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eatsyou-a · 4 years ago

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‘ your gracious founder, a visitor is here to see you. ’

there, he sits on the top of his throne, hands rests neatly in his lap. youthful, not yet touched by the devil; teeth free of fangs, fingers free of claws. you can get out, child, if you give yourself the opportunity to do so. ‘ is that so? let them in! ’

it's several moments before movement is heard and the door slides open to expose muzan kneeling and eyes cast towards the tatami, however with long hair down and dressed in an elegant, beautiful kimono; seeming to dress himself up for this occasion. it's an act of temporary acclaim, to give the illusion that douma alone deserves the respect and voice in this exchange.

a silence lingers over them both when it slides closed, eyes widening so slightly as he notices that the presence was far more illuminating than his own. stunned awe when cracked, red demon eyes meet with the purpose. his smile is soft, but the eyes tell a completely different story. he does not give him the opportunity to speak, letting him know from this moment that muzan is the figure on the pedestal. ‘ i have heard about this cult across the mountains and cities. how pathetic to see a human pretending to play god; the boy with the rainbow eyes. ’ now, he's no longer on his knees, but standing at full height, intimidation emitting from proud shoulders and the glare set on douma's body. ‘ speak, douma. ’

a seeming spell that was cast is snapped, mouth open in amazement. he was strong, unbeknownst that he was looking death straight in the face. no fear numbing the fingertips, just curiosity. ‘ ah~ i see this is no normal visit then? ’ instead, he plants on a manufactured smile; soft and taught. ‘ that's me! the founder of eternal paradise! i'm actually very impressed you know my name! ’ a hand is placed over his heart, giving an impression of the passion and proud duty of shouldering his followers' yawn - inducing stories. ‘ i listen to those people that are suffering, that's my job— ’

‘ —a job who's festering them with pointless lies. heaven and hell do not exist, a notion you very well understand. are they really so desperate to hold on to anything that will save them from an inevitable end? tell me, why do you hold this position when a god stands right in front of you? ’ he takes a step closer, nails peaking past the line of sleeves. ( he's no fool to not notice. oh, but what could he say; my parents forced me into this position, so this is all i've ever known? ) ‘ you will answer me. kneel. ’

which he does, moving from the comfort of large pillows for his turn to be his knees. innocent eyes look up in a clash against muzan's own, hands resting, too, upon tatami. ‘ i'm sorry, i'm just intrigued, ya' know! you haven't even told me your name! ’

his carefree attitude seems to irritate, no building horror for what he portrays. a hand shoots down to grab at the crowd of his head, nails digging and piercing into the scalp. no other moves are made, veins popping from ill - like pale skin. blood slowly starts to stain blond threads, which earns a silent scream, those rainbow irises blown wide, but makes no move to fight against him; can't, with the state of shock. hurts— it hurts so much, like flesh slowly being peeled off layer by layer. it burns. what the hell was this man?

his head tilts, but never changes his disposition. ‘ why do you continue to live while your parents have long died? lust and wrath consumed them, leaving you behind. every day you play this charade when you gradually lose your interest; your worshippers disperse, leave. your eyes leave a lasting impression. ’ the voice rests back to soft; turn and manipulate. ‘ born to believe you’re a disciple of these gods. yet, here you stay, clinging to anything that identifies your humanity. you cry for them, help them until their last breaths. do you genuinely care for these stories when they have no one considers your own? you've heard it all before. ’ shocking reds glower, digging his claws just a bit deeper. ‘ i can give you a purpose. ’ during this moment, he doesn't wait for an answer. ‘ become a demon. ’

blunt nails dig into rice straw matting, his heart hammering so fast in a hollow chest one would think it would burst out its rib cage. all of it was happening so fast, burning flesh distracting racing thoughts; it almost didn't catch up. ‘ a . . . demon? ’ his vocal cords feel crushed, feeling the blood rush down his throat; practically chokes on it. hands want to move and claw at his hand, pull it away but his body doesn't dare move.

‘ you will dedicate yourself to me, grow strong and prove among those that sit at the bottom, gnawing their own bones and choking themselves with their intestines; take your place. rise the ranks to become an upper moon, douma. you will no longer feel that pain you have suffered. you will be surrounded by those who have lived like you, fought the same battles of the cruel truth of humanity: you are nothing. but you are special, those eyes will be useful to me. . . . if you let this since settle, you will die. a waste of a subordinate. ’

time was ticking, the tips of his nails now penetrating the skill with the added gradual blood loss and irreversible damage to the brain. this was no negotiation, putting him in a situation where the answer is immediate, lest death will take over. except, he doesn't fear death or a possible domino future; the numbness of panic and the lighting strike of pain in his cranium is now nothing but a dull pressure. blood falls down his cheekbone and chin, drips to stain expensive clothes. he can't breathe, his own fluid caught in his throat. can't speak, so instead the look is giving muzan a silent plea.

honestly, i'm bored of this repetitious life. living long until old age doesn't appeal to me. maybe this is something new that he can give me. maybe . . . i'll feel something that seems so far away; human emotions.

lips curl into a smile - like smirk, immediately pumping in irregular amounts of blood. ‘ take it. ’

the shocking wave of intense pain from the crown of his skull is nothing now, the pure gradients of colors explode from its sockets, red cascading down his cheeks; tears. the body convulses, scream caught halfway. bones slowly, torturously so, breaking into a million pieces only for them to fix themselves, teeth regrow with an emphasis on long canines. the hand gripping him remains so still, flesh seeming to transform into something abominable then resting still, veins prominent in his fingers up to his eyes, where they regrow as if they never burst. no carvings yet, but the moment or so passes, feeling the fingers leave and the wound heals slowly. now, lays an imitation of a permanent blood stain as he falls to the side and collapses, body remain twitching. slowly, the heart that beats so triumphally in his chest stops. it becomes no longer.

it feels as if it was minutes . . . hours. it seems this noise got the attention of the cults helpers and temple caretakers, which muzan takes one last look down at douma. ‘ you're hungry, aren't you? eat. i'll look for you, worry not. ’ turning to leave, the door shoots up, which they all run past, shouldering and bumping to force their way. seems the attention wasn't fixated on him, and if you looked back to accuse, he would be gone.

‘ your gracious founder! are you alright?! quick, acquire a doctor! ’ except when they aid a limp body, douma looks up at him with a unfamiliar, blinding hungry in his eyes. there lacks pupils, only color and uncharacteristic, sadistic smile as hands roughly grip the workers shoulders to force him down.

‘ you'll spare yourself, won't you? ’ hungry, i'm so hungry. i've never felt this urgency to feast so intensely, these people who have been here since i was appointed . . . they don't matter to me. food. feed me, like you were intended to since the start. ‘ thanks for the food! ’

#m.#ignore the fact that i cant write muzan #this is about how happens but u can tell when i rushed but its whatever #no fancy formatting because this is just a drabble and even it would be hard to read #muzan: join my emo band #gore tw /#eye trauma tw /

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kat-got-lost · 4 years ago

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hello hello!!!! could i perhaps request some poly!dt hcs w a transmasc s/o? (only if ur comfy writing it tho!) tysm <3

(A/N aaaa as a transmasc person this request made me super happy :D was very fun to write, tried a new format with this just because i didn’t really know what to write)

poly!dt x transmasc!reader (he/they pronouns used :)

warnings// mentions of dysphoria (talks about them comforting you on a bad dysphoria day), really light mention transphobia

genre// fluff, angst if you squint r e a l l y hard

format// headcanons, drabble

these boys love you so much, they do as much as they can to make you feel comfy

bad dysphoria days

these boys would be so sweet if your dysphoria was particularly bad that day

dream absolutely pampers you

you want his hoodie? of course, take all of them! you wanna dress up and go out someplace fancy? he’s already making reservations and telling sapnap nd george. you just wanna cuddle with him and watch TV? that’s great too, he’s already on the couch waiting for you to snuggle up with you

(if you don’t/can’t wear a binder just skip the line under this, reminder that even if you don’t wanna/can’t bind ur still so valid ily bby my dms r always open <33 /p)

if it was a really r e a l l y bad day, he would encourage you to wear one of his larger hoodies because he knew if you got your binder on you probably wouldn’t take it off until a couple days later. of course if you really wanted he wouldn’t stop you, but he’d instead remind you to take it off after 7 hours

dream goes all out, he does anything to distract you from how you’re feeling. he cooks/helps you make your comfort food and you spend the rest of the day cuddled up in blankets watching your favorite shows or playing games with george and sap

sapnap is very affectionate with you

he doesn’t always know what to do when you’re having a bad day but he offers you all the support and comfort he can

will drown you in his hoodies, blankets and cuddles

he’ll probably bake with you or bake for you, he’ll make cupcakes, bread, brownies, anything he thinks you’d enjoy

george is so soft with you

he’ll be gently cuddling you and tracing shapes and circles on your arms and back

just has a nice lazy day with you and your two other boyfriends

so sweet about everything, lets you cry into his chest if you need to whisphering out quiet “shh it’s okay baby let it out” or he’d let you rant about how ever you were feeling letting out a “it’s alright, get it all out love, im right here” while running his fingers through your hair/slowly running his hand up and down your back

all three of them are so sweet and so caring when you’re having a bad day and are willing to do whatever they can to make you feel better

confronting a transphobe

dream is the one who tries his best to be calm and rational about it

he’ll calmly tell whoever’s being transphobic to you to “knock it off” with a cold smile

if they continue he’ll stop being as nice and glare with a scarily calm smile with an almost eerie calm voice “he’s my boyfriend and if you’re not gonna respect him i’m gonna need you to fuck off”

sapnap is the one trying to throw hands

literally you, dream, and george needed to restrain him from punching a couple of toxic fans who saw you guys and made some not so great comments

would grab whoever invalidated you by their shirt collar and go “what’d you say bitch? that lovely person over there happens to by my boyfriend, and if you’re not gonna give him some basic respect im gonna need to get violent. so you’re either going to go give them an apology or fuck off.”

george would be the one who gives sends them death glares

he knows dream and sapnap have it covered so he mainly keeps his attention on you makin sure you’re alright

“you okay love? it’s alright, we’re here. don’t listen to them, you’re so valid sweetheart. you’re our handsome baby and no one can ever change that.”

sends whoever made nasty comments about you death glares while he hugs you and gently presses your face into his chest

overall these boys are so sweet and adorable and they do everything they can to make you feel valid, safe, and loved

(A/N i am so tired, and so soft holy crap)

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distracteddegenerate · 4 years ago

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Ok so I know how Gojo would supposedly be “unfaithful” in a relationship, but imagine if he properly falls for a girl who toys with his heart and breaks it and then he understands the feeling

Drabble where Y/N girlbosses Gojo :)

This was supposed to be in HC format but eh I don’t feel like it

Warnings: Mentions of Smut

Minors Do Not Interact

1k+ words

Gojo, in all his talent, wealth and good looks has no problem finding women to keep him company. In fact, most of the time he's actively having to bat away frenzied stalkers. I mean come on, the guy is devastatingly handsome. 6 feet and 3 inches tall, cerulean blue eyes, snow white hair and a body carved of marble sourced from Mount Olympus itself.

Not to mention he’s the strongest jujutsu sorcerer of them all.

Many times has he turned a teary-eyed confessor away, because he's "Just not looking for something serious right now".

Or maybe he does keep them around a little, if they are entertaining enough. A chick on the side is fun, if only just to help him get his rocks off every once in a while. What? The life of a Jujutsu sorcerer is a tireless one, and he needs to unwind somehow. Though it never really lasts long. He usually says the wrong thing, makes some off-hand comment about how little they truly mean to him, and then they’re yelling, threatening to leave, and he just doesn’t care enough to argue back. And then they’re gone.

It kind of annoys him when some one-night stand he maybe said he’d see again is getting pissy about him hanging out with another chick. It’s not like he promised to stop seeing other people. Right, He’s not disloyal. He just never promised to restrict himself to one person in the first place.

It’s just, no-one strikes his fancy. No-one interests him. All these girls are the same, they take one look at him and come running. And shit, that’s not even limited to chicks.

His entire life, Gojo has been treated by those around him like he's God’s gift. Hell, some even refer to him as a God in his own right. He knows he's special, a head above everyone else, and that’s why they all want him.

Gojo had just assumed you were the same as the rest the day you met at that bar. The sex was good sure, but you stunned him with conversation that was unlike anything else he’d had before. How many times has he had to sit through the same old shit about some chick’s piece of shit friends he’s convinced she only sticks around with just so she has something to complain about later, since her life is so otherwise boring. How many times as he had to listen to the same old disingenuous compliments that thinly veil some ulterior motive. He knows he’s attractive. He knows he’s powerful. What he also knows is, is that those are the only things that they care about. What about the other qualities of Gojo Satoru, huh?

But you were different. You asked him about him, and took interest in what he felt. You wanted to know about his life, mundane stuff included. You asked about the kids he taught at his school, the movies he liked, guilty pleasure ones included. You entertained his pranks and jokes. Took interest in what he liked, what he thought.

Gojo would fall for someone who made him feel like a regular person, not like some valuable prize to be obtained, or some powerful God to bow before. Someone he can joke around with, for real. Someone who’d do one of those ugly snort laughs, and not be embarrassed cause fuck I fucked up in front of Gojo. He just wants sincerity, someone who lets the walls down and acts like a human in front of him. Because that makes him feel human too.

And that’s why he fell so hard. Stopped seeing the other chicks. He felt like something real could come out of this, real care and real love. You made him fantasize about normalcy. He didn’t know he could settle for just being a normal person and live life how he wanted before you showed him he could just be a human, and not settle for some revered destiny carved for him by those who saw him as a god.

That’s why he put more effort into asking you out for real than he had put into plenty of undertakings he’d attempted in his life before, barring some particular sorcery incidents.

But before he could do it, he saw you with that other guy. And when he confronted you, you just blinked, because, this was never meant to be anything serious anyways. You’d heard that he was the kind of guy to play with women’s hearts, and that’s why you never got too attached. Gojo was just another guy to fuck around with, who you’d already ruled yourself out from getting attached to.

For once in his life, Gojo was treated like the dispensable one.

You broke things off for real because while you knew he was starting to get attached, you had heard so much about what he was like. A good fuck, but a player. You didn’t want to end up with your feelings getting hurt.

Gojo had never experienced that kind of rejection in his life before, and it shook him, made him miserable. Even his students picked up on it. Of all the women that would come to him in fleets, the one he truly wanted thought so little of him. It was a cruel joke, really. From then on he didn’t really know what to do with himself. He could continue pursuing you but what would that achieve other than creeping you out. You broke it off because you thought he was getting clingy in the first place.

He toyed with the idea of letting it stew, and swearing off other women until he could show you he had changed, and that he was willing to start acting right. But you were with that other guy now, and Gojo didn’t know how long he’d have to wait for.

And so he reverted, chasing countless women who vaguely resembled you, just so he could think for even a second it was your (h/c) hair brushing at his chin, that it was you who lay in his arms in that hotel bed.

But it never was, and he’d fucked up again because he wanted to be better, to be the person you’d want. But he’d do the same thing he always would, in a miserable, infinite cycle.

And he’d regret it every time.

#yeah make him suffer haha #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk #distracted.writes

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meltwonu · 4 years ago

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| 🍒 CH-CH-CHERRY BOMB! 🍒 | [CHAPTER 1]

pairing; dom!seungcheol x camgirl!reader

this chapter’s notes; masturbation, daddy!kink. Hello! WELCOME TO CHERRY BOMB! Introductory chapter, so it might be a ‘lil slow to start. 🥰💕 Also just wanna say thank you to everyone who waited so patiently for Cherry Bomb! 💕 And also! The formatting of this might be a little different and seem longer, so excuse me for a bit as I figure out the best formatting for this as we go! 😅 If you haven’t already read the drabble this starts after, you can read it right here! You don’t necessarily have to, but it might not make complete sense if you don’t so if you have time, please start there~! 💕 yeehaw!

chapters; 1/?

“Hi dom.cheol!

I just wanted to thank you for your constant support for me~ I’d be nowhere without you~! I’ve been thinking it over and I know I don’t really do private shows or anything… but I would really be interested in doing one for you, free of charge for my biggest supporter! If you’re interested, I’d love to hear back from you! I’m free right now actually, maybe we can even cam and get to know each other better? ;) Hope to hear from you soon! xx cherry_clouds”

Seungcheol can hear his heart pounding in his ears and his fingers going numb when he looks over your message for what has to be the sixth or seventh time now.

He figures he needs to say something but he doesn’t know what; only the sounds of his own screams filling his head as he reads the message again to make sure he’s not dreaming.

“Fuck! Fuck! What do I even say to this?!” He panics, raking his fingers through his hair. Checking the clock, it’s already been ten minutes since you sent the message and he didn’t want to keep you waiting too long for a response but he really didn’t even know what to say.

Seungcheol groans, palms slamming onto the keyboard without a second thought.

dom.cheol: aedeflkijl

cherry_clouds: oh! you’re alive!

“Shit!” He did not mean to send that keysmash.

dom.cheol: fuck, sorry i didn’t mean to send that

dom.cheol: my cat ran across the keyboard

Seungcheol doesn’t own a cat either.

cherry_clouds: aww! It’s okay! I love cats~ you should send me pics sometime! 🥰

A blush coats Seungcheol’s cheek; trying to not let the giddiness take over as he tries to keep his cool when talking to you. He cracks his knuckles, willing the nerves away to the best of his ability before he slips back into his ‘calm and collected’ online presence.

cherry_clouds: How’s your night? Did you enjoy the show~ 💖

dom.cheol: of course, sweetheart. you know i always enjoy watching and supporting you.

He leans back, a genuine smile on his face. Seungcheol spent most of his paychecks on gifts for you, whether it was monetary or clothing or toys for you to use during your shows. There were times when he wondered if this was the right thing to do, or if he was spending his money on something that wasn’t worth his time or energy. But he also couldn’t deny the happiness that he felt when he saw you using the gifts he’d sent or the shoutouts that you’d always give him.

Tonight had gone a little differently than he ever expected, but he didn’t mind.

cherry_clouds: ><;; i wouldn’t be where i am if it weren’t for you always supporting me… I’m really thankful!

You bite your lip, giggling as you sit on your bed. dom.cheol seemed like a really nice person when he’d comment on your cam shows and you were hoping that he would be the exact same in private, which is why you finally gathered all the courage to ask him if he wanted a private show.

There were a lot of risks you took with doing cam shows which you knew when you first started. You didn’t hide your face and even though you’d set up a different address for your mail and gifts, it didn’t stop people from sending you weird things as well. You also had your fair share of people who weren’t very kind and people who tried to get you to do things you weren’t comfortable with, but dom.cheol was always someone in the chat who always made you feel safe.

cherry_clouds: oh! About the private show… were you up for it tonight?

dom.cheol: can i ask for something different? I promise it won’t be something weird.

You quirk a brow, fingers hovering over your keyboard. In all honesty, there were only a few things you really knew about dom.cheol. You knew ‘cheol’ was part of his name because of his username and because he always sent gifts under ‘cheol’ and that he was somewhere in his 20’s. But other than that, you were completely in the dark about anything else about him. You were taking a really big risk by even offering him a private show; you just wished that it was the right decision.

cherry_clouds: um… what did you have in mind?

Seungcheol swallows the lump in his throat, nervousness eating him up again in an instant. He knew that there were boundaries he couldn’t cross and he knew that there was only so much the two of you knew about each other so he wasn’t sure if he was crossing any sort of boundary by asking for favors.

dom.cheol: i mean, you’re probably tired so i didn’t want to force you to do a show for me… i thought maybe we could do a voice call? And just talk for a little bit.

cherry_clouds: oh! Are you sure? I’m fine with that but only if you are!

He bites his knuckles, screaming quietly at how cute and caring you were towards him, even when you contacted him first.

dom.cheol: yeah, of course! I just… i don't want you to be tired. And I would enjoy talking to you if that’s okay.

cherry_clouds: I’d like that too! Okay, let me just get all set up and put some stuff away and i’ll call you, okay? Don’t leave! hehe~ 🥰

dom.cheol: take your time, sweetheart. :)

You nod, although he can’t see it.

Gathering your things and tugging the sheets off your bed, you quickly get cleaned up, tossing your dirty sheets in a pile to be washed along with your toys. You didn’t want to keep him waiting too long and figured you’d deal with it later instead.

It takes you about fifteen minutes to get cleaned up, tossing on a big shirt and panties as you hop back onto your bed with your laptop and clean bed sheets.

cherry_clouds: okay~ i’m ready!

dom.cheol: ready when you are ;)

You locate the call button, nervously pressing it and watching as the call attempts to connect. He answers it on the third ring, a deep voice on the other end.

“Hello?”

It shocks you for a second, a shiver running up your spine with how deep his voice seemed to be. “H--hello? dom.cheol?” There’s a deep chuckle on the other end and you can almost visualize the smirk on his face.

“That’s me, sweetheart. But you can call me Seungcheol. I feel that’s easier on the mouth, hmm?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, unsure. You weren’t really comfortable with giving him your real name just yet and most often than not, your viewers just called you ‘cherry’ or cute pet names which you preferred.

“Sweetheart, don’t worry about giving me your name. I know that’s private, so don’t feel pressured.”

His gentle voice sends your heart fluttering, a shy smile on your lips at his words. “O-okay, sorry I just… you know how it is…” You trail off, twirling a piece of hair around your finger.

“I know and I’m really thankful you gave me this opportunity. It’s nice getting to talk to you like this.”

“Mm, y’know your voice is really deep, Seungcheol! It’s really hot~”

Giggling, you lean up against your pillows, placing your laptop next to you as you lie down. “Oh? What did you imagine when you thought of me, baby?” The drawl in his voice has thrums of arousal pooling in your lower abdomen; thighs rubbing together at the simple question. “Umm.. I dunno… I just… you mentioned being in your twenties before so… I’m just getting used to putting a voice to the name I guess~” His laugher pours through your speakers and you can’t help but fall deeper in love with his voice.

“You didn’t think I was some forty year old pervert, did you?”

This time it’s your turn to giggle, jokingly rolling your eyes at the ceiling. “No, never. And anyway, your taste in lingerie was too good. Which by the way, all of my favorite sets are the ones you’ve sent me!”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. I like to think I’m a ‘lil fashionable.”

“Oh? Can you tell me more about you? I like hearing you talk~”

Seungcheol hums on the other end, pausing to think about what he should tell you.

On most days, he worked at his local roller-skating rink and as boring as it was, it paid extremely well. Then again, that was mostly because nobody really wanted to work there so his boss paid him overtime to keep him there; not that he minded.

The only problem was that it wasn’t exactly a cool or intriguing story to tell; to him at least.

“Hmm, what should I tell you… I don’t exactly work anywhere fancy. But I will say, it pays well. So well that I can spoil you with gifts and donations without a problem. Which, thank you, for always using my gifts.” He pauses.

“By the way, can I ask you a question?” Seungcheol clenches his jaw; it was now or never.

“Mm? Sure~”

“Those things you said about me… That sometimes you pretend it’s my cock when you play with the toys I get you and you wanting me to cum inside your tight ‘lil pussy… Do you really think those things?” Seungcheol’s voice drops an octave and you feel yourself clench around nothingness at the sudden desire to get fucked by this man you’d only just started speaking to.

“I---Y-yes… I have… I m-mean, I don’t know what you look like but--but I just… S-sometimes it’s hard to get off so I have to mentally visualize something…” You trail off, your hand already running down your torso before you start rubbing yourself over your panties. “Sometimes I imagine that you have really big hands when you’re guiding me down onto your cock... Or when they’re wrapped around my throat...”

“Oh? So now that you’ve heard my voice, will you think about it when you’re thinking of my cock fucking your cunt? Hmm? Or when I’m telling you to cum and get my cock nice and wet?” You can hear the cockiness in his voice just as you slide your panties to the side, fingertips sliding through your wet folds.

“I--mmh, uh, y-yeah…”

“Sweetheart, are you touching yourself?”

You moan loudly, body already sensitive from the night’s previous activities but you can’t stop your fingers from rubbing circles around your clit. “Y-yeah, ngh, ‘m sorry, it’s just--you sound so good, ‘Cheol~ I like… listening to you talk dirty to me… It’s different seeing you type it out but god, it sounds so good when it’s your actual voice... I can’t imagine how handsome you are to match...”

If Seungcheol could do backflips right now, he would, but he keeps his calm, taking a deep breath before he continues. “Yeah? Do you like it when daddy tells you what to do? Hmm? Do you like when daddy spoils you rotten? Buys you toys that keep your pussy nice and filled?”

“F--fuck, yes, daddy! Please!” You mewl, toes curling against the sheets as you slip in a single digit into your throbbing pussy. “Do you already have your fingers inside that tight cunt of yours?” You moan in response, nodding at the air as your eyes flutter shut.

“I want you to add another finger, sweetheart. I know you can take it. You must be so sensitive from earlier, huh? And yet here you are, fingering yourself to the sound of my voice.” There’s an airy chuckle at the end that you commit to memory; the sound fueling your wet dreams of Seungcheol being ruthless in his punishments and the deep and dark chuckles that would flood your ears.

But you listen, adding another finger as you scissor them inside of you. The stretch feels good, but you can’t help but imagine how big Seungcheol’s cock really was.

The call is quiet for a few minutes; the sound of your moans and wetness being the only thing Seungcheol can hear. The adrenaline rushes through his veins and he doesn’t even care about the fact he’s already hard; just wanting you to get off on his voice before he deals with himself later.

“Bet you’re thinking about my cock now, huh? I bet I could get you to cum just from sitting on it, just like you said. Fuck, I bet you’d look so good riding me. Or maybe you’d like to sit on my face? Cum on my tongue first and then cum on my cock. And I’d let you have it all.”

You whine at his words, feeling the pleasure building up in your body insanely fast at Seungcheol’s filthy promises. “Yes, god, I want all of it, daddy, please let me cum!”

“Okay, princess, why don’t you touch your ‘lil clit for me. I know it’s not the same but pretend it’s my tongue on your clit and my fingers deep inside your pussy. I want you to cum on my tongue, let me taste how sweet you are.”

You thrust your fingers into you faster, thumb on your clit as garbled moans and broken cries of Seungcheol’s name spill from your lips.

“I’m cumming, f--fuck, daddy, I’m cumming!” You cry, back bowing off the sheets as Seungcheol praises you over the call; his voice music to your ears in the midst of your orgasm.

Seungcheol’s toes curl against his carpeted floor, heart pounding in his ears when he hears his own name rolling off of your tongue. I could get used to that, he thinks. But he quickly brushes the thoughts away, grounding himself again. Okay, but I shouldn’t ‘cause this was a one time thing.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?”

“Mmhmm… y-yeah…”

Your airy breaths pour out of his speakers as he waits for you to come down from your high.

“Fuck, ‘m sorry Seungcheol I--I didn’t… um, I wasn’t expecting that… I mean I was but--but not like that?” You finish with a breathy laugh, sliding your sticky fingers from between your legs as you wipe them on your shirt.

“S’okay, me neither, I feel like I didn’t tell you much about me.” He laughs, running his fingers through his hair.

“Mmm… I mean… I--I wouldn’t mind… talking again? I liked hearing your voice. And maybe next time we can actually talk and not… y’know…” You trail off, staring at the ceiling.

If you weren’t tired from your show, you were definitely tired now; eyes threatening to slide shut from the sleepiness.

“Oh... a next time? I don’t want you to feel pressured into talking to me, sweetheart.” Seungcheol offers. His mind is going a mile a minute at the prospect of a next time but he knows he can’t make you do anything, nor did he want to.

“Hmm... well, how about this! Why don’t you... send me a message with your real phone number and---and a picture of yourself! And then I’ll contact you so you don’t feel like you’re botherin’ me or something.” You feel the adrenaline rushing through your body, ears and face hot now that you’d asked for his personal info.

“I--I can do that.”

The two of you end the call before you can fall asleep on it; wishing each other a good night before you hang up. Seungcheol felt weird about not tipping you or paying you for the call, but you had insisted he didn't need to, since you were the one who offered at first.

You lay in bed, catching your breath and thinking about Seungcheol and how that call went nothing like you ever expected.

Not that you hated it, in fact, you only wanted to know more about him.

Seungcheol sends you a message minutes later, your inbox pinging on the screen as you lean over to open the message.

The first thing you see is his phone number; a simple ‘sweet dreams. ;)’ attached. But the next thing you see is the photo attachment, which you click as quickly as you can.

You drool. You can’t help it, but you do.

His hard cock the first thing you notice about the photo. The next thing are the veins on his hands and the way his hand looks small wrapped around his thick cock. You feel like your throat is as dry as a desert but your eyes travel up; heart beating even quicker when you see his toned torso that leads up to his extremely handsome face and silvery-blue hair.

“Holy shit.”

Seungcheol was definitely not a forty year old pervert.

#scoups smut #seungcheol smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #seungcheol scenarios #seungcheol imagines #scoups imagines #scoups scenarios #svt scenarios #svt imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #scoups #seungcheol #cherrybomb!cheol

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sofuckingdarling-blog-blog · 4 years ago

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Erwin, Levi and tea. Part one of two.

This headcanon drabble hybrid is related to the one I posted earlier regarding Erwin getting joy from teaching/showing Levi new things. it's a long one guys, so i decided to split into two parts!

Erwin is a frugal man by habit. It's not that he has any real convictions against indulging in luxuries it's more that he has no real urge to indulge himself. Erwin tells himself that his frugality is just part of the straight laced stiff postured mask he finds himself wearing all to often, it has nothing to do with an inability to indulge in pleasure without guilt. He doesn't want to analyze the reasons for that and so he very pointedly doesn't.

Anyway the years spent working with/on/around the Survey Corps budget have affected the way he looks at money. He's often had to watch the Corp struggle to afford critical items like morphine and warm winter clothing. Meanwhile the rich own enough gaudy, frivolous trinkets worth enough to keep the Survey Corp warm 10 times over. Yet he finds himself part of an almost constant battle to secure donations.

So when one day he looks over his budget and sees a pretty hefty sum dedicated to tea, he feels a little sheepish, but any discomfort he feels in relation to his new spending habits are quickly replaced with a sense of pleased accomplishment. The feeling is enough to make him flush on the spot, his cheeks and neck burn red as he thinks of his budget ledger as evidence of winning over his sour faced comrade. It feels almost illicit and Erwin loves it.

From the first moment Erwin saw Levi fly over rooftops with a grace that he was certain was unearned but totally natural, he wanted to know the man. It was a challenge at first, said man wanted little to do with him. Other then wanting him dead, but Erwin refused to accept that, he knew he still had a bounty on him and that Levi and his friends had not given up hope on collecting the reward. But Erwin loved a challenge.

So he watched Levi, whenever he could get away with it, which was sometimes hard to do as Levi had also taken to watching him as well, although for entirely less charitable reasons. Erwin felt that his study of Levi was necessary, for the benefit of humanity he needed to find an in. Or at least that's the reason he gave himself for his continued interest, his almost grating desire to know more about his small statured comrade.

It didn't take long for Erwin to notice that Levi appreciated tea, he had it with every meal and lingered over every cup as though the sub par tea they served in the Corps mess hall was something to be savored. That and the tea stores were somehow declining at a faster rate then they should be...it wasn't hard for Erwin to put two and two together.

His plan was simple really, he would let the expensive samples of tea do most of the convincing for him, because he honestly doubted that Levi would accept his offer for tea any other way. So the day after he had purchased and expensive tin containing a mixture of fine black tea leaves he approached Levi and tried his best to ignore the way his heart was pounding in his throat. He told Levi that he had recently gotten his hands on some of the finest black tea from Sina, that apparently the tea was well circulated among the nobles and as soon as he saw Levi's eye's switch from barely concealed disdain to subtle interest Erwin knew that he had him. Still he was relieved when Levi grit out a begrudging yes.

It was a little tense at first, Erwin tried to make conversation and Levi scoffed. But when Erwin brought the tea up to his office Levi finally manage to throw out "You brew tea like shit. This tastes like shit Smith." Erwin snorted somehow charmed by the disrespect, had anyone else spoke to him like that he wasn't sure his reaction would be half as accommodating. He suggested that maybe Levi could teach him how. Levi rolled his eyes, shrugged and took small sips of the offensive tea. Erwin told him he didn't have to finish it, but Levi said the tea was to fine to waste and despite Erwin's incredible talent in destroying high quality tea it still tasted better then some of the shit he had in the underground. For some reason even this small acknowledgment that Erwin had given Levi something that was any bit better then what he had underground made his neck feel hot. So they sat across from one another and Erwin filled the time with idle chatter about formations he was working on for the Corp, Levi did little else but grunt and sometimes give a curt nod but Erwin felt this to be a huge victory, a monumental first step to something he wasn't ready to give a name to.

Erwin loved these occasions with Levi, he paid detailed attention to the way Levi appreciated tea with each one of his senses. The way his eyes scanned over each new package of tea, taking in the colors, the painted pictures of flowers and plants, the curling letters prettily declaring the strains and flavors. Erwin was enthralled with the way Levi felt each package with fingers that were almost reverent in the way they would poke, prod and stroke at the fine tins and papers, how delicately they would grasp a few loose leaves feeling the dry delicate texture on his fingertips. Levi's head would make the slightest tilt when he listened for the soft crush of tea leaves against fancy tins or the crinkle of paper and cellophane. He would linger over the steam from his cup nostrils flared, inhaling each rich herbal scent, his throat worked the taste of each sip of tea down into his stomach a pool of warmth that could be anything from soothing to invigorating and Erwin felt incredibly privileged to witness Levi's enjoyment of each cup of overly expensive tea.

It made it to easy to shell out the coin, he didn't think twice about it, there was nothing more addicting then watching Levi indulge and Erwin was more then happy to make that happen. He felt fortunate that he was the one who was able to introduce Levi to each new blend and was made even more content when Levi discovered a favorite and would make requests for the ones he loved the most. Levi had asked him once why he was so willing to indulge in luxury tea, why he had such a large collection and Erwin a smooth liar at the worst of times told him plainly that he had loved tea since he was a child. Levi replied "If you've liked it so long then why do you brew it like shit?" but didn't pry any further and Erwin was immensely grateful because he wasn't ready to say the real reasons out loud and he knew for a fact that Levi was in no place to want to hear them.

For a while it was always Erwin who had to approach Levi with offers of tea so that he could enjoy his company and make small steps towards the inside of the younger mans incredibly fortified walls. Levi never sought out Erwin on his own, he was still obviously torn between his original plan of taking up the bounty on Erwin's head and begrudging respect for the man. Erwin didn't want to push to hard so allowed Levi to mostly come to terms with Erwin on his own, Erwin was nothing if not confident and he knew he would win Levi over. It wasn't just because of vanity that he thought that way. It was because he could see so much in Levi, beyond the blatant strength and talent was a heart that was incredibly pure and loving despite the man's harsh demeaner and even harsher background.

Erwin saw so much in Levi, to him the steel eyed gaze held so much depth of character, such a strong over flow of strength and a depth of humanity that would sometimes catch Erwin's breath in his throat and throw his words into a useless limbo. After each cup of tea they shared Erwin's heart would be left feeling swollen and stuck in the wrong place. Even when very little was said, or when they spoke of incredibly mundane things. It was confusing at first that he could feel so passionately, but be so unwilling to name the feelings. It scared him that his feelings could scare the man away from him, Erwin could see the distrust in the way Levi examined him and he didn't want to give him a single reason to feel vindicated in that distrust.

#aot headcanons #levi ackerman #erwin smith #eruri #levi/erwin #erwin/levi #aot #snk #attack on titan #erwin danchou #erwin aot #eruri feels #erwin headcanons #levi headcanons

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wilhelmjfink · 4 years ago

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Daryl Dixon Drabble #6 - Part 4 (Finale)

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST BRI GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER!!!

I absolutely despise how Tumblr formats these on mobile. If anybody knows how to fix this, let me know PLEASE

thnx for waiting

—

You assumed it was around high noon when you woke up, judging by the thick layer of sweat that replaced your sleeping bag in hugging your entire body. It was now sprawled across the canvas floor, forgotten, and your hair clung to the skin of your forehead. And between the heat and the events of the prior night, you felt almost feverish and sick.

It was a nice surprise that nobody had disturbed you, though — and you silently hoped that theme continued throughout the remainder of the day as you begrudgingly emerged and reveled in the cool fresh air that greeted you on the outside of the sauna that was simply a tent in the Georgia summer heat. Judging by that sun... it was going to be another miserably hot day.

Before, you had never been one for swimming in any body of water that wasn’t a clean and chlorinated pool. Maybe it was the small part of you that had been spoiled, but ponds and creeks weren’t your favorite means of cooling off until you, quite literally, had no other choice; but you would always fondly reminisce of the in-ground swimming pool at your moms house growing up as you waded into the cloudy pond water. You were only ever there one week a month, so it was a damn luxury even then, and a far-fetched dream now.

The suns reflection shimmered on the water ripples you caused as you waded in and you sighed contently, actively trying to ignore the constant lingering scent of fish and mud and algae as you scrubbed your filthy fingernails against the soap bar in your hands, lathering it up enough so that, maybe after one or two rounds, your skin might begin to feel relatively clean again. Your now-soaked tank top clung to your skin — you think maybe it was white at one point, but decided not to question the faded stains that decorated it now.

Dunking beneath the surface you rubbed your fingertips vigorously against your scalp, silently wishing you hadn’t spent years taking advantage of all of the luxurious products and fancy soaps always at your disposal. Fuck — even a new, cheap 50¢ soap bar would be like gold right now compared to the slimy old bar in your hands. Your hair was dry and coarse, and admittedly you’d be mortified at the current condition of it if you had any time to worry about anything other than not starving or getting eaten alive. You scrubbed your eyes free of the murky water and stretched, content to take your time and daydream for the moment until you had to start your day. You’d been left alone, and figured it was intentional.

Good. You could get some shit done.

So you hadn’t expected to turn towards the shore and find Daryl standing there, frozen like a deer in headlights when your eyes met — yeah, modesty had gone out the door for you months ago, but you couldn’t fight the smile that crept up on your face when Daryl instantly whipped around and threw a hand up to shield his eyes as if he had really anticipated finding you pond bathing, what, fully clothed? What was he expecting to see?

“Shit,” he stammered, “uh, ‘m sorry, I just —“

“I do have some clothes on,” you replied as you fully emerged onto dry land and doubled over to pick up your dirty towel tossed carelessly into the grass. Even in the skew of the sunlight and shadows you could see the flush creep up his neck and cheeks and turn the tips of his ears pink. But you found yourself wanting to squash any sort of relief or joy you’d first experienced upon noticing him there when last nights fiasco began to run through your mind. You had no idea what he possibly wanted with you — was he going to chew you out again? The mere notion had your stomach twisting in knots as you rung out your soaking wet hair and cast your eyes back down to the ground and away from his own piercing gaze that had returned upon hearing you weren’t completely nude.

“I thought.. I thought you were doin’ laundry,” he explained, again turning away as he spoke, quickly and sheepishly. Like a child caught red-handed, he was always fleeting and nervous and ready to escape. “Nevermind, ‘m sorry, I’ll — “

You didn’t allow him to finish because, when you saw him start to take a step forward and leave, you lunged your hand on to his shoulder. Where the sudden balls came from, you had no fucking idea. Daryl was the one notorious for his bravery when everyone else needed the strength, but situations like this? He would turn tail and run away at the very first opportunity you even hinted at that might give him some sort of escape. But the way you saw it, he had obviously sought you out for a reason; and the way that things had ended last night left a bad taste in your mouth that you, whether you admitted it to yourself or not, we’re desperate to alleviate.

“Stop.” It was a bit more forceful than you’d intended but you were so positive that he would break into a sprint just to get away from you at that moment that you didn’t try to soften it. To your surprise, he stiffened, but nonetheless halted in his tracks. “Do you need something?”

Almost as if to prove to you that you knew nothing about him the way you thought you did, he spun toward you abruptly: “M’sorry — for last night.”

The apology took you by surprise in the best way, uncoiling the anxiety that had slowly begin to twist around in your gut. He had a way of keeping you on your fucking toes, it sure seemed. Quite literally speechless, he’d blindsided you, and you shook your head to clear the swarm of thoughts and prioritize your next words knowing that you didn’t have a lot of time to voice them before he would inevitably shut you out again or take off running. “Wait,” you tried, feeling him start to pull away at your lack of an immediate response; you could see the uneasiness etched in his features and even feel it in his stance. “Wait —“

But he cut you off, just like he did when he was chewing you out back in the woods the night before. This time, however, was far different, and you couldn’t quite decide what exactly had changed.

“Jus’ listen to me for a second, alright?”

He was breathing heavily and rapidly through his nose — not from overexhetion, but in an unreliable attempt to keep his voice steady and confident. You nodded in response.

The tensity in his body, the stiffness in his muscles, it was tangible — his legs were actively trying so hard to move him away from the situation, to let him pace like the caged animal he always reminded you of, desperate to run and hide. He wanted so desperately to speak, but seemed unable to form the words.

“I didn’t... I never meant to...”

Seeing him so vulnerable and helpless, it absolutely broke your heart as you stood there watching. Waiting. Waiting for some other words to come to you because the ones that you kept drumming up inside your head just weren’t good enough to fall on his ears.

Shoulders slumping in defeat, Daryl’s head dropped, and he choked out a sob.

You felt strangled. The breath was knocked from your lungs at the sound. The guilt that followed was crippling and seized your entire body within its white-knuckled grip, but was almost instantly overshadowed with fear; fear and regret and shame and you thought you might be sick with the overwhelming emotions before you just decided to throw your arms around his broad shoulders, standing on your tiptoes, pressing your still damp body so close to his that maybe you could meld the two of your souls together.

“I’m sorry, Daryl.” Face pressed into his chest, your words were muffled and wavered unsteadily as you struggled yourself not to break down. “I never shoulda said what I said. It was fucked up, but it was a lie. I swear I didn’t mean it, I just wanted to piss you off.”

“That don’t make it okay to hurt you!”

Admittedly, you faltered at his reasoning, but your mouth kept rolling on autopilot because you knew how Daryl would take to your silence as a reply. “No, but —“

“No, it ain’t ever okay to do what I did.”

He shook you off with a violent shrug of his shoulders, your arms falling limply to your sides.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you,” you offered, not surprised when he shook his head in response and gestured wildly with his hands on either side of your head, hands clenched in fists, almost as if he was fighting some internal battle and, by the looks of it, losing miserably.

“Ya don’t get it, Y/N!” He spun on his his heels, abruptly turning away from you and replacing that distance between the two of you that you were growing to detest. “Ya don’t get it. Ya were right.”

You raised your eyebrows at him though you weren’t sure if it mattered with how he faced away from you, and you weren’t sure if you could just see his own features particularly well today or if it’d come from hours of staring at him, watching him, studying him while you simply tried to figure him the fuck out.

“I dunno why, but ya get me so.... fuckin’ mad sometimes. It’s like, ya know how to get right under my fuckin’ skin.” His voice was low now, rough with exhaustion and the scent of lingering alcohol. And while you could feel your heart drop at his admission, you had to fight the sense of pride and joy you were feeling that he even fucking admitted it.

This is what you’d been working so hard to get from him; it’s also exactly what got him so mad in the first place, and therefore the mess you were currently in that ensued. Whether or not the alcohol coursing through both your systems had anything to do with it didn’t matter to you anymore.

“When ya said that, it just...I dunno. I didn’t wanna fuckin’ believe it,” he ran an exasperated hand down his face before turning away from you, fueling your unconscious need to step forward after him again, softly, like you were trying to catch a wild animal, fearing that he would turn and break away from you at any second. “But what I did — Merle woulda done the same damn thing! He woulda done it without a second fuckin’ thought!”

His hands raked through his hair, distressed and frantic, and you reached out to grasp his wrists and steady him, your hands comically small next to his, strong and secure and familiar. At first, he flinched; tugging away from you half-heartedly before giving up and allowing you to gingerly lower his hands down in front of him, in between you, where they remained trapped in your grip.

“That’s exactly what I mean, Daryl,” you said softly, choosing your words carefully as if any wrong one would scare him off and send him fleeing again. As firmly as you held his wrists before you, one foot remained turned as you anticipated him doing just that. And the fear of watching him run again had, at some point, outweighed the fleeting fear that Daryl might actually want to hurt you — and you felt disgusted in yourself when you realized it. “You aren’t like Merle. You’re so much better.”

It was almost worth celebrating when he didn’t reply, and instead remained still as a statue, towering over you in the blazing mid-afternoon sun. The same type of heat, you thought, that burned inside of his very being; one that he’d spent so many shadowed years trying to extinguish. Thinking it was wrong. Thinking it was weak to simply care about somebody. All because of one single person.

You hated Merle Dixon, and if you ever saw him again, you swore you’d make sure he’d hate you just as much.

“You said Merle would’ve done that without a second thought — but you? Look at yourself, Daryl. You obviously feel so bad, so... guilty. Otherwise you wouldn’t be standing here. Do you think Merle ever felt this way about anything he’d ever done before? Do you think he ever apologized to anyone?”

Once again, his silence was reassuring. He was listening, considering your words... you only hoped that you wouldn’t say the wrong thing this time.

“The fact that you have so much remorse just shows that you are nothing like your brother. You are so, so much better. You are worlds away from ever being anything like him, Daryl.”

You could almost hear the gears turning behind his ocean blue eyes as he took in your words, deep and powerful though they were short. You couldn’t deny you were just content that he had stopped his angry outburst although now it was clear he was far more mad at himself instead of you.

“And I... I’m so sorry for the things that I said. I hope you can forgive me. I was drunk and angry. But I want you to know that... you can trust me. And I’m here for you.”

Now, you could almost feel his stare boring through you, the intensity behind his eyes unable to be ignored as it rose the hairs on the back of your neck and sparked goosebumps that trickled down your spine with a shiver you tried to stifle.

Now what? Daryl was unpredictable. Especially when it came to raw emotions like this, you thought to yourself. Can you stop him from turning tail and running, should that be his next move? Did he believe anything you were saying?

With one swift motion, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, warm and familiar, quick enough as to not be able to stop himself from doing so once he decided it was what he wanted to do, it seemed.

Though it was forceful, it was good. It was much more natural than the last time he’d moved that quickly toward you, you recalled. Much better actually, you realized, as you silently acknowledged that, this time, you sure as fuck didn’t flinch away and instead, hugged him back.

You looked down at the ground, sighing contently — oh. Despite your minimal clothing and every excuse to be totally naked in the cool water of your pond bath, your boots were still strapped on tight. You know... just in case.

#the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #twd #daryl dixon drabble #the walking dead drabbles #twd imagine #twd drabble #the walking dead imagine

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recurring-polynya · 4 years ago

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First off, I love your work! Both formats— written and drawn. Second, I know it’s a long shot but I’m salivating over the idea of a Drabble featuring the Shinigami women’s association having a gossip fest (my fave setting besides anything RenRuki) about their latest sexcapades 😳 also Rukia having a moment where she says “it’s just so... big.” 🙈

Thank you so much, Anon! I fell down a little on the gossip half of it, mostly because I don’t really have any ships for the other ladies in the SWA, so I just used this as an excuse to have Rukia think about how much she likes banging Renji. I almost had Nanao read off her list of this week’s conquests as blind items, and decided that was too weird, even for me. (I still maintain that Nanao pulls and also, she has maintains a list of sex idiots so that she doesn’t curse anyone)

Anyway, here you go. I officially had to bump the rating of my drabble collection up to “mature” for this, although it’s more suggestion than description.

You can read this and my collected drabbles on AO3 or ff.net

Rukia fiddled with her teacup nervously, while Isane tumbled off on a long tangent on the best methods of sanitizing medical grade silicone. Next to her, a red-faced Kiyone stuffed rice crackers in her mouth and sank deeper in her seat. Usually, Rukia found Isane’s “fun facts!” to be rather interesting and informative, but Rukia’s mind was rather occupied at the moment.

Kusajishi Yachiru had many fine qualities. (Probably? Rukia wasn’t sure what she would say if called upon to list them) Punctuality was not one of them. There was nearly always at least 45 minutes between the time a Shinigami Women’s Association Meeting was supposed to start, and when it actually did. No one seemed to mind all that much, though, because that time was devoted to discussing things that were not appropriate to discuss in front of Yachiru.

Rukia had never had the opportunity to contribute to these discussions before.

She certainly could have. She wasn’t a virgin. It’s just that she was a rather private individual, and none of her previous dalliances had been public knowledge, and she wasn’t the sort of person to prance in, yodeling “Guess who got laaaaaaaaid this week!” (That was Rangiku. Rangiku got laid every week, but it never stopped her from announcing it.)

As it happened, Rukia had also gotten laid this week. She had gotten laid every night this week, actually, and the way Nanao and Rangiku kept eying her, she knew she was going to get asked about it, just as soon as Isane finished rambling.

That’s what happened when you started dating a hot stack of red-headed sex appeal, she supposed. She had long maintained a stoic silence every time the “how far down do you think the tattoos go?” conversation reared its head, no matter how many pointed glares were directed her way. There was no way they were going to let this pass without comment.

It’s not like she could have kept it a secret, even if she had wanted to. Renji had been grinning like a doofus ever since they made it official. Rukia was naturally a more private person, but she couldn’t possibly bring herself to tell him to tone it down. He’d been so patient and had worked so hard to get Byakuya’s approval, she didn’t want him to think for a second that she wasn’t just as proud to be his partner as he was to be hers. And to be honest, he wasn’t the only one walking around with a stupid grin on his face these days.

It would be easy enough to demur, to say they were taking it slow. Everyone knew who her brother was, after all, and even if they didn’t believe her, they would believe that a Kuchiki did not kiss and tell.

There was some part of her, though, that was dying to talk about him. It was so easy to look at a guy like Renji and jump straight to asking how she liked getting her back blown out every night. But the fact was, he was so sweet and so considerate. They’d been friends for ages, and it would have been easy to keep their lives as they were, just now with make-outs. But instead, he brought flowers to her office, and they’d had three dress-up dates. His attempts at fancy cooking had been a mixed bag, but she was really growing to appreciate eating by candlelight, and especially what it led to, more often than not.

Renji was stupidly romantic, actually, and not in that fake way that guys did things sometimes because they thought it would get them some action. No, he did things the way he thought she deserved. Not because she was a Kuchiki, it’s just the way he had always thought of her, as a person who deserved nice things. The time he covered his futon in rose petals was a little over the top (she was still teasing him about finding rose petals in inconvenient places), but she could feel it in the way he talked to her when they made love, the way he touched her, almost reverently. He took her happiness and pleasure as seriously as he took all his duties, and carried out his work with the same diligence and, ahem, attention to detail.

Which wasn’t to say they didn’t have fun! Despite her public, formal Kuchiki exterior, Rukia had ideas and a collection of things made of medical grade silicone. She had been a little nervous broaching the topic at first, but it turned out that Renji was up for adventure. At a few of her suggestions, he had made a face like he was trying to conjugate a verb in French or possibly do trigonometry, but he had yet to tell her no. Not everything they tried turned out to be a home run, but there had been some notable successes.

And when you got right down to it, Renji was also pretty damn good at everything his appearance promised he was. Six feet, two inches of iron muscle wrapped in tattoos, hair that looked like fire and felt like silk, sharp teeth, sharper eyes, smoldering over the top of his flashy sunglasses. He was a romantic, sure, but he was also horny as hell, and she had learned the hard way that if she asked for it rough, she was getting wrecked.

Rukia liked learning things the hard way.

She was in fact, reflecting on something she had learned the other day. Rukia had found physics class at Karakura High to be transcendentally boring, but the way Renji explained it gave her a newfound appreciation for forces and angles. She was just contemplating his take on pressure and volume, when--

“Hey! Rukia!”

Kiyone’s sharp elbow jabbed into her rib, and Rukia’s tea sloshed over her hand. “Eh?” she grunted stupidly.

“Well?” Nanao was staring at her.

“What?” Rukia sputtered.

“Tiger Stripes! How is he in the sack?” Rangiku demanded.

“Very large,” Rukia responded automatically. She sat for a moment before horror began pouring through her veins like ice water.

“Called it,” Captain Soi Fon announced. Rukia hadn’t even seen her come in.

“We all called it,” Nanao waved a dismissive hand at her.

“MEETING TIME!” Yachiru’s squeaky voice rang through the room. “I think we should plan a trip to the ROLLER RINK!”

Rukia sat stock still, tea dripping through her fingers.

Rangiku shot her a wink, taking her seat.

“I have some good lube recommendations,” Isane offered cheerfully, patting her on the shoulder. “We should talk about the meeting.”

“Yeah,” said Rukia, stiffly. “Let’s.”

#my writing #bleach fanfiction #renruki #rukia kuchiki #renji abarai #shinigami women's association #do you people know what a prude i am irl?#do you do this to me BECAUSE i am a prude??

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infinitum-imaginaerum · 6 years ago

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Well with spooky stage and fuckboi eyebrow from scentist in mind how about 34 I have a secret with your boy Ken, because damn dude can get saucy

34:“I have a secret.” | Ken

I DELETED AND REWROTE THE WHOLE THING I’M SORRY. lmao… I’m not sure I like this version any better but here it is anyway. I could have written a whole novel about this but I was like fhdjkshfsj these are supposed to be drabbles. There’s also a super specific photo I wanted to use for this but I had to just link it here because you know how I am about formatting lmfao. Don’t ask me why I linked that whole bit okay.

It’s Christmas Time!

He had the most dazzling smile that would melt anyone’s heart and the kindest personality. He was tall and handsome and kind of quiet—he never gave anyone trouble and always tried to see the best in everyone and everything. He was the epitome of perfect, and he could have any girl he wanted if he would just ask.

He claimed he didn’t believe in dating because dating always meant feelings, and he was too afraid of the pain that came with all of that. All the girls pined after him in those days; it was almost gross to watch.

Ken had become a lot different since then. Now he had the appearance of the type of dude you just didn’t go around, the ones you never dared associate with because they just meant bad news. He lost that glimmer in his eyes, the dazzle in his smile—not that he ever showed it anymore. He seemed misunderstood, cliché as it was to say. He never talked to anyone anymore and was mostly on his own whenever anyone saw him around.

It kind of hurt, just seeing him, even here at a friend’s house party; a place you never thought you’d see him step foot in. You’d hardly seen him step foot anywhere since the lot of you graduated college. You sat silently, swirling your drink in your red plastic cup as you watched him. It was the first time since college you saw him flash that dazzling smile, at a girl he used to be close friends with back then. It put you somewhat at ease until he caught eyes with you.

Quickly, you looked away, trying to make it seem like you weren’t just staring at him, but his presence was crushing, especially as he approached you.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked you, pointing to the empty cushion of the loveseat you were sitting on, in prime view of the beer-pong tournament. Some people never changed.

“Only by you,” you replied, smiling up at him. He tentatively took a seat next to you, crossing his slender legs as he lounged. “I haven’t seen you in such a long time. How are you doing, Ken?” you asked him, without much room for things to get too awkward or to give you enough time to change your conviction.

He chuckled, but it was hardly genuine. You could tell he was trying to keep some things out of this conversation, but when he turned to face you, you had so many more questions. His face looked different—but not like age had changed it, different. It was hard to explain. There were a couple of deep scars through his left eyebrow, closest to you so when he turned his head, that’s what you saw first. They looked fairly fresh, considering the color of the scar tissue.

“A lot has changed,” he finally said, not really giving anything away except the obvious. You noted in your peripheral the way he gripped his plastic cup, almost crumpling it in his hand.

“Has your view on dating changed?” you asked him, mostly as a joke. You always had to laugh about it considering that most of the girls that were always after him were here, now with their long term significant others and off the market.

Ken seemed to find humor in it, because he laughed, and this time it was sincere. His gaze cast away from your face and down to your lap where you were cradling your cup. “I guess you could say that.”

You gave him a skeptical look, prodding for more.

“I’m a man,” he shrugged, “we’re all dirty beyond a relationship.”

You knew what he was implying and chuckled as an expected response before taking a swig of your drink. Small and awkward talk ensued after that, but neither of you wanted to leave knowing that there were much deeper layers to delve into with each other.

“You’re running empty. Can I get you something, so long as you promise to save my seat? I want to catch up.”

He nodded, offering you his cup, a drink, and agreeing to keep your seat. Ken opened up to you incredibly quickly after that, and the conversation began to flow better for quite some time. The two of you talked about anything and everything, essentially drowning out the party around you, especially as the beer-pong teams had died down. You were so absorbed by him, you hardly noticed the way he periodically touched your leg, or the way your body was opening up to him, or how close you had come to him.

At some point, his fingers were fiddling with yours, his gaze cast towards that to occupy his wandering while he listened to you talk. Everything that clicked with Ken felt like centuries of missed opportunities. He’d hardly touched the drink you brought him before this conversation ensued, and yours was much the same, cast aside on the end table to be completely focused on him.

For a moment, you took your attention away from him to check you watch for the time, particularly disturbed by the time and just how easily it had gone by talking to him. Your eyes darted around for your ride, who was nowhere to be found, until your gaze came back to him when he squeezed your hand.

“Do you need a ride home?” he asked you.

“Normally, I would say no, because the person typically in your position right now is some sleezy dude who doesn’t know how to leave someone alone when they’re not interested… but since I can’t seem to locate my counterpart… would you please?” you requested.

He grinned and in a moment whisked you to his car. The ride was almost silent, but you didn’t mind as you settled into his immaculate leather seat, enjoying not only the smoothness of his car, but how noiseless it was. It was fancy and new, top of the line luxury, so Ken must have become pretty successful in these few years after graduation.

There was a vacant space in the driveway of the small home you shared with your ride, so you suspected that she went home with whomever she hooked up with and wouldn’t be back until the next morning at the very earliest. Ken took the spot himself without confirming, but you were anticipating he was going to leave soon, so there wouldn’t be a problem.

Like a proper gentleman, he opened the door for you and extended a hand to help you out to walk you the rest of the way. His hands were stuffed deep into his pockets as he walked half a step behind you until coming up to the front door, where you turned to him.

“I had… the best time talking with you tonight. It was nice to reconnect,” you smiled up at him and he returned the gesture. “Normally this is the part where whoever took me home—”

“Gets all over you?” he interrupted, noting your hesitancy about the situation after it had become slightly awkward. You weren’t accustomed to just saying goodbye and nothing happening, so this was strange.

You nodded. He hummed in response.

“I mean, we did hit it off,” you reassured him, garnering a small smirk as his gaze turned back to you. Slowly, he pulled a hand out of his pocket and brought it up to gently take your chin. His gaze captivated you in a way that made you feel almost numb.

“Are you anticipating a kiss?” he asked you.

His question was almost patronizing, and you couldn’t possibly have felt more stupid for expecting such an action. Your blush was out of frustration and embarrassment, but when you tried to turn your head away with your gaze, he wasn’t about to let you. His grip was tight on your chin, keeping you facing him.

You were about to speak to defend yourself, but before you could get any words out, your breath had choked them back in your tightening throat, Ken’s breath—a mix of mint and gin—was beating against your face as he leaned in, tilting his head to dodge your nose with his as he craned down to capture your lips. His lips were so warm and so soft, so full against yours, you sighed in disappointment when he pulled away much too soon. He watched your eyes flutter open.

“I’m sorry if you didn’t want—”

“Oh, I wanted to.”

“I don’t know what my problem is. I used to laugh at the girls that pined over you,” you openly admitted, grabbing fistfuls of his jacket when both of his hands unexpectedly took your hips to pin you up against the wall adjacent to your front door.

“A lot of things have changed in the years we’ve been apart,” he uttered to you, still very calm in appearance, though he had you pinned incredibly tightly to the wall. Your breath was almost caught in your throat entirely, your fists unable to grab the leather of his jacket tight enough as you stood nearly on your tippy-toes. His middle finger stroked a straight line under the middle of your chin, bringing your face up to his so he could press a soft kiss against your lips. “I’ve got a secret,” he whispered.

Your eyes widened, the way the color of his irises shifted from deep brown to a glowing green color, his lips pulled over his teeth revealing fangs behind them. He grinned at you like his next meal—literally. He could feel you hyperventilating, if he couldn’t hear it. Your blood pressure was through the roof, your veins almost bursting at the seams which only enticed him more. Your closed fists did their best to push him away, but he was way too strong for you, even as a hand reached up to cover your mouth, silencing your scream into his warm palm.

–

Your eyes snapped open with the jolt of your body, covered in a cold sweat, closing your empty fist which pushed against a warm chest. His sweet embrace tightened around you as he shifted under you, waking too.

He wasn’t sure what was wrong, but he was cupping your head against his chest in an instant, hushing you, realizing that you had probably woken from a nightmare—it was easy to tell with your hyperventilating, your clammy skin and the way you jolted awake. Regulating your breathing was your first priority, listening to him sooth you as you tried to relax.

“Ken…” you whispered quietly, “I had the dream again…”

He hummed in response, “I thought so… You’ve been having it a lot lately. Don’t worry; I’m just me, as I’ve always been,” he soothed you.

You nodded, lifting your head from his chest to look into his dark eyes, the sweet almond shape that held dark chocolate orbs that never changed—they were always the same and always looked at you affectionately, especially when he smiled, like he was now.

“I’m definitely not a vampire,” he reminded you, stroking your hair away from your face to get a better look at you. You nodded, agreeing with him as he craned his neck up to affectionately kiss your cheek before you settled back into him, re-finding your comfortable position as he lulled you back to sleep in his human arms, against his human body, listening to his human heart.

#ken #jaehwan #vixx #ken scenarios #jaehwan scenarios #vixx scenarios #ken imagines #jaehwan imagines #vixx imagines #prompt game: Christmas 2k18 #bossmyc

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cir · 7 years ago

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if it is not too much to ask, can I ask what your writing process is like? I've been having trouble liking anything I write and need some advice.

I feel like I’ve had this ask sitting in my inbox for a while so i apologize that i haven’t gotten it to it sooner but I don’t think there’s a single writer that has ever not had second self doubts about their writing except maybe ernest hemingway. i think even ernest probably had his moments so the first thing is that you are Not Alone. I don’t think many writers have a healthy relationship with their writing at all. writing is supposed to be an outlet for many and it seems to just stress people out. it sounds like that’s happening to u

I think my biggest advice from personal experience would be to stop writing for others. I understand rp is very heavily based on writing for others (the drabble culture itself, having public rp blogs in general, etc) but really at the end of the day it’s about you. it’s your writing. and really? I’m p sure everyone cares about their own writing and their own muses more than anyone else’s at the end of the day.

to you, your muses should be most important. your writing should matter the most. it’s not being selfish.

I think a lot of people forget this sometimes. it’s just a fact. no one else is going to write the stories for your muses for you, only help their plots along. no one loves your muses more than you do. no one else is going to write in your own voice, just help maybe beta it here and there as well as influence your writing here and there. so my biggest advice is be a little selfish when it comes to your muses. give them the time and the respect they deserve. and the same. give your writing the time and respect it deserves. it’s unique. it’s literally your voice.

I personally spent probably half of my rp career trying to be a writer I wasn’t. for a long time I thought length was everything. when I started writing mikoto I had paragraphs upon paragraphs that were so meaningless. for another segment of my rp life I thought imagery was everything. i was so purple prosey I don’t know how anyone put up with me. and for some of my rp career I thought using fancy sat words made my writing better. who understood my writing? who knows. but all of these times, I wrote paragraphs upon paragraphs, purple prose, and with an extensive vocab because I thought I’d impress somebody.

I felt the most free when I started writing for my muses. I began writing not because I loved the interactions they had but because my muses were growing within those interactions. I wasn’t writing to just plainly write with others. I was writing for myself. it sounds selfish, but that’s when I felt like my writing was the best. that’s when I feel like my writing is at best. and you know what? if you’re lucky enough you’ll find writing partners that are able to help guide that process when you’re at your high. i’ve definitely lucked out on that part.

as difficult as it is to process and get around your head most days, the only person you have to impress is you. your writing should inspire yourself. your writing should be something you read and really feel good about. it doesn’t matter if someone finds your word choice strange. it doesn’t matter if you write less than most. it doesn’t matter if you format it all weird and no one can read it in a 6px font. as long as you write it for yourself, I think that’s the most important. again. this is easier said then done. it’s hard to write for yourself. but believe me when you figure out how to do it, you’ll finally come to terms with your writing. I hope you’re able to do so soon

#Anonymous

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handle-with-utmost-care · 7 years ago

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Cheerleader/Soccer player PART 5

Ok so I wrote this series years ago (i think like 4 yrs lmao) and I had a very uncharacteristic urge to finish several stuff I have lingering about..

and this was one of them…IDK If anyone is still interested in reading? Lol or even remember? Or maybe you’re new here bc of riptide but lmao surprise I wrote this cringe drabble that turned into a 5 part fic :)

I am like...70% embarrassed by this fic bc i hate mostly every previous part. it was hard to continue bc I had to get over my crippling distaste for sudden POV changes. maybe someday when I’m not too caught up in my own procrastination I’ll go back and rewrite and flesh out this mess and post it on AO3, but for now this’ll have to do.

to the person constantly harassing me to finish it YOU KNOW WHAT ANNIE I FUCKING IFNALLY DID IT OKAY. MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS HAPPY NEW YEAR YOU ASS! @cherylsbosom

also apologies for any typos

PART 5

“Alright, status report girls.”

“I thought we were dropping the fancy lingo?”

“Yeah it’s kinda confusing to keep up with.”

“Status report,” Ally Brooke repeats, sharply eyeing the girls on her bed.

She had invited Dinah and Normani after school to continue discussing a potential plan B.

But from the looks of it, Ally’s got the distinct impression that that’s the last thing on their minds. If their giggling over Dinah’s phone was any obvious indication.

Ally clears her throat pointedly. When that has no effect, Ally stomps her foot. “Girls!”

Dinah drops her phone and Normani’s laughter immediately tapers off.

“We have to focus here. Lives are at stake,” Ally says, as she flips open to the newest empty page in her notepad.

Normani gives her a look of disbelief. Ally almost flushes at the expression, because, okay, maybe she is still getting a bit carried away with this Operation Camren thing.

But she had convinced herself that Camila and Lauren were both too stubborn to realize the obvious. This was all for the sake of love.

And Ally was a firm believer in doing things for the sake of love.

Her eyes glance down at the notepad in time to realize she had already spelled out the mortifying title. She hastily scribbles it out before the girls can see. Normani’s expression turns into an annoyed eye roll.

Fortunately she doesn’t comment, much to the Ally’s relief.

“Mila’s not doing so well,” Dinah says, finally returning her complete attention on the topic at hand. “She’s been ditching soccer practice lately and she never wants to leave her room whenever I try to invite her to go out.”

Ally figured as much. It’s been almost a month since that awful incident at the party, an incident that Camila has been very close lipped about.

Ally had lost count of the number of times she tried to get the girl to open up. Inevitably, each time had always ended in a very indignant frown and an annoyed: “Just drop it Ally, everything is fine, okay?”

Ally wouldn’t press after that. But it was clear that everything most definitely was not okay.

“Lauren is bitchier than usual and I don’t think it has anything to do with the freshman cheerleaders fucking up the pyramid formation,” Normani admits after a while.

Ally sighs at this. She’d been aware of the head cheerleader’s mood swings, witnessing a firsthand account of it yesterday when Lauren completely chewed out a freshman for missing a step in the routine. An honest mistake that really didn’t deserve such a harsh scolding.

Ally had tried to calm Lauren down at the time, but she was having none of it. Instead, Lauren had chosen to stomp off and cut practice short.

Normally, this wouldn’t exactly worry Ally. It wasn’t anything new for Lauren to throw tantrums when things weren’t going her way. But for the tantrums to be so closely followed by a complete emotional 180 was something to be concerned about. And recently Ally had caught Lauren in a state of severe melancholy.

It was a draining experience hanging out with the girls only to have Lauren bringing the atmosphere down with the frequent amount of times she would frown sadly. Or respond sadly. Or even just breathe sadly. Ally had lost count of the sudden urges to shake Lauren and demand what was wrong.

But then, Ally would catch Lauren staring at Camila.

And she had decided that perhaps leaving them alone really was the best option.

Ally plops down at the edge of the bed, defeated.

“And I really thought this was all going to work out.”

“Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be,” Normani offers, as she inspects her nails. “Even though their horoscopes say they’re totally compatible.”

Ally doesn’t question how Normani even knows Camila’s birthday.

Another month passes. Another month of the same strained atmosphere. Ally is sure the rest of the cheerleaders have picked up on their leader’s flip flopped mood swings. The girls on the squad learned to leave a wide span between themselves and Lauren.

The soccer team wasn’t faring much better. Ally had noticed Camila’s performance out on the field had suffered drastically to the point that she’d been sitting out on the bench more often than not.

It was a dreary month for all of them, despite the rapidly approaching homecoming game. Something that she, Lauren, and Normani had excitedly talked about at the beginning of the school year was a topic that had been seemingly forgotten.

Yet the school didn’t share the same sentiment. Everywhere, people were buzzing with pregame excitement weeks before. Hallways were adorned with bright posters and decorations. The school’s PA always made sure to add a final comment reminding students to buy their tickets. Many conversations between classes were heard predicting the outcome of the game.

Today isn’t any different, Ally thinks as she pushes past a group of guys on the football team hyping the other up. She rolls her eyes. The action makes her stop before the cafeteria. She wasn’t like this. Usually she’d join in on the hype. Relish in it.

This whole Lauren and Camila is seriously putting a damper in my mental well being too.

She sighs, pushing through the double doors leading to the cafeteria, feeling a wave of despair at the thought.

The cafeteria is loud and rowdy. More than usual, Ally notices. Her eyes flit over to the source of the noise to find a growing throng of students near the far end of the room.

The shouts and jeers echo across the cafeteria walls, mixing into a cacophonous mess. Ally can’t exactly discern what is being said or cheered. But from the school spirit that’s been thrust in her face recently she thinks she has a pretty good guess.

For a moment, Ally panics that this was a planned lunch event she forgot about, or in one of Lauren’s irrational moods, she’d decided to have an impromptu pep rally to punish the squad.

Ally quickly rifles through her bag, pulling out her weekly planner. After flipping to the latest date, relief spreads through her chest.

No. No scheduled event.

More students gravitate towards the crowd. Ally pushes through several people, in the opposite direction, until she finds Normani.

“What’s going on?” Ally questions, sidling up beside the girl. Normani simply shakes her head.

“I don’t know.”

Ally opens her mouth but Normani quickly cuts in.

“And no, I don’t want to know.”

Ally pouts at her indifference.

The both of them make their way to their usual table. And when Lauren joins them a few moments later, she makes no indication that she’s noticed the unusual overly eager students.

Well that rules out an impromptu pep rally.

Lauren takes a seat. Ally immediately feels a wave of sympathy upon seeing her friend. She takes in Lauren’s miserable frown, the distressed knit of her eyebrows and downcast eyes.

This was probably worse than the random angry outbursts the past month. Seeing Lauren so dejected always managed to pull at her heartstrings.

“Hey girl,” Ally greets, moving to take the seat across from her. Lauren barely lifts up her gaze as she tosses her food with the fork in her other hand.

“Hey,” she answers, casting her eyes down upon the untouched food again.

“You want some of my fruit salad?” Normani probes.” My mom put in some mangos, I know you like them.”

Lauren doesn’t even flinch at the uncharacteristically nice gesture.

“Maybe later.”

Ally and Normani exchange a look. This behavior had seemed to be going further and further into a downward spiral as the weeks progressed. Ally was almost tempted to go through with her intervention.

Look how your meddling turned out.

Maybe Normani was right. Maybe it would be just best to leave them alone.

Ally sighs, before pulling out her own lunch.

The crowd continues to go on strong. The jeers and sneers reverberate throughout the lunchroom even more so than before.

Ally begins to notice that the majority of students are starting to swarm the crowd. Her eyes glance around the people trying to determine the situation. That’s when she realizes something that makes her stomach drop.

“I think that’s the soccer team’s table,” Ally says. The tone of her voice grabs both girls’ attention. She watches as Lauren’s eyes dart towards the crowd and the similar conclusion comes to her. Her expression instantly sparks to life.

Lauren is out of her seat before Ally has time to register anything. She doesn’t even have time to tell her to wait because in the next second Lauren is shoving people out of the way and disappearing among the mass of students.

“Come on,” Ally blurts out, tugging Normani up from her seat to chase after her.

Their process is a lot less effortless than Lauren who had people parting like the red sea after her aggressive pushes.

It’s probably because of the hastily muttered excuse me’s that fall from Ally’s lips. Eventually Normani becomes so frustrated that she just hollers a very loud MOVE.

The students finally part, allowing them to push through until they reach the table…. only to realize that they’re too late.

Ally feels her blood turn cold when she sees her friends.

Slowly, her senses come into focus. And she realizes, dizzily, that cheering she heard earlier were actually people chanting FIGHT.

Dinah and one of the freshmen on the cheer squad are in an intense hair pulling scuffle, while Lauren is on the floor trying to aim a punch on another beneath her, who Ally suddenly recognizes as the girl Lauren chewed out at practice what felt like forever ago.

Ally lunges forward trying to pull Lauren up from the girl, as Normani attempts to pry apart the two other girls beside them.

She manages to get Lauren to her feet, not without a ridiculous amount of struggle. Because then Lauren keeps attempting to hit the girl on the floor. The victim of Lauren’s assault isn’t making things any easier for her either, as she continuously claws at them until Ally gets caught in the fray.

Ally feels her hair being yanked in an awkward angle painfully.

God, if she wasn’t a pacifist she swears she would –

“Stop! Stop! Stop this immediately what on earth are all of you – girls STOP IT!”

The sound of the principal makes them all spring apart from each other.

The six girls are huffing and red faced, attempting to catch their breaths.

Ally’s hand instantly comes to gingerly rub her sore scalp, before scowling at the culprit for the hair pulling. The freshman’s eye is already swelling, and Ally tries to quell the silly surge of pride towards Lauren for getting her good.

She glances at Lauren, sighing in relief that her friend looks unscathed for the most part. Her eyes then come to Dinah and Normani. Dinah is pouting as she tries to fix her mussed hair and Normani is pressing her fingers to her bottom lip in search of blood.

Ally sighs again, and that’s when she remembers the last girl. She searches in a frenzy for Camila, praying she wasn’t a part of this. But then she sees the soccer player, gaping wordlessly at them …completely covered in food.

The principal turns his attention towards them all.

“You seven. My office. Now.”

A month’s worth of scraping gum off the cafeteria tables seems a lot better than a potential suspension. Ally will take what she can get, she decides as they all disperse from the principal’s office.

The two offending freshmen pull Lauren aside to beg for forgiveness. Though from Lauren’s stony expression, Ally figures Lauren is already planning to kick them off the team. But then is momentarily shocked when Lauren accepts their apology stiffly, followed by a malicious threat to stay in line.

(Later on, Ally would find out the girls’ had decided to go after Camila in a misguided attempt lighten up their captain’s somber mood).

“Did you see that girl’s eye? You got her so good, Laurenzo. I’m kind of proud,” Dinah compliments, after the two girls slink away. Lauren’s lips tilt into a small smile.

“Yeah but you practically pulled out her entire weave. That’s impressive,” Lauren responds, a smile finally breaking out.

Not that Ally condones fighting, because, like, she so doesn’t, but it’s nice seeing them get along. Albeit for the wrong reasons. But there’s something so amazing seeing Dinah nudging Lauren in that friendly manner. As if they’d known each other their entire lives.

“You both are ridiculous,” Normani snaps. “I literally just got my nails done yesterday and this happened.” She lifts her hand up to show off a broken middle fingernail. They both laugh and after a while Normani cracks a grin. “But okay, yeah it was kind of bad ass.”

“Kind of? Did you see the other girls?” Dinah demands.

“I don’t really understand how you’re all so happy. We got a month’s detention because you guys can’t communicate like normal people.” Camila’s voice pierces through the lighthearted atmosphere. Ally almost forgets her presence because she had been so silent during their walk through the hallway.

She watches as Camila pulls out a spaghetti noodle from her hair and flicks it to the floor.

“We were defending you,” Lauren mumbles after a while.

“I didn’t ask you to,” Camila snaps. “I was handling it.”

“Clearly,” Lauren mumbles sarcastically.

“You know what?” Camila whirls around. “I don’t need your sarcasm. And I don’t need your stupid sympathy, okay? Today wouldn’t have even happened if you weren’t such a bitch.”

Lauren visibly recoils.

“Mila,” Ally begins but the soccer player shoots her a glare.

“No, don’t do that-“

“It wasn’t my fault,” Lauren begins hotly.

“Like you didn’t plan to have them dump the entire squad’s lunch on me. I have spaghetti noodles in places there shouldn’t be!” Camila snaps.

“Mila, she didn’t know that those girls were going to do that to you. You really think she would send those cheerleaders after you?” Dinah questions.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

It’s the statement that does it. That plunges the atmosphere completely into a subzero level. That makes Lauren look completely heartbroken. That actually breaks Ally’s heart.

It’s another week of radio silence between the two. Another week of Ally and Normani (and now on occasion Dinah), watching Lauren sigh dejectedly into her food during lunch. Sometimes she’d cast a few sad looks over to the soccer team’s table. And the girls would look upon her sympathetically.

Lauren didn’t know which was worse.

The pity or being ignored. While one was infuriating as hell, the other just…hurt.

This morning in particular was brutal. She had run into Camila in the hallway, accidentally knocking her duffel bag from her shoulder. When she tried to reach down to grab it, Camila scrambled to pick it up herself and hurried away head bowed. The exchange – or lack of one – left Lauren feeling like she was a ghost.

“Would you just talk to her?” Normani groans exasperatedly after Lauren recounts the events to the three of them in Ally’s room after school.

“She practically hates my guts.” Lauren mutters into her pillow.

“Look, as much as I love kicking you especially when you’re down I don’t think I can take any more of your moping. It’s actually starting to depress me,” Normani sighs, sitting down beside Lauren on the bed. “And I doubt she hates you.”

“Yeah, it’s impossible for Mila to hate anything,” Dinah chimes in from her spot on the floor.

“Except me.”

“She’s just really upset right now, Lauren,” Ally supplies. “And rightfully so. You really did a number on her. What the heck did you even say to her at the party?”

At this, Lauren feels her face redden with shame.

She had toyed with the idea of telling them, but she feared that they would hate her more than she hated herself. And she wasn’t ready for any more negativity.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Lauren mumbles. “It was…it was really bad. And I feel really shitty for it too.”

“Then tell her that,” Normani snaps.

That’s easier said than being done, Lauren thinks. She makes a small grunt that earns an eye roll from her friend.

Ally comes to sit next to her and places a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Lauren, we’ve all seen the way you look at her.”

Lauren freezes at this. It’s the first time they all sort of acknowledge the big pink elephant of the room that is her more than platonic feelings for the soccer player. And she almost expects mockery or insults. But when she glances up to find them all staring at her supportively, she feels a deep seated worry slowly dissipate.

“And we’re all more than positive she feels the same way,” Ally continues, saying just the right thing to settle her confused doubt.

“Really?”

“Girl, of course she does,” Dinah adds in. “She looks at you like you put the pineapples on her pizza.”

“That’s disgusting, Dinah,” Normani retorts with a fake gag.

“Well where else are you supposed to put pineapples?”

“Um, not on a pizza.”

“It’s called Hawaiian pizza.”

“All that should be on my pizza is pepperoni and cheese,” Normani argues stubbornly.

“How can you not like pineapples on pizza? Who doesn’t like pineapples on pizza?” Dinah demands turning to look at them incredulously.

“I like Canadian bacon,” Ally says unhelpfully.

Lauren tunes the rest of the conversation after the two decide to settle the matter by ordering pizza. Her thoughts stray to the soccer player. And a pang of guilt hits her.

When the pizza arrives twenty minutes later, Normani demands (through a mouth full of Hawaiian pizza) that Lauren take her self-pitying ass next door and grovel for forgiveness.

Dinah agrees, and Ally rephrases that advice in a more encouraging manner. The thumbs up did little for her self esteem as they all but threw her out of Ally’s room and confiscated her phone lest she try to uber it back home.

And that’s really how she finds herself on Camila Cabello’s doorstep, desperately trying to think of ways to get out of knocking.

It’s stupid. This is dumb. There’s no way – absolutely no way Camila would even want to see her. The past week, the soccer player has been pointedly avoiding her.

No, that was an understatement. Lauren was getting the cold shoulder. That blatant icy treatment that left her feeling even worse than before the stupid cafeteria incident.

The last thing Camila had said to her was still plaguing her mind. Camila had insulted her, offended every nerve that could possibly be offended and yet Lauren knew she deserved it. Dinah may have been right – it wasn’t possible for Camila to hate anyone. But reducing Camila to the type of person who could be so incredibly harsh to another person just made the situation all the more worse.

Camila hated her. It wasn’t even something to debate.

Lauren hesitates ringing the doorbell. Her fingertips ghost across the button, brushing the smooth surface uncertainly.

A hundred and one things filter through her head and they all revolve around the girl somewhere behind the door.

She doesn’t get a chance to summon up much courage because in the next second the door is flying open and the Camila Cabello is standing before her.

She doesn’t look as surprised as Lauren feels, which is more than a little disheartening, but she tries not to let it faze her. Instead, she straightens up, almost to the point of rigidity.

Relax Lauren. Jesus. Okay. Here we go-

“What are you doing here?” Camila asks just as Lauren begins to form the apology that was burning to in the back of her throat ever since she Camila ran out of her bedroom crying.

Lauren hesitates, suddenly feeling the little flicker of confidence she fabricated fade away. Camila looks all around unimpressed with her display and this only serves to turn her nerves into jelly. Abort, Lauren. Abort.

NO. You will fucking stay and say your peace or so help me god you dumb shit.

“I asked you a question,” Camila snaps. It seems strange, so completely out of character seeing her so angry. There’s a venom that wasn’t there before in her voice, in her sharp expression that leaves Lauren wishing she had come better prepared for this.

A stab of guilt pricks at her chest as she realizes the only person who made this happen was herself.

Lauren swallows thickly, fiddling with the bracelet on her wrist. The attempt to occupy herself with something besides Camila’s steely gaze is pitiful. But then again, she is a coward. She’s not even sure she can look the girl in the eye anymore.

“Look, if you’re not gonna say anything you might as well just –“

“-I’m sorry!” Lauren blurts out. The desperation of the outcry overwhelms her. She’s not going anywhere until she makes Camila listen – to everything. Because she knows deep down this is her only chance. Her only shot at fixing anything that she’s so despicably good at fucking up.

Camila’s glare softens slightly. It’s very miniscule but it gives Lauren the hope she needs.

“I’m sorry, Camila,” she says again, internally quivering at the name that rolls so effortlessly off her tongue. It comes out so naturally, almost as if it had always sort of had its own place in her voice. As if she was supposed to say it over and over again. Which, admittedly she would do…in the privacy of her room…in the dead of night…where literally no one would be able to hear.

(Of course she would deny ever doing that if anyone asked her).

But it’s the first time she’s ever called Camila by her name. Well the first time non insultingly. And it’s something that doesn’t go unnoticed by the both of them. Lauren feels her face flush suddenly, and Camila’s eyebrows rise.

“Camila,” she pauses, feeling the nervous little buzz building in her stomach at the name. “I didn’t – look, about what happened at the party – I didn’t mean it.”

Camila’s eyes narrow and the walls are back up again.

“It sure didn’t sound like it. Just because you defended me last week, which I didn’t even freaking ask you to do by the way, doesn’t mean I’m going to be welcoming you into my life with open arms,” Camila says. “You humiliated me.”

“I know.”

“No. I don’t think you do, Lauren. It hurt. Like a lot, okay?” Camila blurts out. “I’m not even sure I can forgive you.”

Lauren feels that little glimmer of hope crash dive. This isn’t going as planned. Oh what did she know? There weren’t any plans or any go-to instructions for this kind of situation. How were you even supposed to convince the girl that you’ve been stupidly in love with for four years that you want her?

She flushes at the thought and the familiar wave of denial bubbles up in the pit of her stomach. She can barely even admit that fact inside her own head. How could she possibly even begin to explain it to Camila?

The girl practically thinks she hates her, which she doesn’t. Oh god, she doesn’t even hate her at all.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me, Camila,” Lauren begins, feeling her voice tremble. “I really don’t. I just – I just wanted to explain.”

Camila stares at her expectantly.

“I didn’t know what people were going to think if they found out,” Lauren mutters and Camila rolls her eyes.

“That’s not enough.”

“I was scared.”

“That’s still not enough.”

“Camila, please.”

She sees the girl’s expression soften again, the aggression slowly crumbling away. It gives her the courage she needs, the motivation to bring down her own stupid barrier preventing her from being vulnerable.

And this time, when Camila speaks her anger has soundly melted. “Don’t be scared.”

It’s just a small request, not even louder than a whisper but Lauren can hear it. The conviction behind the three words. The ounce of moral support beneath them. The figurative hesitant arms being slowly opened for her to walk into and it’s enough.

Lauren takes a deep breath, her heart pounding. She swallows thickly and tries to calm the rapid beating.

“I really didn’t mean what I said to you at the party,” she begins

Lauren almost anticipates Camila to make another sarcastic comment, but she simply stares at her so she continues.

“I didn’t mean it when I told you that there wasn’t anything that would happen between us. I didn’t believe it in the slightest because…I wanted something to happen,” she admits in a rush. “And all that stuff about you being no one was just about the shittiest thing I’ve ever said and I feel terrible. It’s not true at all, Camila. Not even a little bit. I was just – I wanted to hurt you because I was the one feeling like the loser. I’m a shitty person know I am.”

“You’re not a shitty person Lauren,” Camila sighs wearily. The admittance makes her hesitate. Makes her stop and stare at Camila keenly, feeling her chest ache suddenly.

Even in her anger, Camila will still defend her. Lauren isn’t even sure if this should please or upset her.

“I am though. And it’s not even about the night of the party. I know I’ve put you through hell for like years. I’ve just been such an idiot about all of this because I was just so fucking scared of what it all meant.” She stops and runs a nervous hand through her hair. “Because I’ve never felt this way, like ever about anyone and I knew, deep down that you had the power to hurt me in the worst way. And I just, like I just refused to give you that power so I thought that if I hurt you first…” Lauren trails off, shaking her head. The shame that’s kept her up all night for weeks manages to creep back up.

She averts her gaze, feeling the all too familiar burning stinging building. The last thing she wanted to do was cry in front of Camila.

“It’s stupid I know,” Lauren mumbles. “It makes no sense – that logic. I’m an idiot and I don’t want to be that person anymore. I don’t want to be that person who gets scared over every fucking little thing, or the person who cares more about her popularity than the things that really matter. I just don’t care about that stuff anymore. Camila, I don’t care. I don’t even – I can’t even properly articulate how fucking sorry I am. For everything. For making your feelings seem like they don’t matter because they do, Camila. They matter so much to me. And…I’m done belittling my own feelings as well because…because they matter too.”

She feels Camila’s eyes burning into the side of her face, almost as if prompting her to turn and face her. But she’s afraid of what she’ll see. Disgust? Anger?

She doesn’t expect the softness. She doesn’t expect the understanding. She doesn’t expect the feel of her fingertips brushing against her. In comfort. Acceptance.

Camila’s warm hands come to grip hers, undoing her tight fist. She feels a palm press into hers and it feels so incredibly intimate that Lauren is almost tempted to pull away. The sudden fear springs up again. The fear of being hurt.

But when she looks up at Camila’s face again, the fear melts.

“What do you feel?” Camila asks gently.

She poses the question that went unanswered in that stuffy room during the party. She’s opening the door of vulnerable opportunity. She’s allowing Lauren a second chance. One that she knows she doesn’t deserve.

A gentle squeeze of their hands prompts Lauren to speak again.

“I feel…” Lauren’s voice dies, as a lump forms in her throat. It’s stupid to get this emotional, she thinks. But god it’s been such a long time since she’s felt anything remotely similar to this. “I feel a lot,” she finishes lamely.

Camila tilts her head. For a second, Lauren feels that she’s going to laugh at her dumb attempt at opening up. But Camila is patient, something that Lauren is beginning to feel grateful for. She’s nothing like Lauren.

“I think you should know, that I…” Lauren trails off uncertainly. She stammers on the spot for a moment. It takes another gentle squeeze for Lauren to calm her nerves. “I think you're the most irritatingly adorable person I've met. I get butterflies every time I'm even in the same room as you, or even when you just look at me because you make me so nervous. And you make me doubt everything and it pisses me off but at the same time I love it because it’s you.” She pauses, releasing a shaky breath. "You’re just – like – I don’t even think you realize how extraordinary you are Camila.”

Lauren averts her eyes. Blearily glowering down at her shoes. Shifting weight between each foot. But Camila’s hand is still in hers. Intertwined. Giving Lauren just enough courage to continue.

“And I know it’s stupid because I’ve been such a bitch to you all of these years. I know it probably doesn’t mean much to you, saying all of this now. I just,” Lauren pauses, searching for the proper words. Her pounding heart isn’t exactly making it any easier. Camila staring at her so intensely isn’t making it any easier either. “I just wanted your attention. And I didn't care if it was negative attention.”

Lauren lets out a shuddering breath. The hand in hers loosens, and Lauren quickly tightens it, keeping their fingers firmly interlocked.

“I wanted your eyes on me. I wanted you to know me. That’s what I’ve always ever wanted, Camila."

The homecoming game falls on a chilly Friday night in October. The winds send a biting chill as the sun falls into its daily descent. The bright lights of the stadium highlights the puffs of breaths exhaled from excited students as they find their seats on the bleachers.

The football teams congregate on either side of the field, huddling for their plays. The cheerleaders form a tight group on the track, coming closer for warmth behind their short, pleated skirts, awaiting their captain’s presence.

The frosty air extends past the field, curling and slithering beneath the cracks of the school’s double doors, spreading through the empty hallways. Even faintly permeating within the small confines of the girl’s locker room. Where the conveniently absent head cheerleader has dragged a more than willing soccer player away from the loud crowded football field.

Lauren presses Camila up against the locker. She feels Camila squirm beneath her weight and she gets a thrill out of it. Her lips brush against Camila’s forehead, her cheeks, her nose, her chin, finally resting upon her mouth. Lauren moves them slow and sensually, closing and parting her lips in a delicious rhythm she has become quite familiar with.

Lauren parts her lips again, taking in the Camila’s bottom lip. Her teeth close around them, almost playfully. It would be playful if Lauren’s hands aren’t currently trying to cop a feel beneath the girl’s shirt.

Camila pulls away breathlessly. Her pants beat enticingly against Lauren’s lips, tempting her to close the gap again. But Camila is resilient, even angling her body away slightly.

“Did the girls give you a hard time?” Camila asks, her hands loosening their tight grip in her hair.

“No, it’s not halftime yet.”

Camila nods and leans back against the locker again.

“Do you think they suspect anything?”

“Please. The girls are still betting on Ally’s dumb Operation Camren plan,” Lauren scoffs. Camila laughs. Lauren feels Camila’s fingers play with the ends of her hair, twirling a few strands.

The uneven pace from the kissing has melted, warming Lauren up inside, as if she had her own personal Camila sweater. The thought almost makes her cringe. When did she turn into such a sap?

“You know, without Ally’s dumb plan this probably wouldn’t have happened,” Camila murmurs.

Lauren wants to disagree. She wants to protest and go through her detailed argument of how very much it would have happened anyway. How they were inevitable from the very beginning. It was only a matter of time because they were made for each other.

But it’s stupid and makes her sound like a weenie, even in her head.

Lauren is a lot of things. But she is most definitely not a weenie.

“Should we thank her?”

“Hmm, probably not,” Camila says, glancing down at Lauren’s lips. “I think she’ll be disappointed that she couldn’t plan our first date.”

There’s always the wedding.

For a horrifying second, Lauren almost says that out loud. It takes her a moment to recover from her almost blunder. She secretly thanks the big man upstairs for gracing her with the ability to keep her mouth shut.

(She makes a mental note to go with Ally to church more often).

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Lauren finally responds, eyes roaming across Camila’s face. Her flushed expression. Her red, bruised lips, tousled hand blown out eyes. Lauren feels a quiver of happiness and something not quite as innocent fluttering below her waist. Her nails dance around her skin lightly. Camila shivers beneath her touch.

“Are you cold?” Lauren asks in a soft voice.

Camila glances up at her from beneath her eyelashes and Lauren swears she feels her heart stop.

“A little,” Camila murmurs. Lauren doesn’t hesitate in shrugging off her lettermen and draping it over Camila’s shoulders. “Wait, no I was kidding kind of. You can’t give me this you’re gonna get cold and plus everyone is going to see-“

“I’m not gonna need it during the routine,” Lauren reassures in that same soft tone. “And you’re my girlfriend now. Let everyone see.”

Oh god, did that really come out of my mouth? That stupid cheesey dumb good for nothing line that’ll probably make Camz totally cringe. that’s it I’m becoming a Satanist –

But then she looks at Camila and she’s is staring right back at her with an expression Lauren can’t quite put her finger on. But it easily becomes one of her favorites.

She doesn’t get a chance to speak because Camila is pulling her face down for another long, deep kiss. Their lips move at a heated pace. Lauren can feel the message conveyed in the very contours of Camila’s mouth.

I love you.

It’s not time yet. It’s too soon.

But eventually.

Ally bundles up in her letterman, standing next to Normani on the track field. The noise of chatter from the onlookers on the bleachers is a comforting sound, setting in her cold body pleasantly. Her eyes glance towards the football field, watching her boyfriend Troy in his gear, stretching by the bench, before running out into the field to replace another player. It’s the last game of the season and the excitement is tangible.

“Any sign of Lauren? The quarter is about to end. We already be preparing for the routine,” Normani complains.

As if on cue, the head cheerleader runs on to the field hurriedly, looking much too flushed for this cold weather.

“Hey,” Lauren greets, unevenly, making Ally and Normani exchange a furtive look. Lauren catches this. “What?”

“You’re all red,” Ally supplies, rather sheepishly because thinking of Lauren doing whatever she was doing (or who she was doing, rather), isn’t something she wants to picture.

“And you’re …flustered.” Normani smirks.

“Where’s your jacket?” Ally adds.

Finally Lauren snaps. “What is with the third degree? Jesus, I’m here aren’t I? You know what just get into formation.”

Both Ally and Normani resist the urge to laugh at the blushing girl.

Ally doesn’t have the heart to tease her further. Instead, she follows Lauren’s lead, falling into place with the rest of the cheerleaders.

However, as the routine progresses, Ally can’t help but notice something –someone – emerging from the very same double doors their head cheerleader had burst from just moments ago. Out comes a very flustered, but very happy soccer player, wearing a very familiar letterman jacket. And if Ally hadn’t noticed Lauren’s obvious shivering, the fact that Jauregui was engraved across the back in gold letters was telling enough.

Ally watches as Camila practically skips up towards the bleachers to sit beside Dinah, looking absurdly pleased with herself. The sight brings a silly grin to Ally’s face.

She glances over to Lauren who is too busy staring down at her shoes. But Ally notices the distinct pink tinge to her cheeks.

Her attention shifts to Normani and sees that she, too, notices Camila’s sudden wardrobe change. Normani smirks. But both remained tightlipped.

Once halftime is over, Ally watches as Lauren scurries back through the double doors leading to the locker rooms. She doesn’t even wait to have a quick debriefing of their routine, which Ally finds almost irresponsible. Well, she’ll talk to her about that later. It’s not like she doesn’t know what’s got Lauren all flouncy. Or who.

As if to further demonstrate this, Dinah approaches Ally and Normani down from the bleachers with a smug expression on her face.

“I see Laurenzo isn’t with you.”

Normani glances over Dinah’s shoulder.

“Neither is Camila,” Normani states, a matching smirk growing on her face.

They all sort of giggle at their observation.

Camila and Lauren were not discreet at all. Whatever secret they think they had was about as subtle as a neon sign. A blinking one. With dancing interchangeable lights. And fireworks lighting up in the background.

If all of the times Ally’s caught Lauren waiting by Camila’s locker weren’t an obvious indication. It’s probably the hickeys she’s absently seen as Lauren tries to hastily change into her uniform for practice. Or the nights she’s caught Lauren wearing what looked like one of Camila’s jerseys during sleepovers. Or the flowers Camila swears were from her father the days leading up to the game, (even though Ally distinctly remembers her father never buying flowers because of his allergies).

Not that she confronted them about it. At least not directly.

A little teasing maybe. Something that both of her snickering friends could agree with and had wholeheartedly participated in.

But no. No. She’s definitely learned her lesson about meddling…at least until that potential future wedding she’s begun making plans for comes into play.

Which, in that case, Operation Camren 2.0 is definitely a go.

A/N: happy 2018 !

#hwuc fics #wow i can't believe this happened #i still blame you #annie #camren

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