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FABLE AND TRUTH 6 | billie eilish
୧ ‧₊˚ love was the law & religion was taught…. ↳ summary: you had always been raised on being poise, feminine, classy. but what was most important to your family was your religion— and it had embroidered itself into your daily life. but when it’s time to pick between feelings and faith, which will you choose? pairings & aus. billie eilish x fem!reader warnings. religious backgrounds & guilt | mature language | sexual content | substance use author's note. back to my regularly scheduled programming…trying to upload everyday. i’m so excited about this series and what’s in store; enjoy !! wc. 12k
✧ 4:26 am, thursday ✧
billie’s pacing felt like an endless, drunken mess, the soft padding of her socked feet on the hardwood floor the only sound filling her quiet bedroom. every step was wobbly, uneven, the thuds of harder steps sinking into the floor. her phone sat on the edge of her desk, lit up and buzzing as her thumb hovered over the call button, swaying, like even it didn’t know what it wanted.
her chest was tight, like she couldn’t get a full breath no matter how hard she tried.
“god, this is so stupid,” she slurred, a bitter laugh bubbling up and spilling out, “so fucking stupid.” her voice cracked halfway through, and her giggles fizzled out into silence.
she ran a hand through her hair, tugging at the ends as if the dull ache in her scalp could distract her from the mess inside her head. the fight played on a loop in her mind, the words that you had thrown at her cutting deeper each time she replayed them. i don’t want you. at all.
“fuck,” she muttered under her breath, stopping mid-step and leaning against her desk. her fingers curled around the edge, gripping it tight enough to make her knuckles bleed white. she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to will the memory away, but it was no use.
because the thing was— she did know you. at least, she thought she did. she knew how your hands trembled when you were nervous, how your eyes darted around the room when you were thinking too hard about something, how you bit your lip when you were holding back words that you weren’t ready to say.
but now? now, billie wasn’t so sure anymore. had she been wrong about you? had she pushed too hard? maybe you were right— maybe billie didn’t know you the way she thought she did. and that realization was almost worse than the fight itself.
she tried to really think through how you were feeling, but everything was so unclear. you go out with her, kiss her, and then run off like nothing happened? she tried to hear you out, but things weren’t making sense. she felt like you were projecting, like there was something else underlying your irrationality, but she couldn’t pinpoint it.
oh, how sorry she felt. billie felt like she had did you wrong, like she should’ve been more careful, more understanding. but she knew that she couldn’t change what she did, what was said— it was all too late now.
she really liked you, if that wasn’t obvious enough. but given the way you placed your faith above anything else, the way that you carried yourself, she knew that deep down, you could never be interested in someone like her. and she couldn't blame you, she just didn’t fit into your lifestyle.
she didn’t mean to make you feel like she was wrecking your morals, but she couldn’t stop herself. her crush blossomed when you two talked, and even more when you didn’t. because then, her imagination could roam. she could think of a world where she belonged in yours, where you two were absolutely inseparable. she could pretty much ponder about whatever she wanted, and if she thought long and hard enough, she could convince herself it was real.
she had only met you shy of a week ago, and that was the bad part. usually, billie was more stoic, careful with what she said and did. she couldn’t let herself fall to easily, but it was like she was starstruck by you.
and she hated it.
she hated that everytime she got around you, she couldn’t get that stupid grin off of her face. she hated that when you touched her, even if it was on accident, her skin would light up, identical to the way her eyes did when she looked at you. she hated that your opinion was the only thing that mattered to her— but most of all, she hated how much she didn’t hate you.
because, in reality, she should. you hated her back, and that should’ve been a good enough reason for her to hate you, right?
wrong.
she wanted to chase after you, no matter how many times you’ve told her to stop, to let you go, pushing her away. she was drawn to you no matter what you did to her, and that’s what billie despised. whatever you did, said, however you acted— it was never enough to get her to stop.
but a little sliver of her understood. she knew deep down that it was just how you were— a faithful Christian and a girl who hardly believed, how was that going to work?
it was just the principle, she thought. it was just how things were going to be. but at the same time, she wished you would at least try. try to let her in— she wouldn’t hurt you, and she was certain that you knew that. you just weren’t brave enough to give it a try.
and then, she was angry.
angry at how you stormed off, after you were the one to kiss her. she was angry at how you pretended like everything between you was just friendship, but billie saw the way you looked at her when you thought she didn’t notice. yeah, she saw that.
she saw everything. and it made her even more upset, because how could you just walk away, after everything that had happened?
billie chewed on the inside of her cheek, her gaze flicking to the phone again. her stomach twisted at the thought of pressing that button, of hearing your voice again, of maybe making things worse. but she had to try. she couldn’t let it end like this, not after everything. it was too easy to give up, and she wouldn’t have it. she needed to make things right.
just call her, she told herself, but her fingers wouldn’t move. her head was loud, so loud, her thoughts a jumbled mess of regret and anger and confusion. she needed answers, needed to understand why things had unraveled so fast, why you had kissed her and then pushed her away so violently, all in the same breath.
and, if she was being honest with herself, she needed to know if there was still something left between you two. if the thread that had always connected you hadn’t completely snapped, if there was something worth saving.
billie took a deep, shaky breath and reached for her phone. her eyes hovered over your profile picture, your pretty smile illuminating her screen. she almost broke at that, and she shook her shoulders to try and shake it, her thumb hovering over the call button for a second that felt like an eternity. then, with a quiet exhale, she pressed it.
she held the phone to her ear, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure it would drown out the ringing. once, twice, three times— it felt endless. and just as she was about to lose her nerve and hang up, the call connected.
“…hello?”
your voice was soft, hesitant, and billie’s breath caught in her throat. she clenched her jaw, trying to steady herself, but the cracking in her hushed breathing gave her away. she could feel the tension on the other side of the line, and she almost spoke to break it, but then she heard a voice.
“no, dude— hang up!”
“shit.” was all she heard you say before the line went dead.
billie almost lost her mind at that, and she threw her phone harshly onto her bed, cursing underneath her breath. it didn’t take a genius to know who was talking in the background, obviously it was emma.
so your friends hated her, too? what else was new?
she sat down on the edge of her bed, her hands dragging through her hair, fingers curling at the roots. the sting in her scalp didn’t compare to the tightness in her chest, like her ribs were caving in on her lungs. her jaw ticked, her gaze locked on the phone lying motionless on the bed. it just sat there, mocking her, your contact still opened.
“unbelievable,” she muttered, the word heavy with frustration. her mind wouldn’t stop replaying it— emma’s sharp voice, that venom-laced “hang up.”
of course, it was emma. always hovering, always protective, like some unspoken barrier between you and everyone else. billie got it— she really did. emma was just looking out for you. but that didn’t make it any less maddening. it didn’t make the rejection hurt any less.
her knee started bouncing as she leaned forward, her elbows on her thighs, her head in her hands. every second of that call was burned into her mind, every pause, every breath, every muffled sound from your end.
why? why couldn’t you just talk to her? why did you have to listen to emma, let her speak for you like you didn’t have your own mind?
but then, in the quiet of her room, another thought crept in, unwelcome and sharp. maybe you don’t want to talk to her. maybe you really mean it when you say you don’t want her.
the thought twisted in her gut, and she stood up abruptly, pacing the room again like it would help, but it really didn’t. nothing did. the same questions looped in her head, over and over, no answers in sight.
she wanted to be mad at you, to hold onto the anger, but it didn’t stick. because she knew. she knew how you looked at her when you thought she wasn’t paying attention, she knew the way your voice got quieter, softer, when it was just the two of you. she knew the way your lips lingered just a second too long when you kissed her.
and maybe that’s why it hurt so much. because she couldn’t be making all of that up. could she? could she really be the only one who was feeling like this? was everything unrequited, or were you just afraid?
billie eventually stopped pacing, only because her legs were aching from doing so. her hands found themselves on her hips, her eyes fixed on her phone like it might come alive and give her the answers she was too afraid to ask for. but all it did was sit there, silent, just like you.
“why’d you kiss me if you didn’t want me?” she mumbled, her words thick, slurred. her voice cracked again, and she let out a shaky breath, “why’d you—” she started, but she couldn’t finish. her throat tightened, and she felt the tears spill over, hot against her flushed cheeks.
billie found herself sinking onto the floor, curled up in her own frame, trying to keep her emotions at bay and her swirling mind at rest. but she was too tired of thinking, too tired to try and make things seem rational. she was over it, over everything.
she thinks back to the night that she first met you, though everything’s kind of choppy. she thinks about when she told you that she didn’t really believe in getting drunk to solve your problems, or to pretend that things were better then they seem. but now, it seems like those morals aren’t as strong as they were.
she fumbled for the bottle of tequila she’d left on the floor, her fingers slipping a few times before she managed to grab it. the glass was almost empty, but she tipped it back anyway, the last dregs burning slightly as they slid down her throat.
“god, i’m such a fucking mess,” she said to no one, her giggles bitter and hollow. she wiped at her face with the sleeve of her hoodie, but it didn’t help much, because tears still streamed down her cheeks.
you were all she could think about. you, with your stupid soft voice and your stupid pretty face and your stupid everything. it wasn’t fair. it wasn’t fair that you got to live rent-free in her head while she was falling apart over you.
her phone buzzed again, and her head snapped toward it, her heart lurching in her chest. she scrambled to grab it, almost dropping it in her drunken haste. but when she saw the screen, her stomach sank. it wasn’t you. of course it wasn’t.
“why won’t you just talk to me?” she asked aloud, though you weren’t there to hear it. her voice cracking again, “why won’t you just tell me how you feel?”
sobs shoot through her body, and she’s sure this is the hardest she’s ever cried before. but she couldn’t help it. with the help of the alcohol that was coursing through her veins, plus the confusion and the fight, it was all she could do.
she cries until her eyes are too tired to form more tears. she cries until her eyes are drained and her throat is scratchy, and she finally sits up, her back slumped against the wall.
her chest heaved with each deep breath that she took, her hands trembling as she gripped the phone like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. the screen dimmed, and she stared at your name, willing it to light up with a call, a message— anything. but it didn’t. it stayed still, cold and indifferent, mocking her desperation.
“what the hell is wrong with you?” she muttered, her words slurred. she wasn’t sure if she was talking to herself or to you anymore, to be honest.
“why do you— why do you get to walk away like that? like you didn’t…like you didn’t kiss me first. so fuckin’ rude.”
her grip on the phone tightened, her jaw clenching as her tears dried, replaced by something hotter, angrier. she pushed herself off the floor, stumbling slightly as she paced the room again. her head was spinning, from the alcohol and the heartbreak, but her anger was sharp and steady, a beacon in her haze.
“you kissed me,” she said aloud, her voice louder now, more forceful, “you kissed me, and then you acted like— like it didn’t mean anything. like i didn’t mean anything.”
her fists curled at her sides, and she kicked the edge of her desk in frustration, wincing as the sharp pain shot through her foot. but it didn’t stop her, it didn’t even slow her down. she kept pacing, “you’re so fucking unfair,” she hissed, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. “you—ugh!”
she turned to her bed, grabbing the nearest pillow and throwing it across the room with all the strength she could muster. it hit the wall with a dull thud, but it didn’t satisfy her, didn’t even come close.
“why are you like this?” she yelled, though careful not to wake any of her neighbors up. her voice cracks again, “why do you get to mess with my head, make me feel like…like i’m not enough?”
her knees wobbled, and she sank onto the sheets of her bed, her hands burying in her hair. the anger drained as quickly as it had come, leaving her exhausted, empty. her thoughts spiraled, looping back to you, always to you. the fight, the kiss, the way your voice had trembled when you said her name.
and then— quickly, her mind wandered, unbidden, to the bar. to the way your lips had curled when you threw that sharp, biting remark at her. to the way your eyes burned with frustration, your voice rising in a way she’d never heard before. and— god, the way you had sworn at her, the first time you’d ever done that. it shouldn’t have made her feel the way it did, but nevertheless, it did. she hated how hot it was, how the word rolled off your tongue like a challenge, like a dare.
“billie, would you just shut the fuck up?”
yeah, she was whipped.
billie groaned, her hands dragging down her face as she pulled her navy blue covers over her frame. the ceiling spun above her, and she fluttered her eyes closed, but that didn’t really help. all she could see was you. your lips, your eyes, the way your hand had brushed hers whenever she was patching you up in her car. it had been such an innocent touch, but it had set her skin on fire, left her wanting more.
she cursed under her breath, her mind betraying her as it conjured up images of you. not the angry, distant version of you from the fight, but the softer, quieter version. the one who laughed at her dumb jokes, her teasing nicknames, it was all you. you who leaned closer than necessary when you spoke, who looked at her like she was the only person in the room, which always made her feel better, way warmer, even if your intentions were innocent. she thought about the version of you who kissed her like you meant it, like you wanted her as much as she wanted you.
her breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest as her thoughts grew more vivid, more dangerous. she could still feel the ghost of your lips on hers, the way your fingers had curled into her jacket like you didn’t want to let go. she wanted to believe that version of you was real, that it wasn’t just a figment of her drunk, desperate imagination.
“shit,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as she threw an arm over her face, trying to block out the images, the feelings, but it was no use. they kept crawling back into her conscience, no matter how hard she tried to kick them out. you were everywhere, in every thought, every breath, every beat of her pounding heart.
she hated how much she wanted you. hated how, even now, after everything, she couldn’t stop craving your touch, your voice, your laugh. hated how her body betrayed her, how the memory of you swearing at her sent a shiver down her spine, made her stomach twist in that familiar, dangerous way. it made her whole body set ablaze, tingles and rushes of adrenaline tangled within her nerves.
billie’s arm slid off her face slow and choppy as she let out a long, frustrated sigh, staring blankly at the ceiling that made her eyes spin. her thoughts were a mess, tangling and then untangling, looping back to the way your voice sounded— sharp, angry, and utterly captivating. she hated herself for it, for how much she liked the way you challenged her, even when it hurt her.
she shouldn’t like it this much.
you were always so calm, so composed, so measured in everything you did. but at the bar, you were raw and unfiltered. the way your lips had pressed into a thin line, the way your eyes blazed with frustration— it wasn’t something she’d ever seen from you before, and gosh, it did something to her. it was like you had cracked open, showing her a side of you that no one else got to see.
“get it together,” billie muttered to herself, running a hand through her hair. but it was useless. her mind was already spiraling, drawn back to the memory of you leaning over the table, your voice low and heated as you argued with her. there was a fire in your eyes, a passion she hadn’t expected, and it had set something alight in her, too.
and that kiss. man, that kiss. she could still feel it, the way your lips had pressed against hers, hesitant at first but quickly growing bolder. it wasn’t soft or sweet— it was urgent, messy, like you were trying to pour everything you felt into it. like you were saying all the things you couldn’t put into words.
billie groaned, turning on her side as heat crept up her neck. she was drunk, sure, but even she couldn’t blame the alcohol for the way her thoughts lingered on you. on the way your hands had trembled slightly when you kissed her, the way your breath had hitched when she pulled you closer.
she couldn’t blame the alcohol, because this wasn’t the first time she had these thoughts.
her chest ached with memory, a mixture of longing and regret swirling inside her. she wanted to be angry, to stay mad at you for storming off, for listening to emma, for acting like she didn’t matter to you. but she couldn’t. because deep down, she knew that wasn’t the whole truth. she knew there was more to it, more to you.
maybe that’s what scared her the most. not that you didn’t care about her, but that you did— and that you were too afraid to let yourself feel it.
“you’re such an idiot,” she whispered out, though she wasn’t sure if she was talking about you or herself. maybe both.
her cheeks flushed, a baby pink hue finding its way onto her cheeks, playing on her features like some sick game. she was way past embarrassed, but she was alone, and it didn’t seem as bad as it really was.
without thinking, billie sank deeper within the cushioning of her bed, her fingers grazing over the hem of her gingham shorts, her breath hitching. she stopped for a second, trying to think hard about what she was doing, but the alcohol forbade her from staying on track.
eventually, her mind couldn’t help but wander, identical to the way her fingers ventured down her thighs, grazing them with her fingertips in a slow, vertical fashion, until she made it back to the scrunched waistband. and with swift movements, she slid her shorts off of her legs, pushing them through the covers until they found themselves on the floor.
billie took her sweet time, at first, just toying with the outer corners of her lacy black panties, pulling at the semi-circle flowers on the ends. she closed her eyes, letting herself drown in all the events of the night, the heated flirting, the way you had kissed her so passionately in the passenger seat.
she shouldn’t be thinking about you like this, not after everything. not after the way you walked out, leaving her standing in the middle of that bar, a mess of confusion and longing. but deep down, she couldn’t let go. she liked the fuel, like a moth to a flame, she was drawn to you. she couldn’t help herself.
she couldn’t help the way her hands moved to slide her underwear down to her ankles, kicking the article of clothing off and down to the floor, along with her discarded shorts. a sudden rush of cool air made her let out a small gasp, the breath low and sultry as she pulled the covers closer.
she wouldn’t ever admit it out loud, but billie was always easier to turn on when she was drunk. and with recent events, it wasn’t helping the heat that was burning in her lower abdomen.
she traced a finger over her sensitive core, and then adding another, before pushing her slit open slowly, webs of wetness latching onto her fingertips as she let out a cool, choppy moan.
this was awful, so very wrong— to touch herself while thinking about you, especially now. but you didn’t have to know, no one did, and that’s the logic she used to satisfy her greed, her hunger for you, her constant need to see you, touch you.
billie spread her legs as she slipped her fingers inside of her warm cunt, the digits stretching out her walls sweetly as her thumb latched onto her clit, rubbing tight and firm circles against it. every thought of your pretty face, of your tooth-aching sweet smile, your precious eyes— that was what fueled her to keep touching herself, to feel those ground-breaking tingles against her exposed skin.
she bit her lip, her hips bucking underneath her satin sheets as her fingers thrusted quicker into her pussy, though her movements were choppy and uneven— it still felt good. she kept thinking about you, unashamed now, your face etched into her memory as she fought to keep her moans at bay.
she thanked the heavens that she didn’t have a roommate.
beads of sweat formed onto billie’s back as her head sinks into her pillow, little whimpers passing through her reddened, plump lips, her movements quickening as she felt a tight knot from in her stomach. images of you flashed against her mind, like gasoline to a fire, stoking up the adrenaline that was entangled in her veins. her fingertips curl and graze against her sweet spot, angelic moans falling thin and weak in the air as she moaned out, little syllables of your name rolling off of your tongue.
it was so bad, but it felt so good. she was needy, eager, and that was obvious in the way that her hips lifted off of her covers, her hands sliding in and out of her wet pussy, her eyes fluttering closed as she felt her orgasm crash over her like a warm wave. she panted heavily, her movements slowing down, along with her breaths.
billie placed her back against the sheets and let out a long, unsteady breath, her eyes finding themselves at the thought of what she just did. but she’s too drunk and too exhausted to care, and she figures that she’ll deal with the repercussions tomorrow. so she flips onto her side, pulls the covers over her, and falls asleep.
✧ 11:05 am, saturday ✧
the dorm was alive with energy, the kind that only comes on a lazy saturday morning when no one’s in a rush to be anywhere. sunlight streamed in through the half-open blinds, casting soft patterns on the carpeted floors as the group sprawled out in various spots around emma’s and your small room. naomi was perched cross-legged on your desk chair, spinning lazily while scrolling through her phone, one earbud in. jules was on the floor, back against the bedframe, fiddling with the frayed edges of her ripped jeans while flipping through some fashion magazine. oliver had claimed the beanbag in the corner, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he leaned back, relaxed. and emma— well, emma was laying half asleep underneath your covers, waking every once in a while when someone would say something funny, and then she’d lay back down.
you sat on your bed, legs tucked underneath you, careful not to disturb emma. your hands clasped around a warm mug of tea, a small comfort, the heat grounding you as your thoughts buzzed louder than the conversation around you. everyone was talking about their plans for the day— emma wanted to hit the library for an upcoming paper, oliver was trying to convince naomi to come with him to a record store downtown, and jules was debating between joining them or staying behind to binge a new show. after individual plans, though, jules insisted that you all hang out and go roller skating, something that the five of you liked to do pretty often.
“you’re quiet this morning,” naomi said, her voice cutting through the noise as she turned her gaze toward you.
your head snapped up, startled, and you forced a small smile, “i didn’t sleep well at all. just exhausted.”
it wasn’t a lie, you truly hadn’t slept well at all. after the bar fight with billie just shy of three days ago, you weren’t really feeling all that great. you hadn’t talked to her since, and it was both a relief and extremely nauseating.
you missed her, deep down. but you knew it was an absolutely horrible idea to reach out, and start this sickening process all over again. you were making small but victorious progress, and you really didn’t want to take any chances at ruining that.
after the fight, you woke up with a headache that made you feel like your forehead was going to split wide open. you threw up twice, your throat burning as you had finally wiped your lips, standing above the toilet and flushing it. emma had held your hair back for you, giving you tips on how to never throw up when hungover, at least for a lightweight like you. but if you were being honest, it didn’t really interest you to get drunk ever again.
you had prayed and did Bible study for what felt like an eternity. you didn’t hear God speak, but you figured it was because you had strayed off your path, so the fault settled on you. but you wrote in your notebook diligently, said your prayers thoughtfully, and skimmed the pages of your devotionals carefully. in due time, no matter what was going on, you were sure He would answer.
you even called loretta, as you had missed one of your calls when you fell asleep. she was just calling to check in, and she could tell even through the phone that you were doing at least a little better.
you had to admit, you were proud of yourself for getting back on your feet. or, so it seemed.
it appeared to everyone else like you had somehow become completely fine. and you had, for a solid…five minutes. but, of course, all the doubts and ‘what-ifs’ began to creep back in.
you weren’t sleeping well at all, which was the first issue. you’d stay up glued to your studies or scrolling on pinterest until your eyes were burning and your skin was sweating from the constant tossing and turning. and when you finally would fall asleep, you’d wake up with headaches or your limbs tense and unstretched.
you didn’t have the slightest bit of energy to do anything, either. you were doing just enough to keep A’s in all your classes, neglecting most of the extra work that your teachers assigned, only taking the extra mile when absolutely needed.
but you were masking it well. you took small victories when you could, although, you felt a little empty. you were tighter with your friends, hanging out almost everyday, mainly as a healthy distraction. but sometimes, all you really wanted, was billie.
you fought tooth and nail not to pick up your phone and call her. to spill every detail of your life out to her, to update her on how things were, even if they weren’t good. it was killing you that you couldn’t speak to her, even if it was a decision that you had made.
you didn’t like that you had the upper hand in this situation. you wished that it had fell back on billie, because although it was selfish, you really wished that you could have one less thing on your plate. deep down, you honestly wished that you had never met her at all.
you were doing fine until she came into the picture. though you knew she didn’t mean you any harm, you were picking up the pieces that she caused to crumble, making you spiral and act irrational, something you would’ve never thought about doing in the past.
but it wasn’t all her fault, you couldn’t put the blame on her. you were there too, and you had to take ownership of that, even though it was hard.
jules and naomi had raised an eyebrow at your statement like they didn’t quite believe you, but they didn’t press. instead, the both turned her attention back to oliver, who was now trying to win the both of them over with promises of coffee and pastries in order to go record shopping with him.
you tried to focus on their loud, happy chatter, to let it pull you out of your own head, but it was no use. your thoughts were stuck, looping in a way that made your chest feel tight.
you thought about two nights ago, about coming out.
the words lingered in your mind, heavy and sharp. it wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about it recently, you had, a lot— but thinking about it and actually doing it were two very different things. and with naomi and jules sitting just a few feet away, laughing and joking like nothing was wrong, the weight of it all felt unbearable.
emma and oliver already knew, and were doing exceptionally well at hiding it. they understood that it was something you would share when you were ready, and they vowed to keep quiet about it. naomi and jules were wondering about the awkward tension that was taking place before, as you weren’t texting or calling pretty much at all. but emma just shrugged it off, covering by saying you were going through a rough time and just needed a second to breathe. which, wasn’t all that false.
you glanced at them, at the easy way they moved through the world, at how free they seemed. naomi, with her loud, unapologetic laugh and her wild hair that framed her face like a halo. jules, with her sharp wit and soft smile that could disarm anyone in an instant. they were your bestest of friends, and yet, the idea of telling them felt impossible.
it wasn’t that you didn’t trust them— you did, more than anyone. but there was this nagging voice in the back of your mind, whispering all the worst-case scenarios, how’d they react. what if they didn’t understand? what if they looked at you differently? what if it changed everything?
and then there was your faith, tangled up in all of it like a knot you couldn’t undo. you’d grown up in the church, surrounded by sermons and scripture and songs that painted the world beautifully, but it was in black and white. you’d been taught that love was normal to desire, it was healthy, but only when it looked a certain way, fit into a certain mold. anything outside of that was wrong, sinful, unworthy.
you swallowed hard, the taste of the tea suddenly bitter on your tongue. it wasn’t that you didn’t believe anymore— you still did, in your own way. but reconciling your faith with who you were, with how you felt, was a battle you fought every single day, and it was hard to keep on track, if you were being completely honest.
“you okay?” naomi’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you looked up to find her watching you, her head tilted slightly in concern.
“yeah,” you said quickly, forcing another smile. “just zoning out. i need to get out of this dorm room.”
she seemed to accept that, nodding as she turned back to oliver, who was now listing off his favorite bands like his life depended on it.
you let out a quiet breath, grateful for the reprieve, but still feeling the weight in your chest.
emma caught your eye from across the room, her expression soft but questioning. she always seemed to know when something was off, even if she didn’t say it out loud, which was needed sometimes. it was one of the reasons you’d told her first, days prior, in the quiet of this very room. she’d taken it well, better than you’d expected, and you were thankful for that. but even her quiet support wasn’t enough to silence the doubts that clawed at you.
the conversation in the room shifted again, this time to lunch plans, and you nodded along when someone suggested the diner a few blocks away, your group’s spot. looks were shared between all of you, and it seemed like everyone had remembered that night that billie came in. but when you smile, and assured them that it was okay to go, they carried on. but your mind was still elsewhere, caught between the fear of staying silent and the terror of speaking up.
you wondered what it would feel like to finally let it out, to let them see all of you. would it be freeing? or would it be just as heavy, just as hard, but in a different way?
“alright, you sure you’re good?” emma asked quietly, leaning closer so only you could hear.
you nodded, your grip tightening around your mug as you took your last swig, the warmth making you feel slightly more at ease, “i’m okay, really,” you said softly, “i’m honestly just… thinking. you know how it is.”
she didn’t push, just gave you a small nod of understanding before straightening up again, making sure to include you in the conversation between the five of you.
“alright, i really think we should just go skating,” jules advocates from her spot on the floor, closing her magazine, “we all love skating. why don’t we do that?”
“because naomi here is like bambi on wheels.” oliver snorts, pointing to the purple-haired girl, and she gifts him a well-deserved, playful slap to the arm.
emma nods, “i don’t think skating’s a bad idea, i’m down. everyone’s already ready, so, when are we heading out?”
“just need to get dressed, and then we can go.” you say, pulling the covers off of your frame, standing up and heading over to your dresser. you fumble around for something to wear as the four behind you discuss what’s for lunch, and things of that sort. you eventually settle on a jean skirt and a white top to match, with a baby pink cardigan thrown over it. you turn around and show the group your outfit, holding the pieces up to your body to provide something to the imagination, “this cute?”
“adorable!” naomi grins, and the others agree, too, and oliver gives you a sweet thumbs up, which makes you smile. you grab your phone off of your desk and slip into emma’s room, since you figure that changing in there would take less time than walking to the bathrooms.
you close the door behind you, and you look around for a second. emma’s room is a complete contrast to yours— cheetah printed blankets, posters of lana del rey and other singers hung up on her walls, right next to her deep red electric guitar and shelves of different sneakers and expensive handbags. she had a bookcase dedicated to anything but books, it was mostly filled with perfumes, fashion mags, and candles. her desk was a mess, makeup everywhere, and trash anywhere but in the bin, but you admired her style. it was an oddly warm comfort to you, the difference of style, and that’s what you always loved about emma— she was so unlike you, and yet, you two were the perfect set of friends.
you found her mirror and stood in front of it, slipping off your matching pj set and quickly sliding today’s outfit on. you fixed your hair and toyed with the ends, curling them around your fingers to give their already kinky state a little bit more bounce.
when you were satisfied with your appearance, you twisted the doorknob and stepped out, doing a little twist for the group as they all cheered. you felt more welcomed than ever— appreciated, accepted, and you wanted it to stay like that, like how it always was.
but with this huge secret (although it wasn’t so huge, because emma and oliver knew), you didn’t know how long this would last. you were going to latch onto it as long as you could, hoping and praying that when the time came, you would still be loved as you were, before everything went down.
you knew your best friends, they wouldn’t really care all that much, but it would just be so unexpected coming from you. were you ready for that, truly? were you ready to live out the things you had always felt? you weren’t too sure now.
you walked back over to your desk, slipping your nearly dead phone into your bag as you leaned against the edge of it, trying to find some sort of calm. the room was filled with chatter, naomi arguing with jules over whether or not they should try the new sandwich spot downtown or stick to the diner, and oliver chiming in with some random fact about artisan bread that seemed nice to try. emma was scrolling through her phone, half-listening but still throwing in a laugh here and there. it was so normal, nothing out of the blue, but you felt this strange ache in your chest.
you thought about how emma and oliver already knew that you were a lesbian, how it had felt like peeling off a bandage and exposing something raw when you’d told them just a few days ago. emma had hugged you tight, whispering that she was proud of you, and oliver had just nodded, his usual soft, understanding smile on his face, cracking jokes back and forth with you. but then, that night after billie called you, it all hit you like a wave.
you didn’t mean to hang up so abruptly. you wanted to hear her out at first, but you quickly realized that it wasn’t a good idea. emma had urged you to hang up, and you did with no hesitation, suddenly realizing that answering in itself was a mistake.
it wracked your brain for the rest of the night, and it bothered you badly that you couldn’t talk to billie. you felt like at least one more conversation could help, but it was too late for that, and you had to put yourself first. so you put your phone up for the night, falling asleep not to long after emma did.
and then, you cried.
but not about billie. about your friends.
it wasn’t even that you were scared of rejection. you knew naomi and jules loved you like family, and you couldn’t imagine them turning their backs on you. but it was the shift you feared— this tiny, delicate balance being thrown off, even if just for a moment. you hated being the reason things felt different. you hated the idea of anyone looking at you like you were someone else now.
your fingers toyed with the strap of your bag as the thought settled in your mind like an unwelcome guest. it wasn’t fair, really, how much weight this little not-so-big secret carried. it was supposed to feel freeing, like shedding an old skin that didn’t fit anymore, blossoming into something new, and much more beautiful. but instead, it felt like walking on a tightrope, praying you wouldn’t fall and drag everyone else down with you. you couldn’t let that happen again.
emma’s voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the moment. “you okay?” she mouthed, her brows knitting together slightly. it’s all she seemed to ask now, but you appreciated the sentiment. you nodded quickly, offering a small smile to reassure her, but the way she tilted her head told you she wasn’t convinced. she didn’t push you, though, she just gave you that look that said i’m here when you’re ready.
and you wanted to be ready, for all of it. for the conversations, the questions, the vulnerability, all the jokes that would be cracked. you wanted to be able to say everything with confidence, to look at yourself in the mirror and feel like you weren’t hiding anymore, like you were proud to be just the way you were. but there was still that small, stubborn part of you that whispered, what if you’re wrong? what if this isn’t who you’re supposed to be? is a phase, something that will pass when the time comes?
you pushed the thought aside, swallowing hard as you forced yourself to focus on the present. the laughter in the room, the warmth of your friends, the way everyone was bickering about oliver’s odd knowledge about sandwiches and bread. you let yourself laugh, even if it felt a little hollow, because you were sure, slowly yet surely, it would make you feel better.
you’d hold onto this moment, this fragile, fleeting sense of normalcy. you’d hold onto it for as long as you could, and when the time came to tell them, you’d trust that naomi and jules would still love you, still see you the same way that they always did. at least, that’s what you prayed for. and lately, that was all you could do.
“okay, so are we ready to go, or are we gonna argue about sandwiches all day?” emma said, rolling her eyes with a grin as she grabbed her keys off of your nightstand, standing up to dust off her wide legged jeans. naomi and jules were still in a heated, albeit playful teasing sesh against oliver, and he was just sitting on the arm of the couch, shaking his head at them.
“for the record,” he interjected, raising his hand like he was in a courtroom, “the sandwich shop idea isn’t bad. but if we’re talking about lunch and activities, why not just roller skating now? we can grab lunch and still get dinner at the diner. there’s that rink a few blocks from here, and they’ve got a food court with, you know, options. not just flavorless-ass bread that’s probably already stale.” he gave a pointed look at naomi and jules.
“skating?” you repeated, “okay, yeah, i’m down.”
“me too,” emma said, already grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder, “besides, i can’t wait to see naomi bust her ass out there. wouldn’t be the first time we’ve seen that, hm?”
naomi gasped, clutching her chest dramatically, “okay, excuse me! i have impeccable balance, so thank you very much.”
“uh-huh,” jules snorted, already pulling her jacket on, zipping it up as she let out a mocking laugh, “we’ll see how long that lasts when you’re out there, bambi.”
the group laughed as you all filed out of the dorm, everyone grabbing their belongings as you closed and locked the door behind you, and then the walk started. emma, jules and naomi walked up front, while you and oliver retreated to the back, following close behind them. you heard easy banter filling the air as you all walked outside, stepping out into the cool air, though the warm sun gave hints of a warmer afternoon.
“how are you feeling?” oliver asked you as you walked, his eyes glancing down to meet with yours. they were glossed over with concern, but it was out of love, so you spoke honestly.
“good, overall, i think. i really have no complaints— i just…you know. i get into my own head sometimes.”
oliver nods at you, “i get that. just remember, i’m always here if you need something, ‘girlfriend.’” he nudges your arm on that last part, and you shake your head at him, though you can’t help but laugh.
the walk to the skating rink was a short one, but it was peaceful. occasionally, everyone would turn around and talk, and jules would sometimes snap a picture of a cool tree or pretty flowers on her digital camera. you stayed toward the back of the group, letting their energy pull you along while you kept to your thoughts.
when you all arrived at the rink, the hum of retro music and the buzz of people skating hit you instantly, accompanied with the smell of pretzels and store-bought pizzas. the place had an old-school charm— bright neon signs, colorful lights that reflected off the fresh, polished floor, and rows of skates lined up behind the counter as employees waved the five of you in.
“this is gonna be so fun!” naomi cheered, her face lighting up as she clapped her hands together. she then looked at emma, who seemed all but convinced that naomi would stay on her feet, “and just for the record, i’m gonna be the best one out there. no questions asked.”
“uh huh, yeah— you’re really committed to this narrative, huh naomi?” emma teased as she slipped a ticket across the counter in exchange for her inlines, “we’ll see how you do, but don’t cry when i’m doing laps around you while your ass is super-glued to the floor.”
everyone laughed at that as they grabbed their skates, and you were last to do so. you grabbed a pair of quads and took a seat on the bench, slipping them onto your feet carefully. emma was already up and skating around, practicing whatever tricks that she had hidden up her sleeve.
whenever she had to clear her head, she’d go to the rink— something she had been doing since she was younger. that’s where you learned how to skate, from emma’s constant visits to your rink back home, and it felt like that you had a hobby you could both share.
when everyone was ready, the group shuffled out onto the rink, the polished floor gleaming beneath the flashing lights. it was awkward at first, your legs feeling wobbly and unsure as you gripped the railing for support. it wasn’t that you didn’t know how to skate, it had just been so long, but you picked up your pace when emma and jules grabbed both your sides and forced you out onto the floor.
“you got this!” jules had said, and then you three were off, hands laced within one another’s, skating rhythmically to some old song that was playing on the speakers above.
“look at you!” emma called out, gliding up beside you with ease after you and jules had broke off, skating at your own pace. you were twisting and turning like you usually did, the art becoming more comfortable to you, and you were enjoying yourself. “you’re not even holding on to the wall anymore! i’m so proud.”
“yeah, yeah,” you said, laughing as you pushed off your right food little harder, gaining more speed with each loop around the rink, “just don’t jinx it.”
everyone was pretty much skating alone now. you were doing your usual thing, crossing your feet and gliding side to side to the music, which was always fun for you. emma was on a roll— skating backwards between crowds of people, hopping on her feet, taking her party tricks to the extra mile. jules and oliver were racing, as they always did— and of course, jules won, also as always.
meanwhile, naomi was loudly declaring herself the queen of skating, much to jules’s amusement as she stumbled and nearly fell. you tried to contain your laughter, but you had to admit, it was pretty funny the way she swore up and down she was the best out of the group, though she hadn’t even found herself making a full lap around the floor yet.
you were skating peacefully as a new song came on, something by stevie wonder, which you liked. you started to slow down and accommodate to the blue-sy rhythm, but then, as you rounded the far side of the rink, your eyes caught a figure near the edge. your breath hitched in your throat, your heart dropping to your stomach. it was billie.
God, could you ever get away from this girl?
she was sitting on a bench, tying her skates with that familiar furrow of concentration on her face. her hair was pulled into one of the messiest buns you had ever seen, even for her, though a few pieces effortlessly accented her face around the sides. she was wearing a loose sweatshirt and a pair of shorts so long that you couldn’t tell if they were supposed to be like that. but, to your surprise, she was alone.
panic flared in your chest, and if you weren’t as comfortable with skating, you were sure that you would’ve fallen. your mind was racing as you quickly turned your head away, trying to keep her from seeing you. the last thing you needed was another interaction, another moment where she could belittle you, looking at you with that stupid grin that never seemed to leave her face, like she was always teasing you for something.
you skated past her as casually as you could manage, your heart pounding in your chest. you felt like you were going to burst, like your breath was stolen right out of your lungs. you heaved as you looked in front of you, where your friends were still laughing and teasing each other, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in your stomach.
you felt sick.
you risked a glance over your shoulder, relief washing over you when you saw that billie hadn’t noticed you. she was still focused on her skates, completely oblivious to your presence. which, you definitely wanted to keep it that way.
you tried to focus on your friends, on the way naomi shrieked as she nearly toppled over again, after falling nearly ten times already, but she was saved only by oliver’s quick reflexes as he grabbed her arm.
“you owe me for that,” he teased, smirking at her as she tried to compose herself, tucking a strand behind her ear.
“whatever, i was totally fine. i could’ve gotten back up.” naomi huffed, wiping a few particles of dust off of her shirt as she stood up.
“sure you were,” jules said, rolling up beside her, her grin wide and mischievous, “next time, maybe we should get you those little kid trainers, you know, the ones with wheels on all four corners? seems pretty fitting if you ask me.”
“you’re all so mean to me!” naomi cried dramatically, though the laughter bubbling in her voice gave her away. she didn’t mind that she couldn’t skate all that well, truthfully, but it was always fun to mess around for a while.
the lightness of their banter helped ease some of the tension in your chest, and for a moment, you let yourself get swept up in it. emma had started a race with jules now, the two of them zipping around the rink in an uncoordinated blur, while oliver stayed back with naomi, coaching her like a patient older brother, though she still wasn’t quite getting it.
you skated in slow, deliberate circles, careful not to look in billie’s direction again. you didn’t want to tempt fate, not again.
but it wasn’t just fear that made you keep your distance. it was the weight of everything you’d been trying to leave behind— the fight, the tears, the way her voice still lingered in your head, sharp and biting, but also soft in ways that made your chest ache.
you couldn’t reminisce on that though. you had to stay focused on what really mattered, and it wasn’t billie. it was you, your happiness, your walk with God, and everything else that surrounded that. you didn’t have time to pick more stupid fights with her, when she would not and could not ever understand where you were coming from.
“you’re doing great, by the way,” oliver called out, snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts. he had left naomi with emma, though her coaching wasn’t as gentle. your eyes immediately find oliver’s as he skates with you, and you cock your brow at him, still nervous.
“what…what do you mean?” you ask.
oliver rolls his eyes, “i saw her. the others didn’t, and don’t worry, i won’t snitch. but just ignore her, for your own sake. you deserve nothing but peace right now, so don’t let her disturb that.”
“right, yeah.” you nod, but it sounds weak, even to your own ears. you’re just moving, fighting for a distraction, focusing on finding a steady rhythm again. the music shifted to something slower, softer, and the lights dimmed slightly, casting the rink in a warm glow. couples started pairing off, holding hands as they skated together, little holographic, neon hearts sliding against the wooden floors.
“ugh, so cute it’s disgusting,” emma squeaked, skating up beside you and nodding toward one particularly affectionate pair to your right. they were adorable, two girls holding hands and skating identically together. however, it made your chest cave in when one girl was wearing bright, pretty soft hues, while the other was wearing deep blacks and purples, a huge contrast to her girlfriend.
it felt like you and billie, in a way, and you almost gag at that. it seemed like everything reminded you of her, and you didn’t know how much longer you could take it.
“don’t be a hater,” jules chimed in, coming up on your other side, an easy distraction. you ease up as she teases emma, “maybe you’ll find someone to hold hands with one day, em. miracles happen, i’ll make a phone call to the angels for you, see what they can do.”
“very funny,” emma said, rolling her eyes. “i’m holding out for someone who can actually keep up with me, thank you very much.”
“wait, what happened with that guy i saw you with?” you questioned, hoping that the conversation would flow in a way that would make you forget about seeing billie.
“oh gosh, where do i even begin,” emma dragged on, and that’s when you knew that your plan was in motion. she babbled on about how he was a player and had no common sense, and something about how she didn’t like that he had bed covers with patrick mahomes’ face on it. which, you really didn’t know what that had to do with anything, but you just let her talk.
but then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw her again. billie.
she was on the rink now, skating slowly, her movements a little awkward like she wasn’t used to it. she was smiling, though— a small, quiet smile that tugged at something deep in your chest.
a smile that you missed.
you swallowed hard, your heart pounding loudly in your chest all over again. she still hadn’t noticed you, thank God, but just seeing her was enough to unsettle you completely, working your nerves right back up.
“you good?” emma asked you, nudging your shoulder lightly.
“yeah,” you said quickly, though your voice was too high-pitched to be convincing. you cleared your throat, forcing a smile out as you turned a corner, “just... distracted, i guess.”
emma tilted her head, studying you for a moment, but she didn’t ask anymore questions, “well, let me know if you need a distraction from your distraction.” she said with a wink before skating off to join the others.
you stayed where you were, finding refuge in a wall, letting the others drift ahead. your gaze flickered to billie again, despite yourself, and you wondered— just for a second— if she was thinking about you, too. if she had seen you.
but then she turned, skating toward the far side of the rink, and you quickly looked away, pulling your hair over the side of your face in hopes that she wouldn’t recognize you, if her eyes had somehow found their way to make out who you were, even though you were on the complete opposite side of the roller rink.
you skated to the edge of the opposite wall, trying to put as much distance between yourself and billie as possible. your heart was still pounding, your thoughts racing as you fought the urge to look back over your shoulder, to get one more glimpse, even though you knew you’d regret it.
so you didn’t. because the last thing you needed was for her to notice you.
but then, a sharp pang of anxiety hit you. what if she did see you? what if she thought you were alone, vulnerable, still hung up on everything that happened between you two? it felt irrational, but the idea of her pitying you— or worse, thinking she still had some sort of hold over you— made your stomach churn. you couldn’t let her have that type of victory over you. you were in control, not her.
your eyes scanned the spot that you were in, and then you spotted oliver across the rink, helping naomi wobble along the railing. relief washed over you— oliver was the perfect shield, the one person who could make you look completely unbothered and perfectly fine. after all, he was supposed to be your ‘boyfriend’ now, wasn’t he?
you pushed off the wall, skating toward him as steadily as you could.
“ollie!”
he turned around when he heard your voice, his face lighting up when he saw you, “hey, what’s up?”
you skated up beside him, lowering your voice so only he could hear, though your request wasn’t all that abnormal, “okay, this is going to sound weird, but… can you hold my hand?”
he blinked, tilting his head, “uh, sure? what’s going on? is it…?”
you hesitated, glancing over your shoulder to make sure billie was still on the far side of the rink. you looked back at him, “yeah,” you whispered quietly, “and i just— i don’t want her to think… you know, that i’m…”
“still hung up on her?” oliver finished your dead sentence for you, his expression softening with understanding.
you nodded, biting your lip, “i just need her to see that i’m fine. better than fine, even. like… totally over it.”
he smiled gently, reaching out to take your hand. “yup, fake dating duty. got it.”
you felt a small wave of relief as his hand slid into yours, warm and steady. oliver gave it a reassuring squeeze, and you squeezed back, grateful as ever for how quickly he reacted, how eager he was to help you with no complaints.
“you owe me for this, by the way.” he teased as he started skating beside you, his tone lighthearted, and you knew that it was only jokes.
you snorted, “yeah right. just put it on my tab.”
naomi shot the two of you a curious look as you passed her idle spot next to the wall, “okay, wait, are we holding hands now? did i miss something?”
“we’re practicing for the couples skate,” oliver said smoothly, his tone so casual that even you almost believed him. it was a good lie, one that would hold over your little secret until it forced itself out. and now, now wasn’t really the time for it.
naomi narrowed her eyes, but jules came barreling toward her before she could press further, their laughter echoing across the rink.
you felt a little more at ease now, skating alongside oliver, your hand laced within his. your heart still raced every time you thought about billie, about everytime that you saw her around the rink. but having him there grounded you, reminded you that you weren’t alone.
you cast one more glance toward the far side of the rink, where billie was still skating. her focus was elsewhere, thank God, it was on anything but you.
you exhaled softly, squeezing oliver’s hand again. he looked down at you, raising an eyebrow, “feeling better?”
“yeah,” you said quietly through a smile, “thanks, ollie.”
before he could pay your statement back with a ‘you’re welcome’, you hear jules, naomi, and emma all agree that it’s time to head out and grab some food. they had apparently decided that eating at the diner for lunch was a better idea, saving time to possibly go downtown or go somewhere for dessert and take pictures. so, you and oliver followed accordingly, hopping off the floor and returning your skates to the counter.
as everyone slipped on their shoes and grabbed their things, jules went right back to her teasing of naomi, “so, did you fall?”
“i’m too hungry to argue with you.” she laughed, sliding her tote bag onto her shoulders as the group made their way outside, walking to the diner.
౨ৎ
the diner felt like a sanctuary at first, a bubble of warmth and laughter that protected you from the turmoil brewing just beneath your skin. the clatter of plates, the hum of the jukebox playing some old 50s song, and the low din of chatter around you all made it easy to pretend, just for a little while, that everything was okay, even if it was nothing but that.
you were wedged between emma and the wall in your usual spot, picking at the remains of your burger while naomi recounted some story about her boss at work, who she thought was all types of dreamy. oliver and jules were hanging on her every word, laughing at all the right moments, and emma was chiming in with her usual quick-witted commentary. it should have felt normal, comforting, just like how it was in your dorm this morning. but it didn’t.
you couldn’t stop replaying the moment at the rink. the way billie had looked— so familiar, yet so distant. and, to be honest, it kind of bothered you.
it hurt that you would have to see her around so much, way more often than you would like. it’s like all your hangout spots were hers too, and it was inevitable to get away from her. but you had to try, at least— try and heal from your wounds, try and forget everything that had happened and turn a new leaf. and you knew it would be hard, but you were going to work on it, because you owed it to yourself. you owed it to yourself to be happy.
you were about to take another bite of your burger when the bell above the door jingled, and your heart dropped. you didn’t even need to look to know who it was. the shift in the air was enough. you had felt it before, back at the bar, and earlier in the roller rink. you knew it was her.
but of course, you being you, you looked anyway.
and there she was.
her presence was like a punch to the gut, a mix of anger, longing, and something else you couldn’t quite place. she looked almost the same as she had at the rink— disheveled, guarded— but her eyes were sharper now, the playful nature of skating long gone.
your stomach twisted and screamed as her gaze landed on your booth, just to your luck. her jaw tightened, her lips pressing into a thin line as her eyes locked on you.
“oh no,” emma muttered under her breath, her fork pausing mid-air, “are you serious?”
“is that…?” jules started, but oliver kicked her under the table, shooting her a warning look, and her lips pursed quiet at that.
you quickly looked away, pretending to be engrossed in the fine lines of ketchup bottle on the table, but it was too late. billie was already walking over to you, her strut quick and strong, like she already had what she wanted to say and do in mind.
“can we talk?” she said once she reached your table, her voice low and tight, standing awkwardly next to your booth.
you placed your head in your hands as everyone went silent, their eyes darting between you and billie like they were watching a live fight scene. and honestly, you knew that’s where it was heading.
but there was nothing you could do. you couldn’t escape, she was here now, so you might as well engage, because there was no other way out of this.
“you want to talk here?” you asked, your voice sharp.
“no,” she clarified, crossing her arms over her chest, “outside.”
“you don’t have to go, love.” oliver said, quiet, but loud enough to where billie could hear. he knew that you needed this— a way out, a cover-up, even if she wasn’t buying it right this second. you felt his hand brush against yours under the table for added effect, though he was unsure if billie could see you two.
but you knew you couldn’t avoid this forever. so, with a heavy sigh, you slid out of the booth, avoiding everyone’s longing and confused looks as you started to walk, following billie out of the door.
the late afternoon air hit you like a slap to the face, much like the way billie had strutted in the diner, demanding a piece of your time like she was the one that owned it. she stopped a few feet away from the entrance, her back to you as she ran a hand through her hair.
“okay, what do you want, billie?” you asked, crossing your arms to mirror her, “i don’t have time for this, be quick and get straight to the point. i don’t even want to be talking to you right now.”
lie.
she turned to face you, her eyes dark and stormy, “honestly, i just want to know why. why you couldn’t just talk to me. why you couldn’t just tell me what was going on, instead of doing all…of this.”
“are you serious?” you snapped, your frustration bubbling quickly to the surface, “are you seriously going to ask me this question again like i haven’t already answered it? what else do you want me to say to you? i told you to leave me alone, and i’m not so sure why this can’t get through to you, so i’ll say it again. leave. me. alone!”
her jaw tightened, and she took a step closer to you. her eyes were glossed over with tears, but you didn’t care at all. you were sick of her acting like she was the victim, like you hadn’t asked her countless times you just leave you be. at this point, she was just harassing you.
“i-i’m sorry…i know, but…i feel like you’re not telling me everything, y/n. i feel so deeply that there’s something you aren’t telling me, like i’m not getting the whole wide of this story…i just, i needed to know—“
“i don’t owe you explanations about my own life,” you shot back, “why can’t you just give up on me, like you did back at the bar? why can’t you just let me live my life without showing up at the most random times, without making me feel like i’m the one that’s crazy, huh?”
“give up on you?” billie repeated, her voice cracking. she was full on tears now, “do you have any idea how hard it was to leave? how much it killed me to walk away?”
you flinched at the raw emotion in her voice, but you didn’t back down. she couldn’t phase you now, “if it was so hard, why did you do it?”
“because i didn’t know what else to do!” she shouted, her hands balling into fists at her sides, “you wouldn’t let me in, and i was fucking drowning. i couldn’t keep—”
“couldn’t keep what?” you interrupted, stepping closer now, your own anger flaring, “couldn’t keep dealing with me? with my problems? sorry i wasn’t perfect enough for you, billie, but you knew what you were getting yourself into, it was obvious.”
“that’s not what i meant,” she said, her voice quieter now but no less intense, “and you know it. you know that’s not how i felt about you.”
“then what did you mean?” you pressed, your heart pounding in your chest, “i mean, do tell billie, because i’ve been waiting for this. tell me what you really wanna say, because you’re doing nothing but wasting my time.”
she opened her mouth to respond, but then her gaze flicked behind your back, back toward the diner. you followed her line of sight and saw your friends watching from the window, their faces a mix of concern and curiosity, leaning in so close in hopes that they could hear what was going on.
billie’s expression shifted, her anger giving way to something softer, something almost vulnerable, like she really was going to tell you how she felt. but just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by a mask of indifference, confusion, of something unsure.
“you know what? forget it,” she said, shaking her head at you, “this was a mistake. you were right.”
and then she turned on her heel without a word, and started walking away, her boots echoing against the pavement as she started towards her car.
“billie, wait,” you called after her, your voice trembling, but it was no use.
she didn’t stop. she didn’t even look back, and for the first time, you really wish she did.
you wanted to hear what she had to say, but you weren’t ready. you couldn’t handle all of that, but you thought you could at least try. but now, it was too late.
it was always too late.
you stood there, frozen, your fists clenched and your chest heaving as you watched her disappear into the driver’s seat of her car, cranking up the engine and speeding out of her parking spot.
your friends were still watching from the window, but you couldn’t bring yourself to face them. instead, you turned around and leaned against the wall of the diner, your head falling back as you stared up at the sky.
you wanted to scream, to cry, to do something about this, but all you could do was stand there, the weight of her words and your own anger pressing down on you like a weighted blanket.
and then, you heard the door to the diner swing opened, a voice pushing out into the empty air,
“i promise you, despite as much as you think you are, you and billie are far from done.”
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I am enjoying it, but what throwed me off of from the all be my slave because you owed me money thing. Is that I read the plots of the novel series from the Foureveryou project and the second story of that has a similar-ish concept:
The character Bas plays gets in trouble trashing a bar on a night out after a fight with someone and I think it's love interest bar, and he says I will handle the money from the damage but you have to do something for me and in the novel that's kisses.
Mydramalist doesn't mention crew or directors or anything but StudioWabiSabi is still New right?
So what initially throw me off is that I was expecting it on a different project and now he is doing something similar twice.
I'm genuinely struggling to write about We Are. I decided not to post Stray Thoughts last night because they were mostly bored grumbling. We've been with the show for two hours already and it feels like it's still setting the table. It's like watching the actors' IG reels half the time.
There was almost a moment with the discussion about simple and complex art, but I'm not giving that to New Siwaj with all of his meandering projects. I'm also annoyed that this man is doing a BE MY SLAVE narrative in 2024.
Probably not going to check in on this show often.
#we are the series#sorry for the possibile tangent#i am enjoying the series and the characters#but i was confused about that#because i was expecting it in another show#and now i am a little worried about foureveryou#which is the project of the two i am most excited about#because of cooheart
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Christmas was great! c:
#hoping to wind down w some writing#also thinking about the rest of the week for work 😭🫠 I am not leadership material#hoping that we are still in a good spot so that when I hand the team back over to our new manager in two weeks he's in a good position#and doesn't have to rush or spend awhile chasing my mistakes. luckily we don't have a ton of projects bc Christmas time#we're just down a lot of people 😵💫 two full timers and a part timer. PLUS people in and out intermittently for vacations and whatnot#so our team of usually like a dozen is currently a team of like 6 or 7 depending on who's out when which is...not many#but!! idk. I was so stressed that my sister stopped by work yesterday to surprise me with lunch so I didn't spend it crying in my car#(which was really funny bc our brother ALSO came to have lunch with me LOL. we all ended up eating together)#idk!!! hopefully the rest of this week and all of next week goes smoother than this has bc I'm like really stressed abt leading us#probably more than is warranted. most of this stress is self imposed of “I HAVE to do a good job or everyone will be disappointed in me”#but the managers for our position from other stores have been helping out and so has my former boss which is very kind of them#I have to see if anybody from one of the two nearby stores has any extra of the signage we need...to do list for the morning#anyway sorry for the 8 million year tag ramble abt my job#my sister really liked the gift I got her which is great bc I've been excited to give it to her for months
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OKAY OKAY I'M GONNA POST SOME OF MY RAMBLINGS FROM THE GROUP CHAT BC. I'm SO EXCITED about what I fucking scored (these are just snippets I Talked. A Lot LMFAOO)
Okay. Context. Just one pic that doesn't do it full justice bc it has cool little details too (ESP: little straps near the waist that button/unbutton, EXTREMELY USEFUL AND IDEAL to carry my noise cancelors with) (will hit image limit so just saying Dude Trust Me)
Okay. GO
LIKE. LIKE. I went on a whole ass journey about this. The vest I'm talking about in that last screenshot is this really gorgeous handmade green/beige blocked w flower print (it's like. Femme Masc. To me) that I got at a craft fair, for reference! Something I Barely wear/honestly save for special occasions bc 1) the Collar I did not factor in The Collar BUT. I FIXED THIS. WITH SAFETY PINS. Honestly I don't know why I didn't think to do that sooner. And 2) It's... incredibly difficult to pair w my usual jacket. If not impossible.
THIS... CAN CHANGE.... like something I said that I cut out here is The Potential. Of customizing this jacket Intentionally. So that I can layer it in both directions -- worn on top of things ofc but FOCALLY. Easy to wear Underneath something.
IDK IDK I'M JUST SOOOOOO PICKY ABOUT MATERIAL AND HOW THINGS FIT so it's like INSANELY COOL. That I scored something Like This that fits Perfectly to my preferences AND is really good material ESP when I've been wanting to start a new punk jacket For Forever...... again, with more intention this time! I don't have any clear plans or ideas. But I am thinking about The Purpose of it, what I Want from it, and exactly How I want it. And going from there!
#i am merely tolerated in the group chat. (KIDDING...... everyone has their own stuff going on LMFAOO)#this is literally all i've been thinking about all day though i'm SO EXCITED. SOOOOOO EXCITED#'the high of buying things' or whatever okay but what about going extended periods of time not bothering to get anything new#bc you just don't feel like it and are way too attached to your safe clothes anyway but. BUT. THE MAGIC. THE HIGH#of a chance encounter. finding one to two Perfect Things. in the most random ass way possible. and CHERISHING THAT SHIT#riding that high for weeks. idk i just don't like leaving the house or making unnecessary purchases LMFAOOOOOO#'unnecessary'.... mileage may vary on that. REGARDLESS. even IF i do something impulsive it is w So Much Purpose LMFAO#NOT LIKE. POSTURING ABOUT IT. i'm just autistic and picky and am only interested in a few select things. which i go crazy for.#due to the autism.#EITHER WAY I'M SOOOO EXCITED. another reason i really wanted to make a new jacket is so i COULD make it more masc-leaning#i def feel like my style/tastes have evolved since my first run. i still love the aesthetics of my first run#BUT... I WANT... I NEED.... something maybe five degrees less cutesy. femme masc but in a different direction. Green.#LIKE maybe the word i'm looking for is subtle??? subdued???? just more refined. IDK IDK...#oh maybe more overtly edgy. grungy. GRUNGY...... maybe that's what i'm aiming for...#but again no solid plans YET. i also still struggle to conceptualize patch designs for some reason. STILL.......#i'm just very excited about it!!!!!!#my projects#to be.
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Hi
Yeah, I've seen the 1 min 30 Izzy teaser. I've seen it many times. I'm choosing to not go crazy on here because the second I do, I will abandon my WIP, and spend all day going in mental loops.
I'm just stuck on feelings of- 'damn we were right' (happy) and 'oh, damn, we were right' (devastated).
#ofmd s2#ofmd s2 spoilers#ofmd s2 speculation#spoilers for s2- especially Izzy and speculating about what the teaser implies- in the remaining tags#I knew Ed/Izzy would be taken seriously. I trusted Con to take a look at this and give it the full attention it deserves. I'm VERY happy rn#I love Ed/Izzy(a lot) but it's not healthy and I'm happier that the show is giving Izzy a serious arc to deal with it vs the alternative#which is part of the fun most Ed/Izzy shippers (especially artists/writers) get! they know#that this relationship on the show IS complex and there's shit on both ends these characters need to work through#Liking Ed/Izzy doesn't mean you endorse the behaviors of either characters. This season will likely show us even more of their past#and show even more shit between the two of them. It's likely Izzy won't come out 1 clean either. But that's why this is a ship people follo#Con is THE person to have for this arc as MANY of his projects include these types of issues in relationships. The man is GOOD at crying#I am SO fucking excited to see how he'll handle Izzy you lot have NO IDEA#BUT-The second I see anti's say shit on how any character deserves to be abused I will block them.#let's remember all the people in this fandom who are survivors of abuse and think 'Would I say this to them'? If so. Fucking Don't.#Yes. Morality isn't tied to fiction. You can like what you like. But let's remember you saying stupid shit can still affect real-life peopl
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.
#wak#negative /#tag vent /#man.. why is everything so draining#like.. fr it seems like I can't do Anything for an extended amount of time without burning out and wanting to quit#like. when I was little it was my absolute dream to be able to do nothing but draw all day every day but#now as an adult the thought of it stresses me out and makes me sick to my stomach#I used to get so excited about getting commissions but#now every time I see that someone's commissioned me I just dread doing it as if it's something I'm getting graded for in two days#(note that this isn't a slight against people who've commed me by any means. if you've commed me you're a saint)#(but. that's just how I feel and I wish it wasn't)#which is why comms are closed rn and idk when I'm opening them back up#rn I'm doing commission-based editing/proofreading work for a small publishing comp#something that I Also once aspired to do full-time#but.. I'm already kinda getting tired of it? probably bc my current project is 140+ pages that I have to get done in two weeks#like.. it's not Bad and I'm not quitting (I don't have a choice anyway. this is the closest thing I have rn to a consistent-ish job)#but it.. just gets less fun w every manuscript and I hate that#and like... whenever I go out no matter where I am I just want to go back home#I have no 'dream job' anymore. I have no goals. I don't want to go places or do things I just want to be home sleeping#but. as we all know that's not an option in the capitalist hellscape we live in#hell... even if we Didn't live in the hellscape it probably still wouldn't be an option lol#and of course my mom will not hear any of it and just thinks I'm being spoiled and lazy and 'using my aut as an excuse'#and most people including supposed '''''leftists'''' would probably agree with her too#bc 95% of '''"radical communists''''' on here are Adults Aren't Allowed To Exist Outside Of Working And That's How Things Should Be truther#who vocally treat unemployment as a moral failing and as a Bad Person Trait™ inbetween making Capitalism Bad posts#but I'm getting offtopic. Maybe I Am Useless And Lazy And A Leech Or Etc#but what I'm trying to say is I feel like I'm going to be miserable and feel like just a machine no matter what I do#and like I'm never going to have a happy or fulfilling life#and that my only option is to go to sleep never wake up and hope I'm reborn with no mental illnesses or trauma and into a rich family#but.. fat chance.
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(Long post, sorry y'all)
A little more than two years ago now, my grandmother passed away. She and my grandpa had moved down to my home town a few years before so we could take care of them. I brought them groceries once a week, helped them write checks, fixed tvs, and found lost things. I was really close with my grandma.
In addition to her hilarious personality and dry wit, one of my favorite things about her was that she was a painter and a crafter like me! She used to crochet, and I took her to the craft store a couple of times so she could get more yarn and books on crochet. But her arthritis and the shaking in her hands kept getting worse, so she eventually had to stop.
She kept her most recent project, a granny square blanket, safely packed away in a plastic bin. She told all of us she was going to finish it one day.
Her hands never got better, and when she got sick, and we found out it was cancer, she rapidly deteriorated.
After she passed, I went to work helping my mom clean out my grandparents apartment so we could move my grandpa in with her. In our frantic cleaning, I found that bin again:
DOZENS of granny squares, dozens of half used skeins. I asked my mom what she wanted me to do with it, and she said she didn't care. I set it aside and later took it home.
Maybe a month later, that tumblr post about the Loose Ends Project was going around. It felt like a sign--I was never going to learn to crochet in order to finish my grandmother's blanket. But they might be able to help!
So I filled out the interest form. They got back to me SUPER quick. And maybe 2 weeks later, I was paired with volunteer in my state (only 2 hours away!) and the box of yarn, granny squares, and my grandmother's crochet hook were in the mail. That was at the end of January this year.
Over the next couple of months, my "finisher" emailed me regular updates on her progress, and asked me questions on my preferences for how she constructed the final blanket.
At the end of August, the blanket was done!
I had always intended the blanket to be a gift for my mother. So I cleaned it up, put it in the only bag I had big enough to fit it, and drove to my mom's. I gave the blanket to her and she was gobsmacked. I explained to her all about Loose Ends, and how someone volunteered to finish the piece for us. She was speechless. (I was quite pleased with this, because I am not the best at giving gifts, so this was a pretty exciting reaction!)
She said that it was the most thoughtful gift she had ever been given. She said "your grandma would love this". To which I replied, "yeah, I know she really wanted to finish it a couple of years ago". But that was when my mom dropped the bomb of a century on me--she told me that my grandma had started making those granny squares OVER 30 YEARS AGO. She had started the blanket when my grandpa was staying in the hospital, but that was back when my mom was younger than I am now! My grandma had packed them all away, planning on finishing it, when my grandpa was sent home from the hospital. Then it went from house to house, from condo in Chicago to their apartment in my hometown. All that time and my grandma had wanted to finish it, but couldn't. First because she was busy, then because she forgot how to do it, then because of her arthritis, and then because of the cancer. My mom said she had given up on expecting my grandma to finish it.
She said I brought a piece of her childhood with her mom out of the past.
And really, all of this is to say, if you have seen or heard about the Loose Ends Project and have an uncompleted project or piece from a loved one who has passed away--these are your people. They were so kind and treated my project with such care. That box probably would have been found by my own grandkids one day if I hadn't heard about Loose Ends.
Five stars, absolutely worth it!
(From what I understand, you can sign up to volunteer too! If you have time to share, it might be worth checking out!)
#loose ends#the loose ends project#joy knits#text#long post#knit#knitting#crochet#crocheting#craft#crafting#diy#crochetblr#yarnblr#yarn#knitblr
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happy life, happy wife | hugh jackman
an: “you attract what you fear” GUYS IM SO SCARED OF A 55 YEAR OLD AUSTRALIAN 😭 definitely thinking about making marvel actress!reader x hugh an actual series… i have ideas
marvel actress!reader
Deadpool & Wolverine Press tour - Hot Ones
Hugh felt like he was going to die. Each wing was getting hotter and hotter, but immediately when he heard his wife’s name he forgot all about the spice.
“Hugh, your wife is part of the Avengers, how does it feel having your wife be part of such a huge franchise? Have you two talked about a potential team up with the X-men and the Avengers?” Sean asked.
“My wife . . . Oh god, I think I’m crying-”
“I can’t tell if you’re legitimately dying or completely in love with your wife.” Ryan told Hugh.
“Wait . . I am completely in love with my wife and I would legitimately die for her.” Hugh gasped as he rearranged Ryan’s words.
“Is that in the contract she made you sign when you married her? ‘I vow to die for you’. My contract said I had to give all my money to my kids and wife.” Ryan said.
“No, she’s amazing, um, if I start talking about her I think I might go on for hours,” he laughed. “Our kids do want to see their parents fighting the bad guys together. We would love to team up, maybe it could happen.” Hugh smiled.
“The entire movie would be them making out and her beating the shit out of you. I’d pay to see that.” Ryan added.
•••
Comic Con 2024
Like RDJ, your last Marvel movie had been Avengers: Endgame. After being in ten mcu films, it was time to say goodbye to your character.
But that was in 2019.
At this years comic con, you were back. The cast of Deadpool & Wolverine had taken the stage and showed their appreciation for the fans. After their panel, it was time to announce Marvel’s upcoming projects. Kevin Feige announced the Fantastic Four, Thunderbolts, Captain America 4, and finally the new Avengers movies, which everyone was extremely excited about.
After showing the title card for the upcoming Avengers film, Kevin turned to the audience.
“Something people have been asking, as of late, is who the heck is going to direct these two movies?” The audience clapped.
From the side of the stage, you were nervous. What if the fans didn’t like the idea of you directing the next two Avengers films? Your worrying caused Hugh to come to your rescue.
“Hey, they loved you as an Avenger, they will love you even more.” Hugh kissed your forehead. “If anyone says anything about this decision, they have me to deal with.”
You laughed at his words. “I really love you so much.”
“Love you too, bub.” Hugh was about to kiss you when Ryan cut in.
“I really love us too. I convinced half of the people here that we’re a throuple.” He said in the most serious tone ever.
Kevin announced you as the director. Your doubt of the fans not liking the announcement was proven wrong when you walked the stairs to the stage and stood next to Kevin. They cheered when they saw you were back.
As you said a few words, thanking Marvel, Kevin and the fans, you were being recorded by Hugh, who was being recorded by Ryan.
“That’s my wife!” Hugh cheered from backstage, holding his phone in his hand.
“She’s Marvel Jesus now, holy shit!”
•••
WIRED autocomplete interview
“Is Hugh Jackman married?”
“Yes, to me, Y/n, probably to half the population,” Ryan answered. “He’s Australia’s biggest slut.”
“All the times, I proposed.” Hugh laughed. “But yes, I am married and I love my wife very much. She’s stuck with me forever.” He lifted his hand to show off the wedding band.
“Funny, because she texted me right now. Her and Blake are in the courthouse getting married. So Deadpool three was actually made so our wives could divorce us and marry each other.”
#hugh jackman#hugh jackman x reader#hugh jackman imagine#wolverine#marvel actress!reader#wolverine x reader#wolverine fanfiction#hugh jackman fanfic#hugh jackman one shot
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I've cut nearly 10 minutes of flubs out of this recording allready holy fuck. It started as an hour, and I've still got 20 minutes more to listen through. It is my first run with these voices though so that definitely accounts for some of it. That and my mortal enemy: the word athletes.
#it trips my tongue most foully#there's a couple of sports terms that seem to do that actually#kirokiro#podkiro#a new project which I'm very excited about#I am so close to being done with chapter 16 of vertical limit but my brain just isn't feeling it at the mo#I will aim for it to be out in two weeks at the latest though
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unadulterated loathing (pt 1)
pt 2
pairing: fiyero tigelaar x fem reader
summary: you are forced to partner up with fiyero on a history project. things don’t go as you imagine.
a/n: wicked was really good, i love jonathan bailey, and we're coming up on finals season which means im writing about how stressed i am. also halfway through this i realized reader is lowkey paris geller coded lmao. this got away from me so im splitting it into 2 parts, i had a lot of fun writing it so enjoy! also im high posting this so if there's any editing issues im sorry lol!!
wc: 5.5k
warning(s): reader is stressed to the max constantly. she is kinda mean to fiyero but he's into it so it's okay. mostly fluff
Your fingers were beginning to cramp.
You should have been used to this by now with Doctor Dillamond. You’d been in his class for a few months now, and you graded essays for him often. He often had a propensity for verbosity, but this lecture had been an especially hefty one in preparation for your midterm projects.
He would be announcing partners before the end of class—much to your dismay, for you worked far better on your own than with others holding you down—and you figured you would want to have as much of a head start as possible.
Great Oz, how you hoped you would be paired with one of your friends. Coralie and Ezura were your only contenders for top of the class—Elphaba had potential as well, not because of the magic she couldn’t control but because of the brain she very well could—and anyone else would frankly slow you down. Doing a large research paper with someone who didn’t care as much as you did would be a drag you didn’t care to go through.
Midterms were only the most important thing, for they set the track towards finals and affirmed your skill with your assignments, and your first midterm was potentially the most important thing for, when completed successfully, set you on the correct track altogether.
You tried not to think about it too much (though you failed almost immediately), for you were sure Doctor Dillamond would honor all the work you’d done for him by putting you with a suitable partner.
“I see some of you are getting restless, so I will cut class short today.” Your eyes snapped up from your paper to see the professor smiling, and you could hear sighs of relief around the room. “I’m sure you’re all eager to know your partners for the midterm paper.”
The sighs of relief turned to groans, and you had to agree. Assigned partners should have been considered archaic at this point in time.
Doctor Dillamond trotted back to the projector and, with a bit of difficulty, replaced the image with a piece of paper. Everybody in the class was paired off in groups of two—you immediately started searching for your name, squinting slightly to see despite your spot in the front, and the furrow between your brows deepened when you realized you couldn’t find it.
You searched instead for your hopeful options. Coralie was with Mayara, Ezura was with Nicholas, Elphaba was with Galinda—of course. You let out a slight huff of annoyance, not just at your disappointment but at the continued lack of your name.
Perhaps he’d merely forgotten. You didn’t know how Dillamond could have forgotten you, seeing as you were only his best student and literal TA, but things happened. Your anxieties only grew as you heard the beginnings of whispers throughout the room as your classmates saw their pairings, either excited or dismal.
“Class is dismissed,” Doctor Dillamond said. The room began bustling as students gathered their things, already talking with their friends or searching out their project partner—you heard Galinda squeal and saw her grab Elphaba’s hands out of your peripherals. You could only worry your lip between your teeth as you swept everything in your bag, hardly waiting a second before rushing up to Dillamond’s desk.
“You didn’t call my name, professor,” you said, managing a smile as you tried to act like it wasn’t killing you. How could he have not called your name? Was there something wrong? Great Oz— had you been somehow moved out of the class? Was your work not exemplary enough? Your assistance not assisting enough? “I don’t have a partner.”
His mouth opened, but you only found yourself continuing, the words practically tumbling out of you.
“Of course, if you intended for me to be on my own then I am perfectly alright with that!” Your smile widened as your fingertips dangled over his desk. “I— I prefer it, in fact, so if that is it then there is really no issue at all—”
“Mr. Tigelaar!” he interrupted, and your head turned on instinct to see the eponymous boy arm in arm with Galinda (who was arm in arm with Elphaba) just in front of the door. “I hope you are not about to leave.”
Fiyero flashed a look at his companions before offering one of those easy smiles he seemed to always have up his sleeve. “You dismissed the class. I believe I am part of your class, am I not?”
“You are,” he said, “but you were not assigned a partner. Surely you wouldn’t be trying to get out of the project.”
Your free hand clenched as the threads started to connect. Doctor Dillamond wouldn’t do this to you. Would he?
That easy smile remained on his lips as he turned to Galinda and whispered something in her ear. She giggled and pecked him on the cheek before she walked out, pulling Elphaba behind her, and Fiyero sauntered over.
“Of course I’m not trying to get out of it,” he said. “Whyever would you think so?”
“Your attempt at a quick exit before you could be assigned a partner,” the professor said. “But it is no matter, for your partner is right here.”
You blinked. He would do this to you.
Why would he do this to you?
“Well, pleasure to meet you.” He held out his hand. “Fiyero Tigelaar.”
You ignored him, for you couldn’t look away from Doctor Dillamond. Would it be mad for you to strangle a Goat?
“Professor,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, “why?”
“Mr. Tigelaar’s grades in my class have not been satisfactory, as I’m sure he is aware.” Dillamond moved away from his desk, prodding the chalkboard with his head to move it out of the way. “I care about all my students, even if they seem not to care for my course. I believe a partnership for the two of you would be beneficial.”
Your jaw clenched. “So you’re forcing me to tutor him because he hasn’t got a brain.”
Fiyero chuckled. “Ouch.”
“Not tutoring, just working on your midterm together,” he said. “And if you end up teaching him a few things along the way, then we would all be better off, wouldn’t we?”
“Professor, with all due respect, this is ridiculous!” you exclaimed. “Why should I have to risk my grade, my midterm, my standing altogether at Shiz just to help him?”
“Should you perform the way that is typical of you, there should be no issues.” Doctor Dillamond gave you that professorly look and your teeth grinded against each other. How dare he try to take the moral high ground. “Now, the two of you better hurry off. You haven’t got forever to work on this project.”
“Professor,” you whispered, determined to not let up, “why are you punishing me like this?”
“I’m not punishing you, my dear.”
“Fiyero couldn’t care less about any of this,” you insisted. “I’m going to fail my midterm and it will be all his fault!”
“If you believe he can make you fail, then you haven’t got as much faith in yourself as I believed.” Doctor Dillamond looked at you. “Trust me—and yourself—that this will all work out.”
You stared back—it was rather difficult to have a staring contest with a Goat. “I don’t suppose I can change your mind on this?”
“You’d be correct.”
You huffed and glanced away. “Fine. But expect those test scores to take an extra day.”
He let out a bleaty sort of laugh while you walked away. You considered it a credit to yourself that you held back the childish tantrum you wanted to throw as you moved back over to your desk to gather the rest of your things. You shoved your books into your bag with a bit more anger than necessary, and you heard footsteps behind you. You glanced over to see Fiyero sidled up beside you, leaning against the desk next to yours.
“Surely you won’t be this irritated at me the entirety of our project.” He still had that unbothered smile on his lips, and it made you want to hit him. “It might make this a much more miserable partnership.”
You let out a mirthless laugh as you shouldered your bag. “Don’t act like this pains you. You’re just going to ride my coattails the entire time.”
“You know, I hadn’t even thought of that,” Fiyero mused. “But now that you bring it up, I just may have to.”
“For the love of Oz,” you muttered to yourself before mustering the strength to look up at him. “I have a myriad of things I need to do today. Why don’t you go bother your girlfriend for the rest of the day, and then you can meet me at the library first thing tomorrow morning so we can discuss all of this.”
He shrugged. “Sounds alright to me.”
“Good,” you said. “Because I meant every word I said back there. I will not have you ruining all my progress thus far because of your absolute refusal to think.”
“It looks as if you could take a page out of my book,” Fiyero said. “You seem awfully stressed.”
Your lips tightened into a mirthless smile. “I’m stressed because of you, Fiyero, and we have hardly even interacted. I dread to think of my mental state after a week of working together. Now, good day. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
You swept past him and walked out of Doctor Dillamond’s classroom. You felt his eyes on you until you turned the corner, and you had to resist the urge to look back.
Oh, how you loathed group projects.
-
The rest of your day was far more demanderating than it should have been, and you blamed Fiyero for it. You swore the clock went by half as quick and your lectures twice as long—it didn’t help that you were so distracted in chemistry that you nearly burned your eyebrows off from a potion gone wrong.
You’d practically thrown yourself onto your bed when you got back to your dorm, and you didn’t get up until your roommate got back and demanded to know what had gotten into you. She didn’t exactly give you the response you wanted.
“The prince is your partner?” Coralie sighed dreamily. “Oh, you are so lucky.”
“Lucky is not the way I’d put it,” you mumbled, words muffled by the sheets. You finally tore yourself up off your bed and picked your nightgown up from atop your dresser. You went behind your folding sheet and began to change. “And I didn’t know you had eyes for Fiyero.”
“I hardly have eyes for him,” she said wryly. “I just have eyes—anyone can see that he’s attractive.”
“It doesn’t matter how attractive he is if he makes me fail this midterm,” you said. You straightened your nightgown then folded your school uniform while you walked back into the open, passing a glance at your roommate as you placed it on your desk. You then settled on your bed with a huff. “I just don’t understand why Doctor Dillamond is punishing me like this. It makes me reconsider all those late nights spent grading papers for him.”
Coralie shrugged. “You’re one of his best students, Fiyero is probably one of his worst. I bet Doctor Dillamond figured you would be happy to take him on, what with how happily you take on everything else he throws at you.”
You grumbled as you laid back against your pillows. “I just don’t know if I can take him on. Fiyero seems to care more about flirting with every student at this school than any actual material.”
She gave you a mischievous smile. “Maybe he’ll turn the full force of his affections on you in return for your studiousness. Oh, how that would be a sight to see.”
“Don’t even put that idea into the air, Cora,” you scoffed. “Besides, he’s clearly involved with Galinda. Even if I was interested, which I’m not—” you emphasized with a pointed look at her— “that isn’t something I want to touch.”
“Well, you can’t deny that he’s dreamy,” she said. “He just showed up at Shiz and people started falling left and right. It’s more impressive that you haven’t.”
“Because I’m here for one reason,” you said. “His whole… thing doesn’t fit into any of it.”
“I know,” Coralie mused as she fell back onto her pillows. “You’ve told me your whole plan ten times over. I just think you should also try to enjoy your life instead of bulldozing your way through it.”
You rolled your eyes with a smile. “I’m enjoying my life just fine, thank you.”
Interestingly enough, Fiyero was going through something similar a myriad of rooms away.
He laid on Galinda’s bed, his head in her lap as she trailed her fingers through his hair. She’d been going on about something for the last couple of minutes, but he hadn’t really been able to focus on any of it.
“Dearest, did you not hear what I said?”
Fiyero blinked at the sound of Galinda’s voice. He hadn’t indeed.
“I’m sorry, beloved.” He absentmindedly reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze once he found it. “I was thinking.”
Elphaba laughed from across the room. She sat on her bed with a book in her lap. “That’s a first for you.”
“It is,” Galinda said, though with much more concern laced in her voice. Her hand moved from his hair to his forehead. “Are you feeling alright?”
“Just fine,” he assured. “What was it you were saying?”
“Just lamenting on how awful it is that we’ve been separated for this project,” she sighed. “I’m sure I could persuade Doctor Dillamond to put us in a group of three.”
“You can’t even get him to pronounce your name correctly,” Elphaba said wryly. “How could you get him to do this?”
“Well,” Galinda huffed, “maybe you could do it. He appears to like you more than me.”
“I’m sure that really hurts,” she said.
Galinda placed her hand on her chest. “It does!”
“It’s fine,” Fiyero interrupted. “I’m alright with my partner. She’s nice.”
“Nice?” Elphaba scoffed. “I heard her lecturing you the whole time we were out in the hallway.”
“She’s passionate,” he decided. “Besides, I don’t really care. I haven’t thought about it since she left.”
That was a complete lie. In truth, Fiyero hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you since you left. Very strange for someone who preferred to go through life with less thinking and more doing.
He honestly didn’t know why his mind was so occupied with you.
He’d always been aware of you, obviously—all your professors adored you, your name was always brought up when talking about top of the class, and he was sure you held the record for most time spent in the library at once—but he didn’t know anything about you other than your academic record. And for someone with such strong opinions, especially about him, Fiyero found himself with the strange need to know more.
He would be at the library tomorrow. Maybe not on time, but certainly there.
Fiyero would make this the beginning of a beautiful partnership, one way or another.
-
True to your word, you were in the library bright and early after a quick stop at the dining hall. You went through the effort of gathering everything you thought you would need—a myriad of textbooks and encyclopedias, your well-weathered notebook and another one for Fiyero because you doubted he had one, and enough writing material for the two of you.
You sighed. You had to do so much just to even the ground between your groups and the others. Coralie was always so prepared whenever you worked together.
Fiyero, to your surprise, was only ten minutes late. You already had your head buried in a book when he said your name and scared you witless.
Your eyes widened as they darted up to look at him, and he chuckled.
“Sorry. You were in the zone.”
“I just wasn’t expecting you,” you said. “You’re late.”
“Hardly.” Fiyero took the seat across from you, his eyes sweeping over everything you had on the table. “You’ve got quite a collection.”
“I doubt you know your way around the library,” you said.
“I know my way around a lot of things.”
You leveled your gaze at him. Leave it to Fiyero to make everything an innuendo. “And is a library one of them?”
“I’m sure I could make it one.”
“If you bothered to think at all.”
“Darling, you know I’d never,” he said with a smile. “Now, what are we doing here?”
“Do you really not know what our midterm is?” you marveled.
“I have more important things to worry about,” he said.
You scoffed and shook your head. Ridiculous— it was ridiculous that you had to put up with this. Maybe Doctor Dillamond really did hate you.
“Our assignment is an extensively researched ten page paper on any great Ozian,” you said. “Anyone who has contributed to our society in a relevant way and made our lives better for it.”
“A ten page paper?” Fiyero frowned. “That seems a bit much.”
“Between the two of us, it’s just five pages each, and we’ve got two weeks to get it done,” you said. “I’ve written five pages in a few hours of inspiration.”
“Your life truly sounds thrilling,” Fiyero said. “We could do the Wizard.”
“Half the class is going to do the wizard,” you scoffed.
“Because he’s a great man,” he said. “There’s no shame in it.”
“There is absolutely shame in copying half the class,” you said as you pushed over a sheet of paper to him. “Now, I’ve already got a list going. Look it over; see if there’s anyone you like or anyone worthwhile you want to add.”
You looked back down at your encyclopedia, opened to your personal favorite choice, and continued scribbling down basic notes. You glanced up a few moments later to see Fiyero’s gaze hadn’t wavered from you.
You frowned. “Is there a problem?”
“You’re awfully prepared,” he said instead.
“I figured you wouldn’t be,” you responded.
Fiyero’s lips quirked in a smile. “Then I believe that means you deserve to choose our subject.”
Your frown deepened. “Really?”
“Are you always this suspicious of everyone?”
“Just you.”
“Then consider this an olive branch,” he said. He slid the paper back over. “Who’s your top choice?”
“…Ilara Mayfair,” you finally said as you pointed at her on the top of your list. “She was a historical linguist, responsible for half of what we know about Ozian languages and how they connect and differ. She’s…” you cleared your throat and shrugged, trying to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal, “she’s kind of my hero.”
“Your hero?” Fiyero’s eyebrows rose. “Is that what you want to do?”
“…It’s always been my dream,” you admitted. “I grew up helping around my parents’ bookstore and her mark was on nearly everything. I really admire it. I want to make that sort of difference in the world.”
“How noble,” he remarked. What surprised you was how genuine he sounded. “It’s impressive how much of your life you have planned out already. All Galinda knows is that she’s majoring in sorcery—she hasn’t really got anything else worked out.”
“What are you majoring in?” you asked.
“Undecided,” Fiyero said. “I was kicked out of my last school before I could declare, so I figure there’s not really a point in doing it here.”
“Not really a surprise,” you said.
“Really?”
“On your first day, you snuck off campus with half of Shiz to go dance at Ozdust,” you said. “That’s not exactly a good first impression.”
“I’d argue the opposite,” he said. Fiyero tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he focused on you for a moment. His gaze made you uncomfortably aware of yourself. “I don’t recall seeing you there.”
“That’s because I wasn’t there.” You looked back down at your encyclopedia to avoid his eyes. “I had more important things to do.”
He frowned. “Do you ever take a day off?”
“Of course,” you said. “There isn’t any class on the weekends.”
“I mean with this,” he said, gesturing at all the books around you. “It doesn’t seem like you allow yourself a single moment of respite. When you’re not in class, you’re studying. When you’re not studying, you’re doing work. When you’re not doing any of it, you’re probably dreaming of your future assignments.”
You felt your skin heat. Surely you weren’t that transparent.
“...I don’t dream of them,” you defended. “Not— not always.”
He laughed and shook his head. “You’re ridiculous. Do you know that?”
You frowned. “How am I ridiculous? You’re incapable of taking a single thing seriously.”
“And you’re incapable of not taking everything seriously,” Fiyero said. “It can’t be good for your health.”
“I plan to get out of here a year early,” you said, looking back at your books. “I can’t slack off like you do if I want that plan to come to fruition.”
“Oh, I’ve gotten out of every school I’ve been in a year early,” Fiyero said. “Sometimes two or three— Oz, sometimes I don’t even make it through the first semester.”
Your eyes snapped back up to him, widened in instinctual panic. “What?”
He burst out laughing, and it grinded every one of your gears. “Oh, I wish you could see the look on your face! It’s priceless— truly priceless!”
“You’ve been kicked out of every school you’ve been to and you think it’s a joke?”
Still laughing, he shrugged. “It is. Nothing bad has happened, and I’m still having the time of my life wherever I go.”
You just shook your head as you stared at him, eyes still wide. “Are you always like this?”
“Utterly charming?”
“Entirely insufferable.”
You didn’t understand how he laughed. Everything rolled right off him, like oil off a duck’s back, no matter how many times you insulted him.
“You know, there are other things to life than your studies,” he said.
“Not while I’m here, there isn’t,” you said. “It’s the whole point of university.”
“The point of university is to have fun,” he said. “You’ve seen how this place has perked up since I’ve gotten here, haven’t you?”
“Not really, no,” you said. “I’ve been more focused on other things.”
“Like?”
“Like my studies.”
“It’s like I’m talking to a broken record,” he marveled. “Have you ever had fun in your life?” His eyes widened comically. “Do you even know what the concept of fun is?”
“Ha ha,” you said dryly.
He tilted his head. “Do you?”
You frowned. “Of course I do.”
“Okay, then.” Fiyero leaned back in his chair. “Tell me about yourself.”
Your frown deepened. “We aren’t doing a research paper on me.”
“We’re working together on this,” he said. “Is it a crime to want to know my partner?”
A muscle worked in your jaw as you stared at him. He stared back, entirely unaffected.
“If I humor you, will you actually work with me through this?”
Fiyero held up his hand. “Prince’s honor.”
Finally, you broke. You folded your arms with a short sigh then glanced away. “Fine. I’m from a tiny village in Gillikin that you’ve probably never heard of. I’m here on scholarship with the plan to graduate, become a historian, and make a name for myself.” You looked back at him. “Is that good enough for you?”
“It’s excellent,” Fiyero said with a smile. “Dare I say I’ve learned more about you in one short day than I have in the entirety of my time at Shiz?”
You gave him a fake smile as you tapped your book. “Open your textbook. We have a lot to catch up on.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You’re not going to ask about me?”
“I mean this with all due respect—what could there possibly be to know about you?” You raised an eyebrow as you counted off on your fingers. “You’re from the Vinkus, you’re a prince, and you’ve never read a book a day in your life.”
“Oh, that’s not true,” he chastised. “I’ve read at least one—I just choose not to.”
“Well, how about we make that two?” You reached across the table and opened his book for him. “Unless that prince’s honor isn’t worth a thing.”
“Oh, it’s worth everything,” Fiyero said.
You raised your eyebrows expectantly. “Then prove it.”
“Very well,” he nodded. “I believe I can be serious for the next… fifteen minutes.”
“You won’t even get through a chapter,” you said. “Thirty.”
Fiyero frowned. “You set awfully high expectations.”
“Why do you think Doctor Dillamond forced me to help you?” you asked.
“Because you’re oh so nice and charitable?”
That got a genuine laugh out of you. If you’d been looking closer, you would have seen Fiyero’s smile grow, his eyes soften.
“Of course. Now, go to the glossary, find Ilara, and start writing. I know practically everything about her already, so you need to catch up.”
“I don’t have—”
You held out your extra notebook and fountain pen and cocked your head. “Don’t have what?”
Fiyero chuckled as he took them from you. “You’re prepared for everything, aren’t you?”
“Always,” you said with a satisfied smile. “Now get reading, my prince.”
He pressed his hand to his chest and bowed his head. “At once, my lady.”
-
You looked at the clock on the wall. Fiyero should have been here by now.
Granted, he was ten minutes late to your first meeting, but that was before he’d changed your expectations ever so slightly. Almost an hour had passed, and there was still no sign.
Of course, it wasn’t as if it hindered your progress. You kind of always expected him to fall short—if he showed at all, that was a credit to him—so you already had half the outline done. But a small part of you that you’d never admit to might have actually been looking forward to his presence.
You enjoyed the bout of verbal sparring he engaged you in. A lot of your classmates thought you were mean, and it never bothered you. Like you told Fiyero, you were here for one reason and one only, and the amount of people that liked you at university didn’t influence that at all. Your professors liked you and your grades were perfect—that was all.
But you couldn’t lie and say it wasn’t… nice. For Fiyero to take everything you said in stride, with a smile and a retort of equal measure.
It was nice. But that was all.
You were jarred out of your thoughts by someone calling your name. You looked up to see Fiyero sauntering over, bearing his usual smile and not much else.
“This is a library,” you said once he got closer. “You aren’t supposed to shout.”
He took the seat across from you. “I’d hardly call that shouting.”
“You aren’t meant to be loud,” you decided. “Why are you so late?”
Fiyero shrugged. “I lost track of time?”
“You know, we are partners,” you emphasized your last word, “so it would be helpful if you could try to put in the same amount of effort as me.”
“That seems impossible.” He gestured at your notebook with his head, your current page already nearly full. “You’ve got me beat on nearly everything.”
“It’s not that difficult,” you intoned. “I mean, just do some research outside of class.”
He stared at you expectantly, and you rolled your eyes. “I don’t know what I expect with you, honestly.”
“Exactly what you see, darling. Now,” Fiyero's gaze drifted over to the window, then looked back at you as he stood up, “what do you say we put a hold on things and enjoy this beautiful day?”
Your brows furrowed. “What, you mean do our research outside?”
“Is your work truly all you think about?” he asked in exasperation. “I mean leave the books and your notes and your stress here, and take a stroll around campus.”
“I’ve had my entire life planned out since I was ten years old,” you said. “Of course it is. I am not going to have some— some—”
“Some what?” Fiyero interrupted. He still looked remarkably unaffected by your outburst, that sideways smile of his infuriatingly charming.
“Some ridiculous, pompous, self-absorbed, lazy Winkie prince ruin it!” you exclaimed.
“Lazy,” he mused. “That’s a new one.”
“Of course you’re lazy! Why would we take a break when we have a project to do?”
Fiyero looked at you like you were crazy— no, like he was worried about you. He shook his head. “You really do have a one track mind.”
“When we’re in midterm season, yes, I d— what are you doing?”
Fiyero had started stacking all of the books you had on the table away from you, then he grabbed your notebook and your pen out of your hand.
“You need a break,” he said.
“I don’t need a break, and give that back—”
You reached for your materials but only just grazed his hand before he pulled them back and set them on top of the pile. “When was the last time you saw the sun?”
You scoffed. “I see the sun all the time.”
“Not from a window in the library or your dorm.”
You bit your tongue. Fiyero smiled and held out his hand.
“You need a break.”
You stared at his hand. He gave you a cloying look.
“It’s not a good sign that you’re this against self-care,” he said wryly.
You sighed and reluctantly placed your hand in his. “Fine.”
Fiyero grinned and he pulled you close. You yelped at the unexpected speed and you tumbled into his chest. Fiyero’s hand dropped to your waist, and for a moment all you could do was stare at him, wide eyed.
“Shall we?” he murmured.
You jolted away from him once you came back into yourself, your skin burning where he’d touched you.
“We shall,” you said, a bit too forcefully as you started walking a bit too fast.
Fiyero chuckled. He matched your pace easily, soon coming up beside you. “You’re already that excited?”
“Oh, shut up,” you bit out. “You’ve already gotten what you want. No need for more.”
He feigned naivety. “What would I possibly be doing?”
You shook your head with a huff. “I’m not entertaining that with a response.”
Fiyero simply hummed. You glanced over at him, still staying even with you, and then you let out another huff as you stopped. He didn’t miss a beat, pausing at the same time as you, then met your flustered expression with a smile.
“Yes?”
“You’re the one that wanted to do this,” you said, gesturing in front of you with a hand. “So lead the way.”
“Gladly,” he said. “I’m very good at taking the lead.”
Fiyero started walking and, though you had half a mind to take the opportunity and dart back to the library, you found yourself following him.
Cora’s words spun around your head as you and Fiyero walked together, about him turning the full force of his flirting on you in return for you being such a stickler for your midterm.
That was the embarrassing thing; you didn’t even think this was half of it, and he already had you blushing—and for what? It was as if you’d never even talked to a boy before.
You’d had plenty of experience back home. Village boys coming into your parents’ store to flirt at you, leaving notes in your desk in class, offering to walk you home at night—plenty of experience.
It didn’t matter that you denied them all and never went anywhere because you had a one track mind even then, and that Fiyero had done what no one else had and gotten you take a break simply because he asked nicely—
You sucked in a sharp breath as Fiyero’s arm suddenly pressed against your chest, stopping you in place. Your head snapped up to look at him, mouth already open with questions loaded, but he gestured with his head before you could ask any of them.
You’d nearly barreled right down the stairs from being lost in your head, without care nor consideration for actually taking the steps.
“Mind the gap, darling,” he said. “Wouldn’t want you damaging that brain of yours.”
“…Thank you,” you said once you’d regained the ability to speak words again. “One of us ought to have one.”
Fiyero laughed as he took his arm away. “Certainly.” He used it to gesture down the stairs. “Ladies first—unless you’re unsure of your ability to conquer them.”
“I’ll be just fine, Fiyero.” You started the descent, Fiyero right behind you, and you let out another short sigh.
There had to be something wrong with you. That was the only explanation for why you were acting this way.
Maybe you really did need to start getting more sleep.
#fiyero tigelaar x reader#fiyero x reader#wicked x reader#fiyero x you#fiyero tigelaar x you#fiyero movie x reader#wicked movie x reader
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Jealous viktor + reader 🙏
˚ ♡ ⋆。˚ ❀ so with my best, my very best, i set you free
(i love laufey 🗣️ her cover of "i wish you love" with the icelandic orchestra? 2:49 of heaven)
type: viktor x reader
summary: headcanons and a drabble of jealous viktor. headcanons are pre-relationship, the drabble is the established relationship ✪ ꨄ︎
word count: 2415
a/n: OMG FIRST ASK I'M SO HONORED I'M SO EXCITED YIPPEE !!! will be working on the others whenever i have the time, but TRUST i am plotting and scheming <3 any other askers, feel free to drop by! i hope i did your request justice, dear anon.
It was unfair to you, and to him, in his most miserable moments of pure self-pity
Viktor envied those who were healthy. He wished he wasn't born with the circumstances he was dealt. He would trade anything to spend one day with a respiratory system that didn't choke him from the inside out every time he took a breath
He was jealous of you, initially, when you first met
You seemed to have it so easy
Easy laughter, easy conversation, easy friends. You had an established life, you were loved, and you held yourself together with such ease that he sometimes wonders how much you're really holding back
He feels bad for assuming you were dealing with awful problems. But it was very likely. I mean, who was truly that... happy? Well off? At ease with themself and their role in the world? He was probably projecting
And then you somehow, by all the miracles a human could possibly be granted, managed to worm your way into his life and secure yourself there too
Viktor vehemently rejected you at first. He was much like a stray cat. You just gotta continuously give them love on their own terms, and often times, it was slow, and that concept applied to Viktor too
It started with small things. Brief greetings where you called him by name
"Good morning, Viktor."
"Nice to see you here today, Viktor."
"Viktor, you have a good night ok? Get home safe."
Including him in conversations. Commentary about how you two just happened to be in the same place at the same time. The library, a cafe, randomly in the middle of a bustling street
You always had that breezy way of acknowledging things. What a nice coincidence. It was all genuine
You were pleased to be surprised by his presence
Wordlessly holding the door for him, even if you really didn't have to wait. But it was never a big deal, so
He pushed it away. Brushed it off, and tried to forget about it, but those little moments kept circling through his mind like an irritating tape he couldn't dislodge from the disc player, and turning the TV off wasn't doing shit when those scenes were basically burned onto the screen
Like the natural progression of the lunar cycle, Viktor found himself unconsciously expecting you in his life
He can't remember a time when you weren't
Your greetings, your little gestures of kindness, that skill of small talk that meant so, so much to him were cherished like an altar of worship
While he was in no way, shape, or form completely opening himself up to befriending any more people, he began to feel much more natural with you and others you gave your time to
Which brought him to his current bit of emotional turbulence
That prickling in his chest whenever he saw you with other people, giving them your precious words and quality time? Yeah, he shouldn't be feeling this
You were allowed to have other friends! You had people in your life before him, and it doesn't mean you consider him any less just because you spent a moment or two with someone else!
He would tighten his grip on his cane, those mantras feverishly chanting in his mind as he walked in circles, attempting to reign his emotions into a more rational state
He had no right to feel jealous like this, but he couldn't help it
Jayce was his only real companion before, and now that he was a council member, he had less time for Viktor. He had the city to nurture and shape, a big responsibility. The loneliness of the lab was barely a noticeable shift from before
Now, you arrived as if by careless chance, giving him another glimpse, another hit of company, and it was maddeningly cruel to have those doses be in such short time frames
He was given what he needed and wanted, but never fully
Accepting that reality was going to be harder than accepting you truly wishing to be around him, in all his sardonic glory, his blunt nature that had most other people walking away. Just not you
To grapple with this selfish desire was humiliating
He was fully aware of how innately human it all was. If only it were easier. Someday.
For now, he would wait and bask in all the attention and friendship you offered him so willingly
You stood in front of your mirror, going over your carefully put together look one last time. You wanted to look good, and having the outfit fall into place like how you planned it in your head always gave you an extra boost of happiness before you left the house. Straightening the collar of your top one last time, you were finally satisfied.
Viktor was waiting for you in the living room. He stood up when you finally appeared, greeting you with a kiss to your cheek and a murmured "You look enchanting, as always."
You laughed and hugged him.
"And you're dashing, as per usual."
With your arm linked through his, the two of you went on your way. He had planned the date tonight. The winding route led to the sparkling, five-tiered fountain that marked the center of the shopping fair. The flowing water sparkled and danced beneath the fairy lights strung through the evergreens surrounding the space, and orchestral music floated up from where the quintet performed.
You two often went here after a long, stressful week, dining at one of the outdoor tables and idly chatting before hitting a couple stores. Most of the time, it would be the bookshop, the local woodcarver, and then the bakery. You had made it a tradition to buy one another a sweet treat, and it was always a delight to see if your guesses of enjoyment would be met or not.
There was certainly not a lack of other people around you, many of whom were also hand in hand. The center was a popular spot for local students and couples to unwind and spend time together.
When you both had your fill of sights and perusing your respective comforts, you made your way back to the fountain. The musicians had struck up a lively waltz, and many were dancing along now. Both of you shared a look, and moved to join in, albeit towards the edge of the crowds.
Dancing with Viktor was one of your favorite activities. He moved with such assuredness and care for your space, making him all the more captivating in his graces. The respectful placement of his hand on your waist, never going too far and risking your discomfort in public, and never straying away lest he appeared bored, Viktor made sure you were his priority.
After the song concluded, you spun Viktor around slowly to the rhythm of the music drawing to a close, dipping him into a kiss during the final note.
His cheeks were slightly flushed, both from the exertion and from your affection.
"I'm going to grab a drink. We can head home after, if you'd like," you told him, head leaning on his shoulder as he walked with you back up the steps.
"That's perfectly fine. I can hold your bag while you do that."
Oh, Viktor. Ever the gentleman.
You went inside the establishment, and ordered yourself a shirley temple with sweet cream, fully planning to share with him. You knew he had a penchant for the more saccharine in terms of taste. While you waited to order, another patron joined you after placing their order.
"Busy place tonight, isn't it?" they commented.
You turned your attention to them, surprised a stranger was making conversation with you, but you didn't mind. All harmless small talk, after all. You would be leaving soon anyways when your order was finished, so why not pass the time with pleasantries?
"It's one of the most popular cafes around here," you replied. "Friday nights always means live music, so people love to flock here. I should know. I frequent here often." you finished with a smile, and received one in return.
They continued engaging you in conversation, and you soon realized it was taking a bit for your drink. A shirley temple wasn't complicated, and you were worried something was wrong. Maybe they were short-staffed tonight? Did an accident occur in the back?
"Are you worried about your drink?"
"No, not really. More so the workers here," you were honest. Some of them were fellow students you see at the academy, and others knew you as a regular, and you had grown quite fond of the staff as they were of you.
"That's a surprise. You're very sweet."
Their order quickly arrived, and they bid you farewell before departing into the night. You walked up to the counter, asking if everyone was ok. The barista reassured you, saying it was only going to take a little while, and that everything is alright now. Relieved, you went back to your perch.
Outside, Viktor was waiting anxiously. This was taking a lot longer than he had anticipated.
When someone emerged from the cafe, he was tempted to get up and ask them if they'd seen you in there.
Yes, my partner. About this tall, very beautiful eyes, a smile you can't miss. Have you seen...?
God. He was contemplating approaching a stranger just to inquire about you. Luckily (or was it?) for him, they must've sensed him sneaking glances at the cafe and at them, because they approached him cheerily.
"You look a little lost. Need some help?" they asked.
"Oh, it's alright. I'm just waiting for someone."
At that, they perked up.
"It wouldn't happen to be someone wearing the same colored blouse as your vest would it?"
Yes. It was. He confirmed it.
"That's perfect actually! I was just talking to them, and since you know them, do you think they would be interested in exchanging contact information with me? They were quite lovely company, and I wouldn't mind getting to know them better."
Viktor could feel his heart drop and the temperature in his soul rise several degrees. What was going on? Where were you? What had happened in those minutes that you were gone?
"I will... ask them," he attempted to keep his tone even. "Mind giving me your contact information to pass along?"
The stranger happily handed Viktor a piece of paper, their messy scrawl sending a sting of irritation through him. That penmanship was not worthy of you, and would certainly not compare to the intricate scripting of his own handwritten notes and letters to you.
When you finally rejoined him, you could tell immediately something was off. You questioned him about it, and he huffed, telling you not to worry about it as you walked home. He didn't even pay any mind to the bag that hung on your arm, too caught up in his insecurities and worries.
That stranger was so much like you. So approachable. Good conversationalist. He couldn't help but imagine a scenario of you two getting along a little too well, and that made something deep inside him hurt. Clearly, he wasn't as good as keeping his thoughts off his face as he believed, or you had simply gotten better at understanding him, because you promptly asked him again.
"Come on, Viktor. Talk to me. What's going on in that beautiful mind of yours?"
"If you knew the full extent of what I'm thinking of, you wouldn't be so quick to call my mind beautiful," he grumbled tersely.
"You can't judge my reaction for me. Spill."
He bit the inside of his cheek. Finally, he confessed. It felt like ripping out stitches from his tongue.
"... someone at the coffee shop. They asked me if I knew you, and then asked if you would be interested in their contact information."
At that, you raised an incredulous eyebrow. Ah. You were blissfully oblivious of the jarring events.
"Viktor, I promise nothing is wrong. We were both waiting for our drinks, and they happened to be making small talk with me. That's all. I love you with my whole heart, and no one else can ever--will not ever--compare."
His heart fluttered. He knew that was the realistic truth, but it was nice to hear reassurance from you anyways.
"You mean it?" he asked.
"I mean it," you said sincerely.
Setting your bags and drink on the nearby bench, you swept him into your arms and twirled him around beneath the streetlight's warm glow.
"I love you," you declared, hands holding his face tightly. Your thumb brushed against the beauty mark above his lip. "And if you ever need reminders of that, you tell me immediately. I will literally drop everything and make sure your doubt disappears completely for as long as I can hold it back."
He gazed into your eyes, his own now slightly misted. Their glossiness reflected warmth and adoration as he took in your face. Seeing the conviction there did something to him. He didn't know what, but he found himself giving in to the urge to just close the distance and kiss you right then and there, open street be damned.
It began to snow. He only realized when he parted from you, the taste of your chapstick still lingering. He looked up, watching the delicate flakes be illuminated by the warm, golden glow. If there was a visualization for the love he felt, it would be that he decided. It all just built and built from all the little things, and filled him with such life it almost hurt.
"We should go home," he whispered, looking back at you.
"Oh yeah, we should. I was going to tell you!" you gasped, running back for your drink and the bag. "They gave me extra cakes and rolls. The last ones of the specialty desserts before their next seasonal delights, so we can share them." you beamed.
"Really? That's quite generous of them."
He wasn't surprised. You were just so damn lovable. He would give you all the baked goods you desired and more, if only for another smile from you directed at him. His fingers intertwined with yours, fondness consuming him as you chatted about the different flavors of the desserts, which ones you were most excited about, and which ones you think he'd like.
He had to agree with your assessments. A dark chocolate and orange mousse did sound quite appealing for him. He already knew he'd let you have the last bite, regardless.
"Oh, and Viktor?"
"Hmm?"
"You can throw away the contact. I don't need it."
I already have you.
#viktor arcane#viktor fluff#viktor x reader#arcane imagine#viktor nation#arcane x reader#arcane league of legends#arcane fic#my writing#arcane request#x reader
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Through the Lens
Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x fem!reader
Genres: Smut, fluff, photographer x model AU
Warnings: Swearing, alcohol, sexual content, penetration, nudity
Word Count: 12.5k
Summary: Six months. Full access. Intimate photos. A glimpse into the world of celebrity. And the last thing Jeon Wonwoo thought he was signing up for.
A/N: Publishing a draft, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!
The email arrives at the most inconvenient time, as all important emails do. Wonwoo had spent the entire day at the studio, taking newborn photos of a client’s latest chow chow—"latest" being bolded because this was the third time this year that he’d been called in for this client’s endless stream of puppies. By the time he’d finished, his body was ached raw from awkward angles, and his mind was numb from a six-hour editing marathon. He only managed to drag himself back to his flat after the sun had long since dipped below the horizon, craving the sweet refuge of solitude.
Alas, he was dragged through a two-hour catch-up session with his flatmate, Mingyu, who, with his never-ending supply of caffeine and chatter, somehow managed to convince him to watch a movie about a guy who falls in love with his childhood friend who is also a ghost. (No, it didn't make sense, but Mingyu enjoyed it, and Wonwoo had long given up trying to follow his logic.)
By the time he collapses onto the couch, half-dead from human interaction, the email is waiting.
"Subject: Assignment Confirmation: (Y/n) (Y/l/n)."
He groans as he clicks it open, his finger hovering over the delete button, ready to toss the whole thing into the digital voice. Then he reads the first line:
"Dear Mr. Jeon, we are pleased to confirm that you have been selected as the official photographer for the upcoming feature on (Y/n) (Y/l/n), world-renowned socialite and philanthropist."
"What in the world..." Wonwoo mutters. He doesn't even really remember submitting his name for this, and he's shocked he'd ever consider it. Wonwoo has long made a mental vow to avoid people like you - socialites, celebrities, influencers - whatever you call them. In the world of photography, they are all the same: walking photo opportunity with zero personality and way too much drama. Perfect for paparazzi, but not something he has time for.
He's a quiet, detached observer of the world. He doesn't need to be a part of it.
But the email continues:
"We have full confidence in your ability to capture the raw and humanising side of Ms. (Y/l/n), giving our readers an intimate glimpse into her life, both public and private."
Raw? Humanising? Intimate? Which magazine is this again, the National Geographic?
His eyes flicker back up to the top of the email, growing wide as he sees the sender. Well, shit. Opus Magazine. He does remember applying for this, although, in his defence, they hadn't specified the subject of the op-ed when he'd submitted it.
"We are excited to have you on board for this project, which will span the next six months. Your first shoot is scheduled for next Thursday, at 10 AM, at Ms. (Y/l/n)’s residence. We look forward to seeing how your unique perspective brings this project to life.
Thank you for your time and commitment.
Best regards, The Editorial Team Opus Magazine"
Wonwoo leans back, tilting his head toward the ceiling as if the world would offer him an answer. It doesn’t.
In all fairness, he has never actually met you before. But he's seen you everywhere. The perfectly curated Instagram feed. The charity galas. The interviews. The way you seem to be exactly what everyone wants you to be: flawless, effortless, untouchable.
A three-page approval form for every photo, he assumes.
The door to the living room creaks open. "How are you not asleep yet?" Mingyu says cheerfully, poking his head in. Wonwoo glances at the clock on his screen: 2:43 am. He chooses not to point out that Mingyu's still awake too.
"I've been assigned to photograph (Y/n) (Y/l/n) for the next six months." Wonwoo grumbles, tapping his phone screen as if he could wipe away the whole thing with a swipe.
Mingyu's eyes widen in surprise. "Wait - (Y/n) (Y/l/n)? As in Forbes Under 30 (Y/n) (Y/l/n)?!"
"Yes. That one." Wonwoo replies flatly, eyes narrowing. "Six months. Full access. I'm going to want to die halfway through."
Mingyu looks delighted, clearly missing the gravity of the situation. "Ooh, this is going to be so fun! You're going to be all glamorous and -"
"No. No, I'm not," Wonwoo interrupts. "I'm going to hide behind my camera and take photos of her from so far away that she doesn't even know I'm there."
“Yeah, okay, Mr. Anti-Social. But—” Mingyu plops down beside him, grinning. “—what if she wants to get to know you?"
Wonwoo turns to him, unamused. "It's a professional gig to make her look good; she won't want me digging into her real life."
Mingyu, without missing a beat, grabs a bag of chips and shoves them into Wonwoo’s lap. “Just saying. People don’t come with Instagram models and high-profile gigs attached unless there’s something extra special about them, right? Maybe she’s a hidden gem.”
"Hidden gem?" Wonwoo scoffs. "Or a nightmare in designer shoes."
It doesn’t take long for Mingyu to bombard him with unsolicited advice. “... here’s my tip for you. Don’t just take boring photos. You know what’s going to make her stand out in the sea of perfect socialite portraits?” He paused dramatically. “Unfiltered moments. Catch her when she’s off guard. Capture her when she doesn’t know she’s being watched.”
Wonwoo shoots him a deadpan look. “What, you mean like stalking her?”
“I prefer the term artistic observation,” Mingyu replies, grinning mischievously. “Trust me. You’re going to fall in love with her vulnerability. You know, the real her. The one she hides behind all the glam.”
Wonwoo shakes his head, already regretting this conversation. He’s not even met you, and here Mingyu was, crafting an entire narrative of undiscovered depth based on nothing but a couple of well-lit photos.
Still, his finger hovers over the accept button.
Six months. Full access. Intimate photos.
Maybe he should just ... get on with it.
Wonwoo hasn't actually met you yet and he's already regretting his decision.
He's spent the past week alternating between panicking and ignoring the dozens of emails for your team, each one more frantic than the last. First, they sent a detailed itinerary of the shoot, followed by an even more detailed list of instructions on what he should wear, when to arrive, and what colour lens he should use for "optimal lighting" - as if he didn’t know how to work a camera by now.
9:00 AM, Inbox:
“Subject: URGENT: RE: Ms. (Y/l/n)’s Preferences for the Day”
“Good morning, Mr. Jeon,
I hope you're prepared for today’s shoot! Please note that Ms. (Y/l/n) prefers a soft light filter on all images, especially when she’s not directly posing. We’ve attached a sample of how she likes her candid photos to look (it’s very specific). Do ensure that you have the required lens, and if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to reach out.
Best, Assistant to Ms. (Y/l/n)’s PR Team.”
Wonwoo stares at the email for a moment, blinking. Soft light filter? Do you breathe, or do you simply exist in a perpetual soft-focus glow? His finger hovers over the "delete" button, but he refrains. He already knows this is a battle he’s not going to win.
He takes a deep breath and forces himself to get up. He throws on his jacket, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him worse than when he submitted his final portfolio at college, and the project hasn't even begun yet. There's no escaping now. He has to do it - he's been hired for this. Paid for it, too, which means he's legally obliged to at least try.
He arrives at the shoot location just before 10 AM: a sprawling, minimalist mansion that looks like it's been pulled from the pages of an interior design magazine. It's sleek, modern, and incredibly intimidating. The atmosphere is slick with an 'unapproachable luxury' vibe, and Wonwoo can already feel the tension in his shoulders as he steps out of his car.
A member of the PR team greets him immediately, smiling far too brightly for someone who's probably already been working since 5 AM. "Mr. Jeon! So glad you could make it. Please follow me inside, Ms. (Y/l/n) is just getting ready.”
Wonwoo nods, trying to maintain the calm he doesn't really feel, muttering a "thank you" in response.
Inside, everything is sleek and spotless - nothing out of place, nothing too personal. Like no one's ever lived here. He's brought to a sitting room where the lighting is admittedly perfect. Almost too perfect. He's not used to working in these conditions. He's used to having to fix things last minute, create something out of nothing, or use the imperfections to his advantage. A soft hum of quiet chatter fills the air, and a stylist is busy adjusting something behind the curtain.
He doesn't know what he's expecting as you walk out. Maybe someone a little more ordinary, a little less polished than the figure seen in magazines. He's worked with models before, and they've always been so normal outside of shoots. But when you step into the light, it's like the room takes a collective breath. You're impossibly beautiful, even he can admit that, in that "perfectly put together, but effortless charming" way. Your smile hits him like a tidal wave, all dazzling teeth and liquid confidence, and for a split second, he forgets why he's here.
He opens his mouth to speak, but what comes out is a dry, “Hello.”
You tilt your head slightly, looking him up and down with eyes that seem to see everything. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Jeon,” you say, your voice smooth, almost teasing.
Wonwoo feels a flutter of unease in his chest, though he’s not sure why. It’s not like he hasn’t worked with famous people before, and yet something about you—something about the way you look at him—feels like an interrogation.
“Ah, well,” he stammers for a second, clearing his throat, “I… I hope it’s all positive.”
The smile on your lips doesn’t waver, but there’s something almost too sharp about it. The kind of smile that’s practised, like you’ve been wearing it since you were a child in front of mirrors, learning the exact angle for maximum charm.
“Oh, absolutely. You’ve got quite the reputation,” you say, as if it’s an afterthought. “They told me you’d be professional.”
Professional. Right. Because that’s exactly what he is. He’s always professional, no matter how much he wants to roll his eyes at the utter insanity of the situation.
He offers a stiff nod. “Good. That’s what I’m here for.”
You smile again, but this time it’s softer. There's a flicker of something in your eyes, almost like amusement, but also curiosity. For a moment, Wonwoo wonders if he's just a novelty to you, something to poke at for fun. Or maybe you think you’re the novelty here, and he's just another player in the game you're used to winning. Either way, he can feel the weight of that gaze, and it’s not entirely comfortable.
You take a step closer, and Wonwoo resists the urge to take a step back. It’s like you have this gravitational pull—magnetic, impossible to ignore. But he’s not going to let that faze him. His eyes stay focused on your face, trying not to let your presence throw him off his game.
“So,” you say, tilting your head slightly, “what’s your plan for today? I’m assuming I’m not just going to stand here all day and look pretty?”
It's a light question, but he can hear the expectation in your voice. He’s used to people expecting things. It’s just—well, usually, it’s an email with 10 bullet points, not an interrogation delivered with a smile.
“I’ll take a few shots first,” Wonwoo replies, keeping his tone neutral. “Get the feel of the lighting. Then we’ll see if we need anything more posed.”
You nod, and decide the conversation is over, floating back over to the set.
Wonwoo lifts his camera, adjusting the settings to give himself a moment to settle down.
You stand still, not quite posing, but perfectly aware of your body. Everything about you seems calculated. Even your fingers, relaxed at your sides, seem to fall into the right positions at just the right time. It’s strange, though, because you’re not the robotic kind of poised he’s used to. There's a subtle looseness to you, a humanity that he doesn't expect.
“How does this work?” you say after a beat. “You just take my picture and call it a day?”
Wonwoo focuses on adjusting the lens, trying to suppress the slight frustration that’s bubbling up. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to take your picture. All he wants is to get the job done and move on.
But instead, he clicks the shutter. One, two, three shots in rapid succession. The light catches your face in a way that’s almost too good to be real, too perfect for anyone to be this unfailingly photogenic.
“Relax,” he mutters more to himself than to you. “Just act natural.”
You tilt your head again, this time a little more playfully. “Natural?” You raise an eyebrow, a soft chuckle escaping you. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten what that is.”
Wonwoo’s finger freezes over the shutter, and he looks at you again, the barest hint of annoyance tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, I’m sure you can manage."
You laugh then, a light, almost mythical sound, and for a moment, the tension in the room eases just enough for Wonwoo to breathe. “I’ll try. But no promises.”
He clicks another shot, and for the first time, something in his chest loosens. It’s not much—just a tiny shift—but it’s there. You’re... interesting.
“Tell me, Mr. Jeon,” you ask, your voice low. "I'm intrigued as to why you decided to do this shoot. What's your opinion on people like me?"
Wonwoo lowers the camera, the question catching him off guard. “What do you mean?”
You shrug, your gaze flicking toward the window, your expression momentarily unreadable. “People who live in the public eye. People who everyone thinks they know, but don’t. What’s your opinion on that?”
“People like you don’t need opinions,” he says, his voice flat, “because you already know how everyone feels about you.”
He’s being sharp. Cold, even. And he knows it. But he can’t help himself. This isn’t the first time he’s worked with someone who expects the world to revolve around them. It’s what they do. It’s why he keeps his distance.
You don’t react immediately. You just stare at him for a moment, your expression unreadable.
For a split second, he wonders if he’s crossed a line. But then your lips twitch, just the slightest hint of a smile.
“Well,” you finally say, your tone warm but still guarded, “I suppose that’s one way to see it.”
Wonwoo wants to say something else, maybe something witty or sarcastic, but he stops himself. Instead, he lifts the camera again, focusing on the next shot.
No matter how much he tries to bury it, Wonwoo can’t help but feel... a little intrigued by you.
Just a little.
The second shoot is at your apartment.
Wonwoo had been floored when he'd found out - although the spotless nature of the first home had kind of given away that it wasn't actually yours. More than that, the fact that he, despite meaning to have creative control over the project, wasn't told that the purpose of the first shoot was to show a contrast between how people thought you lived and how you actually lived. Seemed like something he should have a say in.
As he arrives, the reality is different to what he'd imagined, and the opposite of the slick, minimalist mansion.
Your apartment is, in a word, alive. The first thing that hits him is the colour. Bright hues of teal and mustard yellow leap off the walls, the kind of vibrant tones that feel like they belong in a 70s sitcom. The entire place seems to be a throwback to a cooler, bygone era, as if time itself was gently bent to live in this space. Mid-century modern furniture clashes with bold retro patterns—geometric prints, zigzags, and polka dots galore.
The space is wide and open, but it’s not the sterile kind of open that’s all white walls and cold metal. No, this is a living, breathing room that demands attention with its quirk and charm. He prefers it.
The walls are covered in vintage posters from concerts, movies, and random ads from the 60s and 70s—faded, but still full of energy. One poster catches his eye in particular: it’s a photograph of an old jazz band in action, the colours almost washed out but still vibrant in their intensity. He notices that it’s not framed, just tacked on with mismatched pins as though it was thrown up without a second thought. It’s a detail that makes him think you probably chose it on a whim.
At the far side of the room, there's a vintage bar cart—wooden, with brass accents, stocked with various bottles and a large glass decanter that catches the light as though it’s waiting for its next cocktail to be poured. A small but proud collection of classic board games, with bright, cheerful colours that look like they belong on a childhood shelf, sits close next door.
Despite the space being filled with vintage charm, there’s a kind of organised chaos to it all. The floor might have an old rug with faded patterns that don't quite match the couch, and the coffee table—half-full of magazines, books, and a stray mug—couldn’t be called tidy, but it’s the kind of mess that makes the space feel lived-in.
The thought makes his stomach twist uncomfortably.
You lead him inside, wearing a loose, earthy sweater and faded denim jeans, a marked contrast to the polished image he’s gotten used to seeing in magazines. You still look beautiful, but comfortable. Not model-perfect.
“You can set up wherever you’d like,” you say casually. Your voice is warm, and easy-going in a way that’s almost disarming.
Looking around, he realises for the first time that none of your team is here. And, weirdly, it unsettles him.
He finds himself pausing for a moment when he notices a worn book sitting on the coffee table, the edges curled with time. He’s always had a soft spot for books, the way their covers could tell so much about the person who owned them. And that book? It’s clearly one you’ve read over and over.
His fingers hover over his camera lens for a moment, and before he can stop himself, he mutters, “You read a lot?”
You glance over, surprised. “Hmm?”
“The book.” He gestures vaguely, “It looks well-loved.”
You laugh softly, a short, pleasant sound that makes his chest tighten in a way he doesn’t fully understand. “Oh, that? It’s nothing, really. Just something I found at a little bookstore in Paris. I’ve read it a million times, but... sometimes, it feels like you can always find something new in the pages, you know?”
Wonwoo opens his mouth, but no words come out. It's almost spinning his head around - the way that you're mixing together something so casual like a well-worn book with the detail that you got it in Paris. There's this weird grating of human and celebrity that he doesn't know how to deal with.
You seem to notice the shift in his gaze, your smile becoming a little softer. But instead of explaining more, you walk over to the window and lean against the frame, glancing outside. “So, how do you want to do this today?” you ask, clearly trying to get back on track.
Wonwoo nods, snapping himself back into work mode. “Let’s start with some natural shots,” he says briskly, pointing to the light streaming in through the window. “You can stay by the window, maybe. I’ll catch the light.”
You agree without hesitation, sitting down on the frame.
The shots begin. You sit, your eyes thoughtful but distant, as if lost in some thought. He clicks the shutter a few times, and the room is silent except for the rhythmic sound of the camera.
The more he shoots, the more he finds himself paying attention to the small things. The way you absentmindedly twirl a lock of hair between your fingers. The way your posture softens after a few minutes, like you’re forgetting he’s there, and yet still poised.
The next shot clicks, and you look up at him, catching his eye.
“Is that good?” you ask, breaking the silence.
He swallows, feeling a slight tension in his throat that wasn’t there before. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s perfect.”
The words come out without thinking, and he can feel his cheeks flush slightly at the sincerity with which he says them. He's fiddling with his camera settings again, trying to adjust the light for the shot, as you sidle over to the small vintage record player near the window. The soft crackling sound of a jazz record fills the air.
He doesn’t expect it when you suddenly speak, your voice soft but with an underlying curiosity.
“So,” you say, not turning around, your fingers gently tapping against the edge of the record player, “I’ve been wondering… you’ve been pretty quiet this whole time. Not like the others. Why is that?”
Wonwoo glances up, caught off guard. “What do you mean?” He doesn’t look at you directly, still adjusting the focus on the lens, anything to avoid eye contact.
“I mean,” you laugh lightly, spinning the record player’s dial, “everyone else I work with is always talking. About work, about their lives, about whatever’s trending—people like to talk, especially when they’re nervous. You’re the only one who hasn’t said much about anything.”
There’s an open quality in your tone, no judgment, no pressure, just curiosity. And for some reason, that makes him feel even more exposed than if you had pried into his personal life directly.
“I guess I’m not a fan of small talk,” Wonwoo mutters, setting the camera down a little too abruptly, feeling a tightness in his chest. “I don’t really need to fill the silence.”
You turn to face him then, and for the first time, he notices how unguarded your expression is. There’s no fake smile or calculated pose—just an interested look.
"I get that," you say, your voice now quieter, almost thoughtful. "But... do you ever feel like you miss out? I mean, silence is... great, but it’s also really lonely sometimes, isn’t it?"
"Not really,” he says, not meeting your gaze. “I’m fine with being on my own. I’ve always preferred it.”
You tilt your head, studying him with an intensity that makes him shift uncomfortably. "You know," you say, taking a step toward him, your voice soft but deliberate, "I always thought I’d be fine alone too. It's funny how we get so used to being surrounded by people, by noise, by the ‘right’ kind of company—when, in the end, it’s really the silence that’s the most honest."
Your words sink into him, a little unexpected, a little disorienting. There's a weight to them—like you’ve really thought about this.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, his voice less guarded, almost teasing, but there’s an edge of curiosity there too.
You pause for a beat, a soft smile playing on your lips. There's something mischievous in the way your eyes twinkle. "Well," you begin, you're voice light, "what I mean is that maybe the real stuff gets lost when you get too good at hiding behind the quiet."
He raises an eyebrow, but before he can reply, you finish with a playful, almost theatric sigh: "Or maybe I'm just trying to get you to talk. You know, because I certainly don't want to be the only one in the spotlight in this room. It's exhausting, really."
He can't help it—he laughs. A quiet, breathy sound, but it’s real. Something about the absurdity of it all. Something about the way you deflect it all with that charming, nonchalant smile.
"You're a work in progress," you grin wider, eyes narrowing. "But I'm going to crack you open."
Wonwoo is still chuckling, a disbelieving snort of laughter he can't hide. He leans back in his chair, running his hand through his hair as he studies you with a wry smile. "Yeah, well, I’m not sure I’m the one who needs cracking open," he says, his tone half teasing, half resigned, as if he’s already lost the battle.
You pause for a moment, surprised that you've actually got him joining in on your jokes. But you don't press. Instead, you give him a sideways grin and lounge out over your statement, mustard couch. "Tell me, Mr Jeon - do you still think your opinion of me doesn't matter? Should I go back to hiding behind the perfect image for you to capture what everyone else already thinks of me?"
Wonwoo chuckles, shaking his head. He can’t deny that something about you has started to chip away at his carefully cultivated indifference. "I don’t think you could ever hide, even if you tried."
The jazz record continues to hum in the background, and Wonwoo starts to wonder if he's finally found something worth shooting beyond the lens.
When he makes it back home, the camera bag feels heavier than usual, and the moment he closes his front door, he's hit when the familiar sense of quiet.
He dumps the camera bag on the kitchen counter and heads straight for his desk, flipping open his laptop with the enthusiasm of someone who’s about to dive into hours of editing. The usual dread of looking through the pictures fades as he opens the files. He didn’t think he’d be so invested in this shoot, especially not with you, of all people. But the truth is, the moment he starts scrolling through the shots, he’s a little bit stunned.
There are candid moments of you, captured so naturally. Your hair falls in your face as you laugh at something he barely remembers, the light coming in through the window bathing you in that soft golden glow like you were born for this. The quiet, unguarded moments—your fingers absentmindedly tapping against the coffee table, your eyes softened with a thought he’ll never fully know.
He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until the shot where you’re sitting by the window, gazing out at the street, completely oblivious to the lens. It’s raw. And weirdly, it’s beautiful in a way he didn’t anticipate.
With a sigh, he leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair.
And damn it, now he’s got to figure out how to keep it professional when all he wants to do is scroll back through these photos of you for the next few hours.
He grabs his coffee again, takes another sip, and mutters under his breath, "What’s the point of professionalism, anyway?"
Wonwoo is not thrilled about attending the gala. In fact, he's pretty sure if he could just get lost in the crowd and pretend he's not there, he would. But, alas, work. He's there, standing awkwardly by the hors d'oeuvres table, holding the camera like it's a shield. The entire place is dripping in opulence - golden chandeliers, champagne towers, and a sea of glittering gowns and tuxedos so shiny they could be mistaken for mirrors. It's the kind of event where everyone’s either a billionaire or pretending to be one.
And then, of course, there’s you.
You move through the room like you've got a personal spotlight, laughing with people he's never heard of, shaking hands with people he has. The dress you're wearing is stunning, too, naturally - deep emerald green, with a neckline just high enough to make it look elegant but low enough to make him briefly question his entire career as a photographer. He should be focused on the job. But you're flashing that perfect smile, chatting with rich old men and influencers alike, completely different from the version of you he saw in your apartment just a week ago, laughing over a worn book.
He watches you interact with the other guests, a dance of small talk, well-placed compliments, and calculated interest, and suddenly, he feels like he’s been shrunk down to the size of a cockroach. If someone took a photo of him, An intruder in your world would be the title. The camera, which he thought would make him feel a little less out of place, feels heavy in his hands, as though it might give away the fact that he’s just not meant to be here.
You glance in his direction, catching his eye from across the room. He freezes. He can almost hear you sighing internally before you offer a small, knowing smile.
"Mr. Jeon!" Your voice floats toward him over the clink of glasses and high-pitched laughter. "How are we doing? Getting some good shots?"
He stares at you, blinking. You’re asking him in that casual, sweet tone that’s just different from your “public persona” voice. It’s like a crack in the glass, and he suddenly feels... disoriented. The contrast is so stark that for a second, he forgets how to respond.
"Uh—yeah, I mean, everything’s fine," he stammers, adjusting the camera lens like it might offer him some sort of escape from his discomfort. "Just, you know. Capturing the glamour." He motions vaguely at the glittering scene around him, feeling more awkward by the second. His fingers hover over the shutter button, but they hesitate.
You laugh, a polite, rehearsed sound. "Ah, yes. Glamour. The thing I do so well." You flash him a smile that could melt diamonds and suddenly he feels like he’s about two seconds away from accidentally snapping a picture of his own nervous breakdown.
The silence between you stretches just long enough for him to feel like the entire room is waiting for him to speak. He clears his throat. "It’s... different, isn’t it? Here?"
You tilt your head slightly, raising an eyebrow, as if trying to gauge whether he’s joking or not. "Different?" You laugh again, but this time it’s more self-deprecating. "I guess. But it’s what I’m used to. The lights, the faces. I mean, it’s all a bit much sometimes, but..." You trail off, and for a second, it feels like you're letting something slip.
But then someone else approaches you, pulling you into a conversation about some charity auction or art gala (he stops paying attention, realising he’s been trying to capture your attention too long), and just like that, the moment is over. You slip right back into the role, offering another perfect smile, your body language straightening, as if you’re suddenly filled with all the energy you didn’t seem to have a second ago.
The space feels suffocating all of a sudden, and Wonwoo wonders if he should have stayed home, maybe edited a few more of those photos, or gone for a walk—anything to avoid being a part of this gilded zoo. He looks through the lens, catching another shot of you laughing with an older gentleman, your hand resting lightly on his arm.
A loud crash breaks through the air.
Wonwoo's head snaps in the direction of the sound, instinctively lifting the camera as if it's somehow going to make sense of the situation.
He spots a waiter, wide-eyed and mortified, standing frozen next to a toppled champagne tower. Glasses are shattered everywhere, a sea of bubbly liquid spilling across the pristine white carpet like some kind of modern art installation.
The room falls into a hushed silence.
He can feel the collective tension, the people who’d been laughing and chatting a second ago suddenly stiffening in disapproval. Someone gasps—probably just for dramatic effect—but the truth is, everyone’s too rich, too important to react with anything other than mild disdain. A few uncomfortable glances are exchanged, and one of the older men starts muttering under his breath, his hands clutching his glass like it’s a lifeline.
And then, like someone flipping a switch, you’re there.
You glide through the crowd with a purposeful ease that makes everything else fade into the background. People part for you as though they know exactly what you’re about to do. The smile that had been plastered on your face during the earlier conversation is gone, replaced with a soft, serious expression, one that’s sharp in its concern.
"Excuse me," you say, your voice suddenly commanding but not unkind. Wonwoo can tell the waiter is waiting for the blowout, the yelling, the anger - but it's not there.
"It's alright, don't worry. It's just a few glasses. Are you hurt?"
The waiter shakes his head, and you kneel down beside him to start gathering up the broken shards of glass with careful motion. "Let me help, then."
The people around you are still hesitant, staring awkwardly, unsure whether they should step in or just stand back and pretend like nothing's happening. But you’re focused on the task at hand, moving with precision, completely unaffected by the sea of disapproving looks that surround you.
Wonwoo finds himself frozen again, his camera half-raised. His finger hesitates on the shutter button, unsure if he should capture the moment. You don’t seem to care about the image you're creating, not in the way you do for the cameras. Here, you’re just someone helping out, unbothered by the chaos unfolding around you.
After you finish clearing up the last of the glass, you stand up and dust your hands off, flashing a quick smile to the waiter, who looks completely relieved. You stand tall, taking in the now-silent room with a playful glint in your eye.
“Well," you say, wiping your hands on your dress, "I always knew I was good at breaking the ice, but I didn’t think it’d be literal this time."
The room goes quiet for a beat, and then, just like that, a few people start to chuckle. Someone claps lightly, another offers a small cheer, and the tension evaporates into a burst of laughter.
You throw your hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, don’t all applaud at once. Just trying to keep things interesting around here."
With that, the conversation picks up again. The guests move, shift, and suddenly, the night feels like it’s back in motion. Wonwoo watches from a distance, surprised at how quickly the entire atmosphere shifted. You just defused the room with a smile and a joke, as if it had all been part of the plan.
"Hey," you're walking up to him, stepping into his personal space as the final whirlwind of flashing cameras wraps up an evening of too many glasses of champagne and handshakes that feel more like a chore than a greeting. "What are you doing after this?"
Wonwoo looks up, startled. "Uh, I… well, I was just going to head back. Got a few edits to finish up," he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck.
You tilt your head, studying him with a slight grin. "That sounds like fun," you tease. "But I’m guessing it’s not exactly going to be a good time."
He pauses, feeling almost embarrassed for a moment, before shrugging. "I guess I could skip it."
A small beat of silence passes between you, and then you speak again, quieter this time. "You know," you start, your voice softer than before, "if you don’t have anything better to do... I’d, uh, actually kind of like to go out. No fancy people, no cameras. Just… I don't know, something normal."
Wonwoo looks at you for a beat, wondering if you're asking him to go with him, as the corners of his lips twitch upwards. "You mean no red carpets and champagne?"
You laugh, soft and genuine. "Exactly," you say, your voice laced with a touch of vulnerability. "Just, you know, being normal for once."
The way you say "normal" almost makes it sound like a forbidden word in your world, and Wonwoo feels a flicker of something.
"I’m in," he says, the words slipping out before he can think too much about them.
You give him a small, almost shy smile. "Alright. You follow me."
It’s an hour later, and you’re driving through the city, the sound of the tyres on the road mixing with the faint hum of the radio. You didn’t tell him where you were going, just that it was "something fun." Wonwoo’s pretty sure you’ve never driven anywhere that didn’t require a driver, but here you are—on a small, crowded street near the heart of the city, pulling up to a diner with neon lights flickering like they haven’t been replaced in a decade.
"This place?" Wonwoo asks, looking out the window at the 24/7 diner with its retro sign and low-key vibe.
"Yep. We said normal, right? Well, this is as normal as it gets."
He raises an eyebrow, but before he can protest, you’re already getting out of the car, leaving him no choice but to follow.
Inside, it’s a whole different world. The diner smells faintly of coffee and fried food, and the clink of mugs and chatter of a few late-night patrons makes the place feel strangely cosy. There’s a jukebox in the corner, and despite the place being stuck in a time warp, you both sit down at a booth, the vinyl seats creaking under you as you slide in.
You both sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the normal kind of silence that feels more like breathing than awkwardness. And then, finally, you speak.
"You want to know something crazy?" You say, looking down at the menu, though you made it clear in the car that you've already memorised it.
Wonwoo looks up, his brow furrowing slightly as he nods.
"This is probably the first time in a while I haven't felt like I have to perform. Which is, actually, crazy. Because I'm hanging out with a professional photographer who's being paid to capture every moment of my life." You let out a disbelieving scoff, your lips curling into a grimace-like smile.
"I get that," he replies, his voice softer than he expects. "It's different for me too. I'm not sure I remember the last time I spoke to any of my friends, other than my flatmate, who insists that we have a catch-up meeting every day."
You chuckle, the crinkles of your smile flattening out.
The waitress arrives, interrupting for a moment, and you order a milkshake without hesitation. He orders something random, revelling in the thrill of not thinking too much about anything.
"I get lonely sometimes," you say after your order arrives, so quietly that Wonwoo almost misses it. "I know it’s weird, I mean, people are always around me. But it’s like... they don’t really see me. They only see the version of me they expect."
He's not sure if you're still tipsy, although the rosy flush of your cheeks suggests so, or if you now feel very comfortable with him.
Wonwoo isn’t sure what to say, so he just lets the silence settle for a moment, letting your words hang in the air like a soft echo.
"You know," he says after a beat, his voice lighter than before, "I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who can juggle both a charity gala and a diner milkshake at 3 AM with such grace."
You snort, blowing bubbles into the drink that leave splashes of pink liquid sizzling on the diner table. The sight is enough to set Wonwoo off too, laughter spilling out of him in a way that's only possible in the early hours of the morning.
"I should take a photo of that," he chuckles as you give him a large grin, the straw still sticking out of your teeth as you mop up the spilt drink.
But he doesn't. Doesn't even think to take his camera out of its bag.
Instead, he just watches you—really watches you—for the first time tonight, as you sit there, messy and unapologetic, with your eyes twinkling. And you're not the person everyone in the ballroom thought you were.
"Maybe we should do this more often," you say, your voice unexpectedly soft as you look up at him.
Wonwoo nods, the corner of his mouth curving up in the smallest of smiles. "Yeah. Maybe we should."
You've taken a surprising interest in Wonwoo’s regular work. Since you got him to admit that this project wasn’t really his usual gig, you've made it your personal mission to dig deeper. 70% of your questions have revolved around what he actually enjoys doing, the kind of work that doesn’t come with velvet ropes or high society guests. It’s a little like watching a puzzle slowly get pieced together—a mixture of curiosity and the way you just can't let go of something that intrigues you.
So, when you mention, "I think it's only fair you show me what you usually do," it’s not entirely out of the blue.
"Alight, alright," Wonwoo mutters, realising that he owes it to you to let you peek inside his world too. "But don't expect anything glamorous. Magazine spreads don't feature heavily."
Your eyebrows shoot up in an exaggerated gasp that has him rolling his eyes. "I'm not expecting you to change into a suit and tie, if that's what you're worried about." You grin. "but if you do, I'll totally snap some behind-the-scenes shots."
"Don't get any ideas," he mutters, but there's a soft laugh behind his words.
You look like an archaeologist discovering ancient treasures as you step into the studio, and Wonwoo has to resist the urge to photograph the look on your face. He wasn't lying when he said it wasn't much, but it's quieter than the outside world, which is just the way Wonwoo likes it. The walls are lined with a few scattered prints, some framed, others just leaning against the wall, like they’ve been left to gather dust for the sake of catching a different light. The easel in the corner holds the remnants of his last attempt to paint, the workbench cluttered with film rolls, empty coffee cups, and a few stray brushes.
You pause in the doorway, taking it all in.
"So," you begin, "where's the real deal? Show me your favourites."
He shrugs and walks over to a table filled with various photo equipment, adjusting his glasses as he picks up a roll of film. "I’m not sure what you’d consider my 'thing,' but I mostly shoot for personal projects. I like experimental work. I mean..." He looks over at you, and for a second, there's a flicker of something more, something deeper. "I like showing things that don't get seen. Telling stories that don’t get told."
You step further into the room, your curiosity piqued. "The more I learn, the more I marvel at the fact that you chose to do photograph me," you tease.
He looks back at you, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "It's good to try new things sometimes. And, well ... I'm not so sure you're story has been entirely captured yet."
He pulls a print down from a shelf, careful with the edges, and walks over to where you're sitting. "This," he says, sitting next to you, "is one of my newer pieces. It’s… different from the usual stuff I shoot. It’s a little raw, a little wild."
The picture is a little hard to make out - a blur of colours and light, like a dream caught in motion. There's an image of a figure - slightly distorted and bathed in neon blue and orange, wrapped in streaks of light that seem to bend and curve in ways that don't make sense. It almost looks like the figure is dissolving into the frame itself, as though they’re becoming part of the world rather than a separate subject within it.
"It’s a long exposure," he continues, "but I played with the focus to distort things more than I usually do. You can see the movement in it—like the person isn’t static. They’re not just there. They’re changing. Becoming."
You tilt your head, your gaze flickering back and forth as you try to make sense of the image.
"It’s unsettling," you say softly, more to yourself than to him.
Wonwoo nods, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "That’s what I like about it. People always expect something clear, something neat when they look at photos. But sometimes, the chaos is what’s real. The blur, the overlap of light, it’s how I see things."
"It’s like… you know when you try to hold onto a moment, but it keeps slipping away? That’s what this is. The image is still, but everything around it keeps moving. It doesn’t stay still, no matter how much you want it to."
You reach out, fingertips brushing the edge of the frame, tracing the glowing streaks of light. "It’s almost like you’re trying to capture the space between things."
He pauses, eyes flickering to yours as if reading your expression. "It’s like that with people, too, right? You think you know them, but then they change. Or maybe you change. And all of a sudden, you’re looking at them and wondering who they really are. Who they were. Who they’re becoming."
You’re silent for a moment, but your gaze hasn't left his and it's piercing into him with all of the unspoken words.
And then you're eyes snap to something behind him, and he feels a little empty in the void of your gaze. A small smile slips across your lips. And you're gone, moving quickly out of your seat to get a closer look at whatever has pulled you away from him.
Wonwoo's head swivels around, like if he loses sight of you, you'll disappear.
"Now, this is unexpected."
Your voice is laced with that mischievous tone, and it snaps Wonwoo back into reality, his gaze darting to where you're now standing, eyes fixated on the shelf behind him.
He feels his cheeks heat up before he even registers why. The camera equipment on the shelf, partially obscured by a few stray photo albums, is a large, well-worn camera with an impressive lens. But it’s not the camera that’s got your attention—it’s the stack of photos beside it.
He swallows. "Oh, those. They're… um, just some old shoots,” he mutters, reaching for the pile as quickly as he can.
But you're already stepping closer, your grin widening as you grab one from the top of the stack. Your eyes light up as you hold it up, and it’s immediately clear why you’re grinning.
The photo is a high-end fashion shot, one of those artsy ones. It features a model—clad in nothing but strategically placed shadows and some very expensive body paint, in what can only be described as sultry poses. The subject's entire form is captured with the kind of grace and sensuality you normally associate with glossy magazines and high-end ads.
You raise an eyebrow. “So… this is what you’re hiding in here?”
Wonwoo, face flushed to a shade of pink that doesn’t belong anywhere near a professional photographer, clears his throat awkwardly. “It’s not what you think. It was a concept shoot. A long time ago. For... art.”
“Art.” You repeat the word slowly, like you're savouring it. “A concept shoot. Right.” You peer closer at the picture, almost squinting like you’re studying the fine details. “Well, I have to say, I didn’t expect you to have such a niche portfolio.”
He snatches the photo from your hands, but you’re quicker than him, leaning in just a little too close for comfort. "Come on, don't be shy. I'm sure these shots went for a pretty penny. You should be proud of them."
“It was a collaboration with a friend. We were experimenting with lighting and shadows. It wasn’t meant to be, like, that kind of shoot.”
You tilt your head and flash him a teasing smile. "Right. I'm sure it was all very tasteful."
“Stop it,” Wonwoo says, his voice a little more high-pitched than usual. He starts sorting through the other photos quickly, trying to hide the embarrassing ones. “There were plenty of clothes involved, okay? I mean, mostly clothed. Sometimes there weren’t.”
You laugh—genuine and loud—and Wonwoo has never felt more like a teenager caught in a lie.
"Don’t worry." You lean back casually, looking him up and down. “I’m not judging. Everyone needs a little fun with their camera work. Besides, I bet your models really appreciated your... attention to detail.”
“Oh my God, stop," he groans, hands covering his face.
"Oh, I know!" You jump up, the wideness of your grin setting of alarm bells in his head. Your body contorts into a lewd pose he's sure is captured in one of the photos. "Maybe you could shoot me like one of your French girls."
Wonwoo's brain is split in half between wanting to laugh at your stupid joke, and trying to stop his mind from digging any deeper into the way you look right now. He's never been more thankful for someone laughing so hard at their own joke that it gives him the time to remember to laugh too.
"Okay, okay, seriously though." You say, your words punctuated with breathy laughs. "I'd like to do a shoot in your style. Even if you don't use it for the feature, I'd like to have them - a little memory of the project."
He’s not sure what to make of it—after all, he’s never shot anything like that with someone like you. It’s one thing to let a stranger model for his more experimental projects, but someone who’s become... well, important to him? That complicates things.
You seem to sense his hesitation, so you quickly soften your expression, dropping the teasing tone. “I mean, no pressure. You don’t have to,” you add, but your smile stays. “I just think it would be fun, you know? Something a little out of the ordinary.”
He shifts on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to think of a way to deflect without sounding awkward. But then, he catches the way you’re looking at him—expectant, yet light-hearted. And he knows there’s no way he can say no. And the idea of capturing you in his world - through his lens - is far too appealing.
"Alright," he finally says, "“I could set something up. But it won’t be anything like what you’re imagining,” he warns, though the faintest glimmer of a smile tugs at his lips. “You might hate it.”
"I highly doubt it." Your grin widens, and you step closer. "The camera loves me."
He struggles to disagree.
You follow Wonwoo into a dimly lit loft space. The high ceilings make the place feel vast and open, but the shadows, thick and heavy, seem to swallow any trace of warmth. The windows let in just enough light to make the space feel like it’s holding its breath. Concrete floors, industrial beams, exposed brick—this place is a world apart from the glamorous venues he's captured you in so far.
There's no luxurious set, no artfully arranged props, no stylists running around with last-minute adjustments. Just you and him. And a collection of cameras, lenses, and other mysterious equipment scattered about the space.
"We'll start here," Wonwoo's voice is firmer than he intends, and he hopes you can hear the edge of excitement underneath his words. He’s already moving toward the equipment, setting up the camera on a tripod with a smooth, practised hand.
You take a deep breath, looking a little more nervous than he expected. "What's the concept? Just… me in a room full of shadows?” You try to make light of it, but your voice betrays a hint of apprehension.
He glances over his shoulder, catching your gaze for the briefest moment, and his lips curl into a faint smile. “Something like that. I want to capture you as you are, not as the world expects you to be.”
He steps toward you, then pauses. “But it’s up to you. You can be whoever you want to be in front of the camera.”
You take a breath, almost like you're accepting something, and step deeper into the room. Wonwoo can feel his pulse pick up just a little. Something about your movements makes it hard to look away, even as he tries to keep his focus on the camera.
As his gaze probes deeper, Wonwoo realises something. You're so used to being a perfect image that now, here, in the quiet, you have no idea what to do with yourself.
His breath catches as he presses the shutter for the first time. The soft click breaks the silence, but he doesn't lower the camera. His eyes stay on you, unable to tear away; even if he should be focused on the technicalities - the lighting, the exposure, the composition - he's not. He's seeing the cracks. The little parts of you that you've been hiding.
Another click. And another. His fingers move over the controls, adjusting the focus, framing you just so - but all the while, acutely aware of every tiny shift in your body. The way you inhale, the way you let go of something hidden, and your shoulders relax, just slightly.
"Good," he murmurs, though he barely recognises his own voice. The words are soft, his tone low, almost like a breath rather than a command.
You shift again. There's no thought to it, just a fluid movement, as if you're letting go of some invisible restraint. It's an instinctive thing, Wonwoo realises. You're not really posing anymore.
The camera clicks again, capturing the stillness in you, the way you seem to dissolve into the shadows, becoming part of the room. Part of the moment. He knows instantly that it's going to be his favourite.
For a split second, he wonders if you know what you're doing to him. If you know how you're affecting him, even without meaning to. His heart beats a little faster.
He doesn't lower the camera, not yet, not wanting to lose the moment.
"Okay, that's enough," he says finally, voice low and deliberate. Even as he says it, he's not sure if he wants to stop. He wants more. But it's not just the image he's chasing now. It's something else.
You reemerge, the colour of your confidence returning as you step out of the camera frame. "Was that okay?"
Wonwoo isn't completely sure what to say in response. If he should tell you that he wants to restart the entire feature, or that he's never felt like he's seen anyone as much as he just did. So he nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I want you to see the full vision, so I'll show you once they're edited, but I think they're going to be the best ones."
A beaming smile is released onto your face. It's heart-wrenchingly endearing how proud you are of yourself. "I'm so glad. I don't know if you noticed, but I was a little nervous about this one."
He lets out a little chuckle, his head hanging slightly as he looks to the floor, trying to hide the smile tugging at his lips. "I couldn't tell. You were," he clears his throat, hands moving to adjust the settings on the camera again, "perfect. And I mean it. It's ... not just the shot. It's you." The words come out in a rush, but even as he says them, he’s certain they’re true.
He wonders, fleetingly, if you hear the difference. If you sense the subtle change in his tone—the way he can’t quite look away from you now, the way his eyes linger just a little too long.
You don’t respond immediately, and for a brief, agonising second, he’s unsure of how you’ll take it. Will you laugh it off? Will you brush it aside with that carefree charm you wear like a second skin?
But then, your smile softens, your gaze a little less playful, and you step closer. "Do we need any more?"
"I don't think so," he pauses. "Unless there's anything you want to try?"
"Well..." You look nervous, like you're trying to make your mind up about something. Your fingers play absently with the sleeve of your shirt, tugging at the fabric as if it’s a lifeline. "Maybe ... maybe I could try something different?"
Wonwoo's eyes flicker up to meet yours. He's not quite sure what you're asking, and it both terrifies and excites him in ways he's not ready to admit. He leans back slightly, considering it.
"It's your shoot," he says softly, "If you want to do something different, we can. You sound like you've got something in mind?"
You exhale slowly, and the air feels thick, drawn tight with possibility. There’s a hesitation in the way you look at him, but then you take a step forward, your presence commanding yet gentle, a stark contrast to the vulnerability in your eyes.
"The photos in your studio," your voice is soft and low, as though the words themselves are a kind of confession. "The ones ... with no clothes." Your gaze flickers briefly, almost shy, before you steady yourself again. "I want to try that. I want to see what that feels like."
Wonwoo blinks at you, his breath hitching for just a second as the words register. His fingers instinctively tighten around the camera, but he doesn’t lower it. He can’t look away from you now.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice rougher than he intended, though it’s more a response to the sudden surge of emotions than anything else. The suggestion itself isn’t unfamiliar, but the weight of it, coming from you, catches him off guard.
You nod slowly.
He breathes slowly, trying to steady himself, but the air feels tight, like his lungs have forgotten how to expand properly. Wonwoo clears his throat, suddenly aware of the weight of the camera in his hands—of how utterly out of place it feels now. He thought he had control of this situation, of this shoot, of everything. And now he feels entirely, completely, out of control.
"Okay," he says finally, voice low, his throat dry.
You exhale, a small, almost imperceptible breath of relief, and for a moment, you both just stand there. Wonwoo watches you, his gaze tracing the small movements of your fingers, the way you breathe, the slight shift in your posture. You’re standing there, raw and vulnerable in a way that no one else ever sees, and yet you’ve asked him to witness it.
His chest tightens.
"Whenever you're ready," he murmurs, trying to sound as professional as possible, but the words come out softer than he means. He takes a step back, his heart pounding louder now, but he’s not sure if it’s from the anticipation of the shot or something else entirely.
You move slowly, agonisingly slowly, towards the chair that's hidden in the corner of the room and pull it into the camera frame. The clip holding your hair back is the first thing to go, and even watching you shake the tresses free feels like a glimpse of something he's not meant to see. Wonwoo's breath hitches as your fingers hesitate against the buttons of your shirt.
You look up at him, eyes glittering in the light of the loft. "Can you talk me through it?"
Wonwoo gulps, his brain desperately trying to keep a tether to his thoughts.
His voice is strained when he finally speaks, a quiet rasp that betrays his nerves. "I - uh - yeah. Sure." He clears his throat again, trying to steady himself. "Just take your time. There's no rush. I want you to feel comfortable."
You nod, but your gaze doesn’t leave him. It’s heavy, almost expectant, and Wonwoo feels it pressing down on him like the air in the room has thickened with each passing second.
His heart races, and he forces himself to look away from you, staring at the camera for a moment to regain some semblance of control. But when he finally glances back, there’s no denying it: you're not just in front of the camera. You're right there, your presence inescapable. The air crackles between you, an invisible thread pulling you closer despite the distance.
You slowly unbutton your shirt, each movement measured and deliberate. The soft rustle of fabric seems deafening in the silence. Wonwoo tries to focus on the camera - on the framing, the lighting - by the sight of you undoing the buttons is sending jolts through him, making it hard to concentrate.
"Wait, stop." He's struggling to get out more than a few words, but he realises he has to explain himself as your head whips around, alarmed. "That shot - if you push the shoulder down a little -"
"I'm not sure I quite get it," your voice is a quiet invitation. He doesn't know if its a test, or something far more dangerous than that.
He moves slowly, not wanting to startle you. And, if he's being honest, not sure that he can handle being any closer. But he's started now, and he can't not go through with it just because he's nervous about seeing skin. Focusing on his task, Wonwoo's hands gingerly pull the loose fabric of your shirt, draping it down the side of your upper arm, the fabric slipping with an almost unbearable grace, revealing the curve of your shoulder, the soft line of your skin. Wonwoo feels his pulse spike, his breath coming in shallow bursts as his fingers brush against the bare skin of your arm. It’s delicate, unintentional contact, but it feels like an electric shock, jarring and intimate all at once.
You hold your breath, your gaze fixed on his hands, your body still.
“Just like that,” he says, his voice quiet, as though speaking louder might shatter this delicate balance between you. “Now, tilt your head just a little to the left. Keep your eyes soft... like you're looking into something just out of reach.”
Your eyes flicker, a knowing glint passing through them. “Like I’m seeing something I shouldn’t?”
Wonwoo’s stomach tightens, a shiver creeping down his spine at the way you put it. His hands hover over the camera, but for a moment, he forgets the frame, forgets everything except the weight of the moment.
"Exactly," he breathes, almost afraid to admit it aloud, but the words escape him. He’s standing so close now, every muscle in his body taut, straining against the pull of something he doesn't know how to define.
You do as he asks, your eyes softening, lips parting ever so slightly, as if you’re leaning into the invitation.
The camera shakes in his hands, and for a second, he worries that you’ll notice the tremor, that you'll see how much this is affecting him. But you don’t. Your focus is unwavering.
“Can you… can you move your hand to your collarbone?” he murmurs, barely trusting himself to speak the request aloud. “Just… trace it, like it’s the only thing you’re focused on.”
You nod, and there’s an eerie stillness in the air as your fingers drift up to the curve of your neck. Wonwoo feels like he’s drowning, like every movement you make pulls him deeper into this quiet, dangerous place between photographer and subject, between the lens and the reality unfolding just beyond it.
Each click of the shutter feels like a bullet leaving a gun.
Your fingers are back on the buttons before he can realise that the moment has moved on, and you let the shirt fall, the fabric slipping to the floor with a soft whisper. He can’t breathe for a moment.
You stand before him, unguarded, vulnerable, and yet there’s something about the way you hold yourself—so composed, so intentional—that makes him swallow back every word that he tries to form.
Your eyes lock onto his again, and it’s like time stops. “How’s the lighting?” Your voice is steady, calm, but the tension in it is undeniable.
Wonwoo’s throat is dry as he forces himself to focus. "The light... it's perfect." He clears his throat, his voice tight. "You look perfect. Just... just keep moving, slowly. Let the camera catch it all."
You nod, your lips curling into that familiar smile that has him reeling.
Wonwoo’s pulse quickens, but he doesn’t dare look away. He’s caught in the gravity of your gaze, drawn into the quiet intensity of the moment. He raises the camera, his fingers trembling just slightly as he adjusts the lens. The click of the shutter still sounds harsh, but it doesn’t break the tension.
Wonwoo almost drops the camera when your fingers hook around the loops of your pants.
You slide them off in fluid motion, far quicker than the shirt. The smile on your face is more playful now, taunting and teasing. "What were those poses again?"
Wonwoo’s breath catches in his throat, his hands freezing just above the camera as the image of you in front of him—the subtle arch of your back, the way your skin catches the light—burns itself into his memory. He can’t look away, and it’s like everything in the room sharpens.
"Stop," he whispers, his voice shaking. "You’re—"
He cuts himself off, unsure of how to finish the sentence. How could he describe the storm he feels brewing inside of him? The way his pulse is beating in time with the shutter clicks. The way he’s watching you, but feels like he’s barely holding onto himself, like the space between him and you has closed to a point where it feels impossible to stay just the photographer.
“Stop?” you repeat, tilting your head, the playful glint in your eyes both a challenge and an invitation. "You want me to stop?"
"I—" He clears his throat, trying to force his words into something coherent. You take a step closer, and the words fail him.
You stop a few inches away from him, your breath mingling with his, and for a split second, you both stand there, locked in a stare that feels like an eternity. Wonwoo's heart races, and he can hear the rush of blood in his ears, but the sound of your breath, shallow and steady, is louder than everything else.
“Wonwoo,” you whisper, and the way you say his name—so softly, so deliberately—has his chest tightening even more.
His heart stutters for a second, and before he can think about it, before he can second-guess himself, he lowers the camera, his hand almost involuntarily reaching for you.
“Are you sure?” he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper.
You don’t say anything at first. Instead, your fingers brush against the fabric of his shirt, dancing between the creases. The world seems to spin a little.
“I’m sure,” you reply, your voice steady but low. “Are you?”
Wonwoo’s pulse thunders in his ears, and he thinks he's nodding his head, but he's not sure. He swears he can feel the heat radiating off of you in waves. The tension is almost unbearable now, and his hands are shaking so badly that he’s not sure if he should step back or close the space completely.
Before he can decide, you close the gap for him, your lips brushing against his in the gentlest of kisses. It’s soft at first, tentative—like you’re both waiting for the other to pull away—but when Wonwoo doesn’t, you deepen it just enough to make his head spin.
Everything—his thoughts, his control, his self-restraint—fractures.
He pulls you closer, his hand finding the curve of your back as he deepens the kiss. He can feel you shiver as his warm hands trace the exposed skin. He has to hold back a guttural moan at the feeling of your body pressed against his.
Your hands have found his hair, tangling your fingers through the strands and feeding off of the reactions, tugging a little every time he grumbles against your lips. A small gasp leaves your lips as he pulls away from your mouth, burying into your neck, which stretches prettily with each biting kiss he leaves.
"Is this how all your photo shoots go?" Even with your head tilted back, voice breathy as his fingers grasp onto your waist, you still find time to tease him. A small whine leaves you as his lips abandon your skin.
"You'll believe me if I say no?" His throat is scratchy, his voice raw, and it comes out more as a question.
You laugh. "Yes - I, yes, I believe you."
The silence feels unbearably tension, like both of you are trying to blindly navigate the other's feelings. Neither comfortable enough to take the next step forward.
"What did -"
"I thought -"
Your words stumble together as you search for the right way to break the tension. Wonwoo stops, not pressing you to continue, but his grip tightens on your waist slightly, a silent question hanging in the air.
"I was just - I wasn't sure you'd want to do this, too." You finally say. You still have that teasing smile, but your voice is small, almost unsure.
"I do," his voice is low, rough, and there's something tender there too. "I really do."
Your lips twitch upwards, a fleeting smile curving the corners of your mouth as you move closer again. "Then, what happens next?"
Wonwoo's head darts around, looking around the dim loft. There's nothing there, other than his equipment and a few chairs - nothing particularly helpful in this scenario. Although, he should admit, he wasn't expecting anything like this when he'd set it up.
"We could go somewhere else, if that's what you want to do?"
Your eyes follow his gaze, realising the dilemma.
"But I'm already half undressed." You bat your eyelashes innocently, and he knows you're fully aware of what you're doing to him. Yet, that doesn't prevent his trousers from feeling way too tight.
"I-" his breath catches, his fingers digging into your side. "I guess we'll have to stay here then."
"I guess so," you grin, and he wants nothing more than to pull you back in. So, he does. It's messy, primal, a tangle of limbs as your hands sloppily undo his shirt and his look for anything and everything he can reach. He doesn't miss your noise of appreciation when his shirt falls to the floor.
Soon, his hands are wrapped around your thighs, pulling you up in one swift motion and carrying you until you hit the nearest wall. You're panting, your eyes wild and hair tangled as you grab at his neck, pulling his lips back to yours.
It's not long before the rest of your clothes join the others on the floor. He feels a flutter of shyness as you take him in, eyes roaming across his body. But you're smiling, wide and joyful, the soft flesh of your thighs squeezing tighter on his hips.
"Fuck, I always thought you were hot, but I can't believe you were hiding this underneath those baggy sweaters."
Wonwoo can feel the blush running up his neck like a schoolboy being complimented for the first time. His heart is hammering in his chest, a warm rush spreading through him from head to toe as he tries to work out what his eyes should be focusing on.
"I wasn’t expecting any of this. You... you’re making me nervous," he admits with a shy laugh, his hands feeling clammy against your skin. "I mean, I'm sure I'm not the first person to say you're beautiful, but I think you're so much more than what they see."
Your smile softens for a moment, and you reach forward, fingers grazing lightly over his arm, the touch sending a shiver down his spine. "I'd like you to know all of me."
The words are soft, tender, and you can probably hear his heart fluttering. And, all at the same time, the implication of them is making more than his heart flutter.
"You're sure?" His body presses against yours even more, pushing your back further into the wall behind you.
"Please," you nod breathily, and that's all he needs. "I want you."
His hips grind against you, head swirling at the feeling as your arms wrap around his neck for stability. "I don't have-" he manages to choke out.
"It's fine, I'm on the pill. Just - just fuck me, please?"
His head buries into your shoulder, body twitching at your words. Pushing inside of you, the pleasure is immediate. Your hips are moving back onto him as far as you can against the wall, and his hands are firmly clenched around the flesh of your ass, holding you up in an iron grip. And you sound so good, and - more than that, you feel so good, so unbelievably good, that he's gasping out your name between thrusts.
Nonsensical words are babbling out of your mouth too; hot, dirty words of praise that only spur him on further. Your nails dig into his back, and then his hair, and then back again, like you can't pick which part of him you want to touch more.
And fuck, you're so beautiful. Like a goddess in the low lighting of the room - but he's too scared to tell you that just yet. Soft and hard and warm against him, surrounding him, engulfing him.
It's not long before he can feel you clenching around him, one hand clinging onto his shoulders and the other snaking between your legs. The muscles of his arms are burning slightly, but it feels too good to stop now. You're dragging him with you, panting moans with each pulse. You press your lips against his one more time, and it's all it takes to push you both over the edge.
After a few moments, he lifts his head from your shoulder and looks at you, a tender smile on his face. His lips press against yours gently, sighing with soft pants.
"Shit," You breathe, a small giggle bubbling out of you. The sound is so sweet it knocks any remaining wind out of him.
Wonwoo chuckles, his thumb gently tracing the curve of your jaw as he holds you in place.
Your smile is warm and teasing, and you press your lips to his for a second longer. "If I had the camera, I'd capture that look forever."
#seventeen imagines#svt scenarios#seventeen scenarios#svt x reader#seventeen#seventeen fluff#seventeen smut#jeon wonwoo#jeon wonwoo x reader#jeon wonwoo smut#jeon wonwoo fluff#jeon wonwoo imagines#wonwoo#svt wonwoo#wonwoo x reader#wonwoo smut#wonwoo fluff#wonwoo seventeen#wonwoo imagines#svt#mr-cha-n
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Chiho Saito’s 1999 Revolutionary Girl Utena Original Illustration Collection
IT’S HERE. IT’S DONE. IT’S FINISHED. NOW…IT’S YOURS. Happy Holidays, my friends.
Vanna here! I have posted some already about this project, and the responses I got, public and otherwise, have been absolutely incredible. Y’all have been reblogging and hyping this before it even finished…I haven’t felt so encouraged about an Utena project since the musicals! (Yes, streams soon, I promise.) You can read the other post to get more details, and catch my post here with more details about the process if you’re interested. The long and short of it?
This is the first artbook I ever scanned. I did it in 2001. In Photoshop, using multiple scans per page that took hours to process. But it was 2001. A half megabyte file that was 1250px wide was considered extremely hardcore and impressive. That’s just always been the business I’m in when it comes to Utena art, you know?
It’s now the latest artbook I’ve scanned, and so much of the process, and effort involved, is unchanged. What has changed, is the result. Welcome to your new desktop background. Your new phone background. Your new poster print.
What I’ve done here is attempt to create definitive digitized images of Chiho Saito’s work as offered by this book--I have removed the print moiré of the original scans, and used my literal decades of experience to try and tease out as much information from them as possible. Without being physically in front of the original artwork (which is a thing I’ve had the great fortune to get to do) this is The Most Chiho Saito you are ever going to get. I’ve tried my best to make sure there is a way to get it that works for everyone:
Do you just wanna scope 'em out? Look at some disaster gays? Grab your favorite one or two? This is the path for you! Check out the ‘compressed’ (not very) 10k ‘web friendly’ (not really) copy at the Bibliothèque, the media archiving wing of the Something Eternal forums at Empty Movement*. All the following links are also available from here. Do you want these copies? All of them? Don't just grab them individually, friend. This batch is 375MB and can be downloaded as a zip of the individual files here on our Google Drive.
Do you like digital archiving? Are you looking for a copy that preserves the archival quality of the effort but sits nice and comfy in a single file? This is for you. A minimally compressed 10k, 513MB version worked into a PDF is now up, shiny and chrome, on the Internet Archive. Do you like the idea of the minimal compression, but want the individual files in a zip? Yep I did that too, here's the drive link.
Are you looking to print these in a larger size? This is probably the only reason on Earth you’d ever want them, and yet a bunch of you are going to go straight for these. Here are the zero-compression JPG full size copies, most of them are 15k across, like simply a ridiculous size. Pick your fave and download it from our Google Drive!
I am genuinely really proud of this work.** I was able to tease out so much new detail from these…her incredible layering techniques, the faintest brush of her highlights, and the full range of her delicate hand at whites and blacks… details commonly lost in digitization. I sincerely hope you find something here that you’re looking for, as an artist looking for inspiration, as a weeb looking for a desktop, as an archiver excited to see incredible 90s manga artwork saved forever in the digital realm. I feel like I have already said so much about them, and could keep going, but you know what? This work speaks for itself. Enjoy, use, explore, and definitely tell us what you think!
We love y’all. ~ Vanna & Yasha
* AHEM ASTERISK AHEM
You might be wondering what any of that is. Something Eternal? Biblewhatawhat??? EmptyMovement.com? You might even have done a double take at the word ‘forum.’ And you should!!!
I have a confession. This artbook was my ‘side project’ as I worked on this, *the main project.* For a couple years I’ve been banging around with a new domain, and originally I had other plans for it, but Elon Musk ruined my Twitter and Discord is well along on its way to enshittification, and well….we joke on the Discord a lot about ‘reject modernity, embrace forums’ and you know what? We’re right. So Yasha and I are putting our money where our mouths are once again, and doing something insane. We are launching, in 2023, a website forum. Obviously, this is not the official ‘launch�� per se, but I cannot announce the artbook without directing you to the forum, since it sits on the attached very cool gallery system. Oops! Told on myself. Another post more focused on the forum will be forthcoming, but if you are just that motivated to get in right away, you absolutely can! (This will help stagger new arrivals anyway, which is good for us!) If you would rather wait for the ‘official’ launch, by all means that’s coming, including a lengthy screed about how and why we’re doing this. In either case, remember: this is a couple weebs trying to make internet magic happen, we are not website developers by trade. Give us grace as we iron things out and grow into this cool new website thingie…hopefully along with some of you! :D
If you do join up, naturally, there is a thread about this project!
** If you like this kind of content, consider helping us pay for it! We do have a Patreon! If you’re wanting to use these in some public-facing distributive way, all we ask is for credit back to Empty Movement (ohtori.nu or emptymovement.com, either will work.)
I would like to say ‘don’t just slap these files on RedBubble to get easy money’ but I know that saying this won’t effectively prevent it. Y’all that do that suck, but you’re not worth letting it rain on the rest of this parade. :)
#revolutionary girl utena#utena#rgu#sku#empty movement#chiho saito#90s manga#digital archives#manga aesthetic#shoujo kakumei utena#utena art
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Hey you! Have you seen this post by @pigswithwings? Do you like it? Do you like animation? Well do I have the news for you! With the author's permission and consultance, I am running a 5 minute animation short film on it, called "Angel back at home"!
Now, here's the most exciting news: We are looking for storyboarders, background designers, and 3 voice actors of all genders! Even better, you don't need to be a professional on any of those things whatsoever, only have some knowledge on them (and be of minimum age 16) to try and apply for the role!
Unfortunately, it is not paid, as for legal reasons we can not make profit out of it. Why should you join then, you ask? In this project we guarantee three things:
Portifolio building: Everything you will be producing, you can be using to add to your personal art portifolio, if this is a career you'd like to follow!
Resume: The short-film will be hosted on several film festivals, so you'll be able to put a big list of festivals your work was featured in, if you'd like to follow any art career. If not, the entire experience can be written in several bullet points on a resume ("experience with working in group", "experience of working within a deadline", etc) for any general job.
Advice and art growth: Every art that gets made on this project will be seen by me, the producer, and will be given advice for improvement. This is especially good if you've been on an art block, is self-taught, or overall would like a different perspective on your art. Don't worry, I'm not harsh!
Additional points is that it allows me to know new artists and new talents! From the last project I had run in this format, I had taken notice of 5 to 6 different artists that I hadn't known were so talented for their specific skills, which made me keep their names for the next project I'd produce. I am someone who dreams of opening an animation studio for new underrated talents and non-professionals that are studying to be professionals, so i'm looking forward to finding the artists on this project that will catch my eye and I'll bring over to the next project.
The timing is flexible since it is a volunteer ran project, if I can't pay I can't demand work hours of a job, so the deadline won't be too tight. For 5 minutes of film, the boards, voice acting, and single music will all in total take about 3 months, with the deadline starting in ferbuary and ending in the end of April. The following months will be given towards animation, sound editing and mixing, and video editing.
Requirements for storyboarders: Know how to draw, understand rule of thirds, enjoy drawing expressiveness through body language. You can be using any drawing device, whether that's computer, cellphone, or traditional, as long as you use the storyboard template in question and stay faithful to references.
Application link for storyboarders
Requirement for voice actors: have a somewhat good microphone(doesn't need to be professional and expensive, just good enough so we don't want to give the audio editors too much work), have interest in acting (preferably have had at least one theather class).
Application link for V/A
Lines for V/A
Requirement for background designer: Know how to draw or how to put together a 3d model of free assests, you don't need to be super experienced and specialized with drawing backgrounds but it'll be good to have a basic idea of it. You will be given specific references for the backgrounds, and you won't draw every single background, it'll be split work
Application link for background designer
Applications end by ferbuary 8th, but may be pushed forward if the applications are low. Everyone that passed will be noticed two days after.
Best of luck to everyone!
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arguing with slytherin boys / pt.2
ft. Tom, Mattheo, Theodore, Lorenzo
warnings: curse words, mentions of abuse, addictions
Theodore Nott
You wanted to help Theo, really. His smoking wouldn't have angered you if he wasn't going through two packs in a day. It was genuinely hard to express your concerns without sounding like a parent or authority figure. But as you attempted to have yet another “serious conversation” with him, you initially thought it was heading toward success. Turns out you just misunderstood his mocking tone as softness and surrender.
“Ah, so you care about me? Answer me, amore, are you my mother? Then tell me, why do my habits piss you off that much?” he advanced towards you, slowly cornering you until your back met the cold wall. You closed your eyes in a desperate attempt to pretend it's a nightmare, hoped for it to end sooner and start again. But it was real, and Theo barely controlled himself “Am I not good enough for Ms. Perfect? My “addictions” shouldn’t worry you, can’t you understand?” His fist landed just an inch away from your face.
Tom Riddle
You decided to drop in and check on Tom since he hadn’t been talking to you for a few weeks now. He was busy working on some project. You made a cute lunch and even drew his portrait with watercolor. You couldn’t contain your excitement as you hurried to his room. What will be his reaction? Did he miss you too? Reality hit harder than you could’ve ever imagined. He eyed you and things in your hand with a little to no interest.
“Just how many times did I tell you not to disturb me? Not to meddle in my business? I don’t need it," he stated firmly. His words rang in your ears, and you didn’t listen much as he continued, “I was right, in the end relationships proved to be troublesome trivia. It was nice to know you. But now, leave.”
Mattheo Riddle
You’ve been avoiding him for the last few weeks after hearing rumors about his ties to dark organizations and massacre in the outskirts of Hogsmeade. Now, he was confronting you. Can’t really escape when he’s towering right above you in the middle of a dorm room.
“Are we even dating at this point? ‘Cuz i feel like I’m a fucking joke to you, not a boyfriend” Mattheo calmly stood in front of you, staring at you with eyes full of hatred “Little bird told me you’re afraid of me. Why, is it because my surname is Riddle? I thought you weren’t that dumb like others to judge me on my family relations which I don’t give a fuck about” he spat out the last words. His lips curled in disgust as he shoved a box full of your gifts and memories into your hands, leaving you dumbfounded in the solitude of your room.
Lorenzo Berkshire
The last few weeks have been tough for every seventh-year at Hogwarts. Tables were cluttered with heaps of homework and essays, and an unhealthy number of coffee mugs in common rooms weren’t surprising anymore. Amidst this academic crisis, your boyfriend was the most affected one. He had to maintain his top spot, not for himself but for his parents.
You were genuinely worried about him and tried to help him unwind a bit, but he consistently refused and distanced himself even more. When you suggested going to Hogsmeade, he suddenly snapped, growling in frustration
“Just fuck off. I have a lot to manage, and you're being a burden right now. Can’t you spend a minute without me?” He kept ruffling his hair and rubbing his temples in annoyance. “I need a break” He didn’t care to explain what break he needed and didn’t even look at you as he left the common room in a hurry.
a/n: yes, i like making people suffer and yes there’ll be part 2 with Draco, Blaise and Regulus
#harry potter#harry potter x reader#louis partridge#lorenzo berkshire imagine#enzo berkshire#lorenzo berkshire#lorenzo berkshire x reader#lorenzo berkshire x you#draco malfoy#theodore nott x reader#theodore nott#mattheo riddle#mattheoxreader#tom riddle#tom riddle x reader#tom riddle x y/n#mattheo riddle x reader#theodore nott x you#slytherin boys#argument#harry potter fanfiction
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BEWITCHING HOUR
gojo satoru x fem!reader x geto suguru
synopsis: while searching through the archives of your college’s library, you discover an ancient book with old rituals. out of curiosity, you try to summon an incubus but somehow, it didn’t work— only until you woke that same night, to encounter not only one, but two of them.
contents: fem!reader, explicit language, she/her pronouns, incubus satoru and suguru, NSFW, threesome, slight foreplay, cunninglus kinda, fingering, voyeurism(??), breastplay, markings/hickeys, overstimulation, unprotected sex, multiple creampies, squirting, orgasms, handjob, blowjob, slight rough sex(?!), pet names (use of slut once), suguru and satoru fighting over you, they both have big dicks<3, JUST SOOO MUCH EXPLICIT SHIT LMAOOO, not proofread !!
word count: 4.7k
notes: just so so sosoooo much content guys srry… i prob need to be locked up after this LOL i just cant stop myself from writing sm dirty shit like that 💔😢 (also plz dont read this if ur not comfortable)
most horror movies involved demons or ghosts, and they’re most likely summoned through rituals, or some sort of supernatural item or game that one shouldn’t dare to touch. people would ramble and scream at the user, complaining how stupid they were and how their curiosity killed everyone.
and you were one of those people.
but now you’re in your bedroom with an old thick book, dated back into the late 14th century. it was written in a language most wouldn’t necessarily understand, latin to be precise. but you were grateful for the classes you took in high school, and understood at least some of it.
the book was mainly about old rituals and performances or instructions to summon spirits. it was obviously a bad idea, a very bad idea. and you were just like those characters in those horror movies that you called stupid— but you had to admit, curiosity got the best of you, just like them.
besides, it was the night of halloween. all of your friends went out in their revealing costumes to late night parties while you stayed back in your dorm. well, you were going to attend, but this book was on your mind the entire day— so you opted out, reasoning that you were feeling under the weather.
now, how did this book even end up in your possession? well, it started earlier that day, after your third class of the day.
halloween landed on a friday, unfortunately— so there were classes. your professor assigned a major project in which required you to obtain an archive as one of your resources. it was irritating to say the least, since you’d have to search for an archive related to your topic without a computer. but thankfully, librarians were there to assist.
you went to your university’s library archives section on the very top floor, hoping to find something related to your topic so you’d get out of there quicker and start on the project. you decided your topic to be about ancient greek mythology, it was simple and you enjoy the idea. and it’d be quite easy to find an archive about it.
“excuse me, where am i able to find an archive about greek mythology or culture?” you questioned the librarian who mainly worked in the section.
she gives you a smile through her dull appearance before turning her head to the multiple tall shelves of archives behind her. “if you go to the fourth shelf on the left, then the third section, you may find the archives about ancient greek and everything related to it.”
after thanking the librarian, you quickly walk over to the section, somewhat excited to see what you could find. the entire section was stacked with archives about greek mythology, some were identical but in different colorings and covers, while some were smaller, thicker, older, or written in a different language.
all of the pages appeared worn, and were nearly close to rotting out of the book, and you wondered on who might’ve touched this centuries ago. it was weird to think about but you decided to move along, and keep searching for what you need.
your eyes scan through each row on the shelf, hoping to find something appealing and comprehendible to use as a resource for your assignment. something caught your eye at an instant, as if it was manifesting you, calling for you to grab it.
and for some odd reason, when you went to pull the book out of its spot, the book clearly didn’t belong in the section of greek mythology. you blinked several times, observing the old and thick book. the cover had a unique texture, with golden colored latin wordings in the front and a detailed drawing of a distorted demon. in hindsight, it was a ritual book.
you flipped through the first few pages, skimming through the paragraphs on how to summon a certain spirit or demon. everything was in latin, but you at least somewhat understood. there were pictures describing what the entities appeared as, or what forms they can take. it was frightening to say the least, but you were surprised something like this was here.
a page that certainly caught your interest mentioned an incubus.
and so, you read it thoroughly. an incubus, a male form of a demon that seeks to have sexual intercourse with sleeping women. they were the corresponding spirit of a succubus. you heard of the folklore several times, and this somewhat intrigued you even more. as you read further, it specifically mentioned that the incubus posed as a winsome japanese man, in order to attract women. you also noticed that there were two demons in the picture drawn on the page, one white and one black. could it be summoned in either form?
to say that you wanted to try summoning the incubus was definitely not an understatement. but who the fuck would want a demon to be fucking them while they sleep? the question didn't pop into your head at that moment, and you were quick to take the book without completing the search for the archive you actually needed.
and you cancelled all halloween plans just for this.
now, you felt as if you were in one of those horror movies. closed curtains, lights off, several candles lit around you as you sat in the middle of your room with the book opened to your designated page. the summoning was simple, you were to follow the ritual word by word and then take a long sip of red wine. and lucky you, there was some leftover red wine from a party weeks ago.
the glass of wine was next to the book, and you were contemplating whether or not to continue. you were quite surprised at how simple the summoning was, since most would require a slit of blood or your soul, or something extreme. but red wine? this incubus must have a preference.
you took a deep and long breath, before beginning to read the ritual word by word. and after you finished, you picked up the glass of red wine and gulped the entire liquid down your throat.
you expected something to appear, but nothing.
your eyes dart around the room, but you found it to be empty. did it not work? you’re oddly confused and repeated the ritual once more. but again, nothing happened.
when the second try didn’t work, you figured the third try wouldn’t either. you were certain that every word was said correctly and you missed out no words either. you scoffed, closing the book and turning on the lights to your room. you blow out the candles and concluded at how much bullshit this was.
“this shit is such a waste of time,” you mumble as you shove the ritual book into your backpack.
after putting everything else away, you decided to get ready for bed and pretend as if you did nothing. you would return the book tomorrow and never have to remember it again. it was worth a try after all, and you honestly thought it would work.
you switched into a pair of comfortable shorts and a loose top. you unclipped your bra and tossed it to the side, since you normally slept without one because it was more comfortable that way. you were still feeling quite upset that the ritual didn’t work, but at the same time, you were alright with nothing happening. it was just a hoax, like what everyone else would say.
falling asleep wasn’t so hard, and time ended up passing as you quietly slept on your bed. at some point, you could hear the faint sounds of teenagers screaming and enjoying their halloween events, and your neighbors’ kids exclaiming happily about how much candy they received.
and for some reason, the air in your room became more frigid and you were cuddling yourself close underneath your comforter you found warm. you didn’t allow it to bother you and fell asleep once more.
you remained asleep for several more hours, unbeknownst to anything occurring in your room. it was until you heard gentle shuffling noises in your room. at first, you didn’t allow it to bother you— until you felt someone’s gently caress your face.
“she’s cute, don’t ya think?” a male’s voice calls out beside of you.
your eyes immediately shoot open, and you’re making eye contact with an unfamiliar man— white hair and horns, striking bright blue eyes, shirtless with multiple scars, and white torn wings. your eyes widen and you scream, pushing the man’s hands away from you before shoving yourself in the deepest corner of your bed away from him.
“oh, did i scare you? i’m sorry, angel,” the man chuckles with a sly grin.
“w-who- the hell are you- and how did you get in my house?!” you shout, shielding yourself with one of your pillows.
the man sighs, rubbing the back of his nape as he remained silent for a moment. but before he could speak, another male appears behind of him— jet black hair and horns, black torn wings, shirtless with multiple scars, but he was broader and his hair was longer than the other one. “i told you to stop approaching girls like that. this is why they never like you,” he says, nudging the white haired man.
“ouch. hey, i didn’t think she would awake immediately,” he scoffs and they both return their gaze back to you. “sorry angel, i get carried away sometimes. never met such a pretty woman like ya. and you’re the one who summoned us.”
“summoned? what do you mean? i haven’t-“ you began to say due to your panic but you pause your words when the ritual from earlier returned to your mind. you remain quiet for a moment, and the two incubus’s tilt their head in confusion. there was absolutely no way, right? “i must be dreaming.”
the black haired incubus frowns, crossing his arms. “well, princess. you aren’t and even if you are, we can appear in them too,” he replies but then he shakes his head. “oh, forget i said that. don’t want to frighten you.”
“oh suguru, i think she already is.”
“this was your fault, satoru.”
“my fault?!” satoru raises his voice, glaring intently ay suguru who whistles.
“okay, shut up. quit raising your voice, you’re scaring the poor, innocent and beautiful girl here,” suguru says, now returning his gaze back to you and he smiles warmly. “but yes, princess. you indeed did summon us. was there a particular reason?”
“i.. just did it for fun..” you reply, still quite astonished. “and i thought it would only be one.. not two..”
“well angel, maybe you should read a little more carefully before summoning us,” satoru sighs, and then chuckles. “especially if you were expecting only one of us.”
“i-i’m sorry—“
“don’t apologize. everyone we meet usually mistakes it for one instead of two,” suguru is still smiling with a gentle tone, indicating for you to ignore satoru’s harmless remarks. “and you did this for fun? well princess, if you wanna have some fun. then we can give that to you. how about it?”
you’re mostly uncertain about this, and the other part of you urged to move forward. you were obviously curious but anticipating, and couldn’t initiate anything. was this actually real? you were still in denial still, yet if this wasn’t— then it’s one hell of a dream.
suguru notices your hesitation and thinks for a moment. “well princess, there’s no need to be anxious. we’ll take care of you,” he says, extending his hand out to yours. “but if you don’t want to, then all you gotta do is say no.”
you shake your head, a hand taking suguru’s. “i-i want to..” the words fell out of your mouth shyly, and you could feel your face burn as suguru chuckles, his grip tightening around your hand. “what a good girl. you don't gotta be shy at all 'kay, [name]?”
“mhm..” you nod, eyes slightly widening when you realized you didn’t even tell them your name. “you know my name?”
“of course. we always know the name of our summoner, it’d be rude if we didn’t know,” suguru smiles, as he pulls you towards him. his large frame towered over yours, and you could feel his throbbing erection poking your lower belly. “does that freak you out, princess?”
"n-no.." you shake your head, lips trembling slightly. in other cases, this sort of situation should freak you out. like, who would want to fuck two hot incubuses? but that question doesn't matter anymore. the two were so alluring, and their words seem to enchant you in some way. "good then.. i can kiss you now, right?" suguru coos in your ears.
you nod, gaze staring into suguru’s dark eyes. the incubus presses his lips against yours as a hand snakes around your hips. you moan into the kiss, since this was a feeling you hadn’t felt in so long. satoru just watches, his own dick twitching underneath his pants from the way your moans sounded.
suguru’s hands slithers underneath your shorts, groping and massaging the skin of your ass. next, he gently bites your lower, smirking from the way your moans fell into his mouth. “you like how i touch you, princess?” suguru inquires in such a seductive tone when pulling away from the kiss, and you nod as an answer while your face burned.
you are pushed down on your bed, and suguru hovers over you. he licks his lips, liking the way you were sprawled under him as his eyes burned with lust. you nearly shut your eyes as suguru spreads your legs apart, pushing the material of your shorts and panties to the side. “w-wait—“ you begin out of embarrassment, but suguru had already slipped two of his long fingers inside of your wet cunt. you gasp, quietly squirming as he pumps his fingers slowly.
“goodness princess, you’re already so wet,” suguru comments, pushing his fingers deeper. the squelching noises of your pussy resonates the room, along with your soft moans. he smiles, glancing at satoru who was becoming hornier by the second. the white haired incubus couldn’t contain himself much longer— wanting to touch himself to the sound of your moans. “you hear that, satoru? you hear how wet she is?”
“mmh- fuck, yeah,” satoru replies, a hand rubbing over the bulge of his pants. he had to admit, he was jealous of suguru— him being able to please you first. the two had been confined in that book for who knows how long. satoru has become desperate, hungry and longing to touch and fuck a pretty girl like you. “hurry up, suguru. i want to touch her next.”
suguru chuckles, turning his attention back to you. “doesn’t that turn you on, [name]? don’t you like hearing how badly satoru wants to touch you like this?” suguru says, pressing a thumb against your clit and creating sensual circles around the area that makes you more sensitive. you moan as a response, your body trembling from suguru’s actions. “y-yes.. i want satoru- to t-touch me too..” you reply, looking at satoru who nearly came from the needy pitch of your voice.
“you heard her, satoru,” suguru says, glancing at satoru with a grin— and you found yourself in between the two incubuses. suguru had slipped off your shorts and panties, tossing them to the floor. satoru was situated behind of you, propping your body up so that your back would press against his muscular chest.
while suguru was pumping his fingers into your aching pussy and rubbing circles against your clit, satoru had pushed his hands underneath your top to fondle with your breasts. satoru pinches your nipples with his fingers, getting a little whine out of your mouth and then moves his lips to suck the skin of your neck. suguru could feel your gummy walls pulsate and clench around his fingers, and he fastens his pace to assist you closer to your orgasm.
“such pretty tits you have, angel,” satoru compliments, leaving love marks on your neck and he kisses your shoulders. such delicate and gorgeous skin you have— making satoru wanting to mark you all over with his mouth. he pinches your nipples again, when noticing the way you react to it. “mm~ s-satoru- keep touching my breasts like that-“ you moan, your head slightly falling back against his shoulder.
“give me some attention too, princess~” suguru pouts, slipping another finger into your pussy. your eyes widen in astonishment, seeming that you’ve never felt three fingers inside of you before. your moans become louder at that point, mostly because of suguru. “yeah, that’s a good girl. moan just for me,” he adds, smirking as his knuckles began smacking the entrance of your pussy.
satoru glares at suguru, before slipping one hand away from your breast to grab your head. satoru turns your face towards him and presses his lips against yours while maintaining eye contact with suguru. the raven haired incubus furrows his brows, watching as you and satoru’s tongues swirled sloppily around and over each others. the two now seem to have an ongoing battle of who can please you the best.
“‘m gonna c-cum,” you utter through your moans, mouth parting slightly from satoru’s, a strong of saliva connecting from your tongue to his. suguru smiles, curling his fingers to rub faster against your g-spot. “c’mon princess, cum for me,” he says, lowering his face to your pussy and replaces his thumb with his tongue on your clit.
“oh f-fuck, suguruu-“ you mewl his name, eyes nearly rolling back as your legs tremble from the fast kitten licks his tongue was giving against your clit. satoru couldn’t do much but continue to play with your breast and watch suguru fuck your pussy until you came. you could feel satoru’s throbbing dick pressing against your lower back, and you use a hand to go behind and underneath his pants. “s-shit, angel-“ satoru grunts as your hands push to free his cock out and wrap around his girth. “seems like she’s ready for my cock.”
“don’t even think about it, satoru,” suguru growls, circling licks against your clit before gently sucking. he had to remind satoru that it was his turn to fuck the next summoner first, and just because you had invited satoru earlier than suguru expected, doesn’t mean he’d get to fuck his cock into you first. as for you, your mind is too overstimulated with the situation and you couldn’t bother caring about their bickering. “shitshitshit, i’m cumming-“ you cry out, squirting over suguru’s mouth and fingers.
suguru licks and cleans all of your juices that squirted onto your thighs and by his mouth, savoring the taste. he stares deep into satoru’s eyes when licking off your arousal on his fingers, smiling cockily since satoru wasn’t able to get a taste. “i might actually get addicted to this pussy,” suguru comments before he unzips his pants to releases his hard throbbing cock.
your eyes widen at the sight of suguru’s dick. was something like that actually going to fit? you anticipated greatly as suguru pumps his length a few times before aligning against your wet entrance. “oh, you scared, princess?” suguru chuckles, but you instantly shake your head. “n-no.. please fuck my pussy..” you reply, pushing your legs farther apart.
“you hear that, satoru? hear and see how she’s begging for my cock only?” suguru asks, glancing at satoru to see his reaction. he just needed to rub it in the other incubus’s face, since they were quarreling after all. satoru glares again, not replying as his attention was mostly on the way your hand gripped around his cock. “spreading your legs like that just f’me. such a needy girl you are, huh?” suguru adds, teasing your wet entrance with the tip of his cock before pushing his entire length past your folds.
“o-oh my god-“ you moan, eyes widening from the feeling of suguru’s cock rubbing against your walls, nearly making you cum again. suguru grunts when your tight pussy instantly clenches around him, and he quietly chuckles. “fuck.. mmh,” he moans, rocking his hips in a slow and sensual pace.
“touch me too, angel. don’t forget about me,” satoru whimpers, his words purring into your ears as he bucks his hips up to feel your soft hand rub against his desperate cock. and who were you to ignore his lecherous request? you began to pump your hand along satoru’s cock just like he wanted, causing him to moan softly into your ear. “s-shit.. i might cum just because of your hands,” satoru chuckles, returning his lips to suck the skin of your neck.
suguru’s hands grip tightly on your thighs as his thrusts became stronger, faster, and full of desire— wanting to strive your attention away from satoru. his cock was already fucked deep into you, spreading and pleasuring your walls towards your next orgasm. your moans fall from your mouth with each thrust and love bite you receive from the two incubuses, and you began detecting stars in your vision as you reach a daze. “n-ngh.. squeezing me so damn hard. you want my cum that badly, baby?” suguru groans, faintly throwing his head back.
“y-yes, pleaseee,” you whine, your cunt sucking in suguru’s cock at his words. the incubus groans, drilling deeper into your pussy, balls slapping against your ass. satoru intently watches suguru pound into your needy hole relentlessly, turning you into a crying and moaning mess. his dick twitches at the sight of you two connecting, making him wonder what it’d be like to be in suguru’s position. it even turned satoru on when he sees how suguru’s fucking you, and the sensual strokes you give his cock doesn’t seem to stop him from reaching an orgasm.
“fuckkk, holy fuck-“ suguru chants, his eyes nearly rolling back because of how satisfied his dick was feeling. “we should make her ours, satoru. make her our little cum dump, yeah?” suguru glances at satoru, who only moans as a response when you swirl your thumb around his swollen tip. “seems like she wants to, satoru. the way she’s clenching her dirty little cunt tightly around me tells me she wants to be our cum dump. that right, princess?” suguru utters, now staring into your tear filled eyes as he continues thrusting into you.
you nod your head several times, unable to formulate a proper response as you felt your next orgasm reaching. “‘m gonna cum, shittt,” satoru groans, your soft hand on his cock driving him insane. “m-me too.. gonna fill your womb up with all of my cum,” suguru grits his teeth, and you haven’t even realize his sharp nails nudging into the flesh of your skin.
in the next moment, satoru came entirely over your back and hand— while suguru fucks his cum into you before pulling out. you moan, legs trembling slightly as you feel suguru’s semen warming your baby room. you’re breathing heavily, desperately gasping for air as the two were switching positions, not that you noticed.
you found yourself on all yours and completely naked, face directly inches away from suguru’s cock while satoru had positioned behind of you, pushing your ass back against his hips. “now it’s my turn to dump my cum in you, angel. i’m gonna give you so, so much~” satoru coos, not even giving you a moment to comprehend before shoving him cock into you. “a-ah, fuck-“ your mewl, eyes widening from the deep penetration, instantly making you cum on him. “already came? i just started, y’know,” satoru grunts, thrusting his hips before slapping your ass.
suguru strokes his throbbing dick that was still hard, which earns your attention immediately. he chuckles, his other hand going to caress the side of your face. “you miss my cock already, don’t you?” suguru raises a brow, smacking the tip against your face before you nod. “yeah? t-then take my cock into your mouth- mmh, just like that- good girl,” he praises, pushing half his length pass your lips, groaning at the warm feeling of your mouth.
you bob your head slowly back and forth, sucking and slurping suguru’s cock while using another hand to pump the rest of his length that was unable to fit into your mouth. at the same time, satoru was drowning his cock deep into your cunt, fucking suguru’s cum out and making it stream down your thighs and onto the sheets of your bed. “s-stop squeezing me so much, angel. about to make me cum a-again,” satoru stutters, hands gripping tightly on your hips.
“mm- satoruu- suguruu~” you moan both of their names, pushing your head away to swirl your tongue around suguru’s tip. you clench your walls around satoru, despite him begging you to relax since it was driving him insane. “hear her, suguru? she’s moaning our names like a damn slut,” satoru grins, slapping your ass again.
“yeah, i like it,” suguru replies, pushing his length into your mouth again, feeling your moans vibrate against his dick. “g-gonna fill her mouth with my cum too..”
“hey.. that’s not fair..” satoru glares at suguru. or maybe it is fair and he just doesn’t want to admit it. since the last time they had sex with someone, satoru was the one mostly occupying their attention and barely allowed suguru to interact. to say the least, satoru’s selfish and greedy, but of course if it’s his best friend— he wouldn’t mind sharing, which is why they’re both sworn incubuses. “it is. but whatever [name] says, goes,” suguru hums, reminding satoru of the simple rules they established beforehand.
“‘ts okay- i want you both- to fill me up with your cum-“ you intervene as suguru slips his cock out, exchanging glances between the two. whether the boys like it or not, you’d share yourself equally to them. that was the fair way, but it didn’t mean they’d stop bickering over you. wanting to get rid of their glares at each other, you attract their attention back to you by kitten licking your tongue against suguru’s tip and grind your hips back against satoru. “s-shit. i can’t resist myself any longer, princess,” suguru moans.
satoru was loving the way you were fucking his cock by pushing your hips back against him, it made him pound you even rougher than before. “gonna make this pussy ours then,” satoru whines, his hips slamming harshly against your ass, nearly capturing your remaining attention away from suguru. “let’s fill every single one of her holes with our cum, ‘guru.”
“you fucking bet,” suguru smirks to the idea, as if it wasn’t something they planned from the beginning. the two of them moan, feeling you suck them in tighter, like you’re trying to milk all of their cum out due to the wicked statement. it aroused you, turned you into an even more filthy woman. “g-gonna cum in your pussy now, angel.. fuckkkk, take it all like a good girl,” satoru huffs, hoisting one of your thighs up.
as satoru was reaching his climax, he penetrates his cock deeper into your cunt, making sure all of his cum would reach into your womb like suguru’s did. you cry out, rushes of ecstasy flowing through your veins before satoru shoots his warm semen into you. at the same moment, suguru prods his entire length into your mouth, whether it fit or not, and releases his second load into the back of your throat. your mind is completely scrambled, cramped with lust struck thoughts of the two incubuses.
and just when you think that they’re done, you find yourself lying back on your bed again and legs spread apart to where they both could fit in between. they both wore heavy erotic expressions, eyes practically sparking with hearts as they stared down at you.
it was like you were in a never-ending heaven with two sex demons. you already felt so addicted to the incubuses, like they were going to become a drug you could never stop taking. and well, you couldn’t return the book anymore— not after experiencing this. they were going to be your little secret, your pleasures, your two fuck buddies that will pound their horny cocks into you wherever and whenever.
you keep your filled cunt exposed to them, moaning softly when their mixed cum starts dripping out. to them, it looked like you were desperately pleading for them to fuck you again. and that’s when they knew that they were going to be summoned every single night.
“let’s make sure this pussy remember us, and only us.”
LOAFGETO. thank you for reading! please do not copy my work or publish in another media without my permission.
a/n: i’ll let you guys decide who says the line at the end. ANYWAYS finally on thanksgiving break, im sooo done with school bru. ok lol hope u guys enjoyed. likes + reblogs are appreciated. <3
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