn't it like 4am there in Abu Dhabi?? Didn't you just race sir???
User4 Seems like Charles is a fan of MC Australia User5 Answer the crowd Charles_Leclerc User6 Didn't Arthur and Lorenzo guest in MC Australia, they say they are good friends of Y/N User7 That is some interesting information User6
Y/NCooks posted a photo.
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liked by MasterChefAU, Charles_Leclerc, and 308,000 others
Y/NCooks I have a new plate!!!!
It was such a wonderful experience to be a part of this kitchen and to win this prestigious award. Thank you so much for all your support and love. This is such a dream come true!!
User1 im so proud of her
User2 Can't wait what's next for you!
Gordongram Well-deserve! You did amazing!
Y/NCooks this means a lot Chef! Thank you for watching
MasterChefAU Our winner!!!!
Charles_Leclerc ���❤️
User3 what even is that? you are putting sebastian vettel to shame with your rizz User4 Charles, she has a boyfriend!!!!!!! User5 Bro really thinks he can bag Y/N when he can't even cook Y/NCooks Thank you :')) Charles_Leclerc liked this comment. User6 SHUT UP, CHARLES IS COOKING SOMETHING User7 Silence for Y/N's bf, Charles is coming after your seat!
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featherandferns · 4 months ago
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5. “Ah Yes. Betrayl, I’m Familiar With That”
22. “You’re My Best Friend” Angst Pleaseee
🫂❤️‍🩹
21. "You're my best friend"
I've actually already done prompt 5 (read wasps here) and prompt 21 ("You're my best friend" is 21 not 22), so I just did an angsty prompt 21 instead of redoing both- I hope that's okay! <3
Season 4 spoilers kind of? Just episode 1 vibes.
Promise - prompt 21
JJ Maybank was designed for you to fall in love with him. It ran deeper than his looks; penetrated through the flesh. His personality was interwoven with his beauty the way his veins lined his muscles and skin. All the idiosyncrasies that made him up in flaws and faults, like his recklessness and his impulsiveness, were nothing but charms in your eyes. He caused trouble wherever he went the way a hurricane accidentally leaves a wake in its path. You chased that trouble like a storm chaser: compass and map and get-away car at hand, just for him. 
By the wonder of fate, you ended up by his side. It was as though the universe placed you there - as if you and JJ were born from the same star dust, destined to find one another in the next life. From childhood, you were in the picture. Offering him a place to stay when his dad was in one of his blind, drunk rages. Giggling through pier jumping adventures and screaming through cheesy horror flicks. Later, older, he was there after your first “heartbreak” and you were there to hear about his cunning escapades with a random girl on the island, his virginity no longer a mark on his name. And with this age came realisations and ramifications. With this age came thoughts and feelings that were new and alien to you. The kind that warps one’s perception. The kind that frames someone in new ways under new titles. JJ Maybank went from being your snotty, scheming long-lasting friend, into your crush. The more time you spent in his orbit, the closer you were drawn. And so, as designed, you fell in love with him. 
He was hard to read and harder to decipher. A flirt, no doubt, though less so as the Pogue-centred adventures grew. His carelessness diminished somewhat when the stakes grew. When the sight of blood and dead bodies became shy of the norm, even compared to his youth in his father’s shadow. John B and Sarah went and with that, JJ came. Closer to you than ever. Needing you more than before. Restless nights and lonely days which you were more than happy to fill, needing him just as much. Nothing beyond cuddles and shared beds. A kiss that never strayed more than a cheek or forehead. Then, reunited with the formerly missing Pogues, came his lightness once more. But that distance didn’t come: he was still just as close. Almost attainable. Poguelandia and El Dorado felt like fever dreams in this light. The one constant was JJ, no matter what, and you the same for him. 
Now, settled, JJ’s old Maybank home rebuilt and remade, the bait-and-surf shop up and running, the gang tethered together through trauma and triumph: you finally felt like everything was falling into place, the same way you had fallen for JJ. 
“I might just sleep out here tonight,” JJ tells you. He’s lying by your side on the newly fixed up boat. The two of you are staring up at the sky, slowly starting to fill with stars, slowly losing the colour of daylight. 
“You’ll be dinner for the skeeters,” you say. 
He shrugs. “Circle of life, I guess.”
Laughing quietly, you turn your head. His hair is short again - dirty blonde, sunkissed highlights. The small jut of his chin and the slope of his nose. The high press of his cheekbones from his small, lingering smile. At the feel of your gaze, he turns his head too. An air of amusement brushes over him; has him almost laughing, quirking a brow. 
“What?”
“Nothing,” you hum. Your own smile falters and your stomach churns. The words are brewing deep within you like a slow, roasting broth. They’d been there for years now, waiting to slip out, and you felt like you can’t hold it down much longer. JJ’s own smile fades into a look of worry, mirroring your own anxiety. 
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” you repeat, lying. “I just…I’m just happy.”
His lips twitch upward again. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’m happy you finally have a home, JJ,” you quietly say. 
Visibly moved by your sentiment, his hand reaches out for yours, lying limp on the cool plastic exterior of the boat. He squeezes your hand in his. Smiles at you. Holds your gaze. As if drawn in by some outside force, you lean over. Your eyes slip shut and your lips find his, and there, you plant a gentle, soft kiss. It’s no more than a peck. No more than a fleeting, almost phantom moment of weakness. Lingering, lips no more than a centimetre from his, you wait. Wait for some absolution that you hoped might come. 
JJ clears his throat. His hand slips from yours. Your heart cracks like the break of an ice surface as he sits up, sort of hurried. You sit up too. 
“What’s wrong?” you ask, knowing fully well what the answer is. 
JJ is reaching for his boots that he took off an hour or so ago. He meddles with the laces. Not looking at you, he mumbles, “why’d you have to do that?”
“What?”
“Everything was…God, why the fuck did you have to do that?” he repeats, frustrated, maybe even angry. 
Your eyes sting and your heart burns and it starts to feel as though you’re slipping away from yourself. “I don’t know. I just…I just figured–”
“--Well, you shouldn’t have,” JJ snaps, his head darting up. Your eyes meet his and there’s this panic there, deep and damning. You feel damned. 
“I’m sorry,” you say. Sorry for what? For kissing him? For thinking that he might feel the same? For hoping that he might? 
JJ shakes his head and looks back at his boots. His frantic movements stop, fingers mixed with his laces. “Why’d you have to do that, huh? Everything was finally how it should be and now…Now it’s all messed up.”
“Messed up? No, no, it doesn’t…We can just forget about it,” you hurriedly say. You grab at his forearm, wanting his attention, now for a whole new reason. “We can just pretend it never happened.”
“Why’d you do it?”
“I don’t know. I just thought that maybe, with everything that’s happened, maybe you might feel the same way,” you stammer. 
JJ’s eyes slip shut. It’s as though you gave him the diagnosis to a disease he always dreaded. “We can’t.”
You’re not sure what he’s alluding to with that. We can’t pretend it never happened? We can’t move forward? We can’t be friends? 
“You’re my best friend,” you whisper. “I don’t want to lose you.”
JJ gnaws at his lower lip. You sit and wait and hope and pray that you haven’t managed to tear apart years of friendship with one stupid moment of idiocy. Ironic how JJ lived his life in spur-of-the-moment choices but the second you make one, it might haunt you forever. Eventually, as if in slow motion, he looks at you. There’s a sadness in his eyes as though he knows what he says will pain you, and your heart takes pause as you wait. His lips move wordlessly at first and then, sighing, he finds the words. 
“I’m in love with Kiara.”
You feel like bleeding ink on a page. Like you have no mass or place of purchase. Like any meaning you ascribed to anything is now without, soulless and baseless; a work of fiction, like some Shakesperian tragedy. 
“Oh,” you breathe. 
He nods. “I…I’m sorry, I just…I don’t feel that way for you.”
“Okay,” you murmur. You think you might throw up. You shift in your spot as if preparing to. JJ reaches out a hand and it burns when he touches yours. 
“I don’t want to lose you though. I do love you, but the love I feel for her is different. I’m sorry, I don’t know why, I just–”
“--JJ, please,” you beg. You force yourself to look him in the eyes. He’s terrified of everything. Always has been, as long as you’ve known him. More than anything, terrified of love. And you know what that means, for him to care so deeply for someone. You know that he needs you. And you know that, despite everything, you need him. It hurts to be something but it’s worse to be nothing, after all. 
Somewhere deep inside of you, you find a smile. A forced, placid smile, like a lady-in-waiting might wear. Your other hand envelopes his and you will the tears away. 
“I’m your best friend,” you assure him. The words are sour like acid on your tongue. It feels like blasphemy. Nodding, as if trying to make yourself believe it too, you say, “we can forget the whole thing.”
A relieved smile comes to JJ’s face like a breath of air after free diving. He leans back, nods, happy, overjoyed, appeased. 
“Thank God. Cause I don’t know what I’d do without you. I really don’t,” he says, meaning every word. Maybe that’s what hurts the most. 
Nodding, agreeing, you say, “Kiara would be an idiot if she didn’t want you, too.”
Smiling to himself, his head dips, abashed, and you know then and there that he’d never be that way for you. He gets up and as his hand slips form your hold, it feels like you’re losing him forever. Once again, he’s reframed. Different again. No longer your crush, no longer your future, and no longer your best friend. He’s a mirage. He isn’t real. You no longer know what to call him or how to name your connection. Because as he walks away, bidding you goodnight, heading to the house where Kiara sleeps soundly, beautiful and brilliant, you begin to cry, knowing that you would never be able to forget it, and yet knowing that you had to. 
JJ Maybank was designed for you to fall in love with him, but he was never designed to love you back.
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literaryvein-reblogs · 6 months ago
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Writing Notes: The Magic of Storytelling
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A Guide to Writing your own YA Fantasy Novel by: Joanna Thomason
Elements of a Story: Setting, Character, Plot
Setting: World-building
3 Basic Kinds of Fantasy World
Begin and end in a fantasy world. Examples: The Eye of the World by Robert Jordan; The Hobbit by J. R. R. Tolkien; Eragon by Christopher Paolini
Start in the real world and move into a fantasy world. Examples: A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle; The Chronicles of Narnia by C. S. Lewis; Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll
Set in the real world but elements of a fantasy world exist within them. Examples: The Lightning Thief by Rick Riordan; Artemis Fowl by Eoin Colfer
Character: Character-building
A character is drawn through the plot by his or her own ambitions, needs, and convictions.
A realistic character has goals and investments as well as character flaws which complicate the attainment of those goals.
Throughout your novel, you must use these elements to give your character incentive to keep going, and a satisfying ending is when the character’s flaws are resolved or improved upon and his or her goal is met.
Your character design should include:
Goals
Strengths - ways your character will naturally succeed
Flaws - ways your character must improve itself or seek aid
Relationships with others
Incentives/motivation
It is also important to consider whether your character will have any supernatural abilities or traits.
Also consider how these will interact with the world you have created for him or her.
How many characters should a story have?
Some novels have dozens of characters, while others stick to just a few.
It's up to you how many you want to keep track of, as it can get confusing if you have too many, but if you can pull it off it can make the story really interesting.
Some common character types to include:
The protagonist/hero (or antihero)
The antagonist/villain
The love interest
The mentor or advisor
The best friend/sidekick
Note: These character types are included in this model, but there are plenty of other characters to consider as well.
Plot: Plot Building
There are various novel structures.
Below is a framework by Lee Roddy.
It sets up the basic outline of a story as well as sub-points which need to be met for the novel to progress.
1. Beginning - sets up the character and introduces the objective:
Situation
Motive
Conflict
Elements
Story Question
Decision
2. Middle - details the character's struggles to reach their objective:
Obstacles + Adversary
Perseverance
Crisis
3. Ending - brings resolution to the plot as a whole:
Crisis, choice
Climax - one final effort
Conclusion: victory
Understanding Plot Structure
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This is referred to as the Story Arc or Dramatic Structure
This model of novel structure shows necessary elements of plot development from beginning to end.
It clarifies the purpose of each section of a story and is a basic formula for generating interest in a character’s progress and moving the plot towards its conclusion.
The 6 Classic Story Arcs
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Sources: 1 2 ⚜ Writing Notes & References
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lomlhotchner · 5 months ago
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❛ ethereal! ❜ … aaron hotchner
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warnings: plus size!reader, talks about insecurities, talks abt body image issues and insecurities, but it gets a little suggestive towards the end ;)
a/n: comfort fic for big girls like me <3 i wrote this when i was feeling a little down and i didn’t have the gut to finish it but here we go 🤍 i know everyone is probably tired of a chubby!reader fic where she is insecure but believe me when i say that every fic i write i always have a plus size reader in mind, this is just more specific i hope this doesn’t rub yall the wrong way 🫶
main masterlist!
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you are bigger than what society claims how you should be. you always shop in the guys station when you're out because the large sizes in the girls area just didn't make sense. you have more flesh and fat in some areas that sometimes it makes you insecure but other times make you feel like you're pretty.
you do think you’re pretty.
sometimes.
but when you don’t, you just don’t.
to be with someone is to also accept their flaws and problems. and aaron thinks he has a lot of problems. problems that can be seen as a burden for some people.
but not to you.
never to you.
“hey sweetheart.” aaron muttered in a small voice as he wrapped his hands around your hips. head tucking in the crook of your neck. “you look absolutely stunning.” he press kisses at the sides of your neck making you flush.
“thank you, baby.” turning your head to give his lips a soft peck. your eyes moved back to the mirror in front of you, staring at your reflection. the sage green dress didn’t look the same on you as it did on the first time. a frown takes over your face.
aaron picks up on this immediately, “what’s wrong?” his rough hands massaging your chubby hips. his chin resting on your shoulder, as he stared into your eyes through the mirror.
“nothing.” you shook your head, eyes turned downwards, “i just liked the way i looked in this dress last week. now, it’s just— i don’t know. it’s different now.”
a sigh made aaron furrow his eyebrows, “what do you mean? you look gorgeous then, you look gorgeous now.” he insisted, thumbs softly caressing your sides.
you shrugged, you didn’t know how to explain it. “i don’t now, its just weird. i have this thing were if i look at myself for too long then i’ll notice everything that’s wrong with me.” inside of your cheeks bitten in frustration, you don’t like being weak in front of aaron. not when he’s so strong.
aaron’s heart dropped at your words. he turned you around, eyes determined and sharp, “you are the most beautiful, precious, prettiest person i have laid my eyes on.” he started, your mouth opened to reject but one look from aaron has you shutting your mouth, “and you’re so so sexy.” he almost whines, forehead pressing against yours. “i sometimes can’t think straight when i look at you.” the corners of your mouth curved upwards, making aaron melt, “i love everything about you.” a kiss to your nose, “and i know my words won’t probably shut those nasty thoughts in your head i hope i can at least quiet them.”
“aaron-“ your eyes widen as he went on his knees, his slacks straining against his thighs, “you’re gonna be late for work-“
he ignored you, grabbing the back of your thick thighs, scrunching the dress of your fabric up, making way for his lips to attack your skin, “you’re so hot.” a nibble on your thigh made you whimper, “fuck, i love the sounds you make.”
your hands went to tangle in his dark locks, “baby, you don’t have to do this-“
he groaned, breath hot on your skin, “i love it when you call me baby.” his fingers trailed the edge of your panties. squeezing the soft fat there, “you’re fucking ethereal. heaven sent just for me.” he whispered, leaving kisses all around your thighs. “you are everything to me.” he repeated, his brown eyes looking up at you softly, molten irises full of love and desire for you.
for you.
for you.
for you.
“everything.” he whispered softly, begging— pleading for you to understand.
and maybe these insecurities won’t fully go away, but aaron definitely did help made you feel better. so much better.
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reblog for a kiss 💋
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anne-bsd-bibliophile · 5 months ago
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Spoilers for Thousand Autumns Volumes 3 and 4!!!
I didn't pay attention to it the first time I read Thousand Autumns, but during my reread it's obvious that Xie Ling and A-Yan knew that Yan Wushi loved Shen Qiao from the start.
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Art by @_Konia_; reposted with permission.
It's fairly obvious that Xie Ling is infatuated with Shen Qiao immediately because his gaze never leaves Shen Qiao and Xie Ling trusts him completely:
Yan Wushi only looked at him, his eyes filled entirely with Shen Qiao’s reflection. “I’ll be taking your pulse.” Shen Qiao lifted his wrist, and Yan Wushi didn’t respond to that either, letting Shen Qiao handle him as he wished. But his eyes remained fixed on Shen Qiao—whether Shen Qiao was hunched over or sitting upright, Yan Wushi’s gaze never left him. ...Just as Shen Qiao was furrowing his brows and pondering, Yan Wushi suddenly smiled at him. This smile was different from those faint half smiles from the past, and lacked any sense of sarcasm, ridicule, or unbridled arrogance. It was simply a smile, nothing more, as if it weren’t Shen Qiao in front of him, but a beautiful flower. (vol. 3, pg. 85-6)
A-Yan tells Shen Qiao, "...I understand why my previous self treated you the way he did. He’s a paranoid person at heart, someone who’d never trust anyone else. No matter how good you are, he’d always want to bring out the darkness hidden within you. But he doesn’t know that you are you. There may be hundreds of thousands of Chen Gongs in this world, but there is only one Shen Qiao." (vol. 3, pg. 135)
Yan Wushi notices that, "There was still a hint of remaining warmth within his chest, left there by Xie Ling and A-Yan, from their feelings whenever they thought about Shen Qiao. But at this moment, Yan Wushi forcefully wiped it away..." He doesn't consider the the thoughts and feelings from the other parts of his personality to be his own." (vol. 3, pg. 142)
There's also the scene where Xie Ling tries to kiss Shen Qiao:
...Yan Wushi abruptly seized Shen Qiao’s neck, then he threw himself closer and bit down on his lips! In pain, Shen Qiao snaked his arm around Yan Wushi’s neck and struck hard. The other man fell limply on top of him. It was finally quiet. Shen Qiao let out a sigh of relief. He picked up Yan Wushi’s wrist and felt it, then let out a gasp of surprise. If the man had just been in the throes of qi deviation earlier, then now, only a short time later, his pulse had completely calmed. In contrast, his life force even seemed to be thriving? (vol. 3, pg. 225)
When Yan Wushi is back to his normal personality, he commented on the unskilled kiss: "What, did Xie Ling even forget how to kiss someone after losing most of my memories? He was so impatient he even bit you?" (vol. 3, pg. 232) Yan Wushi knows immediately that Xie Ling has feelings for Shen Qiao, but he doesn't realize his own feelings yet.
Later, Yan Wushi admits to himself that Xie Ling and A-Yan's thoughts where his own as well, and that's what leads to the confession scene:
Yan Wushi smiled but didn’t speak. Before, he’d loathed “Xie Ling’s” influence, thinking that those thoughts weren’t his own. He’d tried to suppress that strange feeling numerous times, and he’d believed that the moment he repaired the flaw in the demonic core, that feeling would vanish with it. He hadn’t expected that Shen Qiao’s smile would reawaken everything. He was unwilling to admit that he, who’d looked down upon everyone in the world, would one day find that a name had wormed its way into his heart. Human hearts were filled with malice. Some people were traitors, turning their backs on all integrity; some were ingrates, repaying kindness with enmity. There were also those who’d abandon their spouses, who were willing to do anything for wealth and glory. Yan Wushi had seen many, and he’d thought nothing of them because he, too, was a selfish, callous human. He only categorized things based on whether they deserved his notice, and to him, there were no actions that fell beyond a line that could not be crossed. However, now Yan Wushi was forced to admit that Shen Qiao was unique and that he couldn’t change him. Though the world was vast, there was still only one Shen Qiao. “My venerable self suddenly thought of something amusing,” he said. “Would you like to listen?” “No,” said Shen Qiao. Yan Wushi turned a deaf ear and started talking anyway. “Once upon a time, there was a man who found a stone in a heap of gold and jewels.” Shen Qiao’s mouth twitched. Didn’t he just say that he didn’t want to listen? “But he couldn’t believe that it was only an ordinary stone. He thought that since it’d been piled together with the mass of treasures in that room, it must also be a treasure. So, he brought it everywhere with him, and even had it examined and polished by many. But every single person, without exception, told him that it was only an ordinary stone, that there was nothing special about it. Guess what happened in the end?” Shen Qiao’s face was both lost and bewildered. “In the end, he finally believed that it was indeed a worthless stone. But in his eyes, compared to the room full of gold and silver treasure, even if it was only a stone, it was still one of a kind—a stone out of a million.” Shen Qiao was silent. Why did this story sound so bizarre? It was indeed unusual to hear such a normal story from such an abnormal person. He couldn’t help but say, “Even thousands of gold pieces cannot purchase happiness. Some people care little for wealth—they only wish to seek out things that other people find worthless. In my opinion, that man already liked that stone more than the other jewels and treasures, but he was trapped by his preconceptions and unwilling to admit it.” Yan Wushi laughed. “That’s true, you’re very correct. Thousands of gold pieces cannot purchase happiness." There seemed to be a deep significance within these words. (vol. 4, pg. 58-60)
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llamagoddessofficial · 1 year ago
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GRJRHRJDJRJD YOUR FARM SANS STUFF IS MAKING MY BRAIN BUZZZZZZ
What if some rich city dude started vying for Farm Sans' love interest? Like the dude is a total douche, and he turns around and tries to take Sans' girl? >:3
It's probably one of those assholes who buys a second/third home in the countryside, out-pricing local families, so he can have an 'escape' he only lives in for a month out of the year. He's in town to 'get away from it all' for a while.
This dude sets off all of Sans' alarm bells when he flirts with you. With any other person, Sans' reaction would depend on whether or not you were into them. He'd respectfully back off if you genuinely liked someone. But honestly, this douche's vibes are so rancid that Sans is going to be constantly brittle and cold and on the offensive. He has a few tactics up his sleeve.
For one - he uses his community connections. This guy (we'll call him Douche) is NOT welcome here, and Sans rubs it in. Country communities are tight-knit, can be pretty closed off, and are often actively hostile to people like Douche. Douche can barely buy groceries, people either ignore him or speak in cold and brusque tones, the snub from Sans and Papyrus means people will hardly look at him. Not to mention you've been so deeply accepted that it's as if you were born and raised there; nobody wants Douche to win you over. With or without Sans' encouragement, other folk will gossip to you about what a terrible person Douche is. "Oh, don't hang around with his sort, MC. You're such a sweetheart."
Sans is relatively oblivious to how his physique is attractive to you. But he's not oblivious to how physically intimidating he can be. He enjoys casual displays of his overwhelming strength, and the terror he witnesses in Douche's eyes; nothing shuts Douche up faster than having to watch his romantic rival wrangle a bull with just his hands. Sans will wander up to Douche (particularly while Douche is trying to chat you up) holding a sack of grain in one hand like it's nothing - "hey buddy, think you can hold this for me for a few secs?" - and then Sans will watch in glee as Douche tips over under its weight.
... Sans' favourite, though, is playing mind games. He fully leans into the 'dumb country guy' stereotype, acting like he's lazy and stupid, playing up his accent and easygoing tone. Until anytime Douche tries to seem smart. Then, in a searingly faux-friendly manner, Sans nitpicks him apart, correcting him on even the most complicated issues. "hey man, pretty sure socrates said that, not plato." "actually it's gravitational lapsing that causes that effect. lensin' is somethin' else entirely." "well i don't know about no NFTs... but i do know the blockchain is only as strong as its weakest link, an' deregulation makes it impossible to recover any phished money. seems like an inherently flawed system and no real way to store yer hard earned cash. but what do i know?" This also doubles as a way of making Sans look better in front of you, because you had no idea he was so smart.
Douche honestly doesn't stand a chance. But it's fun to watch him flounder.
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starryhutcherson · 1 month ago
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━━ BED HEAD
author's note: my christmas gift to my lovely followers and viewers <3 yes i am aware i've been M.I.A for the entirety of the second half of the year. forgive me! when the jhutch nation died a piece of me died with it. pls enjoy this apology fic, made it nice and sweet for my mike lovers (cough cough for me). enjoy!! ps. this is my personal favourite that ive written, boyfriend mike just hits different so expect a lot more of him coming soon wink wink! i mean it this time
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'୧ ‧₊ pairing: boyfriend!mike schmidt x reader warnings: 18+ sexual content! oral sex (f!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, swearing word count: 2000+ ⋆ ✩‧₊
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Early mornings make for soft kisses. Outside, the streets are licked with hazes of morning fog, sprinkled with droplets of dew and not even ghosts wander the empty streets. In here, in Mike’s house, there’s no need to worry about the world beyond his peeling windowsill. You’re cradled into his chest, his arms which encircle your torso and his legs which tangle into a web with yours. The mornings are just for you. 
And Mike always wakes up before you. It’s not something he does intentionally, but rather the blessing of his eternal clock, stirring his soul before the sun has so much as nipped at the horizon – and yet he reckons this is the best part of his day. It’s the part where he gets to see you at your most vulnerable, your most unaware. Your lips are parted, carrying an imprint of yesterday’s smile, and your hair is sprawled around you too deliberately– like you were made to be perfect, even in your imperfection. 
He likes to trace each fault and flaw that may linger in unsuspecting places with the plush pad of his calloused thumb, to explore the way your body dips at its own will, to memorise each pathway of skin that leads to your heart, a map that’s solely his. He might pluck an eyelash oh so carefully of your cheek, he’ll watch as your chest greets his with each soundless inhale, only to part momentarily when you breathe out again. He likes it best when you’re slotted right between his heartbeat. You’re a dream he’s afraid to wake up from. 
Of course, these moments are only beautiful because of their status as moments. They aren’t eternal, they were made to be preserved. They fade when you wake up; when your big eyes blink up at him like a heedless doe. Like now. When you start to stir, your face scrunching up in a sleepy frown, Mike immediately closes his eyes. He rolls onto his back, one arm draped over his face like he’s shielding himself from the non-existent sunlight, like he hasn’t been watching you for the last ten minutes.
You crack an eyelid, admiring his figure as it soaks up the beginnings of a sunrise. “Morning bedhead,” you tease, grogginess and all. He grunts in acknowledgement, not shifting from his position of comfort. 
“Morning,” he grumbles back, not appreciating the teasing but not having the energy to send anything worthy of offense back at you. Your eyes trace over his messy hair, wild unruly ringlets of chestnut licking at his temples. 
You shuffle over to him, wading through the sea of tangled bedsheets, and ruffle those curls, making his face bunch up like crumpled fabric, in mild irritation. “You look like you lost a fight with a lawnmower,” you snort. He catches your wrist with a solid grip; sturdy as a tree is, down to the root. “Don’t even start. Pretty sure you’ve got me beat.” His voice is a baritone grumble as he references to your own head of locks, knowing full well that the cascading waves of pure velvet that are sewn into your head aren’t even close to looking messy. He teases anyway. 
“I dunno about that,” you murmur. Cocking a hesitant brow, watching his body flex into the sheets as each limb slowly begins to arise from slumber at it’s own snail pace. It’s then you pad out of bed, to go attempt to start the morning━ and he stops you. A dull grunt sounds from his lips and he tugs at your arm. 
“No,” he mumbles━ broken by a dull yawn. “C’mon. You can… you can stay. S’still dark. Nothin’ to do yet.” The sort of puppy-ish pleading that swallows his irises is too strong not to resist to. So you let him have his little ritual; he tucks you into his shoulder, thumb circling supple skin. You let him smell behind your neck and nip at the junction where your collarbone becomes your shoulder becomes your arm. Suddenly it’s turned into lazy tastings of your body. He’s drinking you in in the morning light, rolling you down and deep onto your back to make sure you’re imprinted on his fabric for later, lonelier nights. 
“Mike━” He cuts you off. He has a habit of doing that, when he gets like this. All agitated and croaking, like you are his eternal life source. 
“Shh, no, let me━ let me have this.”
And he’s trekking lower, still. Warm hands planted on your knees, he’s opening your thighs for himself with that look in his eyes. He’s a paradox, greed and yet utter selflessness as he buries his body right where you want him, idly tugging at the waistband of your cotton pajama pants.  
“Gonna make that bedhead worse.” He mumbles almost comically to himself. “Gonna, gonna give you some bed head.”
You roll your eyes, heat of the moment evaporating as you erupt in stupid giggles. “You’re such a dickhead,” you tell him, admiring the smug expression that spreads across his features. He looks like he’s where he belongs, nestled comfortably in that gap he’s made just for him, cradled by your legs. 
“Maybe.” He mumbles with a stupidly self-satisfied grin, delving into you like he knows best. He rolls the cotton comfort of your legs and exposes you to the chilly bedroom air, and knowing it must be unpleasant to be so cold when it’s so early, he’s latching onto you as quick as he can to try and maintain heat pumping through your system. 
And he’s a cocky motherfucker who knows that it works; molten fever rushes through every aching crevice of your figure and pushes to the surface as he flicks his tongue with expertise. He knows every spot, every stroke, every single way that makes you tick. He’s spent a lot of time practicing, exploring, just so he can be perfect. 
Every. Single. Time. 
You’re writhing already, with each motion. Calling his name out to nothing and nobody, the silence of the morning suddenly so obnoxious when it’s broken by the cracking chorus of your moans. Mike. You cry. Mike, Mike, Mike. 
And he’s all entranced by you, you, you, as you quake right into his palms, just how he wants. The perfect way to start the morning is by breaking you apart and dealing with the mess. He admires, awfully, every tremor, every sob, every time your eyes lock with his and you watch him worship you, even if just for a fragile second before they roll back into your skull. 
He plugs you up with one thick finger, reeling in the wet squelching suction of your cunt around his digit. Another follows, curling beside the first, resting snugly inside you. A few testing movements as he tries to find that place, and then finally you double over into yourself mewling like a lamb for slaughter. 
“Oh, that’s it? That’s the spot?” He mutters, baritone voice just so sexy when it’s the only melody spilling into your ears, your brain, you soul. You answer with a little hum, and he coos as your hips buck to meet his palm; catching your weight as you grind your clit into the heel of it. You need more━ you need so much more. 
So he mutters a brief apology as he severs your orgasm; saving it for later, the upcoming future. And leaves you for just a moment, carefully maneuvering himself free from his sodden boxers and pumping his angry length a few times, convulsing as he does so. He’s more sensitive in the mornings, every single goose-pebbled part of him. You bite your lip in anticipation, pink flesh billowing white under the force of your teeth. 
His eyes glance up to you; coffee and caramel stirred with a copper spoon, awaiting your command. “You... you want me, right?” He breathes gently. Shuffling himself closer, hoping to meld a piece of his soul into yours. To secure you to him, through and through. And of course you nod, with ego-inflating eagerness. 
“Course I do. And how about━”
It throws him off when your tender hands grip onto his shoulders; like a turning tide your body steers him of course, pummeled over so he can drown under your current as you position yourself ontop. “Let me,” you whisper, holding his cock so gently in your hands, a contrast of efforts in the way you stroke so slowly, so patiently. In all honesty, he hasn’t got much of that left. 
A salacious groan slips free from his throat. “Shit, can you just, uh, can you please put it in, I can’t━ I’m gonna blow right now.”  
He expects another mocking comment but all he gets is compliance. A gentle kiss, fanning across his freckled cheeks that glow so red in the heat of the moment, a slow and calculated sink of your pelvis against his, and a juggled handful of shared rugged breaths as the feeling of fullness branches across the pair of you. He’ll never get over your fit, it’s too hand-crafted, too cunningly created. His hands shakily struggle to make their way onto your hips, not so much for control as it is to keep himself grounded. Skin to skin to skin, as though to prove you aren’t just a fabrication from his desperate, delusional morning mind. 
When your hips begin to roll, it’s lazy. Grogginess permeates every part of you and there isn’t enough strength for anything more than gentle juts; back and forth, back and forth, a seesaw of sorts, but he appreciates the movement anyway. Mike’s head falls back into the pillow, framed by a halo of his own sweat and drool as he lets you do the work. It’s his own hazy heaven, the morning he wishes he could preserve. 
You suck his cock up deeper into your hole, clamping down on him in a vain attempt to try and keep him there, tucked away inside you forever like a pocketed memory of sorts. He begins to meet your thrusts, sending sparks through each wild thrust of his flying hips. 
“Want this every day,” he whines, deep through his throat like he can’t even contain his words as they bleed all over you in a wash of near orgasmic bliss. 
“Yeah? You do, Mikey? Wanna─ wanna just wake me up to fuck me like this? Right here on your bed?”
His eyelids flutter and unfocus, blunt nails severing the skin of your hipbones as he begins to forcefully drag you across his cock, faster faster faster until the headboard squeaks along with you and he’s completely wordless and wounded. “Wanna fuck you. Wann─ needa fuck you every day, yeah, jus' like that, shit, you were made for me,” he whines, pummelling into you with purpose. Force and purpose. 
He’s spearing you open on his eager cock, nudging your cervix, coaxing an orgasm out of it’s grave, the one he ended from earlier. You can feel it brewing and bubbling inside you, erupting it’s carnal desire like acid wash across your narrow cunt as you drink him in tighter, willing him to come with you. “Mikey, mmm, come with me, c’mon, please─”
And it’s your begging that sends him over. A saccharine flush melts across his entire body, bottom to top, and he’s moaning as he tugs his length from beneath your folds and showers your sweaty torso in a creamy wash of white ribbons, spraying buckets from your belly button right up to your chin.
There is calm after the storm. A tranquil quiet falls back over his modest bedroom, accompanied by heavy breathing and the rustling of sheets. The aftertaste of the morning is careful sponge-washing and coffee. He clears you off with a damp washcloth, love ebbs from every action from him to you, like an endless chain. A circle has no end because it has no beginning; Mike thinks he’s always been drawn to you, even before you both knew it─  because he’s always been looking for this. For the gentle fleeting kisses that he’s showered in before the morning, for the bed he returns to which smells like sex and sodden promises. He can’t wait for you to get home so that he can come back to his bed-headed girl. 
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bethebesttoyou · 27 days ago
Text
Vampire In the Corner - Huening Kai
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Synopsis: y/n learns the meaning of "reaping what you sow", when she wishes for a romance experience, only for it to come back as the form of a hungry vampire.
pairing: Vampire! Huening Kai x College student!reader
song: Vampire in the Corner - Magdalena Bay ( this song has been stuck in my head TEW GOOD) the song itself is quirky and kinda weird and sweet and I tried to make it the same vibe, but then like always we lost the plot. But it's inspired! Also inspired by Lisa Frankenstein! Also bad writing, but practice makes perfect :D
warning: Blood and biting and you know vampire stuff... the whole shebang.... and I think that's it! I tried to make it fluff and but honestly the mind does its own thing most of the time *sigh* Winter as a wannabe witch (or is she?) You as a hopeless romantic.
wc: 5k (😀)
A/N: You ever get a storyline stuck in your head and you love it so much, that even seeing it actually written down isn't enough? I need to be IN this story. I had this song and storyline stuck in my head and honestly not sure if I did it any justice but I wanted to so badly put it out before 1. I lost it and 2. I started to see the flaws in it.... If theres any plot holes, no there isn't <3 KIDDING PLS TELL ME
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…And what endearments am I allowed? Let me think. Lizzie for everyday. My pearl for sundays and goddess divine…
The small tv illuminated the dark living room area of Soobin and Beomgyu’s apartment. Five faces braced the bright light, with one pair of eyes sparkling at the scene of her favorite movie, while the others watched with amusement at the cheesiness of it all. Surrounding them were plates with pizza scraps, sugary drinks and chips as they laid in different positions on the floor. 
…And how are you this evening Mrs. Darcy?...
“And how are you this evening, Mrs. Darcy?” the five of you repeat, you with a love laced voice, while the others mocked then gagged. 
“Seriously, who wrote the script…” Beomgyu groans as he rolls his head back. The credits had begun to roll down the screen, Winter reaching forward to pause the video. 
“A genius... You wouldn't know anything about that.” You throw the pillow towards him, hitting him square in the chest. 
“Alright, birthday girl… what’s next?” Yunjin grabs her plate, setting it on the already full coffee table, before stretching her hands in the air. 
This was a common Friday night for the five of you, while the apartment complex was buzzing with drunk college kids and a loud bass making the walls vibrate, your plans consisted of junk food, ranting, movies, trying not to kill Beomgyu and sometimes board games that Soobin stole from the recreational area on campus. Today, being your birthday, was spent doing everything you wanted to do, which included watching romance movies until the sun went down. You were three movies in before you decided to officially call it quits. 
“Hmm… I think Ive tortured you guys enough…” 
“Thank god…” Soobin whispers on the other side of the coffee table. 
“You guys suck! The girls enjoyed it right!?” 
“No.” Winter states blandly, her eyes covered by her dark side bang. 
“Um…I enjoyed you watching it~” Yunjin tries to flirt her way out, when she sees your glare, she continues, “okay present time! Me first! Me first!” 
She stands quickly running to her bag when Winter and Beomgyu pull out the boxes from behind them. 
“Quick. Open them before she upstages us.” Beomgyu whispers, pushing the boxes into your hands, Winter nods enthusiastically. 
You laugh before unwrapping Beomgyu’s box. Within the precise wrapping was a knitted brown sweater, the fabric was soft and decorated with blue flowers and patterns, accompanied with a matching blue beanie. It screamed you, as you put the sweater on, the color matching your maxi skirt. 
“Thanks Beomie! It's so me!!” 
“I know! I stalked your socials!” He said with a childlike excitement. 
“Oh!” 
“Me next! Me next!” Winter pushes the smaller box towards you. 
The box itself was wrapped in all black being held on all four sides by a gold ribbon. Untying it revealed a small vial of gray glittery liquid. A potion. 
“It's an armor potion. Meant to keep you from getting harmed if ever in danger. Made it myself!” Her eyes sparkled with excitement. 
“That's weird.” Beomgyu says upfront. You elbow him in the chest. It was weird, but thoughtful.
After no one speaks, she continues. “It can also be just for decoration.” 
“Youre so right! Going straight onto my shelf! Thanks Winnie! It's beautiful.” 
“Let's just hope she never has to use it.” Soobin glanced nervously at Winter’s small smile. 
“Me and Soobin pitched in together to get you this one…” Yunjin hands you their box. Opening it revealed a digital camera, already decorations with painted red flowers, and pink and white stars. 
“Oh my god… It's beautiful.” You looked at them both with adoration as they high five. 
“We know you've been wanting to take more pictures!” 
“Guys… All of you! I love you, guys!” your tears are threatening to spill. 
You wouldn't say your group of five were considered losers on campus…more so you weren't considered at all. Invisible really. Except for Winter, whose darkly appearance would garner stares and giggles. But no one really minded. Being in your own little world had its perks, You were able to be yourselves, able to speak your mind, maybe get bullied for it but in your own loving way. The outside world hurt, it burned and felt lonely. In the boy’s shared apartment, life felt easy and hopeful. 
You knew you made an odd bunch, different personalities mixed together wouldn't have probably worked for others, but you all genuinely enjoyed each other's presence. Whether the night consisted of Winter begging to contact ghosts or trying out spells she saw on some weird witch website, or Beomgyu and Soobin arguing about which game graphics were better on which console, or even Yunjins heated rants about everyone she hates (which amounts up to everyone), your nights were never boring. Spending your birthday with them was no different. In fact, nothing felt more like family. 
“Quick! Group picture before she starts getting sentimental!” 
You set the timer on the old camera, wiping your eyes before sitting in between Beomgyu and Winter, both resting their heads on your shoulders, Yunjin and Soobin joining in, sitting at the ends. The flash goes off as giggles spread around the room. 
—--
The clock had hit 1am by the time some were beginning to fall asleep on the ground. It marked the end of the night so once the cake was cut, and the group made fun of you for loudly wishing for a boyfriend on your candles, the five of you cleaned and started heading out. 
“Are you sure you don't want any of us to walk you home? It's really late…” Yunjin and Beomgyu look concerned as you all stand outside. 
Your place was towards the other direction than the others, leading you to have to take the dark road up to the furthest wing of dorms. 
“Yeah…I dont mind walking you.” Soobin stated, pushing his glasses up. He looked nervous watching the path to your dorm disappear in the darkness, crowded with trees and shrubs, letting you know he was more scared than you were. The path itself looked like a forest with how covered it was, the wind making the branches rattle and crack as the ‘hoos’ and caws from the nightbirds became louder. 
“Guys, it takes me like 8 minutes to get up there, ill be okay…who knows maybe I'll find the love of my life in those scary bushes.” 
“I dont think anything good is coming out of that forest…” 
You shrug, “I like bad boys too.” 
They groan, again. 
“Hey, you have that potion on you right?” Winter says from the back. 
“Yes, ofcourse!” 
“Dont be scared to use it.” 
“After I use it, they should be scared of me.” 
“YES!” Winter exclaims proudly. 
“Okay! Bye guys! Love you!” You exclaim, walking towards the dark end of the street, before they can protest. 
“Text us when you get home!” Yunjin yells. 
While they worried, this wasn't a new path to you. You had taken it many times since the group formed back in freshman year, when beomgyu and Soobin had invited you guys over to discuss some group project at the time. It was fate that the five of you were the last remaining students with no group to work with yet (maybe not fate, since no one wanted to work with introverted losers). You were boy crazy then too, the smiles of both beomgyu and Soobin had you in a trance, convinced that they were much in love with you as you were with them. But the infatuation wore out. It always did. Your obsession with love and the consumption of it,drove you to binging romcoms, staring at couples in restaurants, daydreaming about meeting your charming prince, and falling with just about anyone you'd meet. Yes, you were a little weird and your social skills might've been a little off to those you weren't close with, but you knew there was someone out there for you. Yet, you never actually went further than the feelings you gain, you would obsess then let it fizzle out. It was a routine, and kept your thoughts running at 80mph. 
You craved romance and would have sold your soul to be able to actually experience it. The late night kisses, the giggling under covers, the shy hand holding, the flustered cheeks, the sighing kisses, everything, you fantasized about it all. And you thought about it every single day, taking up most of your thoughts, leaving you distracted just like now. 
You were so distracted in fact,  walking the dirt road through the trees, as the moonlight made your footsteps cast shadows, that you didn't hear the other pair of footsteps behind you, or the wisps that caused the leaves to rustle. It wasn't till the crack of a branch nearby that you came to a halt.
You looked around for a sign of movement, holding onto the strap of your crossbody, listening in for any other sounds. The wind picked up, causing a chill down your spine, before you chuckle slightly, the fear slowly dissipating before blaming the weather for the scare. 
“Hi.”  A voice spoke, making you whip around to see no one, only when you face back to the direction of home, a man stands in front of you. Grasping at your heart, you stand still as you take a good look at him. The moonlight bounces on his black hair and his pale white skin that shines specks of crystal like freckles, but his eyes… no light reflects on them. 
“H-hi.” You respond back. You can't stop staring at his eyes as his pupils dilate and then return to normal. He steps forward and you step back, almost losing your balance. 
“I-its really late, a d-damsel like yourself shouldn't be l-left alone so late at n-night.” The man stutters out, he seems nervous and almost tired, with the heavy breaths he's pushing out. He rolls his head slowly, almost trying to regain any composure and opens his mouth, as he, very noticeably, stretches his jaw out and that's when you see it. Reflected by the white dull light of the moon, his two sharp teeth shine, pointy and thick…fangs. 
He returns your stare, licking the grooves of his top teeth. 
“Are…are you a vampire?” You ask, eyes wide and for a second, he's mirroring your reaction. 
Why arent you screaming yet? Neither of you move, and the figure looks at you confused. Why would you ask that so nonchalantly?
“Um…yes?” His brows were furrowed and head tilted. 
“Oh…” 
“Are you not scared?” 
You thought about it for a moment. Your hand was still on your heart, feeling the quick beats hit against your chest, yet you couldn't necessarily blame it on fear. You were…intrigued. The glimpse of half of his face left you wanting a closer look, the shining of his skin was blinding and distracting. 
“Youre so…pretty.” You say, mostly to yourself, but he is able to catch it. His eyes widen, watching your eyes sparkle with the moonlight and he feels heat rise to his cheeks.
“Um… What's your name?” You ask out of habit. 
“Kai.” 
“Y/N.” 
He nods. You can tell he's having a mental war with himself. This is probably not how these things go for him as he scratches his head softly. 
 With that, you realized why you weren't scared, he was not intimidating at all. Everything about him was soft, even the curve of his nose and the softness of his jaw. He didn't look like a threat. He looked like a painting, with his white flowy button up under a blue vest and blue jeans, his hair that laid like a mop on his head flowed in the breeze, uncovering a bit of his forehead. His teeth stuck out of his ‘o’ shaped mouth, you wondered how they would feel, if they were as sharp as they looked. 
You take a step forward, he takes a step back. 
“Um… Kai…Can…can I touch them?” 
“What? M-my fangs?” 
You nod nervously, almost regretting feeling bold enough to ask. Its the one thing that can kill you in this moment and yet the urge to feel them clouds your judgement. 
Kai, on the other hand, is completely lost in this situation, he has never garnered this reaction before. He's never been called pretty before. And he's caught off guard again when he realizes he's opening his mouth widely giving the stranger room to feel. 
You reach with one finger to smoothly feel the top before reaching the sharp end. The plush skin of your finger is not a sensation that Kai can turn a blind eye to, and yet he doesn't understand why he doesn't just bite down. You were merely food to him, so why is he having so much hesitation when it comes to you? 
Wind blows a bit harder this time around, reminding you where you were, the vibrations coming from your bag becoming louder. Shit. You remove your fingers from his teeth harshly. 
You begin to rummage through your bag before pulling it out and answering, the strange man still watching you in shock. 
“Hello?” 
What the hell? Are you dead? We have been calling and texting!! Soobin is on the other end, and you can hear beomgyu ask frantically, Did she answer? 
“I know, i-im sorry… I, uh, got caught up w-with something.” 
are you home atleast? 
You looked at the flustered vampire who was looking at you, disoriented. 
“Uhh, Yes, I'm heading to bed now, bye!” 
Hey! Wha- *Click* 
You focus on him again and then the lights of the building behind him. 
His pained face alerts you. 
“What?” 
“Your finger…” You look down at your hands and feel the liquidy substance dripping.
“Fuck.” You say as you begin wiping the blood on your skirt, but this just pains him more, a growl from his stomach breaking the silence. You stare up at him. The eye contact is prolonged as once again, he seems to be at a crossroads. Was he about to kill you? 
“I-Im just g-gonna go.” he grunts, and you feel a breath you didn't know you were holding. 
As he tries to make his departure, he finds himself once again feeling tired, but this time unable to stand straight, leaning on a tree close by, heaving. 
“A-are you okay?” You step closer, putting a hand on his back cautiously. 
He groans again, falling to his knees. 
“H-hungry…” He turns his neck to look at you and there's tears pooling in his eyes, theres red thick veins traveling from the inside of his shirt up up his neck and jaw, pulsing, each one causing him to close his eyes in pain, he looked like he was dying…it looked unbearable. You feel your eyes soften and you begin to worry. 
“Oh.. Um…” Your mind races trying to find a solution that doesn't involve dying or killing a person. OH! 
“S-Stay here! Ill be right back!” He turns to lean against the tree, sniffling, holding his stomach as the crystals in his skin start to fade. 
You sprint out of the tree infested woods, across the back lawn of the campus and head straight to the 24 hour diner. It would be the only place open at this time. You thought about it for a moment, how this couldve been your escape. Nothing was stopping you from leaving him there, from escaping danger. He didn't have to voice that he had every intention of killing you tonight, you knew, and yet his matted black eyes filled with tears made you run faster, the act of someone dying in front of you made you keep running. 
The door rings as you barge into the lonely diner, one booth occupied by a young looking man stirring his cup. You head towards the counter, frantically ringing the service bell. 
“You dont have to ring it that many times. How can i help you?” A very bored looking Anton waits for your order, but you cant stop your heavy breathing. You knew Anton from class, he had asked for a pen more than once, you thought he liked you, he just really needed a pen. And nothing reassured that statement than this moment, as he seemed to not realize who you were. 
“Um..” you clear your throat, “I-I need your bloodiest steak. Dont cook it.” He gave you a weirded out look.
“I legally cant give you that. Its a safety hazard. What? do you eat them raw?” 
you were running out of time. 
“Look, i have with me…” you take your wallet out counting your change, including your birthday money from your parents, “ 60 bucks for an uncooked steak, the bloodiest one you have. There's no cameras, so j-just take the bribe.” 
“Is this a prank?” 
“No? Please, Anton.” 
“How do you know my name?” Ouch. 
“We have class together, does it matter? The steak.” You were growing frustrated as you stole glances towards the trees in the distance. 
“Fine.” He takes the money from your hand and shoves it in his jeans before walking to the back. As you waited, you began to process the night. 
He could have just sucked your blood and left. You wonder what stopped him. What made him show you any mercy? Or was it maybe your blood doesn't smell tasty enough? Did even vampires not want you? You were kind of offended. 
“Here, it was the last one in the bag, so i just kept it with the juices.” He grimaced, staring at the sloshing of blood in the clear bag, “Is this for that one girl, whats her name? Autumn? Isnt she a wit-“ 
“Cant stay! Bye!” 
He watches as you leave the diner, heading straight towards the dark woods, and he shutters. weird, that was weird. 
As you get closer to the tree, you notice a crawling figure making their way out of the path, it was kai. Kai was on his knees, looking worse by the minute. You felt fear in this moment, if you get close to him, will he be able to control himself? But with the brittle way he tries to hold himself up, you knew you didnt have the heart to leave him there. you stick your hand in your bag to feel the vial, maybe winter knew what she was doing when she gave you this. So you run the rest of the journey, and begin to pull him up, setting him up against another tree nearby, watching the veins now turn black and thicker, it was like something inside him was eating him up. The tears were now running down his cheeks, and his hair was looking tussled. 
“what are you doing? I told you to stay… You're wasting your energy.” 
“I think I'm dying…”
“Here, I hope this helps.” You pull the bloody steak out of the bag and prepare for him to grab it, only for him to begin eating from your hand, with his teeth digging into the slab of meat aggressively. With each slurp the veins retract back into his skin, the softness and shininess coming back. Your hands tugged every now and then, as you tried to stay still, the blood was running down his neck and bleeding into his white blouse as he sucked the last drop. The crystallized freckles popped out one by one and even a dozen more, his cheeks were fuller and had a bit more color than before.And his black eyes were no longer dull, they were shining and reflecting the light coming from the nearby building. The most noticeable change was his lips, that were once dry and cracked, had become tinted pink and soft, creating their very own gloss. 
His eyes looked up to you after realizing the steak was now dry. The pink on his cheeks grows a shade darker as he stares, slowly releasing the meat from his hold, letting the weight, or lack of it, hang on your fingertips. You clear your throat. 
“Um… complementary blood juice?” 
“You're so weird… What are you?Why aren't you running away? Matter of fact, why did you come back?” He no longer feels at death's door, having the energy to investigate. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve and you watch as the blood drips from his mouth. You swallow hard. 
“I-Im human. Im Y/N.” His head tilts. 
“I know your name… why did you come back?” 
“I dont know… I don't know! You looked pretty but also sad and scared and you were crying… I couldn't leave you like that!” You're looking down at your hands, noticing not only the dry blood on them, but the ring of mud on your skirt. Anton had every right to be weirded out.
Kai covers his face with his hands, “Stop calling me pretty!” 
“Im sorry.” There's a beat of silence. 
“Where did you even get this? Did you put something in it? Are you working for someone?” 
“What?! No! I-I bought it! Pretty expensive I might add! And I-I expect to be paid!” 
“Dont worry, I can afford a 5 dollar steak” He smugly adds.  
“Ha! 5 dollars… what world are you living in?! You're in the year 2025!! That steak was 60!! 60 dollars!!” You refrain telling him the part where you offered that much. 
“60 dollars?! Where did you get 60 dollars from?!” He looks you up and down, from the muddy brown skirt to your new brown, now covered in splotches of red, sweater.
“It was birthday money.” you snap unintentionally. A beat of silence passes. 
“I'm sorry, I'm being ungrateful, you just saved me…I just… humans aren't usually this… caring? Happy Birthday….by the way…” 
“Thank you.” You sheepishly state, no longer looking at him as the heat rises to your cheeks. You grab your phone from your bag again, taking a look at the time. 2:43am. The group chat had died down by this point, leaving you with a couple of missed calls and messages of concern and then an updated message from your call with Soobin before everyone started saying good night. One message caught your eye though, a private message from Winter. 
1:20am
Please be careful…
“What is that?” 
“What?”
“In your hand? You talked to it earlier too, right?” 
Hes leaning forward now, scooting a bit closer. Its almost like he forgot he was a threat and you leaned back, before he looked at you and then back your hand curiously. 
“My phone…it's a phone.” 
“Woah… you mean like the telephone was modernized? Where’s the wiring?” 
“Its mobile now… l-like wireless?” 
“Wireless?! That's so interesting…This is so advanced, where are the buttons?” His eyes are bright with curiosity. 
“Its touchscreen!” His excitement was contagious and you couldn't help but giggle. 
“Touchscreen?” 
“Yeah, look!” You say clicking it on, the lock screen displaying a picture of Winter and Soobin wearing halloween masks posing back to back. You smile softly. You unlock it, passing it over to him to look through. Your hand skims his as he grabs the device. You feel a shock before pulling your hand away quickly, knocking your bag and hearing the items that it contains hitting the floor. Your eyes widening looking back at him and see he's already staring at you with the same expression. You clear your throat and frantically start collecting the items. 
I'm crazy but not Bella crazy. You thought. 
As you watch him scroll through your social media, leaving likes accidentally, asking ‘who is this?” Every time someone comes up, you realize just  how funny this all is. Here you were hanging out with a vampire. You were sure you were gonna wake up at some point. 
“What year were you born?” He stops to look at you, thinking for a moment…
“I dont really remember…” His eyes dim, brows scrunch together. “I've been 22 for a while…” He clears his throat, “What about you? I mean, how old are you?” 
“I turned 22 a couple hours ago” 
He nods. 
“Its been awhile since I've been up again… this era feels different. Everything seems so…” 
“Boring? It might just be the town.” 
“No it just feels like something big is gonna happen, It makes me nervous.” 
“Oh… are there more of you?” Your phone is no longer on, his gaze intensifies. 
“Y-yes. Actually, it's getting late… You should head home.” He gets up as quickly as he can still groaning, probably the blood was still working its way through his system. 
“You're letting me go?” 
“Ofcourse, you saved my life.” 
You felt silly but couldn't help but ask. 
“Will I ever see you again?” He looks up at the trees, looking around like he’s keeping guard. 
“I don't know if that's a good idea…” 
“Well… you still owe me 60 bucks…” He laughs, and it makes him look the most human, even with the sharp teeth. 
“Okay. I'll be back with your money, but for now, let's get you home.” 
Luckily, the walk to your dorm was taking a bit longer than it usually did, both of your footsteps slowly making its way down the cemented path to the dorms. You still had so many questions, yet no way of framing them without coming across as nosy. You wanted to know more about him, why was he in this lousy college town, why doesn't he remember where he's from, who are the others and why did he look so nervous mentioning them. But instead, you had to start small, not wanting to bring up troubling thoughts. 
“What was your last year awake?” 
“Hmmm…guess?” He smirks and looks down at you, his hands locked behind him, holding on to the bag of steak juice that was probably a bit warm now. 
“Okay, well you knew about the telephone but they weren't wireless… and your steak prices were unimaginably low, but your denim fashion is throwing me off…Hmmm…” 
“Was denim a thing recently?” 
“Well, theyve always been a thing but jean vest give off 80’s or 90’s…Thats not my answer though!”
He's squinting his eyes at you, trying to force a smile down. 
“19…7…1?” 
“Ooo, close. 1965.” 
“damn…But the jean vest?!” 
“It was outta sight! All the rebels were wearing it!” 
“But, you don't seem like the rebel type, you're too nice.” 
“I dont know about nice…” he rubs the back of his neck, “but someone like me has to blend in.” 
“Hmm…” 
“What about you?”
“What about me?” 
“Are you a rebel?” Kai looks at you amused with a smile, and it only grows as you heat up.
“G-god no! I'm not built for that lifestyle.” It was true, you were weird but all you ever did was follow the rules, anything that felt mildly risky, threw you out for a loop. 
He laughs and nods. 
“I'm like that too.” 
“Yeah right…” 
“No really! I've never been good at being “bad”…maybe that's why I couldnt…you know…” Hes referring to the moment back in the woods. 
“Oh, yeah well, thanks for that.” 
“No, um thank you.” He remembers the look of curiosity upon your face as he sucked on the steak, the way your mouth hung open and your eyebrows furrowed together, your eyes displayed different emotions at a grand speed, he wasn't sure if you once ever looked disgusted, and he was glad he didn't.  He never wanted to be at the receiving end of it. 
You took your keys out. Looking back at him, you had one more question to ask…
“Have you ever…killed someone?” He stares at you, once again the intensity of his stare grows, like back when you asked if there were more of him. 
“...not directly… Ive…fed on them before but they were already dead.” He whispers and he looks so ashamed. 
“You really shouldn't be so trusting…” he wouldn't look at you anymore, “there's no way of knowing someone could be truly dangerous.” 
“I feel like I can trust you at least, right?” you wanted to touch his hand, reaching forward to grab it, and when Kai sees the mess of dry blood on it and on your sweater sleeve he grimaces, but grabs it. 
“You should head in and wash this off.” His cold hands linger on yours for a moment before he bends down and kisses your palm gently, squeezing his eyes shut trying to fight off the smell of your blood and the steak’s. 
You can't fight the blush that comes to your cheeks, so instead you turn to unlock your door. Once opened you turn in hopes of locking in the image of the shining man you've met.
“Goodni-” But he's gone, leaving no trace of himself behind, just the lingering feeling of his mouth on your wrist. 
—- 
Waking up the next morning, replaying the dream of Kai biting your wrist instead of kissing it over and over again, confirmed that last night was not a dream and you did in fact meet a vampire. Now the question was, Where was he now? What was he doing? 
“Y/N! Come quick!” your roommate, Chaewon, yells, panic laced in her cry. 
Your hair was still wet from last night's shower, not having the energy to blow dry it, you had placed it in a messy bun. You untangle your hair now from the band, and walk into the living room. 
BREAKING NEWS: Diner worker and college student, Lee Anton, found dead this morning by diner manager. As of now, Davenport College is working closely with police. While the autopsy has come back as an unknown death, police are not ruling out homicide- 
“What?” you whisper. Chaewon is already hanging on to you, shaking at the proximity of it. You didn't know Chaewon all that well, saying polite greetings and exchanges was as far as you went and yet you couldn't help but hold on to her as someone knocked on your door. 
Shaking, you head over and crack the door. 
“Hey, this was at the front door of the building, it was addressed to you.” The RA looked down at his hands and you followed. 
In his hand, was the grey glitter liquid encased in the glass vial, with it came a note: 
Y/N L/N, forgetting this?
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A/N: YOU MADE IT!!!! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!! Please let me know your thoughts! I'll most likely continue this cause vampire kai has my attention rn... but I am starting school up again soon so,,, WHO KNOWS?! it also depends if people liked it :'3. SO please let me know your thoughts, tell me you love it, tell me you hate it, either way tears will be spilled! - J
ps. still learning how Tumblr works so if my formatting looks funny...help...
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blingblong55 · 8 months ago
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Snow at the beach- John "Soap" MacTavish NSFW
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Based on a request: Hi there. I wanted to make a request for something a bit personal. All this week, my family has been criticizing my weight (which I have struggled with my whole life) and told me point-blank that no one would ever love me because of it. That being said, I would like to request a writing with Soap. Let's say the reader has been avoiding sex with him for a while. They'll kiss and stuff, but as soon as he starts pulling her shirt up, she pulls it back down and makes some sort of excuse. This goes on for a while until Soap confronts her about it. She basically then goes off, pointing out all her bodily flaws and how fat and hideous she thinks she is and asks him how he could ever think she was sexy. And all he says is, “How can I NOT?” And he makes love to her and every time she makes a complaint about her body or calls herself ugly, she shushes her, ultimately taking her in front of a mirror and making her look at herself and how sexy she looks taking him. And when they're done, Soap should talk about how she's not fat, she's cute and squishy. ---- F!Reader, smut, MDNI, 18+, established!relationship, self!degrading, body!issues, unprotected!sex, plus size/chubby!reader ----
A/N: anon, I hope you find love from family elsewhere, there words are not correct because love is not by bodies, its by hearts and emotions. Anyway, I got carried away in the smut...love you <3
Three weeks ago, the issue started. Your family decided to visit you and your boyfriend, and that's exactly when they commented how he must be lying to you about loving you. Surely a man like himself wouldn't be with a girl like you. "A girl like me?" you asked and your mother nodded. You know, big…fat and if we are honest, ugly because your body makes you ugly, honey," she feigns kindness as she says this. You don't let her see how terrible her words hurt, so when Johnny and your family were talking, you excused yourself and walked to the bedroom.
In the comfort of the room, you cried, wiped your tears and fixed your makeup. What if they were right? What if Johnny was just trying to pretend to love you to get with a woman who according to them is beautiful? It's funny, watching yourself cry in front of the mirror when just that morning, Johnny watched you smile as you applied makeup.
Once they were gone and the night took over the skies, Johnny found himself sitting on the bed, waiting as his bonnie got out of her shower. He looks around, impatient because he knows how naturally beautiful you look after your showers. If it were for him, he'd create a temple just to worship you, because to him your beauty comes from within.
When you two lay in bed, he turns to you, his hands caressing your sides as his eyes look over your lovely goddess-like body. He leans in, his lips capturing yours in an ever-loving kiss. He places himself on top of you, his hands wandering into your shirt as they always do. Usually, this would bring butterflies but with the conversations held during the day, those butterflies were long gone from your system. All you could think about was the truth that you believed from the serpents you call family.
"Sorry, I'm…tired, Johnny, not tonight, okay?" you say and he nods. He is a gentleman after all so if you say no, that's where it ends and he just cuddles you to sleep.
After the three-week mark, his patience runs thin. You avoid his neck and shoulder kisses, you no longer sleep in the comfy tank top you like. You begin to distance the intimacy of tough he would provide. Of course, he would respect your desire to not have sex but he knows there is something more deeper than tiredness or lack of lust for him.
"Lass, what's the matter?" he asks one night and you sigh. It was time the truth lay in bed with you both. "I don't think we should continue this," you say, trying to keep distance. It was common for you to do this with men you thought were too good to be true for you, you break it off and regret it later. But he is different; you never see life after Johnny because he is it for you.
"Naw, we're no' daein this. Ye cannae just expect me tae accept this," he says with hints of sadness. "Johnny, it's not fair if you say with me. You don't deserve to be with a girl of my size-" you say and he cuts you off. "Don't ye dare finish that thought, bonnie. Ye're this incredible, gorgeous girl an' I'm one lucky bastard tae hae found ye afore another man did. I love ye, I love that silly wee mind, I love wakin' up tae ye beside me," he says and leans in. Your eyes try to play strong against the floods of tears that threaten to drown your eyes.
He takes your hand into his, placing it over his heart, "Ye're this smart, funny, stupid at times," he chuckles and goes on, "..look, whit I'm trying tae say is, I love ye. I dinnae see myself with some lass ye think I deserve, whatever that stupid thing meant. I deserve a bonnie that holds me close when I come home frae work. The kind of lass that takes me tae quiet places because she likes them, the kind of lass that makes me laugh so hard, the kind of lass I see masel' in fifty years," he says before he gets emotional and clears his throat.
"My mum always said, find yer other half, worry about their looks when they are sick and dinnae tell ye. An' damn it, y/n, I worry when ye get sick and don't smile, I worry when ye look in that damn mirror and think tae yersel' that yer body isnae enough. So dinnae tell me yer not enough for me when every damn day I find masel' worshippin' yer body like it's my religion. I fuckin' love you," he says out of breath as he looks into your eyes. His gaze is full of sincerity.
You shake your head. "I'm fat, even if I wanted to, there are things I can't do, I prefer dim lights for sex…I limit your life of adventure by being this way," you say with tears finally falling. "Look at me, I'm just not deserving of you. A guy like you doesn't just magically fall in love with a girl like me!" you say frustrated in wanting him to understand.
"Cut the bullshit, bonnie! I rather die for ye than any other girl! Cannae ye see that ye have bewitched my heart and soul with those sweet eyes and lips? That yer laughter alone makes me a madman when I cannae hear it? I have fallen for ye over and over, and if it takes me lifetimes tae make ye realise I'm the one that needs yer soul attached to mine, then I'll sit and wait for ye tae understand that." he holds both your hands by now as he pulls you in.
"You don't get it-!"
"Maybe I don't, but god damn do I love ye," he says breathlessly and cups your face and without a warning, kisses you like there is no tomorrow.
"Ye are the love of my life. Skinny, tall, fat, short, stupid or smart, I love ye and I fucking love this gorgeous body of yours," he says between pecks to your lips.
Your tears staining your cheeks as he wipes them away and makes you walk to the mirror. "Look at ye, bonnie. Men used to worshipped women like ye,…still do," he mumbles the last part.
You look at him and he smirks. He closes the door and bends you over the sink. "Just look at how I make love tae ye, yeah? If you dinnae believe I love you the way ye are, break up with me," he kisses the back of your neck, taking grip of your hair and slowly parts your legs, undoes your clothes and spits on his fingers.
The euphoria and anticipation built up in Johnny as he let out a chuckle, his hand sliding up your leg to grab your ass. "Yer goin' to make me a madman, ye wee temptress," he whispered, tilting your head down to kiss him. His tongue slithered into your mouth, pressing you against him more, feeling your fingers stroking his hard cock.
His hand slid back to your ass, squeezing it before he turned you around. "Bend over the table and show me that ass," he demanded, his voice a mix of desire and command. He was losing control, thinking of how tight and perfect your ass was. 
Your body is the perfect temple for his every loving heart and it's time he worships it again but better this time.
"Fuckin' perfect," Soap praised, eyeing your wet pussy and puckered ass. His cock twitched, feeling his heart pound in his chest. He stepped up, taking one of the lube from the table, unscrewing the cap after squirting it on his fingers. "Ease back against me, lass," he ordered, spreading the lube on your puckered hole.
"Take my fingers," he commanded, coating two fingers in lube before slowly pushing them into your ass. Johnny groaned softly at the sensation, feeling your muscles clench around his fingers. "That's it," he praised, his other hand fondling your pussy, slick with your arousal. The scent of sex filled the air, heavy and intoxicating.
"Come on, lass… Tease me some more," he growled, pulling his fingers out, his cock aching to fill you. Johnny stepped away for a moment to roll a condom onto his cock, grunting with the effort of restraint. When he stepped back, his eyes were dark and intense. "Slip those wee cheeks apart…" He commanded eyes on your ass. "Ye're mine, Y/N."
"Nngh," Johnny groaned, the sight of you eagerly waiting for him driving him over the edge. "Alright, lass, take it," he growled, pushing his cock against your tight entrance. He lined his tip against your tight pussy lips, feeling you quiver even more.
"Ye feel fuckin' amazing, ye know that?" He asked jaw clenched as he slowly pushed himself inside you. Your tight walls engulfed him, sending shivers down his spine. "Such a perfect lass," Johnny moaned, grinding his hips, a bit rougher into yours. He grabbed your hips, holding them tightly, feeling that you were made for his cock.
"Fuckin' take all of me," he growled, pulling back slightly before plunging himself in deep, the sound of their clothes slapping together, your moans and his grunts filled the air. Johnny began to thrust into you, each stroke harder and more intense than the last. His grip on your hips tightened, feeling a roughness in him, a need to claim you. "Ah, ye like that, Y/N…don't ye?" He snarled, his voice bordering on a roar.
His hand snakes to your throat, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror. Your body and his move in a cosmically beautiful passion as he makes love to you in the best way he can. Your eyes lock with his, the love he has for you is evident in the soft eyes he gives you. He fucks you like a whore but treats you like the princess you are, and that's what makes this all so beautiful.
Your whimpers, mixed with that beautiful face that is riddled with pleasure makes him chuckle a little. "Oh, ye're beggin' for it. Ye dirty kinky slut," Johnny hissed, his hands leaving your hips, only to grab your hair, yanking your head back into an almost uncomfortable angle. "Take it, take my cock, and scream for me, lass," he demanded, increasing his pace, his thrusts harder, leaving no time to catch your breath.
He leaned down to nibble your neck, "You make me feel alive, ye know that, Y/N? I live for this, for the way I lose myself in ye, for the way ye take my cock so perfectly." Johnny's breathing grew ragged, "Fuck, ye're so tight, so wet."
"I'm gonna cum, deep inside ye. I'm gonna fill ye up," he grunted, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "Cum with me, lass. Show me how you feel--" He didn't finish, unable to stop himself as they reached their peak together, his cock pulsing inside you, his cum filling your sweet pussy as he moaned your name, his pleasure ringing through the chamber. "Ah, Y/N…!"
You scream in pleasure his name, earning his pants to get rougher as he so gently kisses your neck. His eyes never leave that sight of you in the mirror.
"Nngh," Johnny groaned, his cock throbbing inside you as he waited for the aftershocks of your orgasm to subside. He waited for your body to steady, enough to pull out without making a mess. "Easy, Y/N," he whispered, slowly pulling out and tucking his spent cock away.
"Ye made me cum so hard, and I love every second of it," he praised, grabbing his clothes. Johnny lifts your chin to look at him. "That was… fuckin' amazing, lass," he admitted, unable to stop a grin.
He brushed the hair back from your face, placing a kiss on your forehead. "Ye always leave me breathless, Y/N," he chuckled, a feral gleam in his eyes. 
Your face cooling down as you lean to his kiss your arms wrap around him so beautifully. He lifts you and smiles, "Ye believe me now?" he kisses your cheek and you nod. A moment like this, where you can sit naked in front of him, where it feels like a realistic romance movie, where the girl finds the guy that was made for her.
He truly does love you, no matter the size or shape…or even if others whisper venomous words into your ear. He is the land of peace in which your body has found comfort, the one man that in a sea of snakes and evil standards makes you feel at home, even if you wake up looking like a mess. In this world, he and you stick together, not for the looks or the vanity the world tells you, you must fit in. His love is rare, comes every few lifetimes, it's beautiful and weird like snow at the beach.
A/N: at the end of the day, you need to love yourself, no matter your size of if you meet society's standards of beauty because you are your own standard of beauty. I love you, but I'm sure your love for yourself is stronger <3 (which it should be) Also, only tagged those that let me know they are comfortable with plus size!reader pics and those that I believe dont mind it
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