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bamboozledbird · 3 months ago

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IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU (Reader's Version) // Prev. / Chapter 2 / next.

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader (You), Lydia Martin, Scott McCall, Allison Argent Pairing: Eventual Stiles x Reader, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 6.7k Warnings: Canon typical gore/violence, emetophobia, parental death (rip to your fake mom), descriptions of burning, depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes) Tags: Canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author is a chaotic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: You can always smell ash long after the fire is gone. Perhaps, that’s why you still can’t breathe without choking on the past. It’s been four years since your mom died. Four years since she burned alive. Four years since you didn’t. You survived, but they must have buried your heart with her because most days you feel like a shadow, some horrifically sad creature caught halfway between a ghost and a lamb for slaughter.

You can’t scrub the bitter smell of hospital from your memories, not even with denial. Maybe, that’s why death and disease follows Stiles wherever he goes now. It’s been eight years since his mom died. Eight years since he didn’t. Eight years since he decided that he wouldn’t let anyone he loved die ever again. He survived, but Scott’s new-found abilities and the murky world they’ve been dragged into is making it pretty damn hard to keep his promise.

Time never stops turning. The grief never dissipates. Children soldier on—but in a town where all the monsters under the bed are real and old family skeletons rattle in every closet, how long can two fragile, breakable humans survive?

Maybe, the real question is how long will they want to? Chapter Summary: After an awkward encounter with Lydia Martin, Stiles realizes that his new acquaintance might be the perfect person to jumpstart his 15-year plan. You, on the other hand, aren't interested in discussing your ex-best friend; you're much more focused on the man who was attacked by the mysterious beast ravaging the town.

A/N: Thank you all so much for the support so far. So many of y'all have been so sweet :') Comments and reblogs are love.

Monday came, and you’d forgotten about Stiles Stilinski and his sweatshirt. In all fairness, you almost forgot your essay too. Lack of sleep, maybe, or perhaps lack of Wellbutrin—you’d also forgotten if you’d taken your pills before you left for school.

You crinkled your nearly empty can of Red Bull a few times and twisted the tab in circles until it snapped off. Nervous habit. You flicked the tab into a trashcan and squeezed the can until it crumpled in on itself. Okay, you’d definitely forgotten to take your pills. However, on your list of things to forget, homework outranked antidepressants by several places, so your day wasn’t off to the worst possible start in the world. Dr. Lin always said that you should spend at least five minutes every morning changing your ‘self-talk’ to ‘gratitude, not negatude’—she also said that consistently taking your meds was imperative to your mental health, but one out of two wasn’t so bad. See. Positive thinking; you were killing it.

It was, however, pretty damn difficult to put a positive spin on a bloodied school bus cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape.

You lingered on the outskirts of the swarm of teenagers gawking behind the barricade that a few deputies were fruitlessly attempting to enforce. The back door of the bus was crumpled in the middle, wrenched open, and barely clinging to life with a lone intact hinge. More concerning, was the blood smeared across the yellow paint and the bloody handprints pressed against the windows. You peered through the mass of shoulders in front of you and cupped your hand over your eyes. There were four large gouges in the door and tears in the vinyl seats—claws: you realized. They were claw marks.

Baffling. The entire scene was, in all sincerity, baffling.

Awful, you quickly corrected yourself. The carnage was awful, first and foremost. It was awful, horrific, and totally tragic…but it was also bizarre. Animals, wild or not, generally didn’t hunt on school grounds; that honor was reserved for creepy super-seniors and perverse volleyball coaches. You chewed on your bottom lip and stewed. A bear seemed most likely, given the battering the bus took, but Beacon Hills was a long way from Los Padres. Mountain lions and coyotes, on the other hand, often strolled into small-town suburbia to snack on the occasional unaccompanied support animal. Still, you doubted they had the strength or dexterity to rip a steel door off of its hinges.

The first warning bell rang, and it was especially shrill while you were lost in your own head. You managed to not flinch with a herculean effort and pushed through the remaining voyeurs towards the front doors. Stuffing your airpods into your ears, you turned up the volume on your phone until the bass vibrated all thoughts of coyotes, cougars, and bears out of your mind. Oh my.

Positive: Ellie Rowsell’s ethereal vocals demanded your full and undivided attention.

Negative: Ellie Rowsell’s ethereal vocals demanded your full and undivided attention.

You grabbed your chemistry notecards, a few highlighters, and a fat stack of books from your locker just as an overly-cologned jackass shoved his equally pungent friend straight into your crowded arms.

Positive: You hadn’t gotten the chance to organize your notes by unit number before they scattered all over the floor.

Negative: They were still scattered all over the floor.

Biting back a few choice expletives, you crouched down and gathered your notecards into a messy heap. You stretched across the scuffed tile for your highlighters; one brushed past your fingertips and rolled into the pointed toe of a sleek brown leather boot. You glanced up, apology ready, but your tongue went cottony when you locked eyes with Lydia Martin.

Lydia Martin was many things to many people, but you supposed the general consensus would be that she was the apex predator—regardless of what the bloodbath outside might lead a person to believe. Most students were consenting prey. Enthusiastically consenting, in fact. You understood the impulse. Knowing she could destroy you, that was the thing that made Lydia so undeniably captivating.

Lydia was…sublime. That was the only word for it. She was the duality of fear and attraction. She defined indefinable beauty—because she wasn’t just beautiful (anybody could be beautiful), Lydia was fiercely beautiful and, in the same breath, the grace of girlhood. She was…she suckerpunched Jordan Aadams in the third grade for making fun of your eyes without lifting a single manicured finger; that was the closest you could come to explaining the phenomenon Lydia Martin left in her wake.

Lydia’s thick red curls spilled over her shoulders as she looked down at the obstacle in her path. The angry pinch in her brows softened briefly once she made eye-contact with you, but she quickly corrected her slip and schooled her face into a blank expression. Returning her attention to her friend, Lydia’s heels clicked against the floor as she stepped over your copy of Metamorphosis and continued on with her conversation like it hadn’t ever stopped. Like you were just a mirage or a distorted oil-slick reflection—like you were a ghost who just wouldn’t fucking die already. You watched her go, forgetting to blink, until they reached Lydia’s locker on the other side of the hall.

Before she got extensions, Lydia liked to wear her hair in a French braid. Before she discovered full-coverage concealer, her freckles were golden against the fairness of her cheeks. Before everything fell apart, she was your best friend.

In the end, it wasn’t a terribly dramatic thing. There wasn’t a melodramatic scene or an explosive fight; sometimes, you wondered if that would've been better. There was a certain kind of brutality to a slow, quiet death; one that lasted long after the hot water turned cold and shampoo stung your eyes. After the funeral, you could taste decay in your conversations, in your silences. The rot crawled listlessly—everything did back then—tauntingly sluggish. You saw the end coming weeks before you stopped speaking, and you didn’t even try to stop it. To be fair, Lydia didn’t either.

On the first day of seventh grade, Lydia had new friends; they all smelled like vanilla and owned matching couture purses. She’d always been magnetic, but evidently losing her only constant was her final quest before she transcended to godhood. You made her human; that must have been the problem. You were babies together. You were more than family. Now, you sat across from each other in a class you couldn’t bring yourself to care about, and you did not look at each other unless it was straight through.

You snatched the runaway highlighter and quickly sunk back against the wall, pressing into it like you could force your body through the cracks in the bricks or at the very least shed the sentimentality clinging to your skin. You darted your gaze across the hall and almost snorted when you saw the amount of people who’d flocked to Lydia’s side in the span of no more than thirty seconds. Lydia was unobtainable, unknowable—and yet ever so desirable. No one really knew her, so of course they all wanted to be her.

Lydia only liked one of them, the new girl with shiny black hair and dark eyes; you could tell. Her top lip pursed ever so slightly when she was holding back a barbed comment and a violent eye roll. Usually, Lydia didn’t bother with niceties, but for whatever reason she’d decided her new persona should only intimidate peons with looks and confidence, never brains. It was a shame, really; her cave-dweller boyfriend desperately needed educating.

You resisted the urge to look across the hall again and smoothed out the bent corner of a notecard until ‘alpha’ became ‘alpha particle’. A shadow fell over the pink-highlighted text, and you frowned. Glancing up, your frown cemented when you saw Stiles’s elven nose and remembered that you still had his sweatshirt wadded on your desk chair.

“Hey,” Stiles adjusted his grip on his backpack, “did your car make it home okay?”

You nodded and shut your locker with your elbow, bending with the wobbling tower of school supplies in your arms until it stabilized again.

“Cool.” He nodded a few times, mouth puckered like a duck, and scratched at the back of his neck, “So. You and Lydia, huh.”

You stared intently at your notes, “Is that a question?”

“No, it’s a statement.” He hooked his thumbs around his backpack straps and leaned back slightly, “And that episode of telepathic taekwondo was definitely a statement.”

You glowered until ‘alpha decay’ and ‘helium-4 nucleus’ mushed together into an illegible pink blob, “I’ve got a statement for you—only two words actually.”

“So it is a thing.” You could hear the smirk in his voice as he grabbed the books from under your arms.

You refused to feel grateful, even as you readjusted your grip on your cards and freed one of your hands, “Get lost, Stilinski.”

“That’s three words.” The smirk was deafening now.

The one-minute warning bell rang and a mass of students swarmed the hallway, effectively drowning out Stiles’s smugness with a sea of jock whooping and band geek trumpeting. You met his gaze and smiled, quick and sickly-sweet, before stepping around him, “Kindly. Choke.”

You ignored the sound of Stiles’s large footsteps following far too closely behind you. You wanted to be annoyed with him, but English was his first-period and he did have your books in his stupidly big hands. Instead of flipping him off, you focused your itching fingers on stacking cards and pencils on top of your desk until Stiles sat down in the seat next to you—without permission. You changed your mind; he was annoying.

Stiles scooted the desk closer to yours with his feet, and the metal legs screeched against the linoleum flooring for you. “Was it like a ‘grew apart over the summer’ thing, or did some serious shit go down?”

You sighed heavily and lined your pencils and pens next to each other, first in order of length and then color, “Why do you care?”

His mouth remained open for a second, and then he shrugged a little too casually, “I’m a naturally inquisitive person.”

“You’re unnaturally irritating,” you grumbled, low in your throat, and scowled at your picked-apart cuticles like they had done you a particular disservice.

Stiles huffed through his nose and threw his hands in the air, “Come on, I totally saved your ass Friday—very chivalrously too, might I add. I won’t even press charges for the theft.”

“Theft?” you finally turned around in your seat to face him at the accusation.

Stiles nodded solemnly, “My sweatshirt. My most favorite sweatshirt of all the sweatshirts.”

Oh. You deflated a little; you’d forgotten about that pesky little detail again. You snatched your books off of his desk before your lives could become further entangled and replied flatly, “I’ll overnight it.”

“No, I insist you keep it.” His smile was a little too crooked to be truly cocky, “I’m a good guy like that.”

You tapped your pencil against your chin, eraser side up, and cocked your head to the side, “Isn’t it incredible how every self-proclaimed ‘good guy’ is exclusively terrible.”

Stiles’s face twisted into a petulant scowl as he collapsed against the back of his chair, and you were a little surprised that the desk managed to contain all of his gangly appendages without collapsing as well. “I like her, okay!” His exasperated confession carried to the next row of students, and Stiles melted into his seat when a jacked sophomore with no neck whistled lewdly behind you. Squeezing his eyes shut, Stiles lowered his voice, “Actually, I’m kind of in love with her if you want to be technical about it.”

“Oh.” You blinked and then laughed.

“Don’t laugh, asshole.”

“Sorry,” you grinned, not sorry in the slightest, “it’s just…isn’t everyone?”

Stiles shook his head and sighed wistfully, “Not like I am.”

You turned to get a better look at him and didn’t mask the doubt in your eyes. He was wearing a brown flannel that was practically mewling for a good ironing and a red t-shirt with the silhouette of a spider embossed over his chest. Spider-Man’s emblem, obviously. If you had to hazard a guess, you’d say it was the Andrew Garfield version. Regardless, it was blatantly clear that Stiles’s homeplanet was lightyears away from Lydia’s.

You folded your arms over your chest and leaned back against your seat, “Have you even talked to her?”

“Technically…no,” Stiles dipped his head from side to side like a bobble head and then pressed his palms together, gesturing with them every so often to emphasize the most ridiculous words in his sentence, “but we have a deep, unspoken connection, mostly via sporadic eye-contact.”

You just looked at him, unamused and unimpressed.

Stiles held up his hands like a director and kicked his feet onto his desk, “It’s about the long-game.”

“Gross,” you pulled a face. You weren't sure if you were referring to the gray wad of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe or the pride in his long-con. It was probably a bit of both.

“Are you gonna help a guy out or not?” Stiles nudged the leg of your desk with his sneaker—the gumless one, thankfully—and sent one of your pens careening towards the edge.

You caught it before it could hit the ground and glared at him. “Hate to break it to you, but I’m not an ‘in.’” You returned the pen to its rightful place between your pencil and purple highlighter: a perfect rainbow of neuroticism. You straightened your row of writing utensils again and swallowed shallowly, “I don’t even know her anymore.”

For the first time since Stiles had popped up in front of your locker like a chronic zit, understanding clicked in his eyes. Actually, he almost looked apologetic. Stiles sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and leaned forward onto his forearms, “So…what happened? Did you not make queen bee first-string?”

“No,” you bristled. After a long exhale, you crumpled in on yourself a little and mumbled, “Yes…kind of. I don’t know. I have my version; I’m sure she has hers.”

Stiles clasped his hands together and nodded sagely, “There are as many truths as there are people.”

Your brows scrunched, and your eyes went lidded as you flipped through your mental philosophy rolodex, “Camus?”

He shook his head and clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, “Evangelion.”

You were startled into a snorty chortle, “Obviously you’re a weeb.”

Stiles hid his amusement behind a slow roll of his eyes, “You’re at least 1/16 weeb if you know Evangelion is an anime.”

Before you could deny such blasphemy, you were distracted by the boy who usually sat next to you—Greg something, you were pretty sure—coming to a stop directly between you and Stiles. He lingered next to the side of his desk, breathing heavily through his mouth like some kind of sick prowler.

Stiles glanced at him with a flat expression and then looked up again, brows shooting towards his hairline, when he didn’t leave, “Can I help you?” He jerked his head forward and shook it slightly, “Need a mint?”

Greg Something stared at him, red-rimmed eyes thoroughly glazed over, and you wondered if being faded at 7:45 in the morning was worth the tortuous five-hour wait until lunch.

“No?” Stiles waved his hand in the air; Greg didn’t even blink. “Okay seeya.”

It took him roughly 30 seconds to comprehend what Stiles was saying, but eventually Greg shuffled towards one of the remaining empty seats in the middle of the classroom.

“Thank you,” Stiles muttered before returning his attention to the side of your face.

You smirked slightly at your notebook, doodling a little bird with sharp talons along the margins of your notes on Kafka’s thoughts on absurdism—spoiler alert: the guy who wrote a book about a dude randomly transforming into a bug was a big fan of it. You added a long feathered tail to your bird and said, “It is his seat.”

Stiles scoffed and looked over his shoulder. You both watched Greg shove a handful of Cheeto Puffs into his mouth in slow-motion for a moment, and Stiles replied, “I think he’ll live.”

“Oh,” you shook your head a little, freshly bitten lips curling around the extended vowel, “I’m not worried about him.”

Stiles clicked his pen aggressively with his thumb and pressed his mouth together until his lips disappeared into a flat line. “If you would just answer my questions the first time, I wouldn’t have to keep asking them, so, for the love of god—” fortuitously for him, he was cut off by a loud scratchy buzz before you could succumb to your base instincts and throw an eraser into his flapping mouth.

Principal Montoya’s voice crackled through the loudspeaker, “Attention students: I know that many of you are concerned about the…incident in the parking lot, but rest assured that the police have it well in hand. Classes will proceed as scheduled as they continue their investigation. Have a productive day, Cyclones.”

A resounding groan echoed throughout the classroom and into the hallway, followed by the hum of students breaking into various complaints. Mr. Lyman thwacked his pointer against the whiteboard, and the force of his swing sent the cartoonish hand on the end of the stick into rapid vibration—effectively shutting everyone up. The quiet was only disturbed by the rustle of zippers being unzipped and papers being smoothed when he instructed everyone to turn their essays in.

You hastily wrote your name across the top of your paper and pointedly kept your eyes on the board when Stiles leaned across his desk. “Life’s short, y’know. One day you’re a traveling salesman, and the next you’re a grotesque, monstrous insect, wishing that you’d seized life when you had the opposable thumbs for it, so—”

“A man just died; have some class,” you interrupted him, voice dry as it was soft. Stiles might not care about getting in trouble, but you’d worked very hard to remain on a no-name basis with all your teachers.

“We don’t know that he’s dead—or that he’s a he.”

“Oh yeah,” you jotted down the daily prompt in your notebook and muttered, “I’m sure the guy just decided to go home and sleep off the mauled limbs.”

“It could’ve been an animal,” Stiles huffed, bowing his head in submission when Mr. Lyman shot him a stern look from behind his desk. He continued with his hand over his mouth, muffling his words, “And they do run off to die alone.”

You stared at him for a long moment. “That’s cats. Are you saying a bear ripped a bus apart for a cat.”

“Well, if you say anything in that tone, it’s going to sound ridiculous,” Stiles muttered sullenly against his palm, and you were pretty sure that he was pouting behind it too.

You opened your mouth to reply and then squinted slightly when a boy with floppy hair skidded to a halt in front of you. His mouth was slightly agape as he looked back and forth between Stiles and Greg, who was now licking the nearly toxic orange dust off of his fingers.

“Sit, Scotty,” Stiles jerked his thumb towards the empty desk behind him. “Good boy.”

The boy, Scott you gathered, did not look amused, but he sat down behind Stiles anyway and leaned forward to whisper something in his ear. Stiles whipped around and responded in a hushed screech.

You were distracted from her eavesdropping when Lydia’s friend sat down next to Scott—directly behind you. Her jaw could cut glass. You dropped your chin onto your folded arms and refused to let yourself frown; the end result was a slightly constipated pout. It was just…Allison had just started going to Beacon Hills a few weeks ago, and she was already completely intertwined in Lydia’s life.

Lydia was…prickly, so you were just surprised, that’s all, how easily Allison fit into her life. More palatable, you thought as you risked a peek over your shoulder; she must be more palatable than most. A terrible, ugly thing creeped over you, and you found yourself imagining Allison choking on her beautiful, silky black hair until her beautiful dark eyes popped out of her head. Just for a moment. A brief, awful, horrible moment—until you remembered it wasn’t Allison’s fault.

“Hey.” You flinched when you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder.

You reluctantly shifted in your chair so that you could see Allison. You just looked at her for an uncomfortable moment, and Allison smiled awkwardly, “The tests.” You blinked and licked your dry lips, at a loss for words. Allison smiled again, a little nervous but still kind, “They're on your desk.”

“Oh,” you said dumbly and reached for the pile of papers on your desk that you’d missed during your lengthy period of dissociation. You kept one and then held out the rest to Allison, mumbling, “Sorry,” under your breath.

Allison looked at you for a moment, and you didn’t like the discerning look in her doe eyes. “It’s okay. I zone-out all the time.”

You could see why Lydia liked her; she was nice, overly so. You felt that ugly feeling slip into your mouth again, bitterness coating your tongue, and you wished that Allison was catty or at very least a vapid twit who was either too stupid or too self-involved to notice other people—like the rest of Lydia’s circle.

“I like your necklace.” Allison nodded a little towards the black chain around your neck.

A heavy pendant rested just over your sternum; the maze etched into the stone had eroded in places, like it had been left out in acid rain for decades. You weren’t sure exactly what it was made of; your mother never said when she gave it to you, and you never asked. It didn’t matter much now.

“Thanks,” you finally said, because that was what normal people did when they were complimented, and you were a normal person. Mostly. You swallowed thickly and bit down on the scab in the center of your bottom lip before adding, “I like your jacket.” You did. It was simple, unadorned by gaudy zippers and lapels like so many of the other leather jackets on campus. You would wear it yourself if you didn’t break into a sweat in any temperature warmer than tepid.

Allison’s cheeks dimpled when she smiled, and you quashed the sigh rising in your throat. Her smile was magnificent. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure if I could pull it off, but my friend convinced me to—” Allison let out a little breathy laugh, “Sorry, you definitely don’t want to hear my jacket’s tragic backstory.”

You didn’t, not if it included hearing about Lydia’s fashion tips second-hand. Still, you scraped up a little smile, “As long as it doesn’t begin with a cow, you’re golden.”

Allison laughed and held up her hands, “It’s faux; I promise.”

“Ladies,” Mr. Lyman called from across the classroom, “I wasn’t aware that existentialism was so amusing.” You felt a dizzying heat crawl up your neck to your ears once you realized that the only noise in the room, other than Allison’s tinkly laughter, was the scratch of pencils on paper as students worked on their tests.

“Sorry,” you mumbled at the same time, and Allison mouthed another ‘Sorry’ just for you before you turned around. Damn. You liked her. How incredibly inconvenient. You almost wished that Stiles was still pestering you so that you had a real reason to be upset—until you finally got a good look at the mid-term, more specifically at the thickness of it. You flipped through the lengthy test and looked at the ceiling briefly: Six essay questions?

Positive: At least, you found a legitimate excuse to sulk.

Negative: You felt a migraine coming on.

Blessedly, whatever Scott had said to Stiles at the beginning of class was distracting enough to keep his, frankly obsessive, focus on him for the rest of first-period. You were even able to finish the final essay question without interruption—which was plenty difficult without being interrogated about your ex-best friend. You almost scoffed when you read the prompt: Whom do you sympathize with more, Gregor or his family? Who in their right mind would side with a pathetic parasite who couldn’t love anyone more than he hated himself? An uncomfortable, undeniable pang of melancholy sliced through your throat, and you were actually grateful for the distraction when the bell rang for second period and you had to pack up for chemistry.

The impending chemistry midterm, however, was evidently a touch too distracting because you didn’t notice that you’d regained your lanky shadow until you were in Mr. Harris’s classroom and he stole the flashcard in your hand. Narrowing your eyes, you leaned across the lab table and rocked onto your tiptoes. Your outstretched arm shook as you struggled to even brush your fingers against the cardstock, “I haven’t talked to her in years. Lurk elsewhere.”

Stiles opened his mouth and then shut it again, head bobbing helplessly for a moment, “I was just going to ask you about…Gregor. That last question was a real piece of work, huh.”

You plucked the card out of his grasp while he was distracted by his social ineptitude, “Uh huh.”

“Scout’s honor,” Stiles placed his hand over his chest and somehow made his big eyes rounder. His pink bottom lip jutted out ever-so slightly, but the quivering at the edges of his mouth gave him away. Sighing, he leaned his weight onto his palm: flat against the tabletop, fingers spread, and far too close to your own. He gestured erratically with his other hand, and you jerked back to avoid being smacked in the face. “Personally, I’m on Grete’s side. I mean, you can only take care of your werebug brother for so long without some kind of recognition before you snap.” Stiles shot a pointed look over his shoulder at his friend from first-period, and you thought the glare Scott returned was well-deserved. You could be biased, but probably not.

“He was a little preoccupied by being, y’know, a bug.” You shuffled your notecards and frowned pensively at the question that ended up on top of the stack: What is the formula for Calcium acetate?

“He could’ve said thank you in Morse code.” Stiles looked over your shoulder and added, “C4H6CaO4.”

You flipped the card over and pursed your lips. He was right. “I actually said the same thing,” you admitted begrudgingly as you grabbed the next flashcard from the pile. “Not the Morse code bit, that’s objectively insane. I did say that the best thing he did for her was die.”

“Damn.” Stiles’s forehead wrinkled as he let out a puff of air, “A little harsh.”

You picked at your raw cuticles and wished you could pull your bottom lip over your head. “It’s like you said,” you muttered as you folded your arms firmly over your chest, ducking your chin towards the divot in your breastbone, “she could only deal with his depressed bullshit for so long before she got on with her life and made new, sane, non-insect friends who actually go outside, and have fun at parties, and respond to texts.” You paused and remembered that you needed air to function when your lungs started to burn. Exhaling shallowly, you pressed your calves against the stool’s frigid legs until it hurt. Maybe, if you crushed your limbs together tightly enough, curled in on yourself closely enough, you could disappear. “And don’t, y’know, crawl on the ceiling and projectile vomit Exorcist style,” you finished weakly.

Stiles studied you for a moment, and it was like he could see every painfully tender spot inside you. You felt ants crawling underneath your skin and him seeing you, and you wanted to bolt before you came completely unstitched at the seams. “Well,” he trailed off for a moment, rubbing the back of his head, “in all fairness, being there…that’s kind of the deal when you’re friends—even if they turn into a disgusting bug.” You didn’t know that someone so caustic could sound so gentle, like ink running across paper.

“Siblings.” You swallowed and looked away from his unyielding gaze, but you still saw amber and understanding every time you blinked. “You mean siblings.”

“Sure.” Stiles smiled a little and slid his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, “Siblings.”

You swallowed again, couldn’t even manage a ‘see'ya’ or an eyeroll when he saluted you goodbye, and watched him saunter towards his seat next to Scott through your lashes with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. You felt a little sick once you realized that you weren’t relieved by his absence. It was all you’d wanted at the beginning of his inquisition, and yet…you wanted him to sit next to you. The epiphany struck you right in the stomach, and you felt a bit like one of your dad’s rare butterflies—tissue paper wings pinned to paper, fervently yearning to fly away, even if it meant ripping yourself apart.

Normally, you thoroughly enjoyed not having a lab partner. The class had an odd number of students, and Mr. Harris either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care that you never joined another pair during labs. It was a toss-up, considering he seemed to loathe his job as much as he loved devoting his undivided attention to mocking Stiles. Speak of the bifocal-ed Devil.

“Mr. Stilinski,” the contempt in Mr. Harris’s voice was sickeningly viscous. You imagined mucus dripping from his thin lips; it helped quell some of the righteous anger in your gut. He continued, and now he was spitting up slugs and snot, “If that’s your idea of a hushed whisper, you might want to pull the headphones out every once in a while. I think you and Mr. McCall would benefit from a little distance, yes?”

“No–” Stiles’s jaw hung open as he shook his head violently.

Mr. Harris silenced him with a glare, and your fingers curled into your palms as you watched the condescension gloss over his smirk when Stiles complied. Your jagged, bitten-down nails pinched your skin; you quickly flattened your hands on top of the table before you did something stupid like draw attention to yourself. It was none of your business, after all, and you had a test to prepare for.

You stared at your notes, reread the same sentence over and over again without comprehending a single word, until you felt the uneasy sensation of someone sneaking up behind you.

“Hey,” Stiles sat down on the empty stool next to you and kicked at your shoe lightly under the table. You hummed in recognition and slid your textbook over to make room for his things.

Stiles’s face scrunched as he flipped through his own notes. You couldn’t read most of it—not that you were looking; his hand-writing was just glaringly atrocious. Everything was smooshed together and most of the letters were partially incomplete, like his pencil couldn’t keep up with his brain. You looked back at your own notebook, at the meticulously symmetrical loops and compulsively straight lines, and the corner of your mouth curled into a brief smile.

The quiet was nice, but you couldn’t shake the irritation sticking to your fingers. You tapped your pencil against your notebook a few times, bit down on the inside of your cheek, and then said, “He’s a dick.” You spoke quietly, but Stiles still flinched. The highlighter in his hand left a long yellow streak across his textbook, and you winced. Truthfully, you were equally startled that you’d voluntarily broken a perfect moment of silence.

Stiles didn’t seem bothered by the new mark permanently defacing his book, most likely because a good portion of the glossy pages were already more yellow than they were white. He angled his chin towards you and smirked, “Are you legally allowed to call a teacher a dick? Y’know, as the resident teacher’s pet.”

You grinned at your notes, “I have the utmost authority, actually.”

Stiles leaned forward onto his forearms and struggled to keep his mouth impassive, “Oh, yeah?”

A loud, grating squeal of metal on tile and an even louder yelp interrupted your reply. A girl near the front of the classroom shot up out of her seat, almost sending her stool toppling to the ground, and then bolted towards the window overlooking the parking lot, “I think they found something!”

Mr. Harris quickly lost control of the classroom as the rest of the class surrounded her, practically pressing their stupefied faces against the glass to get a better look at what, or rather whom, the EMTs were wheeling out of the thicket of trees just beyond the school’s perimeter. You hesitated for a moment before joining the stragglers. Morbid fascination dwindled after you were confronted with the reality of it—you weren't in any rush to see another dead body.

You weren't ever supposed to actually see the photos; they were strictly evidence for the potential arson investigation. The coroner didn’t even want your dad to see the body. There hadn’t been any point, after all; it was completely unidentifiable. At the time, you thought it would help. You thought peeking at the case file while the Sheriff was on the phone might remind you of some crucial detail, hidden in the depths of your blackout—and, well, you thought it might finally make it real. Maybe, if you saw the proof, you’d finally believe that your mom wasn’t coming back.

You’d been wrong, of course. Seeing what was left of your mom, seeing her like…that, it’d just made you puke. Your whole body had trembled from the retching, and then you were paralyzed, held hostage by a glacial streak of terror. Sheriff Stilinski had been so terribly understanding about the whole thing, like it was nothing: vomit on his office floor, trembling hands invading his private files. He’d just wiped the corners of your mouth with a tissue and rubbed your upper back in slow circles, just like her your mom did when you were sick—which ultimately sent you into another round of dry-heaving. You never felt the temptation to look again.

You let out a deep breath when you looked out the window and saw the man on the gurney twitch. His jacket and pants were black, and his shirt was charcoal gray, dark enough to hide any blood stains. The only injury you could make out was a large gash on his face; it was still bleeding sluggishly, leaving a sticky red trail from his jaw to his neck. Your grip on your forearms tightened as your stomach lurched.

The paramedics began to load the gurney into the ambulance, and the man surged forward without a single warning. His screams were raw, like they’d been ripped from his throat along with the flesh on his cheek, and every single one of the students crowded against the windows recoiled from the wailing. You swallowed the bile burning your throat. It was like they were watching their own, personal horror movie and couldn’t decide if they were more exhilarated or horrified—just itching for the jump scare.

You stumbled back towards the door and bumped into Stiles and Scott. Stiles gripped your arm gently until you regained your footing.

“That’s not a rabbit,” Scott said under his breath. He looked as queasy as you felt.

“Or a cat,” you added quietly.

“But he’s alive,” Stiles nudged Scott a little, “that’s good, right? Dead guys can’t do that.”

Scott still looked like he was going to hurl all over Stiles’s white Vans, and you felt a flutter of sympathy. The only thing worse than puking was doing it in front of other people. “You might want to take him somewhere,” you spoke softly to Stiles. “He looks like he’s going to pass out.”

“Yeah,” Stiles nodded a little and wrapped an arm around Scott’s rigid shoulders, “good call.”

His eyes darted around the classroom: big, and brown, and frantic—like a lost fawn. You nodded towards the dark corner Mr. Harris was dissociating in, “I’ll cover for you.”

“Yeah?” Stiles smiled a little, but he looked weary down to his bones as he started shuffling Scott towards the door.

“Yeah,” your smile was a bit wobbly at the edges, “but only ‘cause I get a sick thrill out of fucking with dicks.”

Your weak attempt to ease some of the tension in the air was semi-successful; Scott was still staring into another dimension, but Stiles looked positively giddy at the prospect of such a perfect setup. “I have, just, so many thoughts on that, but I’ll save them for after Scott—” he gave Scott a long look and scratched the back of his buzzed head, “gets his blood sugar up.”

It was sweet, you thought as you watched Stiles guide Scott into the hallway, lying to spare Scott’s pride. You thought Stiles would be a better liar, but maybe that was the downfall of being raised by a police officer. It was either that or the general social impotence. Not that you had much room to talk; silence was your preferred method of social interaction.

The classroom was far from silent now. Students were spread out across the room in little clumps. Some spoke in furious whispers. Others weren’t as discreet, and you could hear every single preposterous word that left their mouths. The amount of sophomores who didn’t know that the California grizzly bear went extinct almost a century ago was a very depressing glimpse into the public education system, but at least there were only two boys howling obnoxiously at a few giggling volleyball girls. Rolling your eyes, you pulled out your phone and typed ‘Beacon Hills bus attack’ into the search bar.

You refreshed the webpage obsessively, all throughout chemistry and art class, until an article finally popped up on your screen at lunch. You bit into your slightly bruised apple and squinted at your phone, immensely grateful for the empty courtyard as you came across the grittier details.

You always ate lunch outside; it was quieter without the echoes of gossip and laughter, and the heady scent of cut grass was far preferable to whatever monstrosity the cafeteria was serving that day. Today, the afternoon heat made the earthy warmth especially thick in the air. Normally, you loved that smell, the smell of summer. It reminded you of frenzied August afternoons, running through Lydia’s sprawling backyard and swinging into brisk lake water, but the smell was quickly becoming suffocating the more you read.

The man who was attacked was a bus driver. He was smiling in the photo they’d chosen to include before pictures of the crime scene, like a warped ‘before and after’ ad. You dropped your half-eaten apple into your lunch sack and shoved it to the side when you got to the background bits. Garrison Myers had a family, a wife and two daughters; they were praying for his unlikely survival. Your throat hurt, and you wondered if there was an apple chunk lodged in your esophagus. Swallowing hard, you scrolled down to the police interview. The deputy they managed to get a quote from clearly knew next to nothing, though he did posit the possibility of a mountain lion attack. You rolled your eyes. Maybe on PCP.

The only thing you were sure of was that whatever kind of beast ripped a woman in half and slashed a man to ribbons in the span of a week wasn’t going to stop. At least, not until it was killed.

#stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski fanfiction #stiles stilinski imagines #dylan o'brien x reader #dylan o'brien imagine #teen wolf #teen wolf fanfiction #stiles stilinski fic #stiles stilinski x you

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she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 4 months ago

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Back on my analysis nonsense but not quite awake enough to write a full essay right now so please enjoy this snippet of analysis about Inej, language, and the word “girl”. It’s all stuff I’ve talked about before but I haven’t given it’s own post before and I’ve been rereading some of my old stuff to get back in the mindset so I thought I’d bring this back up because I find it really interesting - I’m also really hoping to write the post about Fruszi that I’ve been planning on doing for basically since season 2 came out tomorrow or at least very soon so hopefully that won’t be too long

Inej Ghafa, Language, and the Word “Girl”

⚠️As always in my analyses, constant spoilers ahead!! 🖤

⚠️I’m going to talk about Inej’s trauma and her ptsd, and this post will also possibly include references to the other characters’ trauma and ptsd as well

Hi okay it’s been a while since we did this and I realise it’s probably the reason most of you follow me so sorry about that but let’s jump right in - I often say it’s after midnight and I’m thinking about Soc so let’s talk but today I actually have to say it’s almost midnight and I’m thinking about Six of Crows, so let’s talk: Inej’s internalised misunderstanding of the Kerch word for “girl”.

In the Bathroom Scene during Crooked Kingdom (which I have a full analysis posted of if anyone would like to read it; I can tag you or you can follow the link in my pinned post), we see Inej at the point she allows herself to be most vulnerable with another character. I think we forget this because we know much more about it than they do, but the other Crows know very little about what Inej went through at the Menagerie - Kaz himself in that very scene describes having “the barest inkling of what she’d endured there” - and previously when we’ve learnt anything about her experiences they have mostly been through flashbacks that Inej experienced during other events of the book. On the boat to Fjerda, in the surgeon’s cabin with Nina, Inej battles with flashbacks and insists Nina sing to her and teach her the chorus of the song to try and distract herself - Nina of course knows that something is going on, but only the reader is actually told what’s happening in Inej’s head - and when she has a flashback at Sweet Reef (the man who smelled of vanilla) she’s alone until Dunyasha arrives. This scene with Kaz is really the only time we see her express herself and, as openly as she can, attempt to speak about some extent of what she went through out loud. I’ve dissected a lot of what she says in this scene in the past and formed theories about it before, but I haven’t talked as much about this quote:

“Tante Heleen wasn’t always cruel”

After this introduction she goes on to explain the emotional abuse and manipulation that Heleen put her through, going so far as to specify that because endearment became something akin to danger she flinched the first time Nina hugged her, and she also mentions in the scene that sometimes when Jesper puts his arm around her she feels like she’s going to vanish. This particular description of Heleen has very strong parallels to descriptions of Van Eck’s abuse of Wylan, and though I don’t want to go into that in too much detail now bc I’ve talked about it before and how their parallels are what create a lot of the Wylan/Inej parallels I do think that it’s a relevant thing to mention as I bridge into the next quote I want to bring up; when Van Eck takes Inej captive and is claiming that he has treated her like this because this is what he know her to expect from her life experiences, she internally comments that he sounds like Heleen and we get a memory of this quote:

“Why do you make me do these things? You bring these punishments on yourself, girl”.

This obviously had very strong links to the way Van Eck abuses Wylan and teaches him to actively blame himself, which I’ve talked about in the last, but I also want to add that it’s so interesting when we see Heleen call Inej “girl” because she very rarely uses terms that don’t actively dehumanise her/any of the other children at the Menagerie. Of course the use of the epithet is still a big part of the way Inej was denied identity at the Menagerie, remember she audibly sobbed when Kaz said her real name out loud the night she left, but it doesn’t necessarily hold the same immediate, discomforting effect that other epithets Heleen uses, such as “little Lynx” (actively diminishing and dehumanising Inej whilst using an oxymoronic phrase to effectively imply that she is a tamed animal and even though she should be able to fight free she never will. As a side note linked to this, the word “little” is often used derogatorily towards Inej, most obviously by Heleen and Van Eck and most notably when she breaks his nose and he shouts “you little wretch! You little whore!” and she replies “go on Van Eck, tell me all the little things I am”). But I would actually argue that when Heleen uses the word “girl”, she intends it with all the same dehumanisation as she does “Lynx”.

Throughout Inej’s experiences in the duology, the word “girl” is used almost exclusively in two ways: 1) as an insult, 2) possessively. Whenever the children at the Menagerie are referred to as “girls” it is always in a possessive context, for example these quotes are the Ice Court Heist when Inej is wearing the Lynx silks:

“… in front of her girls”

“Your girl will be returned to you”

“Where is my girl?”

“That is not my girl”

And this is an ongoing theme throughout the books. However, the idea is most obviously presented in a quote by Inej herself, and this is where it quite truly breaks my heart:

“not really people, not even really girls.”

Okay I'm really tired and this post is already longer than I was planning so from this point forth everything in the quotation marks is directly taken from another post where I talked more briefly about this:

' As if “girls” and “people” are two separate entities. As if “girls” are not human. This is the language and the attitude that she was surrounded by at the Menagerie and is still surrounded by in the city, and what was forced upon her throughout her experiences in the country. But you know what else might be a genuinely horrifying little detail of this????? Inej may have actually taught herself that the words “people” and “girls” are not synonymous. Because when Inej was brought to Kerch she wasn’t fluent in the language, she spoke some of it and quickly learnt the rest through circumstance, so if this was the way she heard Kerch people use the word “girl” this is how she would internalise the definition of it. I hope this makes sense I’m not sure if I’m relating my thoughts very clearly, it’s kind of like how Matthias was forced to learn Kerch because he was in a Kerch prison so he doesn’t know words that would easily come to him in Fjerdan, like the snow goggles, but instead of simply having gaps Inej has actually learnt a false grammar system that defines “girl” as a dehumanising term because it means someone who is less than or someone who is property. '

I feel like I might have had something to add but if I did then I have forgotten it; if it return to me in the morning then I will return to add it but for now I am going to bid you all goodnight. Thank you for reading these mad ramblings and I hope they made some semblance of sense and/or were interesting <33

⚠️This is a theory and this is my personal literary interpretation; I am not saying that this is an intentional choice made by Leigh Bardugo, though it may be I have no idea, and I am not saying that you have to agree with me. Literary analysis is not about presenting one definitive answer, and if you have either differing interpretations or further points you’d like to add then please do as I would love to read them! <3

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bruhstation · 2 years ago

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Don't worry CT!Gordon, my Gordon has no idea how he became a dad either. He was in denial for over 50 years.

@bruhstation I hope you enjoy! I've been wanting to draw Gordon meeting Gordon for a while. I love your art it always hits me directly through my heart and I end up as a pile on the floor.

#rb #for me #casa tidmouth #oh #OH.#OH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#MY!!!!!!!!!!!!#GODDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!#CRYING SCREAMING THROWING UP JUMPING UP AND DOWN SOBBING YELLING ETC ETC #your essay in the tags are way too true. so damn true. and it hurts #gordon's a proud guy. he's so so stubborn and rarely takes words to heart. and (in casa tidmouth) it became his downfall #if he were to meet his past self and try to warn him-#-and say that he should cherish his loved ones before they're gone-#-his past self would not listen. he would just think he's being ridiculous #act 2 gordon: ''SHOW THAT YOU CARE WHILE YOU STILL CAN!!!''#act 1 gordon: ''you are a sad strange little man. you have my pity. farewell.''#AND YOU'RE RIGHT. HE KNOWS HE WON'T LISTEN. HE KNOWS HIMSELF. but oh might as well spill out what you've been holding inside your heart-#-even though it's futile #the thing is that he rarely learns from his mistakes and just sees them as an inconvenience instead of something to learn from #... at least in the beginning of the story. he did become a better person but sadly fate doesn't care about that #''yeah I fucked up. yeah okay. but who am I to think about that hahaha I have an express tomorrow''#gordon has this crawling fear of losing the people he care about again just like how it always was in the past #but at the same time once he felt comfortable he tend to take what he has for granted #possibly as a way to ignore said fear and make himself feel better #and to feel like he actually has something/someone that would stick with him for a long while #he's very flawed. but he genuinely wants to become better. he has a lot of issues but man he just keeps on moving. (sheds a proud tear)#ANYWAYS. ABOUT THE DRAWING.#WHERE DO I EVEN START. OHHHHH MY GOD #THIS COMIC IS ABSOLUTE PEAK!!!!! YOU TRULY UNDERSTOOD ACT 2 GORDON

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umbrify · 1 year ago

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hello i saw u tagged jimmy solidarity on that "free my man he did none of that. he did a bunch of other shit though" post and i am incredibly compelled by the implications here. please may i have an essay on the subject

YOU MAY.

Okay so we’re gonna be specifically talking about Empires SMP Season 2 Jimmy (henceforth, Jimmy,) and the way he conducts himself, how those actions reflect on him, versus how he sees himself (and how the fandom sees him in turn). Welcome to my Ted Talk.

The most important thing to understand about Jimmy is that he lies. He lies about everything, and convinces himself that his lie is true to the point where he really thinks it is. Take, for example, a moment in Sausage’s episode 41 [full exchange from 9:10 - 19:37] where Jimmy kills Sausage, and then when Sausage, followed by fWhip, return to Tumble Town to discuss the murder, Jimmy blatantly lies about the altercation to fWhip, claiming “[Sausage] came over, and he assaulted me, fWhip!” Jimmy insists that it was Sausage who physically started it, despite that being completely untrue. Jimmy then goes on to deny having killed Sausage Sausage at all, sounding affronted at the idea and demanding to see the player head that drops on death. fWhip asks how many levels Sausage has, which is none, and Jimmy claims that Sausage must have used all his experience. Jimmy denies and lies, and when fWhip goes looking for Sausage’s things, finding them in Jimmy’s storage, Jimmy acts shocked, saying “I think I’m being set up! […] I’m gonna leave this conversation, you do what you gotta do, but I don’t think I’m the bad guy here.” As if Jimmy didn’t explicitly kill Sausage moments ago!! As if it isn’t his fault!!!

And the problem here, the core problem, is that so many people just… believe him. They take Jimmy’s words at face value and assume that he’s always a reliable narrator in his own stories, despite the fact that it couldn’t be further from the case. The issue is less that people assign New and Different problems to Jimmy, more that they strip him of any wrongdoing at all, making him out to be some sad little pathetic wet cat who didn’t deserve it. And— don’t get me wrong, he is extremely sad, but he also did it to himself.

I think one of the more interesting ways to illustrate this, is to talk about the way Jimmy perceives himself. From the start of the season, he always insists on being called “The Sheriff.” He’s not Jimmy, he’s The Sheriff, and throughout the season, he can be seen constantly insisting upon and chasing after that title. He wants respect— or, his version of respect. What he really wants is a yes man. This difference can very clearly be seen in the way he treats the two deputies he had throughout the season.

When fWhip was the deputy, it’s because he wanted to be. He sought Jimmy out because he wanted to be Jimmy’s right hand man, and Jimmy let him. fWhip consistently referred to Jimmy as The Sheriff, upholding Jimmy’s version of the laws as best he could. And, there really is something to be said about the fact that fWhip, as a goblin, inherently didn’t understand the concept of arbitrary laws, or that sort of morality at all, and was only one, upholding it because he cared about Jimmy, but two, treating the laws as Jimmy treated them— i.e, making a shrine for that which Jimmy made a church for, but that’s a whole separate essay that I want to write at some point. Either way, he was good to Jimmy, though their time together was short. He made Jimmy a home away from home in Gobland [fWhip episode 8 timestamp 20:28] and helped Jimmy win the court trial by serving as his lawyer in the case against Joel [Trial best seen in Jimmy’s episode 10 starts at 3:03]. After fWhip was fired, he went around Tumble Town noting down a bunch of “laws” that Jimmy was breaking. I wrote a whole post about this set of interactions already [here] but the short version is this: In fWhip’s episode 12 [5:54], he goes around and marks down all the laws that he’s saying Jimmy is breaking around Tumble Town. […] Of the seven instances that fWhip writes down, SIX of them almost directly relate to Jimmy not taking good care of himself or his empire. To me, it almost reads more like he cares about Jimmy, and is worried about him.

All this to say, that fWhip didn’t Respect The Sheriff as much as he Cared About Jimmy. And that’s an important distinction— he cared about Jimmy, the person. He had this whole veneer of respecting the laws— laws that he didn’t really understand— because he cared about Jimmy. And Jimmy fired him for a prank— one that wasn’t specifically targeted or malicious— because he saw that as Disrespecting The Sheriff. He didn’t want someone who Cared About Jimmy, he wanted someone who Respected The Sheriff. And fWhip wasn’t that.

Enter Scar.

During the Hermitcraft crossover, Scar started gunning for the position as deputy because he wanted the shiny deputy badge. That was it, that was the reason, and Scar acted accordingly. Everything was about acting like he Respected The Sheriff, even when he was blatantly breaking one of the core laws, wearing another player’s hat— both the sheriff hat [Jimmy episode 19 4:07] as well as trading away a sheriff hat, and being seen wearing one of Scott’s Chromia hats [Jimmy episode 22 14:27]. In this episode, Scar backhandedly compliments Jimmy, “oh, you’re just a… cute big guy, aren’t you?” to which Jimmy seems uncertain, asking “I’m real big, right?” to which Scar says he is. Jimmy then asks him about the Chromia hat Scar wears, and Scar tells him that he traded one of the sheriff hats to Scott. Jimmy gets upset at Scar, but before he can get properly mad, Scar distracts him by showing off a new section of Tumble Town that he made. Scar wears the mask of respect for just long enough to get the badge. When Jimmy gives him the badge, he says he has something else that he wants to give Scar as well. “I have found something real special for you, real special.” Scar says “I already got something special, this badge.” Jimmy says “you mean our friendship?” Which Scar dubiously agrees to. This is the last time Jimmy sees Scar before the hermits leave— Scar got what he wanted, and that was all. And yet, Jimmy hired him, because Scar put on the show. Scar was his yes man, Scar Respected The Sheriff, even if he didn’t Care About Jimmy.

He does it to himself, Jimmy does. He pushes away anyone that tries to care about him as a person, and surrounds himself with people that will be his yes men, his little sidekicks, anyone that holds the sheriff title in high regard. It’s why he takes so well to the Old Sheriff, who treats the sheriff title with the same reverence that he does, respecting the title of sheriff without actually respecting Jimmy much at all.

The thing about Jimmy is that he causes his own problems, and they’re all his fault. Yes he is crushingly lonely, and filled with self hatred, but he actively surrounds himself with it. It’s not that people are just inherently mean to him, he is almost asking them to be, by pushing away anyone that seems to care about him as a person.

I think, as my final note here, I wanna bring up a moment from Jimmy’s finale, episode 38. He and the Old sheriff, as they’re making their way to the Nether portal, discuss how fWhip only ever referred to himself as goblin fWhip, never as king. Jimmy says “I don’t think he ever held himself to the regard of being a king, and that— d’you know what? That sucks. He was my deputy for a while, he didn’t really think much of himself, I’m not gonna lie” [9:19]. I just find it interesting, that Jimmy says that it sucks how fWhip never called himself king— a title ostensibly higher than sheriff— and that fWhip was only a deputy. As if he thinks that fWhip could’ve been king, perhaps was worthy of the title, and just never took it— that he sees the taking of a title such as that to be so important, when for fWhip, it never was. I dunno, I just think there’s something to that. I think it says something about Jimmy and about the importance he places on titles that don’t really matter.

Jimmy ran away, in the end. He and the Old Sheriff ran far away from everything they ever knew. fWhip stayed, choosing to live out his days happily in the empire he helped to found. fWhip never took the title of king. Jimmy thinks he should’ve.

Isn’t that something?

#umbrify answers #ilexdiapason #thank you so much for this ask. i spent 3 hours drafting this response #I love empires. btw.#empires smp #jimmy solidarity #empires jimmy

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hippiegoth97 · 7 months ago

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Into the Fire: An Eddie Munson x Reader Story Pt. 3

Collage by me :)

Masterlist

Pt. 2

Tag List: @rafescurtainbangz @voyeurmunson @xxbimbobunnyxx @taintedcigs @mediocredreams

@slowandsteddie @angel-munson @eldermayfield @munsonsbtch @babygorewhore

@rattkween86 @violetpixiedust @bimbobaggins69 @purplehazed-h @morning-rituals

@eddie-van-munson @msgexymunson @munsoneightysixx @impmunson @mysticalstar30

@jenniquinn @oneforthemunny @succubusmunson @ddeadly-succubus @prettyboyeddiemunson

@sanctumdemunson @stalactitekilla @s6raphic @hellfirenacht @birdysaturne

@ohmeg @h-ness1944 @pretendthisnameisclever @ahoyyharrington @micheledawn1975

@costellation-hunter @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @yourdailymemedelivery @spacedoutdaydreamer

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: Swearing, smoking, light smut, drug use, angst, anxiety, mentions of vomit

Word Count: 4.8k

Divider by @strangergraphics

Part 3: Get Nervous

Sunday, March 12th, 1989

Sunday. Fucking Sunday. You've been dreading this all weekend. It’s the final day of the Hellfire Club campaign, and you also have a paper due for biology. You didn't mean to put it off, but a certain sexy metalhead has distracted you this entire time. You don't blame him, you didn't tell him you had homework. You're sure if you just said so that he would've let you focus. Given the length required for your paper, you decide to tell Eddie you can't sit in today. You don't want to spend all night rushing your work. You could easily write a passable essay over the course of the day.

"What do you mean you can't watch the end?" Eddie asks, surprised you'd deny him your company.

"It's nothing personal, baby. I promise. I just have a big essay due tomorrow. I should've mentioned it earlier, but I didn't want to ruin our fun. Though I think I've done that now anyway." You look down at your hands, leaning against the entry to the livingroom. Eddie's standing close to you, playing about with the hem of your shirt to tease you. He lifts your chin up with his finger.

"It's no problem, angel. I understand." He smiles kindly at you, but his eyes still read as hurt. He knows you'd sit in if you could, but he can't say he won't be missing you the whole time. Even though you're just going to be down the hall, all he'll want to do is run to you and never let go. "Who knows, maybe you'll finish early, hm? And then you can come see me." He says lowly, leaning down for a kiss. Your lips meet, and you wrap your arms around him. You pull him close, moving your mouth against his gently. He's so addictive, the taste of tobacco on his tongue makes you want to never stop kissing him. But it’s already 11am, you'd all slept in late so you have to get moving.

You break away from him, and he whines. "Eddie, relax. I just need time to write a decent paper so I don't fail, okay?" He nods, pouting playfully. "Believe me, I'd rather spend the day with you. But I can't let my grades slip. If I do, Mom will have a cow. And then she might not be so keen on me seeing you." You poke a finger into his chest.

"Are you saying I'm a bad influence, baby?" Eddie asks slyly. He enjoys being a rebel just a little too much sometimes. You roll your eyes.

"You just might be, Munson. Now come on, go tend to your club. And I'll be in my room. You can come check in on me when you're done if I haven't finished yet." You give him another quick kiss, and turn away to go work on your paper. You hear him let out an annoyed sigh, rolling your eyes again at him being so childish. You walk into your room, already regretting sticking to your guns about your assignment. You close the door, but leave it unlocked in case Eddie comes to you later on. You put your record player on, music helps you concentrate. You keep it low so as not to disturb the campaign, and you begrudgingly open your notebook to begin writing your paper.

Hours go by, and it's almost 6pm. You haven't bothered to look at the clock much, you just want to get this damn assignment done. You have about two pages left, but your hand is starting to cramp up. You flex your fingers to relax your sore muscles, when you hear a knock on the door. "Y/N?" Eddie calls to you. "The game's over, Erica claimed a victory for everyone. I'm gonna take the kids home, but I'll be back, 'kay?" You jump off your bed, running to open the door. You're greeted by Eddie's smiling face. "Hey there, beautiful. How's the essay coming along?" He leans against the doorframe, looking you up and down. Your hair is a mess from running your hands through it constantly. It’s one of your nervous tics. His expression drops slightly, worried about how your assignment has been treating you. "You doin’ alright?" He asks, reaching for your hand.

"Yeah, it's just kinda stressing me out. But I only have two pages left. It's not very good, I'll probably only get a B on it. I'm having a hard time concentrating." You downplay the situation, ignoring the alarms going off in your head. For some reason, this paper is kicking your ass. You can't help your anxiety overtaking you, your body begins to tremble uncontrollably. Eddie squeezes your hand to comfort you.

"Sweetheart, you don't have to be so wound up. I'm sure it's a good paper, it'll be okay." He puts his other hand on your shoulder to steady your tremors.

"I guess. I keep reading it over, but it all feels jumbled now. And my eyes hurt." Your breath shudders, and you pinch the bridge of your nose as your eyes squeeze shut. You feel one of your infamous migraines coming on. Perfect. Those last two pages will really be a challenge now.

"Hey, hey. C’mere, babydoll." Eddie pulls you into him, holding you close. Your arms wrap around his middle, and he strokes your head. You try to focus on him so you can steady your heart pounding in your chest. But you can't calm down, you're having a full-blown panic attack. You feel silly having one over a stupid essay, but you can't do poorly on this. You won't allow it. You cannot fail. Ever. Your breath comes out rapidly, chest rising and falling as you wheeze. Eddie loosens his grip, looking at your face. You've gone pale, like you might faint. "Shit. Are you alright? What can I do?" The worry in his eyes only exacerbates your anxiety. You're hyperventilating, and your head feels light. Eddie picks you up in his arms, carrying you to the bed. "I-I don't know what to do, Y/N. I'll get your mom. Just try to breathe. Fuck." His own voice is shaky now, you've scared him. He runs out of the room to the kitchen, frantically telling your mother what's happening.

You hear multiple sets of footsteps rushing down the hall to you. Eddie, Mom, Dustin, and all the kids file into your room. Mom and Eddie help you sit up, you feel like you're going to pass out. You can't steady your breathing, it’s as if you're suffocating. Mom holds out a paper bag to you. "Honey, we gotta get your breathing steady, okay? So just try to breathe in the bag for me. And then I have a Valium you can take to settle your nerves. It'll be okay, sugarpuff. We're here for you." You take the bag, inhaling and exhaling as best you can into it. It seems to be working, your breath slowly returning to you. You hate having everyone staring at you like this, you must look like such a freak. You wish they'd all go away, and leave you alone. You put the bag down, and Mom hands you the pill and a glass of water. You down it quickly, chugging the entire glass.

"Take it easy, angel." Eddie advises, stroking your arm. Mom takes the glass from you and walks out, quickly shooing the others away. Eddie stays with you, holding you close again. You're still trembling, but your heart slowly regains its normal pace. "Do you want to lay down, sweetheart?" He quietly asks. You just nod. He lays you down, caressing your cheek as you position yourself on your side. "Is there anything I can do?" You shake your head, feeling a tear escape one of your eyes. He tuts, wiping it away. "It'll be alright, baby. Just try to relax. I'm gonna take the kids home, but I'm coming right back, ‘kay? And I'm not leaving your side for the rest of the night." He plants a kiss to your forehead before standing up to leave. He walks out of the room, giving you a caring glance before shutting the door.

As soon as he leaves, you can't hold back the tears anymore. You begin to sob, drawing your legs up to your chest. You feel so stupid, losing control in front of Eddie like that. And to have your mom, and everyone else staring at you? It’s so humiliating. And over what? A stupid essay? You really are just a scared little girl that can't handle anything. You imagine Eddie won't actually come back, because he's too freaked out by your little episode. He only says he will in order to spare your feelings. And all the kids will tell everyone and their dog about how you crumble so easily under pressure. Dustin’s bound to have a field day rubbing it all in your face. And you’ll have Mom doting on you every second of the day over this, maybe she'll even throw you in the looney bin.

You lay stewing in your thoughts for what feels like hours, and the sun had set outside your window. You never want to move from this spot again, never look at anyone or talk to anyone. It’s all too much, and you just want to hide, or maybe even die. You hear the front door open, probably Eddie stopping by to tell you he can't see you anymore. He can't possibly go out with a nutcase like you. The door to your room opens again, and Eddie walks over to you. "Hey, angel. How are you feeling?" He asks with a smile, which disappears when he sees how red your face is from crying.

"Terrible. But I don't expect you to care." You blubber, wiping your eyes with your sleeve. He scoffs at your statement, confused at your change in mood.

"What do you mean? Of course I care. Where's this coming from?" He asks, moving closer to you. You turn your back to him, you can't take that concerned look on his face. He sighs. "Y/N. Please, look at me. Did I do something wrong?" You groan, rolling back over to face him.

"You didn't do anything. I just figure you don't want to hang around me since I'm a basketcase." You reply bitterly. You know he's given you no indication of what you're saying, but you can't believe anyone would possibly want to be around you now.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" He asks, shocked and slightly annoyed. "You're not a basketcase. And even if you were, I wouldn't care. I really like you, Y/N." He furrows his brow at you, trying to figure out where your head's at.

"You can't mean that." You shake your head, refusing to make eye contact with him.

"Why not?" He crosses his arms, searching your expression.

"Because you can't see me like this, all shaky and pale over a stupid paper, and still want to be around me. It's so embarrassing." You start to tear up again, and you curse your eyes for working against you. "And everyone was staring at me, I'm sure they'll tell everyone they know about it. And Dustin will tease me. And my mom will worry about me all the time. She might even have me committed." Eddie's eyes widen at your words, realizing what's happening. He lays down next to you, but lets you have some space.

"Y/N, I can tell you right now that you're wrong. About all of it, 'kay?" He reassures you, and you glare at him.

"How do you know?" You cross your own arms now.

"Well, for one. I'm still here, aren't I? What did you think I was gonna do? Just leave and never come back?" He's slightly angry with you doubting his true intentions.

"I guess I did. I didn't want you to, but I didn't think you'd still like me after everything." You answer, realizing how silly you sound.

"Well, I do. I'm right here, ‘kay? Look, it scared me. But I was worried about you. I wanted you to be okay. To be honest, it felt like I caused it, since I kept you from doing your work all weekend." He explains, sounding guilty.

"No, Eddie. It isn't your fault, I didn't tell you about it, and that's my own problem." You reassure him, reaching for his hands. He lets you take them in yours.

"Well, that's good to know, princess. And another thing? You're wrong about everyone else too. Again, they're concerned for you. But the whole time I was driving them home, all the kids talked about was coming up with a way to help you feel better. They care about you, Y/N. We all do. I don't know what negative voices you have in your head telling you otherwise, but you shouldn't listen to them." You nod, and he continues on. "And Dustin? He swore everyone to secrecy about your anxiety. He said he'll smother anyone who spills your private business in their sleep. And your Mom? She told me you've been dealing with a lot for a long time. She said she felt something like this coming on, because you work yourself to the bone constantly. You never take a break, and you refuse to ask for help when you need it. Obviously, I knew some of this already, given how Friday went. But she said she hopes having me in your life will help you. She still thinks it could, which is flattering, I guess." He chuckles, and you let a small smile form on your lips. "There's that smile I've been missing today!" Eddie coos, pulling you into his arms.

You sniffle, wiping away all your tears. Your eyes feel irritated and red. "I'm sorry, Eddie. It's not fair of me to think the way I was about you. Or the others. I just...it's like I know those things aren't true, right? But, it also feels impossible that anyone would actually like and accept me as I am. You know? That probably makes no sense." You chuckle, slapping your forehead in embarrassment.

"No, it doesn't. But I understand what you mean. Listen, I'm here for you no matter what. I won't, however, let you wallow all day. You have a paper to finish young lady." He pokes your chest, making you giggle. "How about we go have a smoke outside, clear your head? Then you can finish your essay. And then, we can spend the rest of the night together. Sound good?"

"Sounds perfect, Eds." You both climb out of bed, making your way outside. You bypass Dustin and your Mom, they seem surprised to see you in a better mood. They look at each other in confusion, questioning one another if they know anything about what Eddie might've said to you. But they end up shrugging, chalking it up to Eddie being the right man for you.

It isn't until you light up that you feel the effects of the pill your mother gave you earlier. You begin to feel dizzy, almost falling over. "Shit, I've gotcha." He catches you, gently leading you to sit in the grass. He sits beside you, rubbing your back with his hand. "You feeling alright, Y/N?" He looks into your eyes with concern.

You try to get your head to stop spinning, but you can't. "I'm not feeling so hot, Eddie. I'm really dizzy, everything's spinning." You groan, clutching your stomach. You lean away from him, and vomit into the grass. He tries to help you, but you push him away. You manage to stand, bending over as you throw up again. You keep yourself steady, bracing your hands on your knees. The stomach acid stings your throat, making you cough. You stay in place, waiting for your stomach to calm down. You dry heave a few times before you're finally empty. You spit any remaining bile out, wiping your mouth. You stand upright, almost falling backwards. Eddie grabs your shoulders to steady you.

"I'm sorry, angel. Have you ever taken Valium before?" He asks, stroking the sweat-soaked hair out of your face. You feel slightly better now, but also very tired. You just shake your head, before burying it into his chest. "I'm guessing you had a bad reaction. You didn't eat much today, either. I know your mom was trying to help, but I wish I had known you hadn't had it before. That shit is not for the faint hearted."

"She takes it to help her sleep, she's always had bad insomnia." You state, muffled by Eddie's chest. You can barely keep your eyes open at this point, you just want to sleep. You know your paper needs doing, but a small nap could help. You could always get up early tomorrow to finish it. "I'm really tired, Eds. Can you take me to bed?" You ask, nuzzling your face against him.

"I will, but I don't think you should sleep right now. You might get sick again and choke. And you need water, and something to eat. I'll get you something, and I'll stay with you until the pill wears off some more." He sighs, lifting you into his arms. You groan, your stomach still hurts. "Sorry, baby. I'm trying to be careful with you." He brings you inside, and your mother immediately panics when she sees you in Eddie's arms.

"Oh, God! What happened? You look awful, sugarpuff!" She says, rushing over to you.

"She's fine, mostly. She had a bad reaction to the pill you gave her and painted the yard with her breakfast." Eddie snips. He continues walking, bringing you down the hall. He plops you on the bed, making sure you sit up against your pillow. "Stay put, baby. I'll be right back." You hear him say as your eyes have fallen shut. He leaves the room to get what you need. You overhear him talking to Mom, their words swirling around in your dizzy head. Eddie calmly explains to her that she shouldn't have given you the Valium. She doesn't sound offended, more so she's ashamed that she inadvertently made you sick. He reassures her, saying it was just a mistake and that he'll help you through it. But he makes a point to tell her to never do it again under any circumstances. You drift off near the end of their talk, hearing the fridge door open as Eddie finds you something to eat.

A while later, you feel Eddie shaking you awake. "Mooooooom, just five more minutes." You whine, your eyes fluttering open. You see him chuckling at you thinking he was your mother. "Oh, it's you. Sorry, silly me." You giggle, trying to keep your eyes open.

"Hey, sleepy head. I brought you some dinner, and a nice tall glass of water." He sets a tray down next to you.

"Not hungry." You shake your head, and Eddie frowns at you.

"You have to eat, Y/N. You'll feel better, I promise." He insists, getting in bed next to you. He sets the tray on his lap. You lazily scan your eyes over what he’s brought you. A PB&J sandwich cut in half, and some apple slices. "It's not too much, I don't want you to barf it all up later. But it's enough to help you."

"Ugh, don't say barf." You wince, feeling ill again.

"Shit, sorry." He hands you half of the sandwich, and you reluctantly take it in your hand. You bring it to your mouth, taking a small, apprehensive bite. You immediately want to spit it out, but you know you have to get something down. You gulp hard as you manage to swallow it. It hits your stomach, and you start to feel hunger overtake you. You take another bite, and another. "Take it slow, Y/N." He says to you quietly, gently stroking your leg as you chew. You swallow again, looking into Eddie's eyes.

"Thank you for taking care of me, Eddie. You're a good man, you know." You smile kindly at him, taking another bite of your sandwich. "Did you make this?" You ask him as you chew.

"How'd you know?" He quirks an eyebrow at you, impressed you can tell he made it.

"Easy, Mom uses grape jelly. But I think it's too sweet. And you...used raspberry jam. My favorite. I don't know how you guessed it, though." His eyes widen, a smirk spreading on his lips. "What?" You look at him suspiciously.

"Raspberry is my favorite, too." He replies, wiping a smudge of jam from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. He brings it to his lips, licking it clean. You stare at him in amazement, he really is something else. "What? Like you said, grape is too sweet. But raspberry? It makes the whole thing come together."

You don't know what to say, so you let slip the first thing that comes to mind. "I think I could be falling in love with you." You gasp at your own words, registering what you’ve just said to him.

"Over a sandwich?" He asks snarkily.

"Well, no. You're just so...." You search for the right words. "Good. To me." You gaze at him seriously, driving the point home that you care deeply for him. He gets the message, receiving it with enthusiasm.

"Well, I'm glad you feel so strongly for me, Y/N. And lucky for you, I just happen to feel the same." Eddie looks deep into your eyes, before glancing at your lips. He's breathing heavily, unsure if he should go further. He doesn't want to push you in your vulnerable state.

"Are you gonna kiss me already?" You say impatiently, his eyes snap to yours again. You can't help smiling like an idiot, closing the gap yourself. Your lips meet, both of you humming lowly into the kiss. You break away quickly, covering your mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sure my breath is terrible right now." Your cheeks heat up, but he's unphased.

"It's fine, Y/N. You just taste like sandwich. I don't mind either way, not if it means I get to kiss the most beautiful girl in the world." He pokes your nose, making the both of you laugh. You finish the first half of the sandwich, drinking some of the water to wash it down. You reach over to take an apple slice from the tray in his lap. Eddie sits with you quietly while you chew, still stroking your leg. He watches as you manage to eat everything off your plate, kissing your forehead when you finish the last bite. "That's my girl." He says sweetly, taking the tray back to the kitchen. You sip on the water, feeling just full enough for your stomach to stop hurting. You can't stop smiling, seeing Eddie care for you makes your heart swell and gives you butterflies. He comes back shortly, plopping into bed beside you once more. "Better?" He asks, holding your hand.

"Better." You reply, planting a kiss on his plush lips. You cuddle up to him, laying your head on his shoulder. You still feel pretty tired, but you just might be able to finish your paper now. "I should probably finish my essay." You say reluctantly.

"You sure?" Eddie says, worried about you working yourself up again.

"Yeah, I have to get it done. But...stay here with me, okay?" You place a hand on his thigh, caressing it gently.

"Of course, Y/N. I'm not goin’ anywhere." He places his hand over yours. Your head leaves its resting place, and you reach over for your notebook and pencil. "C’mere, sit between my legs." Eddie says calmly, and you do as he asks. You put the notebook in your lap, reading the last page you were working on to remember where you’re going with it. You feel Eddie running his hands up and down your back, and your eyes can't help fluttering closed at his touch.

"Watcha doin' there, Eds?" You ask breathily.

"I'm keeping you relaxed, angel." He replies lowly. His hands go to your shoulders, massaging them firmly. You moan at his touch, your head falling to the side. "Does that feel good, baby?" He asks in your ear, his warm breath fanning over you.

"Mhm." Is all you can manage to say as his hands continue to work your flesh. His thumbs press into your back, working the knots of stress that have resided there for who knows how long. You wince as they hurt a little.

"I know, baby. Just let me help you, you'll feel better when I'm done." He presses a kiss to your neck, setting your skin aflame. You know he's not intentionally turning you on, but you can't help leaning further into his touch. He draws small moans from you as he loosens up your sore muscles.

"How are you so fucking good at this?" You ask lustfully, making Eddie's cock twitch. Under any other circumstances, he'd be going further than he is. But he doesn't want to push you when you're not feeling well, it wouldn't be right.

"Practice, sweetheart. I'll keep going, but you have to work on your essay." He kisses your neck again, before setting your head upright so you'll concentrate.

"Alright, alright. Just please keep going." You almost whine at him.

"I'll go as long as you want me too, babydoll." He chuckles quietly. You turn your attention back to the book in front of you. You reread the last paragraph to refresh your train of thought. Once you remember where you’re going, you begin scrawling more words on the page. The ideas come easy to you, and Eddie's hands travel up to your neck. He gently rubs out a large knot that you're sure has been there for months, but you remain focused on the task at hand.

About thirty minutes later, the infamous essay is finally finished. "Done!" You clap the book shut, tossing it away.

"I knew you could do it, baby." You blush at his praise as he kisses your cheek. Eddie had stopped massaging you ten minutes earlier, but he kept caressing you in a non-distracting way. He loves touching you, it seems he'll never get enough. You leave his grasp, turning to face him. He looks so tired, and you feel bad for stressing him out today. He peers at you, raising an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"

You straddle him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You look into his eyes, biting your lip. "Nothing's wrong, baby. I'm just sorry for making you so worried today. Let me make it up to you." You lean forward to kiss his neck, lightly biting down on his skin. He groans, his hands going to your waist instinctively. You look at him again, but his expression hasn't changed. "What?" You ask, scrunching your face.

He sighs, pressing into your hips with his fingers. He shakes his head. "It's nothing. It’s just...you don't owe me anything." You open your mouth to protest, but he stops you. "Don't get me wrong, you're sexy as all hell. But you should be taking it easy, sweetheart. It wouldn't be right for me to ask anything of you right now." Eddie cups your face, looking at you meaningfully. "But, what we can do is get cozy and cuddle in bed. I'm fuckin' exhausted, and you need rest before class tomorrow." He pulls you into him, pressing his lips to yours passionately. You return it, grabbing the sides of his face to deepen it further. Eddie quickly catches on to what you're doing, breaking away. "Easy, tiger. Man, even when you're sick, you're insatiable." He jokes, moving you off of his lap.

"What can I say? You really bring out my appetite." You smirk slyly at him, hopping off the bed to shut your bedroom door. You both quickly discard your clothes. Eddie's in his boxers, and you're in some panties and his Hellfire shirt. You flick off the light, and climb into bed with him. You scoot under the covers, and he snatches you into his arms to spoon you. You share a quiet laugh, the feeling of his arms around you gives you a warm sense of safety. You turn your head to look at him. "Goodnight, Eds. Thank you for being here with me." You whisper, giving him a peck on the lips. He smiles kindly at you, his eyes hooded from drowsiness.

"It's no trouble at all, ‘night, princess." He slowly shuts his eyes, holding you even closer to him. He nuzzles his face into you, sighing in contentment. You face forward again, closing your eyes too. You let your mind wander off to dreamland, feeling safe, warm, and secure in Eddie's arms.

To be continued...

#fanfiction #smut #stranger things #eddie munson #hawkins #1980s #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x henderson!reader #into the fire #hippiegoth97

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sailormoonrarepairweek · 1 year ago

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Welcome to the third annual Sailor Moon Rare Pair Week! The event will take place from March 24th - March 30th, 2024, but I'm announcing the themes early to give everyone plenty of time to create their fanworks.

What counts as a rare pair for this event, you ask? Any pairing that isn't Usagi/Mamoru (or any of their incarnations), pretty much! (Don’t get too hung up on the word “rare”. Just roll with it, okay?) They usually have their own week, so this event is a chance for fans to show their love for pairings other than the Miracle Romance, canon or not. You can even include poly, platonic, and cross-over ships, if you'd like! Almost anything goes, as long as you follow some simple guidelines.

Fanworks should somehow incorporate the one of the day's themes. (You can pick just one; you don't have to use both.) How you choose the interpret the theme is up to you!

A non-UsaMamo pair must be the MAIN focus of the work (although Usagi/Mamoru can appear as a side pairing or as part of a polycule).

All ratings allowed.

No smut involving underage characters, which I'm defining as under 18 years old. Otherwise, as long as the characters are portrayed as adults in the fanwork, go wild! Just please make sure to properly tag.

Pairings of all sexual/romantic orientations welcome.

Fanfics should be a minimum of 500 words. Poetry may be shorter, though. (If you would prefer to write drabbles instead, you can write five separate 100-word drabbles about the day's themes, but a day's entry should still be at least 500 words long. You have over four months until the week begins and plenty of time afterward if you don't finish in time. That's plenty of time to write 500 words. I don't think that's too much to ask.) If you're writing fanfic, I REALLY would prefer you post your fics on AO3 or Fanfiction.net and provide a link to your story, but if you must post on Tumblr itself, please make use of the "Read More" option.

Fanart should be a completed drawing. (Any fanart portraying nudity or anything of an R/NC-17 nature should be cropped if immediately visible on your Tumblr post and/or posted with the appropriate community label. You can post the full image under a "Read More" or provide a link to the image on another site.)

Graphics, image boards, playlists, cosplay photos, crafts, meta/essays, etc. are also welcome!

Comments, kudos, and reblogs are encouraged, but don't be a jerk! If you're not a fan of a pairing, please just ignore and move on.

On Tumblr, if you tag #smrarepairweek2024, I will reblog your post. I'll tag explict art and fics reblogs as #nsfw, so feel free to block that tag if you'd rather not see those posts.

Please do not post your works anywhere until the day dedicated to your chosen theme. An AO3 collection has now been set up for this year's event. (Adding your work to the collection will not be required.) If you'd like to look back at the last event's works, the 2023 collection can be found here.

And here is the 2022 collection.

Themes

Day 1: Magic/Mundane Day 2: Hugs/Kisses Day 3: Fire/Ice Day 4: Music/Silence Day 5: Birth/Death Day 6: Break-Up/Make-Up Day 7: Free

(Event Organizer: @kaleidodreams)

#sailor moon #sailor moon fanfiction #sailor moon fanart #smrarepairweek2024 #sailor moon rare pair week #rare pairs

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bro-atz · 11 months ago

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the humanity of anthropology

in which: sumin has a big fat crush on the ta in his anthropology class.

pair: undergrad student!sumin/grad student!afab!reader

word count: 6.3k

content: college!au, smut, crush to lover, experienced, bedroom sex, oral sex, safe sex, completely consensual!

rated: R | nsfw — minors do not interact

author's note: 1. this is my first xikers smut and i was extremely nervous the whole time writing it 2. this was NOT SUPPOSED TO BE SO LONG IDK WHAT HAPPENED ugh my b 3. nd yes ofc imma going to start w sumin bc ya know i gotta i love my xikers main rapper my bias my cutie my handsome boy

tag list: @eyeryis apply for the permanent taglist here! university!series: sumin, minjae, junmin, hyunwoo, jinsik

Sumin tapped his foot on the ground anxiously as he waited for his class to begin. It wasn’t that he was overwhelmed by the class— he chose to major in anthropology in the first place. It was you, the teaching assistant, that made him all sorts of nervous despite only knowing of your existence for three weeks because that’s how long it had been since the semester started. You captivated Sumin from the moment you walked into the classroom that very first day with your bright smile and infectious laughter of yours. It wasn’t just Sumin who was enamored, though— it was the majority of the class.

Every single class and recitation, Sumin tried to subtly show his interest in you; he would stay after class to ask questions he already knew the answers to, and he participated in all of the discussions to show off his intellect. And he did catch your attention, but you treated him with the same friendly warmth as you treated everyone else. But it wasn’t that you didn’t like him– you simply had to remain professional for the sake of the class. After all, he was still a year from finishing his Bachelor’s degree while you were a graduate student.

As the professor droned on about the origins of homo sapiens, Sumin found his gaze drawn to you as per usual. You were paying attention to the lecture and discussing points with the other TAs while leaning against a desk, a small smile on your lips as your eyes flitted to the infatuated boy sitting mere rows away from you every so often. Sumin tried his best to tear his eyes away from you and focus on the class, but when a beam of sunlight danced through the window, highlighting the shine in your hair and the sparkle in your eyes, he simply could not. You took his breath away.

“Alright, recitations,” the professor clapped their hands. “Your TAs will meet with you to discuss your essay during this weeks recitations. Y/N, you and your recitation will stay back like usual. The rest of the class is dismissed.”

The recitation you led was right after the big lecture, which you didn’t mind at all because it meant a cleaner schedule for you. You stood in the front of the room and gestured for all of the students in your recitation to move forward in the hall, filling up the empty seats in the front rows. Sumin, not wanting to seem too eager, sat in the second row, but he made sure to have a good view of you.

“I’ll be going over your papers individually, so use the time while you wait to get started on this week’s readings— or do whatever you want, honestly,” you said with a slight laugh, knowing that most of the students in the room don’t give a shit about doing the homework. “I’ll call you up by name when it’s your turn to go over your essay, okay?”

The students in the room chorused a lame “okay” and started mingling with themselves.

“Psst, Sumin,” Sumin’s friend, Hyunwoo, whispered to him while poking his shoulder. “Hey. Hey, buddy. Hey—“

“What, Hyunwoo?” Sumin turned to face his annoying friend.

“How’d you do on the essay? I know you checked the grade once the professor put it in.”

“I got an A,” Sumin said dejectedly.

“What the hell? Why are you sad about an A?!”

“I— Uh… I just don’t want the professor to have high expectations of me?” Sumin had to lie if he wanted to keep his crush on you under wraps.

“Geez… I completely fucking failed. I’m scared Y/N is going to rip me to shreds…”

“She’s too nice to do that, and you know it.”

“Still—”

“Choi Hyunwoo?” You called, immediately making the boy flinch.

Sumin watched as Hyunwoo slinked over to you like a dog with his tail in between his legs. Sumin kept watching as you pointed out the various mistakes in the boy’s essay with the softest look on your face, sending Sumin’s heart racing at a million miles per hour. Then, the sudden realization that you were going to call on him next, assuming you were going through the students alphabetically by last name, made his heart thump hard against his chest.

The poor boy was so far in his own head that he didn’t even realize you were done discussing Hyunwoo’s essay with him. “Choi Sumin?” your voice snapped him out of his trance.

Scrambling, Sumin made his way over to you, and you couldn’t help but smile; whenever he was studying, he always looked so charismatic and studious, so seeing him approach you with the lightest blush on his face was a treat. It made you want to tease him more, see an even shyer side of him if possible.

“Hi there,” you greeted him with a gentle smile, making his face go even pinker.

“Hi,” Sumin responded quietly while avoiding eye contact.

You pushed his essay in front of him, the blush immediately disappearing from his face— when it came to homework and assignments, Sumin was very serious, and the change in his demeanor made you all the more curious.

“You did a really good job with the material, Sumin. I wonder if you should be the TA instead of me.”

“I-It’s only because you’re good at going over the material during our recitations…”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, and the beautiful sound of your chuckle made the boy’s ears turn red.

“I feel like I don’t even need to go over your essay with you… Do you even want me to?”

“Yes! Please!” Sumin immediately responded; he wasn’t going to lose the chance to spend more time with you.

“Ah, I see,” you bit back another chuckle. “Alright, well, I need to spend a little more time with the students who really bombed their essays, so why don’t we meet at the library sometime this week so we can dive deeper into the technicals of your essay?”

Sumin nodded eagerly, unable to formulate the proper words to tell you how much he would like to do that.

“What days are best for you?”

“Dude, I cannot believe you’re ditching us on a Friday fucking night to spend time with that TA,” Seeun, an underclassman friend of Sumin’s, said with a huff. “Y/N is literally just going to talk to you about class! Why would you want to study on a Friday night?!”

Sumin was in his dorm room getting ready for his library meet up with you, his friends all dressed up and ready to clubbing like they always did every Friday night.

“Oh, you should see the way he looks at her. I doubt that he’ll even be listening to her at all,” Hyunwoo nearly burst out laughing.

“Shut up. This is why I said okay to Friday night. I’d rather spend time with her than you buffoons.”

“Um, ow, but I get it,” Jinsik, the only other romantic in the group, empathized. “The heart wants what the heart wants, and right now, Sumin’s heart wants romantic love, not platonic or temporary.”

“If that’s the case, then come here,” Seeun held his arms out for Sumin. “I’ll give you some sweet lovin’, babe.”

Sumin immediately ran away from Seeun while Hyunwoo, who actually burst out laughing this time upon seeing Seeun’s cringy moves, shoved the tall boy away while saying, “Fuck outta here, you cheese-giraffe!”

“Cheese-giraffe?!”

“What do you plan on doing with her, anyway?” Jinsik asked Sumin while stepping in between the quarreling boys. “Are you thinking something PG, PG-13, or R?”

Sumin, Hyunwoo, and Seeun all looked at the boy with stone faces, wondering why he would describe life in movie ratings in the first place.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking of, but I’m just using this as an opportunity to get to know her… I’m not expecting anything,” Sumin stated simply.

“Really? You? The breaker of hearts?” Hyunwoo was taken aback.

“The guy that all the girls fawn over after me?” Seeun piled on.

“The one notorious for last minute hookups?” Jinsik added one more title.

“Is is really that hard to believe that I’m not trying to make anything happen tonight?”

“Wait, so like… You don’t even want to try to sleep with her?” Seeun asked with mild shock.

“Not even a little kiss?” Hyunwoo added.

“No hug either?”

“No, I want to take everything at her pace, hoping that I can get closer to her over time—”

His three friends groaned at his response, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t about to let his friend’s reactions bother his time with you.

He said he wasn’t going to let it bother him, but it bothered the shit out of him on his walk to the library until he saw you at the library. The library was surprisingly crowded when Sumin arrived, students scattered among the rows of bookshelves, their whispered conversations providing a soothing ambient hum. You were already there, sitting at a small table by the window, your eyes downcast as you looked over Sumin’s essay for the umpteenth time— you were still taken aback by the way he used his vocabulary to create such an eloquent essay.

“Hey,” Sumin breathed out, a smile tugging at his lips as he slid into the seat across from you.

“Hi,” you responded, your heart fluttering upon seeing him; he was wearing his standard street clothes, but you noticed that he put a little more effort into his fashion, making you wonder if he did that because he was meeting with you. You immediately shoved the thought out of your head and got down to business. “Ready to dive into your essay?”

For a second, disappointment flashed through Sumin’s eyes, but that disappointment disappeared as you praised his work, giving him a surge of pride. And gradually, your conversation shifted from the academics of anthropology to the humanity of anthropology as the two of you discussed your childhood dreams, favorite books, embarrassing moments— wherever the conversation took you.

Your heart hammered in your chest when the two of you somehow got to talking about likes and dislikes in another person. It took everything in you to keep from describing him as your ideal type, but the more you talked to him, the more you realized that his ideal type was you. You.

Sumin, on the other hand, wanted to put his foot in his mouth. He could not believe that he was running his mouth to the point where it was painfully obvious he liked you. Seeing your lack of reaction, though, made his heart fall slightly, but seeing as you were still there, he still gave it his best shot.

The library was pretty empty by the time the warning bell went off. You and Sumin both looked at the time in surprise, then at each other with wide eyes.

“Time really flew, huh? We barely talked about your paper,” you said with a sigh.

“I mean… We can always meet again next week? Talk about it then?” Sumin proposed, praying to whatever God was out there that you’d say yes.

His prayers worked.

“Next week, same time, same place?”

“Yes, please.”

“Let me get this straight— you’re ditching us again for that TA?!” Seeun asked incredulously.

The friend group had gathered in Sumin’s dorm once again. Seeun, Hyunwoo, and Jinsik were all dressed to go clubbing yet again. Sumin, on the other hand, wore what he could only describe as a date night fit. This was the third time Sumin ditched them to hang out with you Friday night.

“Yes. I’m ditching this Friday, and the Friday after that, and so on and so forth for the foreseeable future,” Sumin stated simply.

“For Y/N,” Hyunwoo said with a heavy sigh. “I get that she’s pretty, but you still haven’t even kissed or hugged yet, dude. Fuck, you haven’t even held her hand yet, and you still only meet up at the library! What makes you think she’s worth your time at this point when there’s not even a sign that she’s into you the same way?”

“Exactly! You’re not even pulling your moves on her to lock her down! If I were you, I would’ve showed her everything that first day and show her exactly what she’d be missing out on,” Seeun said.

“He doesn’t have to do any of those things to show his interest, and neither does she!” Jinsik jumped to Sumin’s defense. “They’re going to take it so fucking slow like a snail, but that doesn’t mean there’s no feelings there. Not all of us are quick to jump into flings and hook ups.”

Jinsik looked right at Seeun as he said that, the tall boy looking around in confusion. “You mean me?”

“Yes, you, you tall man-slut,” Hyunwoo answered on behalf of Jinsik.

“You’re just mad that I pull and you don’t,” Seeun scoffed. “Besides, Sumin used to be so much more worse than me before he even fell in love with Y/N—”

“Alright, get out. I’m gonna leave soon and I don’t need you drama queens pissing me off before I see Y/N,” Sumin shooed his friends out of his dorm room.

“At least try to do something with her tonight!” Hyunwoo gave his unwanted advice.

“Yeah! Pull those old Sumin moves on her!” Seeun added to the encouragement right before the door slammed in his face.

Your Friday nights with Sumin went from being in the library to hanging out in the park to going out for desserts. You had never felt so comfortable with any guy before, and even though Sumin had your heart racing, you didn’t want to run away. No, you wanted to stay right by his side and risk cardiac arrest.

What was bothering you, though, was that he hadn’t made a single move. He didn’t try to hold your hand or hug you or anything like that. Maybe he wasn’t as into you as he thought. But then, he’d say or do something that made your heart flutter— once he showed off his art skills and sketched a portrait of you that you were amazed with— so you wondered if there actually were feelings there.

One Friday night, Sumin was walking you back from a bar to your apartment, the two of you happily chatting about God knows what. When you arrived at your stoop, Sumin wished you a good night and was about to leave, but that night you had enough liquid courage in your system to ask him what was up.

“Sumin, wait,” you called, the boy immediately stopping in his tracks and returning to face you. “Listen, I enjoy spending time with you—”

Sumin’s eyes flew wide open; he didn’t even get to ask you out yet, and you were already rejecting him?

“—and I would love to keep spending time with you, but first I want to know… What are we doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“This is the sixth Friday night in a row we’ve gone out, and I know we wouldn’t spend this much time with each other if we weren’t interested in each other in the slightest… I mean you walk me home, and during class and recitations, I always catch you staring at me—“

A red blush rose to Sumin’s cheeks the second you told him that.

“—but you don’t do anything else, so I’m always confused. I need to know if you’re actually interested in me or if you see this as a friendship and nothing else and I’m just overthinking this.”

You didn’t realize how out of breath your ramble would make you until you stopped; you weren’t fighting for air, but you were breathing a little heavy at that point.

“I… I had no idea you felt that way,” Sumin said in a small voice.

He took a step towards you, and for the first time in your whatever-this-was-relationship with him, he held your hand. Maybe it was because he had never done so before, but your heart nearly tore through your chest. Sumin’s hands were soft, and they encompassed your hand way more than you were expecting.

“The thing is…” he continued. “My friends freaked me out. They were talking about… Well…”

Sumin cleared his throat and looked away awkwardly, his face and ears turning redder by the second. You squeezed his hand and brought his attention back to you.

“What were they talking about?”

“They were talking about us— no, actually just me— being intimate with you from day one. But I didn’t want you to think of me that way. I seriously like you, Y/N, and I want to be with you, but I wanted to take it at your pace and make sure that you shared the same feelings for me, which is why I maintained the tiniest bit of space between us.”

Sumin reached for your other hand so he could hold both your hands, the warmth from his hands spreading up your arms and to your cheeks.

“I wanted to get closer to you over time,” he whispered.

“You definitely did that,” you responded in the same register.

“And I definitely am interested in you and like you so goddamn much. I guess we’re both being anxious fools about this, but that can change.”

“Change to what?”

For a moment, the two of you just looked at each other, the air between you charged with feelings of want and desire. Then, wordlessly, as if in a dream, Sumin released your hands to cup your face and hold your waist, leaned forward, and brushed his lips against yours faintly, only for his lips to immediately return and press a light kiss onto your lips.

This. This is what you wanted for the past six weeks. You responded eagerly, your hands sliding up to his neck, pulling him closer to you. His arm immediately wrapped around you, bringing the two of you even closer together. The kisses the two of you shared went from short and sweet straight to deep and passionate. Sumin sucked on your lower lip so hard that you felt like your lower lip was going to be sore and swollen the next day, but you didn’t even care because at that point, you just wanted him. All of him.

The two of you were completely breathless when you ended your chain of kisses. Sumin dropped his head and hugged you, his large hands pressing into your upper and lower back. You hugged him back, your entire body flushing with warmth as you felt the muscles on his body move with every deep breath he took.

“So then,” Sumin said breathlessly while pressing his forehead to yours. “Can I…”

You leaned away from him and looked him in the eye, already anticipating his request. “Yes, let’s go.”

You didn’t realize how animalistic Sumin was until he stopped holding himself back. You were completely amazed by the amount of self control he had because he had gone from the precious, studious university student you knew from class to an impatient, insatiable potentially long-term lover. The second you entered your apartment and closed the door behind you, Sumin grabbed your waist and pulled you in for the most intense kiss. You were clinging to his shoulders as he walked you into your apartment and into your bedroom, somehow already knowing where it was.

Sumin pushed you so that you were lying on the bed, immediately pinning you down. He continued to kiss you as he brought his torso down until it pressed against yours, and you couldn’t help but let out a muffled moan when you felt him sneak his tongue into your mouth. You went from holding onto his shoulders to digging your nails into his shoulders the more sensual he got with you and the more turned on you got by his actions.

You found yourself longing for Sumin’s lips when he moved himself away from you, your eyes hazy and your head in the clouds. You were barely sane enough to watch Sumin slip his shirt off and toss it to the side. You couldn’t help but scan him up and down; meanwhile, Sumin was working on getting you out of your shirt and bra, and he did so with such speed and ease, astounding you.

“Oh, God,” Sumin breathed out. “Y/N, you’re so… Fuck.”

Sumin lacked the words to describe how infatuated he was with not only your body but you as a person— dare he say it, he loved you. All of you. He didn’t need the words, though. You felt it as soon as he cupped your breasts and massaged firmly with his strong fingers and as he trailed his lips down your neck and chest. You gasped and flung your head back when you felt him suck on your breast, his tongue swirling around your nipple.

His mouth on one of your breasts and one hand on the other, he used his free hand to move down to your waist and begin to slip your pants and panties off, but he could only do so much at the angle he was at. So, he moved away from you— a longing sigh leaving your lips— and yanked your pants and panties off you completely, earning a gasp from you.

“Sumin…” you breathed out as you felt his fingertips trace every curve on your body. “Oh, Sumin…”

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Y/N. You’re driving me insane,” Sumin whispered as he left light kisses along your waist, down your thighs, and in between your legs.

He held onto your thighs firmly as he spread your legs further apart, and he exhaled lightly on your soaking cunt, making your entire body shiver then flush with heat. He started with a light kiss on your clit, then he licked a stripe up from the bottom of your pussy to your clit. Your hands immediately found their way to his hair and pulled lightly but firmly on the roots of his hair the more he pleasured you down there, the more he ate you out.

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck— Mmm-my God, S-sumin,” you moaned loudly and nearly cried. “I’m gonna— Oh! Oh, fuck!”

Sumin barely slipped a finger into your pussy when you started seeing stars. Your entire body convulsed as you came, your cries of pleasure echoing in your bedroom.

Seeing you reduced to a puddle because of his work excited Sumin. The way he needed to fuck you, to see you completely disheveled with tears running down your face, hickeys decorated your neck and chest, your lips red and swollen— he just had to do it.

As Sumin got off the bed to completely strip, you suddenly realized, “Wait! I don’t have any protection…”

With a bashful look on his face, Sumin looked at you and said in the smallest voice he could possibly muster, “…Would it be bad to say that I do?”

Your eyes instinctively went wide. You sat up and looked at him with pure curiosity as you asked, “Hmm, well… Did you grab it specifically today, or do you always carry it around with you?”

“So, uh, Hyunwoo gave it to me earlier this week as a joke, and I kinda sorta left it in my wallet…”

And lo and behold, Sumin opened his wallet to show you the singular condom he had stashed away. You couldn’t help but let out a little giggle at how nervous Sumin was all of a sudden when he was just pleasuring the hell out of you with what felt like years of experience. You reached out and pulled him in for a sweet kiss before saying “Don’t worry. I trust you, baby.”

“W-what?” Sumin stuttered.

“What?”

“What did you just say?”

“I trust you…”

“After that.”

“…Baby?”

A wave of complete and utter lust overcame him just by you calling him the most basic of nicknames. Swiftly, he fully stripped— giving you a good look at something massive and destructive— rolled the condom on, and pinned you down on the bed. His lips crashed into yours and overtook them briefly but intensely as his body pressed further and further into you, his cock rubbing along your folds and clit to tease you for a hot second. Then, quickly, without so much as a word of caution, Sumin adjusted himself and shoved his way into you.

Sumin was so big and thick that you felt like he was shredding your pussy apart just by entering you. At first, you wanted to let out a scream because you were not anticipating him to hurt so much especially considering how wet you were, but instead, you let out a loud moan and clung to him, your nails sinking into the sink on his back. You felt a tear or two slip out of your eye, prompting Sumin, who had yet to move, to kiss your tears away then kiss your lips with such soft love and care that you forgot he was about to completely annihilate you.

“Are you alright, gorgeous?” Sumin asked, his voice hushed. “We can stop if it hurts too much.”

“Just… Surprised, is all,” you breathed out, your mind swirling due to him calling you gorgeous.

“This is our first time together, Y/N, so I don’t want to be too rough—”

“Do whatever you want with me, Sumin,” you interrupted. “I’m all yours.”

You slightly regretted saying that the second Sumin hissed profanities under his breath and immediately started moving with immense force. You didn’t realize that Sumin would be so powerful until he kept thrusting into you. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he pile-drove you into oblivion. You moaned and cried his name over the wet sounds of his cock going in and out of you, and you simply just cried out when he planted wet kisses on your neck and kneaded your breast at the same time. You were so overly stimulated that you felt like you were ready to combust.

“You like that, gorgeous?” Sumin bit out in between grunts.

“Uh-huh! Oh fuck! ‘m cumming!”

With a couple more rapid thrusts, Sumin pushed deep inside you, and you felt the tip of his dick hit your cervix. The second he pulled out completely, you squirted all over your bed, your ass and thighs trembling and you cried loudly, relief sweeping your body.

“Y/N… That was so fucking hot,” Sumin said as he brought his face to yours to kiss your cheek. “It was that good, huh?”

“So good, baby… So fucking good,” you sighed happily as you reached for his face and brought his lips to yours.

The two of you shared a couple of small kisses before Sumin helped you sit up and said, “C’mere, I’ll make you feel even better.”

Next thing you knew, you were on all fours, and Sumin was kneeling behind you, his hands rubbing your ass. You suppressed a moan when you felt him press his fingers into the flesh on your ass, his grip tightening with each passing second. The moan fully escaped you, though, when he slid back into you. He slid so quickly, actually, that his waist slapped your ass much harder than he was expecting. The two of you both made the same pleasureful noise upon impact, the stars already appearing in your vision, but you did your best to hold back because you wanted to last longer this time.

“Fucking hell,” you heard Sumin swear under his breath. “Even the way your ass jiggles is fucking hot… Y/N, you’re so hot. You’re so fucking hot.”

Sumin leaned over and left hickeys on the small of your back as he continued to hit it from behind, his cock starting to rub against your G-spot once again. He was originally moving at a slow and steady pace, only to suddenly speed up and fucking you harder, making your arms buckle. You leaned on your elbows and held your ass higher in the air. Sumin inhaled sharply and let out a long groan, audibly but wordlessly expressing how much he liked this new angle.

The pleasure increased for you exponentially when Sumin moved his hands from your ass to your tits, his muscular hands massaging and squeezing your breasts, and twisting and pulling your nipples. Then, his hands moved to your back and to your ass again, his thrusts speeding up incredibly. Sumin felt himself getting close, but he was not quite there yet— there was something missing.

“Mmm, Y/N, fuck… I’m getting close,” Sumin whispered sensually.

“M-me too,” you sighed, realizing that your orgasm was quickly approaching once again.

Upon hearing that, Sumin pulled out. He moved so that he was laying on the bed and held his hands out for you to take, allowing him to assist you to straddle him. The first thing that you thought upon straddling him was that he looked so fucking hot. He had one hand behind his head, and his other was resting on your waist, and he had the most sultry look in his eye that made you want to melt immediately. The second thing you thought was that his neck and chest looked too pristine and pretty— you wanted to change that.

After positioning his dick at your entrance, you sat down slowly, a long groan leaving Sumin’s body. He flung his head back into the pillow below him, and he moved the hand that was behind his head to cover his face (more specifically his mouth to keep from using all of the profanities in the world).

“You okay, baby?” you asked him.

“Yeah, I’m— Woah.”

Sumin turned his head to look at you, but he wasn’t expecting your face to be so close to his. You had bent to down for two things: to move your ass up and down on his fat cock, and to leave pink or red marks on his bare, perfect skin. As you bounced on his cock, Sumin’s moans got increasingly louder, and you leaving love bites all over his chest definitely added to the effect.

“Yes, gorgeous, just like that,” you heard his voice drop when you moved at an angle that he liked.

His hands moved to your ass brought you down harder with great force, his waist thrusting upwards simultaneously. His sudden domination made your mind go completely blank. You moved your face into the nook of his neck and clung to him, his thrusts unwavering, the sounds of the bedsprings underneath you squeaking louder and faster.

“B-baby! F-feels so good, hnngh!” you said before suddenly gasping as his cock went so deep that it hit your cervix.

“You gonna cum?” he asked through grit teeth, his harsh thrusts speeding up.

“Mmm— wanna cum— Ah! I w-wanna cum, Sumin! I’m cumming!”

“F-fuck, me too!”

With one final thrust, the two of you came together, the sounds of your moans and groans overpowering the room. Your entire body trembled as the orgasm overtook you, and you felt Sumin’s condom fill up inside you.

You laid on Sumin’s chest, his cock still inside you as the two brought your breathing back to normal. Sumin’s arms wrapped around you and hugged you gently as he placed a kiss on your head, sighing peacefully when he felt you nuzzle your nose into his neck.

“Was it that good?” Sumin asked as he leaned his head against yours.

“So good…” you sighed out. “So fucking good.”

The two of you took another moment or so to lay comfortably together until you pushed yourself up, wanting to wash up and replace your soaking wet bedsheets. You knew that Sumin was still inside you, but you were still surprised when he pulled out because you forgot how big he was, so you tensed up.

“Fu-uck, Y/N— you— God…” Sumin hissed.

“W-what? What’s wrong?”

You looked at Sumin then saw the problem— he was hard again. His cock was red and throbbing when he removed the filled condom to throw it away.

“I’ll go take care of it,” he whispered as he stood up.

Sumin threw the condom away, but before he could fully move away from you, you grabbed his arm and pulled him back to you.

“Let me help you.”

You sat Sumin down on the edge of the bed and got off to kneel in front of him. Pushing yourself in between his thighs, you cradled his dick in your hand, your light touch sending shivers up his spine. He only trembled more when you brought your lips to the tip of his penis and kissed it before licking with the tip of your tongue, getting all of the residual cum off his cock and into your mouth.

The sensations were insane for Sumin. You were taking your sweet fucking time lapping and cleaning him up when all he wanted was to grab your head and push you down until his cock hit the back of your throat. To keep himself from doing so, though, he bit one finger to hold back his groans and clutched the bedsheets beneath him.

“You taste so good, baby,” you teased him as you looked up at him, your lips hovering around his length. “So sweet.”

It was when you finally took the entirety of him into your mouth did Sumin absolutely lose his goddamn mind. He gasped and let out a moan that nearly cracked the further down your head went.

“Oh my fucking God, Y/N!” Sumin cried when he felt you hum quietly, the vibrations from your mouth making fireworks explode in his brain. “Oh fuck— Please— I can’t— Oh wow!”

His hand moved from his mouth to your head, his fingers buried in your hair but not gripping. You reached for his other hand and laced your fingers with his as you began to move slowly— you were still getting used to his size, so you could only move so fast.

“Y/N, I don’t mean to— I just— Can I— Ah, fuck, I’m— I’m sorry,” Sumin stuttered out, remorse heavy in his voice.

You didn’t understand why he was apologizing until you felt his hand grip your hair. He pushed you down rashly, making you gag. Hollowing your cheeks, you let Sumin dictate your pace, his hold on you getting tighter with every stroke. His breaths got more shallow and higher in pitch the faster he moved you. It was when you looked up at him with tears overflowing in your eyes that did it for him. He flung his head back and groaned loudly while shoving your head all the way down, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat as he shot his load completely into your mouth.

When his hold on your head weakened, you moved back and locked eyes with him as you swallowed. You watched his face turn beet red, his hand immediately covering his mouth when he realized what he had done and what you had done in response.

“Y/N,” he whispered. “You… I… Wow.”

“I know, baby,” you said with a slight smirk.

You stood up and wiped the lingering cum in the corner of your mouth off with your thumb, then licked said thumb.

“You’re such a tease, you know that, gorgeous?” Sumin leaned back on the bed while looking you up and down.

“This is what you get for making me wait weeks, Sumin,” you replied with a small smile.

Then, you turned around and gave him a nice shot of your ass as you walked away, making him shoot off the bed and join you in the shower.

That night, after the two of you got cleaned up and changed the bedsheets, Sumin spent the night. You cuddled against his bare chest, your head laying on his arm while his other hand pushed up your shirt and held onto your waist. As you slept soundly in his arms, Sumin, with the cutest smile on his face, left a light kiss on the top of your head before resting his head against yours.

“Sumin, you seriously suck, you know that?” Hyunwoo said with a huge frown on his face.

“What? Why?”

“You’re still not going to come clubbing with us?!” Seeun answered.

The boys met up in Sumin’s dorm again, the three dressed to go clubbing while harassing Sumin to change his clothes and go out with them. Even Jinsik was peer-pressuring him.

“Let’s go! It’s been so long since you’ve come out with us—“

“I never said no, guys. I’ll come, but can I bring my girlfriend?”

“Your what?” all three boys chorused.

Right on cue, you knocked on Sumin’s dorm door. He immediately shuffled to the door and opened it for you, greeting you with the biggest smile on his face.

“Hi, baby.”

“Hey, gorgeous.”

And when Sumin left the sweetest kiss on your lips, you heard the other boys’s jaws unhinge and drop to the ground. Looks like Sumin forgot to update his friends on you.

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