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kooktrash · 8 months

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the art of obsession | kim taehyung

summary: in a world of painters and poets, there were two college students looking for the right sort of inspiration. through devotion in your craft, you find yourself drawn to kim taehyung—a grad student painter who’s everything you’ve ever looked for in a character. his walk, his form of speech, his art, it all captivated you to the point where you wanted to recreate him in words and you begin to realize how similar the two of you really are. you share a sort of obsession in your work that seems like only each other could understand and he invites you into his world of oil paints and charcoals in hopes of drawing you on paper.

✎ genre/au: dark academia. college au. painter!taehyung x writer!y/n [afab. she/her]

✎ 17.4K words

“He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” — Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë

warnings: smut. slight obsession with their work. prestigious college. tae literally takes oc to a graveyard. oc and tae dont take criticism well. unprotected intercourse. oral [f and m]. oc slobs on his knob and tae eats like it’s the last supper. missionary. side position. lowkey passionate sex. fireplace crackling. namjoon and oc used to be fwb. hints that oc and Jimin used to be fwb too. jungkook is tae’s sculpture artist bestie. jimin is oc’s ballerina bestie. namjoon is oc’s writer bestie.

The smell of cigarettes was something you were fairly used to being around where you resided. You’re not sure what makes it so popular among young academics and sometimes you wonder if it’s not the need of nicotine but more so the aesthetic of it that they all seem to enjoy. It seemed to always linger in the air around campus where all the grad students would walk with their heads down and bags under their eyes as stress took over their entire being. You understand the stress but being an undergrad student yourself, you’re not sure you could understand the extent of it that they must feel. All you could really do is watch the way it slowly deteriorates their body every time they step into the library.

Maybe it’s the Literature major in you, but you never fail to try and assess each person that walks in as if you could see their entire character design and what makes them who they are. Today you got a bit lucky because despite how slow your homework had been going, your favorite case of study had just walked in wearing his usual black turtleneck tucked into a pair of loose corduroy pants. He wore a pair of rounded wire glasses that you love getting to see him in and they did wonders to conceal the eye bags you knew were there.

With this smallest hint of entertainment you’ve found through your long and boring study session with only one friend to confide in, you shut your copy of — excuse the pretentiousness — The Pictures of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, and lowered the volume on your headphones enough to be more aware of the cause of his visit today. You rarely saw him in the library and if he did happen to come by it was to check out or check in a single book on Michaelangelo or Davinci.

You were surprised by how close he seemed to have gotten to you today. The table you studied at was only a couple feet away from a book aisle he had currently walked down and now he was just a meter or so away with his head down in his book. The usual smell of smoke surrounded him and despite scrunching your nose at the smell, you chose to ignore it and study him a little further. You even went as far as to lower your headphones until they curled around your neck giving him your attention even if he didn’t know he had it.

As much of an observer as you were, you never seemed to catch on to the way his gaze would shift to you any time you weren’t looking, eyes scanning your features rather quickly as he made his own assessment. You dressed warmly today, probably due to the fact that there’s been a light rain that has been casted over the city, always seeming to linger longer where the buildings were older and all signs of urban life seemed to dissipate. You were dressed in neutral tones today that placed you perfectly with your own surroundings and if this was a painting he’s sure you would be the focal point—or maybe the single spec of bright color you wore which was in this case your powder blue headphones. He’s not sure he’s ever used that specific shade of blue in a single one of his works before but maybe he’ll look into it.

He rarely visited the library but when he did it was always a pleasant surprise to see you there. He didn’t care much to get to know you, he just found the aesthetic of it all captivating. The library was beautiful, truthfully, with its dark wood shelves and polished tile floors that echoed with each step. It was eerily quiet and it always smelled of old books and always reminded him of a cathedral. There were large stained glass windows of poets, painters, dancers, etc. the clear glass windows overlooked the large pond that covered the back of the small campus where the woods began to take over and student life decreased aside from the occasional late night college party hosted there between trees and bonfires.

“He always comes into my work for paints. I wonder why he always pays in cash.” Your friend said, suddenly appearing next to you and not messing with the printer anymore. He must’ve caught sight of Taehyung before he left and considering he worked at a supply store, it was no surprise he recognized him.

“Maybe he hates banks,” you joked, turning to Jimin with a smile. Jimin pursed his lips staring down the aisle where Taehyung had disappeared once he had his book, “Maybe cash is more aesthetically pleasing. He’s an art major, isn’t he? I say he’s too pretentious to use a plastic card—or even worse, Tap to Pay.”

At that you laughed, deciding to continue the teasing of a man you barely knew while also trying to defend him, “Do people ever get tired of throwing words around?”

“Are you referring to my use of ‘pretentious’?” Jimin asked as he moved to the other side of the counter, “I used the term correctly, it’s an adjective meaning, ‘attempting to impress by affecting greater importance and culture than is actually possessed’. His refusal to adhere to society’s technological advances is pretentious in itself. I bet he still uses No. 2 pencils as an act of defiance against mechanical pencils—if he was a writer like you he would probably be more drawn to a pen but he’s an artist and artists make mistakes that get covered up or changed.”

You couldn’t help but smirk at that, “Tell me then, Jimin, what does a ballerina use to convey words? An Arabesque?”

Jimin released a loud groan, “I hate this goddamn school.”

You watched him open his newest generation laptop and hide behind it. He knew now how little room he had to talk. You, yourself, couldn’t utter a word to disagree with him either when in your hand was a Montblanc fountain pen that cost your parents a hefty 1,500$ to get to you when you were first accepted into the school. You’re sure when the time comes for you to finish undergrad, they’ll up the price and give you one worth 4,000$—the most profound amount of proof that you did in fact strictly use pens for everything.

You would never dare mention anything revolving around the money Taehyung’s family is rumored to have because you don’t know anything about him to do so.

All you knew were the few things you’ve noticed — a couple that even made it into your journal — like the fact that he specialized in two mediums; charcoal and oil paintings. He’s a known name at the University for his work and dedication and you saw that through one of his works. It was dark and a bit twisted but it told a story and you think that’s what drew you into him before you even knew it was him.

Despite his strong presence that always seemed to draw you in, he had a gift for making himself invisible in a group setting. He never spoke up in class, never caused a fuss, he was in and out like a shadow.

At the start of the semester you were taken by surprise when you found him sitting in one of the back rows of the lecture hall to an advanced anatomy class that you’re sure you took for very different reasons. Taehyung was interested in the study of the body so he could fully understand the way the it works from the inside out. He wanted to understand how each limb moved, how fluid each bone and muscle connected, how they could contort, see where the organs go, imagine the flesh coming to life when he painted.

In literature, anatomy isn’t referring to the human body. It refers to a separation of a topic into smaller parts for detailed analysis of the work. You did not make a mistake when you chose this lecture, you too wanted to study the body for your work. You wanted to learn how fragile it really was, how it could be destroyed, how hard it was to do so. You wanted to know about which bones were weaker, which organ puncture did the most damage. You need visuals and understanding of its healing process, of the way it moved, how the nervous system worked. Once you had a better understanding of the body, you just knew that you would be able to apply all these things to your writing. You would be able to detail how your character’s body deteriorated outside and in. How the body would slowly break down, which nerves were affected, how the heart worked in that moment. It would be gruesome but intriguing enough for your readers.

Maybe you needed to write something not so dark, something that didn’t make you take courses you didn’t really need but wanted in hopes that they’ll help you understand better. You didn’t actually need to go this far to describe a couple grueling scenes but it helped.

The room was silent aside from the obnoxious sound of the clock, Tick… Tock… Tick… Tock…Ticking.

You stood at the front of your professor’s desk in his clustered office filled with classical literature books and awards for writing all over the shelves. His desk took up the majority of the space inside and whenever you were in here you couldn’t help but feel just a little suffocated. There were barely any words shared between the two of you, he only ever decided to truly grace you with his speech when he was critiquing and yet right now he’s been uncomfortably silent.

The silence had grown so long that you found your attention drifting toward the grandfather clock that was tucked away near the overwhelming stained glass window that overlooked the courtyard filled with wet and fallen leaves. The trees were bare and the fountain had a sculpture of a big swan with its wings spread in what looked like a dance. It always reminded you of the Swan Song, but you never knew if that was morbid of you. The idea of your University of Fine Arts decorating the campus in the black and white birds simply for decor always seemed strange to you too.

There was no way they would ever portray anything without meaning, or at least something not up for interpretation and yet every time you looked at one of the swans, you thought about the Swan Song, the way the bird’s wings were open beautifully with each detail chiseled into the stone. It looked like the swan’s final performance before its end. It wasn’t the sort of symbolism you liked to see at a school with such dedicated artists looking for a way to perfect every aspect of their work as if each one was their last.

“I like it,” your professor finally said, drawing your attention back to him in an instant, “Your writing has improved Y/n, I’m starting to really visualize the plot and I think it has a certain rawness to it that I’m not used to seeing from you.”

The corner of your lips turned upward like you wanted to smile but you wouldn’t fully allow yourself to. He hasn’t looked at you yet, his eyes stayed glued to your paper and it was clear he wasn’t done, “But it still feels stiff—well, the main character does. I can’t understand him yet, he’s just a mystery to me and not one I’m interested in unraveling. I can’t understand his depth and it’s becoming a big flaw in your writing. Everything else sounds wonderful, well articulated and with such emotion… that when I think of him all I see a huge lack of substance. He’s being drowned out by the rest and he’s supposed to be the one I follow when I read.”

You didn’t say anything as your jaw slowly clenched shut, eyes unwavering as he went on, “It’s like you have a lack of knowledge for human emotion and psychology, I’m not sure that’s something that can be easily fixed.”

“Does it make my writing bad?” You asked stiffly and he shook his head no.

“No, your writing is captivating but there’s a very huge disconnect I’m feeling from your characters,” he said, looking up at you, “It takes away the beauty of it.”

Your lips felt sewn shut as he handed you back your paper with all of his notes for you to fix and you felt like crying. You couldn’t even utter out a single word as you forced yourself not to react to his words and leave his office with your head held high.

What did he mean by disconnect? What more did he want you to do? What did you not understand about human emotion? You’re a human, what is there not to get? What else did he want from you?

These questions circled your head for what felt like an eternity, only confusing you more and more as you left for your next lecture. You spent the fifteen minute gap with your journal out jotting down every question that came to mind trying to see how you could find answers to these.

You sat alone in your row of seats waiting for other students to arrive and you took the time to brainstorm. He told you your characters lacked substance and implied that they were hard to visualize. He said that he can’t understand them, especially the lead and that he couldn’t be absorbed into a story about a character he doesn’t care for. He basically said that you lacked an understanding of emotional depth for the characters you write and therefore your stories will continue to have a disconnect until something changes. If only something could inspire you, maybe help you analyze these so-called emotions you couldn’t comprehend. You needed to remove some of the mystery around your character and really dive in on his arc, understand how he felt. How could you do that? It's not like you could fully visualize it yourself either unless you really began to study those around you more than you already do.

You sat up straighter in your seat and looked around as the lecture hall began to fill slowly. The room had a sort of ancient feel to it with long hazelnut rows of desks pressed side by side against each other in an amphitheater manner. There were diagrams and models of the human body plastered everywhere but none looked straight off of a doctor’s catalog. They looked like Davinci himself drew every skeleton in the room. It also had a small echo especially when the rain hit the wall or glass windows that sometimes tuned out the sound of talking students entering the hall.

You recognized most of the faces and the one who passed you as he went up a few rows seemed to distract you more than the others. Kim Taehyung didn’t wear glasses today but he wore a wool sweater and linen pants. There was a small splotch of gray paint on his knuckle that he hadn't seemed to notice as he swung his book bag onto the desk with a small thud, uncaring if anyone heard and ignored everyone around him.

He was similar to your character, almost. He always seemed closed off and unapproachable but behind his eyes was an aura of emotion that isn’t easily interpreted. You found yourself beginning to scribble down in your journal, just basic things you noted about him.

The lazy, bored look in his eyes that made him look tired and unamused by everything that happened around him.

Then there was his stance. He had good posture but when he sat down in his seat he leaned all the way back with his arms on the table like he was observing every person in the lecture hall, even you.

You knew this because for a second your eyes met with Taehyung’s and in that measly moment you just took in the sight of each other. Taehyung didn’t hold much expression in face but his fingers seemed to twirl his No. 2 pencil a little more intently now. He ran his gaze down from your eyes to the curve of your nose and curl of your lips. There was something about your facial features that he was delighted in studying. When you looked away and gave him a view of your side profile he leaned toward his desk more and the leather sketchbook that rested over his textbook was flipped open as he began to sketch you.

The drawing didn’t mean much to him, it was just a small doodle to pass time, his hands had to always be sketching and you happened to be his distraction today. Usually he doesn’t really pay attention to you when he’s in class, you sit far enough from each other that you never interact and when he catches you in the library you always seem lost in your own world.

He knows your name, he read your story last semester simply because it intrigued him. It was published on the school forum and won an achievement so he checked it out and it was good, your writing is intricate, or at least that’s what he thinks. He’s able to follow along to every word and not be bored or confused but with a certain degree of understanding that the reader needs to learn. There’s an aura of mystery around it, yet it was not something that he couldn’t comprehend and he thinks that’s why he was able to enjoy it.

At the end of the lecture he had three small drawings of you.

“Come on man, it won’t take long, just one drink,” Jungkook begged him for the third time in a row. Despite his friend’s darker exterior dressed in black jeans, a black tee, and a black leather jacket, he was way more outgoing. He was always trying to get Taehyung to go out for drinks or to party but he just doesn’t have the time.

“Not tonight,” Taehyung said as he opened up his pack of cigarettes and took one out, sliding it to his lips before burning the end with his lighter. He handed the pack to Jungkook who took it without question and did the same.

Jungkook released a sigh in disappointment, shaking his head a little as he said, “Whatever man, you say that every night.”

Taehyung shrugged his shoulders as he took a drag and pulled it out between his index finger and thumb, “Then get the hint.”

His friend wasn’t listening anymore, choosing instead to stare at the building in front of him, dimly lit from all the lamp posts. It was just after sunset and the only students around were probably working on assignments like Jungkook and Taehyung. Taehyung took advantage of the art room to work privately and in a bigger space while Jungkook worked in the warehouse where he could work on his new sculpture. Taehyung couldn’t understand why Jungkook cared about whatever was going on at the library till he casually looked over too.

“She looks familiar,” Jungkook said pointing to you as you walked down the sidewalk toward the bus stop. Taehyung looked too, you had a tote bag like most students around here and there was a butterfly clip in your hair but it still looked messy. Your hair was down earlier and at some point you decided to put it up and he realized now that he didn’t have a preference on how hair looks on someone. He likes the style you had earlier and the one you have now too because they enhance your features more.

“That’s Y/n,” Taehyung said casually as they went to the parking lot. Jungkook looked at him curiously before glancing back at you, “You know her?”

Taehyung didn’t have an answer for that so he didn’t give one, he just walked ahead wondering the same thing. “Let’s get a drink,” Taehyung finally gave in and Jungkook immediately cheered. “Yes! Okay, don’t worry, just one.”

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder… that is what every artist has ever been taught. Taehyung has never been able to disagree with a statement more than that one. There is not beauty everywhere, it is not as inclusive as one might think and to truly understand art in the many forms it could take, one needs to understand the meaning of genuine beauty.

It’s quite terrifying in a sense, for one to be able to lose control and fall for the Dionysian seduction and view beauty for what it truly is. It is a raw and exhilarating topic that cannot be defined by just looks or words but more the freedom of life, life is beautiful in its own twisted way and to accept that definition is to be able to portray that in what you do. That’s why Taehyung’s art tends to lean toward a more dark and twisted form. When he creates art he’s not just looking at creating something nice to look at or something with a hidden meaning that no one would ever truly understand. When he creates, he wishes to express human emotion through his work—he wishes to make others feel things they’ve never felt before and that is the beauty he is chasing after.

Beauty is not a person but a feeling and when he looks at you he seems to understand that better.

It’s not just your outward attractiveness that draws him in. It’s the terrifying beauty that you radiate in your gaze, in your mannerisms, in your writing. It intrigues him and if he could put you on a canvas and unravel everything inside you — your fears, your joys, your tears — he would but till then you’re nothing but a familiar stranger that invades his mind when he least expects it.

“Taehyung, your work is beautiful,” his professor said, “Everything you create is effortlessly perfect but…”

He waited with a bated breath, already not liking where this was getting. He watched closely to the way she tilted her head in curiosity, “It’s rather dark, don’t you think? Maybe hard for interpretation an—“

“It’s not made to be interpreted by anything but the way it is,” Taehyung said boldly, “Once art is set for others to create a new meaning for it, is it ever truly art?”

“I guess I am not understanding what you mean,” she said leaning forward against her desk.

Taehyung released a sigh like this conversation with his senior was tedious, “When you look at Picasso’s work, do you think he created it for others to understand? Or was that something that people began to believe? He created art that was unconstraining to himself and his life.”

“Yes but look at Salvador Dali, the entire aspect of surrealism that he used was to unleash the power of imagination and creativity. You can’t just shut your art into a small box for the sake of aesthetic,” she said and that made him scoff, his lip curled in distaste, “And let’s look at Monet? He’s practically what started the entire idea of Impressionism.”

“What it meant to him, how he viewed it at that moment, that was all,” Taehyung said, which made the advisor release a sign, “Claude Monet once said, everyone pretends to understand his art, as if it were necessary to understand when it is only necessary to love.”

“I’m afraid this conversation will go back and forth if we continue,” she said with a huff, already irritated by the way things are going, “The exhibition is in three months, in a month I’ll connect with you on how everything is looking and give you the rundown as well is there anything else you need from me, Mr. Kim?”

Taehyung shook his head and without a goodbye he was getting up from his seat and storming out. Not even a second after the chestnut double doors shut, did he find himself reaching into the pocket of his jeans to get his pack out. The cigarette sat perfectly between his lips as he blocked one side with the hand so the wind didn’t blow his lighter out and he lit the tip, ignoring the ‘No Smoking’ sign just a couple feet away. He couldn’t help but mumble, “Stupid bitch,” under his breath once he finally left the building.

As he rounded the corner, something hit his chest and his free hand immediately the person steady in front of him.

Your hand was on his chest to keep from hitting him and as you looked up, your eyes widened just slightly. Taehyung didn’t say anything as he let you go, brushing against your side and moving around you to leave feeling your eyes on him. You watched him head the way you just came from and finally snapped out of it when you heard your friend call for you.

He turned to look for you seeing you already walking over to some tall and muscular guy. The guy gave you a dimpled smile as he followed after you, no longer in Taehyung’s peripheral.

“Maybe he has a point, Y/n,” Namjoon said as he walked with you to the bus stop, “If you’re struggling then maybe you should think about altering the character more.”

You shook your head in displeasure, “No, I’m not going to change him, I just need to be able to visualize his characteristics.”

Namjoon released a sigh as he pondered over what advice to give you, but came up blank, “I mean… maybe you just need some real inspiration from those around you. ”

The both of you went silent trying to find a solution and you looked up at him curiously. Namjoon would be an amazing reference for a character but he doesn’t fit the image you want him to. He was like light, he was kind hearted and charming and so unbelievably smart but that’s not how you envisioned the main character in your story. The kind of character you had in mind was supposed to act similar to… well, Taehyung. He’s supposed to be a bit mysterious, cold, not necessarily a likable character but someone they can’t help but be curious about.

“Namjoon,” you called his name and for a moment he grew hopeful to the idea that maybe you were thinking of studying him the way you do with others—even if he knew that would never happen. Instead, you came to a stop and looked up at him, “I forgot my laptop in the ffice, I’ve gotta go get it.”

His brows furrowed, looking down at your tote bag, “I’ll come wit—“

“No, you have to work, right?” You asked, already backing away from him, “I don’t want to make you late, I’ll just catch the next bus.”

Before he could argue, you were already taking off in a hurry back down the way the two of you came from. With a sigh he watched you leave wondering why he always seemed to be a couple steps behind you and never beside you. All he’s done since he met you was follow your lead in friendship and outside of it.

Even when the two of you had sex months ago it was always when you wanted and never when he did. If he even thought to ask, all you did was blow him off and then question him on if he’s seeing anyone at the moment. In the same second you would press your lips to his cheek and remind him how much you adored him even when you blew him off he always found the act of it a bit poetic.

He loved you, but it’s a love unreturned and if he wants to stay by you, it has to be with him at the back of your mind and never at the forefront.

With that understanding, he had no choice but to let you go back toward campus walking across fallen leaves and dead branches while he went to the bus alone.

Your legs had taken off before you could even decide where to go and in the end you found yourself heading back the way in which you met with Namjoon—and also the way you bumped into Taehyung. You were never much of the shy type even if it appeared that way, your friends always said you were the selective type—only choosing who to be outgoing with and even then it was rare and required a lot of work to get to you.

They had it easy, Jimin was a childhood friend and Namjoon was in the same writing department as you but that’s as far as your circle went. Well, no, there’s Yoongi too but he’s a pianist and these days he’s so busy with lessons and trips to the orchestra, you barely see him.

Like stated, you were selectively social and right now, you were choosing to find Taehyung so you could formally talk to him. It took you about ten minutes of mindlessly walking through the courtyard to locate him and when you did, you came to a halt. He was just a few feet away now, cigarette between his lips, crouched down against the wall of some historic looking building with castle-like elements and you know he saw you coming when he turned his head and looked right at you.

That was the push that had you walking toward him and saying, “Kim Taehyung?”

“Yes?” He asked, looking you up and down, eyes unable to help themselves as he looked up from your legs to your face. You wore a black fitted turtleneck underneath a brown sweater vest tucked into a black skirt. You wore long 70s style brown boots and mesh tights too. Your hair was pinned back with a hair clip and pins and your ears were lined with simple yet pretty earrings. When his gaze finally met yours, he couldn’t help but take in the sight of you once more.

“My name is—“

“I know your name,” he said with a small glint in his eye, “Obviously.”

You didn’t pull away from his intense stare and watched him bring the cigarette back to his lips, “I thought it would be more appropriate to introduce myself.”

“Mm,” he exhaled looking down at the cement below his feet, flicking the end of the cigarette to let ash fall, “So what could I do for you, Y/n?”

He looked up once more and you bit your lip in thought, “If you are free, I wanted to see if you’d like to get a coffee with me.”

“I don’t like coffee,” he said, finally putting the thing out and standing up, “And it’s almost sunset.”

You blinked in surprise as he stood in front of you now but you didn’t back away, “Then we’ll just have dinner.”

“Thanks,” Taehyung swung his bag over his shoulder, “But I’m kind of busy, I’ve got somewhere to get to.”

He was already walking away to hide his look of surprise. He didn’t expect the two of you to ever really talk and he didn’t really know what to do. He ended up rejecting before he could even truly think it over. He imagined you as just a fantasy — nothing he could ever explore but that he could dream about. He just wanted to look and think about you but never know anything beyond what was on the surface—like a painting.

“And you can’t have a plus one?” You asked in your final effort to get closer to him completely unaware of what he thought of you. You watched him come to a stop, and for a moment you tried to imagine him contemplating. Taehyung turned to face you, “I’m not going anywhere fun.”

You stayed quiet as he went on, “And some might find it scary.”

It seemed like he was trying to warn you as if to let you back out of your own proposal but he wasn’t saying no and that was hopeful. You tilted your chin higher, “As long as you don’t plan on murdering me, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

That made the corners of his lips turn upward in an arrogant smirk, “Okay, Y/n, follow me.”

The walk wasn’t too far from the college but the college was already a bit on the outskirts of the city. All you saw were green, dying hills as autumn threatened to take over and it took you a second to understand where he was taking you until he was leading the way down a steep hill toward an empty and cold graveyard. It was a straight line of jagged tombstones and overgrown plant life entwined around them. There were clear dirt paths leading down row after row of old graves and a few Angel statues but nothing too bad, at least that’s what you’re telling yourself.

“I told you, you might be scared,” Taehyung said as he walked parallel to the graveyard toward a tree that stood tall along the sloping hill, “But this is the best view of twilight, if you want, I could walk you back to campus.”

“No, it’s fine,” you cleared your throat deciding to walk ahead of him so you could be the one sitting upright against the tree. Taehyung dropped his backpack a few feet away from you and began getting his things out.

You didn’t question him, only observed the way he carried on like you weren’t even there. It’s not like you minded, you didn’t have any real agenda to get him to spend time with you and frankly, you felt a bit relieved to see that he wasn’t trying to figure out what you wanted. It was unspoken the way the two of you seemed to think similarly and brought out your tools.

Taehyung didn’t say anything when he flipped his sketchbook open and found a charcoal he could use as he began to sketch without much thought into it. He even made himself comfortable by lying back, using the angle of the hill to help him not lay horizontally and he bent a knee up as a sort of flat surface he could rest his book on. There was a small breeze that carried through his linen shirt and brown trousers but he wasn’t much worried about himself.

He was more worried about you, who had asked to spend time with him but had no real plan to do so. He’ll admit, when he said no it was just on reflex from all the other times he’s out right rejected others before but he only thought it over because he’s been curious of you two. When you told him you would join him for a moment he debated saying no again because this was his favorite place to be to watch the sunset but it wasn’t all that normal. He even tried to warn you and offer to take you back when you saw the graveyard but you didn’t even seem to care when you sat down. Now that he’s looking at you up close, he can see the way your brows furrowed in concentration as you scribbled in your journal, already feeling inspiration.

It’s now that Taehyung is realizing why he’s been so curious. He finds you beautiful, he’s sure he’s mentioned that before, but he finds you beautiful in an unsettling way. Just looking at you seemed to send him into a wave of emotion like you’re exactly what he’s wished to create on canvas. Before he even knew what he was doing, his hands were working away to make another sketch, eyes on you as he worked.

“What are you writing in that little journal of yours?” He found himself asking after some time. The sketch was rough and yet it was so refined that there was no mistaking what it could be. It was a monochromatic sketch of you with your back against the tree, legs straight before you and your hair covering your face with the howl of the wind. Your hands looked delicate when you wrote and you looked so lost in your own work that managed to capture that same essence in his drawing.

When you first looked at him, your eyes went down to the pack of cigarettes he was now messing with and out of curiosity he raised it to you as if asking if you wanted one. Moving to sit forward, you took one and held it between your lips as he dug into his pocket for his zippo lighter, flipping it open and bringing it toward your face to light the cigarette. He watched curiously as you leaned back a little, took an inhale/exhale, and said, “I’ll tell you if you show me what you’ve been doing in that little sketchbook of yours.”

For some reason a small smile came to his face as he laid on his side using his elbow for support and reached over to hand you the sketchbook. You took it with a sense of excitement that quickly turned into disbelief as you looked at it. The back of your index finger hovered over it but never touched for fear that you would smudge it or worse—ash, and when you finally handed it back to him, wordlessly, his cold fingers brushing against sending a warm current down your arm.

At this exchange, Taehyung moved to sit up, not bothering to brush off any loose grass blades off his linen shirt and read over a short passage.

A certain coolness in his gaze that made him appear cruel.

A charming aura that seemed timeless, not modern but ancient like he was created from every classic literature known to man.

His gaze, his smile, his voice—all deep like red velvet.

The list went on, each short sentence followed by another in what one could assume was meant to describe him. He didn’t say anything either as he handed it back to you the same way you had done with his sketchbook. Neither of you were looking for critique or praise, more so acknowledgement of what the other had been doing and once you had it, it was enough.

Taehyung stared forward as the line of bright Orange finally vanished from the sky and a cool blue clouded it. The atmosphere shifted now as darkness began to swim across the sky and you both knew it was time to go. Nothing was said as you both stood up with your things and even less was brought up on your walk back to campus.

It wasn’t until you stood at the bus stop that Taehyung decided to ask, “Are you busy tomorrow?”

“No.”

He pulled out a piece of paper from the pocket in his trousers followed by a pen as he scribbled something down before handing it to you, “Meet me here at 8:00pm.”

You didn’t have to say anything for Taehyung to know you would show and he left without much of a goodbye.

The place you arrived to at 8:00pm on the dot wasn’t exactly what you had in mind but it wasn’t much of a surprise either—it was a warm record bar. The one thing that did seem to surprise you was Taehyung’s choice in music where he preferred jazz over classical. The bar was dimly lit only by shaded, vintage lamps and the small yellow candles near all the booze. The walls were lined with vinyls and the deep mahogany trimming gave the record bar a sort of dark academic charm to it.

When you found Taehyung he was sitting at a small round table fit for two and he had a book in hand—The Picture of Dorian Gray. He wore his usual metal wiring rounded glasses and his dirty blonde hair seemed quite soft and full of life. The dark brown sweater he wore matched well with his tan slacks and you didn’t miss the way eyes would fall on him. It was this charming, educated college boy with a rich father sort of energy that radiates off him, but also the clear look of disinterest written all over his face and it made people curious.

You debated calling his name to let him know you were here but when he looked up in time to catch you walking his way, you were aware that he had been waiting for you and checking the door every couple seconds. Taehyung didn’t shy away from taking in the sight of you in an olive green maxi dress paired with a thin white cardigan tied together at the top of your breasts and below your collarbone. You wore black boot heels this time and when you sat down in front of him he couldn’t help but look at your face now.

“You’re late,” he said as he closed his book and set it to the side. You didn’t even bother to look at the Swiss watch on your wrist as you said, “It’s 8:00, like you said.”

“Yes but what I meant was 7:55 which should have translated to 7:45,” he said annoyingly arrogant as he slid a menu toward you, “As per the rules of a first date.”

His tone was serious as was his body language and yet you could see the hint of amusement in his attempt to hide a smile. You smiled softly, setting your bag down next to you, “I was unaware this was a first date.”

“So you assumed this was the second?” Taehyung had a teasing tone now, “I, personally, would not call an evening together at the cemetery a first date.”

“I do say, I’m a bit surprised to even know you consider this a date after we barely talked at all yesterday,” you said as a waitress came over with a customer service smile. Conversation floated between you two with ease.

“Are we ready to order?”

Taehyung looked at you but you weren’t all that hungry so he ordered a single slice of pastry for the two of you to share, “Yesterday was just to enjoy and accept the presence of one another, tonight is to communicate and learn.”

Taehyung never cared much for investing time into someone he was with, usually if he ever showed any interest in someone or was short lived. He’s not sure what would happen exactly but once the excitement of pining for someone romantically wore off… he just did not care anymore. There was too much to handle and he didn’t have time for any of it—not the clinginess, the crying, the whining. God, the whining got to him.

Why do you ignore me so much?

You’re always too busy painting to notice me?

Taehyung, I just want you to spend time with me.

It was the constant whining that he hated because they just did not get that he was completely devoted to his art and nothing else mattered as much as it did. Yes… maybe the small ounce of excitement he felt helped inspire him but… well he does not need whoever he slept with anymore.

The infatuation had worn off and he’s back to being alone again but now he’s a little too curious about you. Hence, why he asked you out first and in such a haste.

“Alright,” you said, “So then tell me something small, for instance, what time did you arrive? 7:45?”

“7:30 actually,” Taehyung said as he lifted his mug of hot tea to his lips, “I had business to take care of around campus and I didn’t want to make the trip back home.”

“Well if you asked for my number I would’ve arrived sooner.”

“It takes away the romantic aspect of waiting for the other to arrive without hearing from them—maybe I’ll write you a letter instead,” he teased. You just laughed softly and asked, “I didn’t peg you as much of a romantic. And what business?”

“Nothing too important.” Taehyung said vaguely and despite your curiosity you didn’t push him to answer. The corner of his lips raised as he looked at you, looked at him and found himself saying, “But as for being a romantic? It depends on who you ask.”

You focused on what he said about that instead of what his business was and that made him happy. What he did was not that important but it was necessary after what had happened with his advisor. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around what she had told him and in the end he made and impulsive decision to gift her something that might make her see things from his point of view. Of course it was slightly biased but he believed his piece really explained his views on beauty enough for her to understand.

Taehyung delivered two paintings to her inbox earlier. The first one was a more finished painting of you, still slightly distorted and a bit dark but there was no hiding the romantic element that radiated off of it. He called it ‘Genuine Beauty’. The second painting was a distorted and bright picture of his professor with exaggerated features that weren’t pleasing to the eye and he called it, ‘Beauty in the Eye of the Beholder’.

A true sentient on what he thought of her words. He wanted to know how she would twist the grotesque image of herself into something beautiful.

“What have you been up to aside from writing me?” Taehyung asked, looking at you with interest.

“Aside from that, I’m afraid not much else,” you confessed, “I’ve been in a sort of dry spell trying to understand my character.”

“Tell me about them.”

“Well, it’s a him and he’s similar to you.”

He listened closely to each word you said, taking in the curve of your mouth when you talked and the way you gestured with your hands. He’ll admit, the character did seem very similar to him so he can understand your curiosity in him and the fact that you seemed to lose yourself in your craft didn’t go unnoticed by him. He simply nodded his head and replied with short answers when asked.

In the end, he offered the only thing he could, “Let me be your case of study then, and in return you’ll be mine.”

You smiled this time, a small arrogant smile as you said, “Will you paint me like one of your French girls?”

He understood the reference and found himself saying, “If you write me like one of the lovers in your poems.”

By the end of the night you found yourself in the back of a taxi driving straight to his place under the pretense of another drink. Conversation seemed to flow with ease between you and it ranged from Davinci to Monet, Shakespeare to Milton and whatever was in between. Even when Taehyung asked such a heavy question, you didn’t seem to struggle to find an answer.

“Do you believe in love?” He had asked as the cab stopped in front of a house similar to an upstate New York townhome. He had you by the hand helping you out of the car and held onto you as he led you up the stone path.

“I have to, I’m a writer,” you told him and he seemed to pull you into him more.

“But what is it that you believe it to be?”

The question did make you think a little bit. It’s not that you thought Taehyung had an ulterior motive in asking you such a thing; it’s not like the two of you were seriously into the idea of it but you wanted to give him the right answer—one that truly described you and your ideals.

You didn’t answer his question right away as he let you into his home which was no different than what you imagined it to be. His apartment was in an old building turned into luxury Victorian styled apartments with modern eclectic touches. It was a put-together mess of sketches and canvases littered around the place. The floor was made of a dark, polished hardwood and his furniture all seemed worn through with velvet cushions and engraved wooden trimmings. He had floor-to-ceiling bay windows with twine hanging across them and papers clipped on with laundry pins to dry. There was a warm feel to the place and it had everything to do with his dedication to earthy tones and shades of Morocco red.

There were painting supplies everywhere from scattered charcoals and cans of linseed oil for his paints. There were stacks of literature books and various art ones piled high on nearly every surface and yet it all seemed to be organized to what you could assume only he could understand. Taehyung didn’t even seem to mind the clutter as he chose instead to ask, “Red or White?”

“Red.” You responded quite simply before resuming your studying of his place, the fireplace on one wall was surrounded by canvases and books—same as the vintage bookshelf and for a moment you wondered if his bedroom looked any similar. The thought vanished quickly when you got the smallest hint of which room that might be from the open door down the hall. He had plain gray sheets on an unmade bed and the furniture in there was scarce, like he barely spent any time there and if he did it wasn’t to sleep—the bags under his eyes told you so.

“Have you thought of an answer to my question yet?” Taehyung asked, reminding you yet again of what he asked earlier. He handed you a wine glass and you took it with a nod in gratitude as he left you to find a record to play.

“I’ve had an answer all along, I just wasn’t sure how you would feel about it,” you said and you could see him smile as he moved the needle over the start of the vinyl, Nocturnes, Op 9 began to play.

“I’m not looking for anything in particular, just an insight on what you think,” he said honestly and with a small sigh you decided to tell him.

“I think love is more so… a choice than an emotion?” You finally said as you watched him take a seat on the floor near his coffee table instead of the velvet couch behind him. He motioned for you to join him, “How so?”

“Anyone can feel love at any given moment but it is fleeting,” you sat down, knees nearly touching his, “Tell me, have you ever felt in love before?”

Your question seemed to catch him off guard yet he answered as bluntly as he would regarding anything else, “Only with my paintings.”

“And that had been a choice, to continue, right?” You asked, “Love like every emotion is temporary and inconsistent. Yes, doing certain things or being with certain people might invoke these feelings but once that has dwindled it is your choice to remain in that constant state of loving something—or someone. I love writing, I always have because it is my choice. I choose to subject myself to the hardships that come with my work even at times where I think I hate it. Even at times when I choose to give up I think about the joy it brings me, the emotions that pour out of me and onto every letter and word I put down on paper. I choose to love writing, I choose to devote myself to it and I choose to put it above anything else in the world, even my own relationships.”

Taehyung could see it in your eyes how strongly you felt about it. Your answer had gone slightly off topic but he understood your reference to it in every word you spew, “So when I say I believe in love… I don’t mean it in regards to a feeling that transpires throughout inconsistently, but I mean it as a choice to continue to feel that way even when it hurts and I can’t take it any more.”

A silence seemed to drag on between you and for a moment you wondered if you said too much and sounded too stupid. Taehyung seemed to inhale and exhale at once, “Well, I do say, we have very similar ideals. I don’t think I could’ve put it into better words than a writer even if I tried.”

You couldn’t help but smile, hiding it behind your wine glass, “Maybe you’ll paint them instead.”

“Maybe, I’ll paint you instead,” Taehyung said with a pale yet serene expression like he was scared to speak his words and exhilarated by them all the same.

How could someone seem to get lost and sound so dazed when talking about writing? Did writing mean as much to you as his art did to him? Is that why there was never a need for many words to be spoken between you? Was that why he was able to enjoy your presence so long and so quickly when before you would never even speak? Was there always this underlying connection between your minds and how you viewed art and your world?

You rested your glass on the table as you took in his living room again and all its character, there was a set of paintbrushes just laying on his table and you reached for one. The wood was smooth between your fingertips as you twisted it before looking up at him with a curious gaze, “With one of these?”

Taehyung simply nodded his head watching you lift your skirt up just enough to expose a bit of leg and you brushed the art tool against your calf, “It’s soft.”

His tongue ran over his lips and he leaned forward to gently take the brush back. You were nearing an apology for taking it without asking him first but he simply scooted closer to you on the blanket he laid beneath you and placed your legs over his, skirt of your dress rising even further until he was running the brush over the curve of your knee, “I use it to blend shadows, like this.”

The brush felt soft against your skin, sending tingles down your spine as he ran it over you in circular motions, eyes on yours.

“I tried painting once,” you said as his finger slowly traded with the brush until he was softly touching you, “I wasn’t that good, I couldn’t portray the right picture.”

Taehyung just smiled as he felt you hand go over his while taking the brush back until you were tracing the curve of his wrist, “Paint with your words, and show me you’d write me, like your character.”

“He is very similar to you,” you said, “In almost every aspect and I didn’t realize that until today.”

“Mm,” Taehyung hummed in content when you lifted the brush toward the collar of his unbuttoned shirt, teasing him without realizing it. You seemed to use the brush against him without much thought of what you were doing and how it affected him. You should know, though, that the feel of his art tool against his skin would feel good to him. The soft bristles tickled his collarbone, “How would he make love?”

That seemed to catch you by surprise as you slowed your touch to look up at him. He just bit his lip, hand on your leg caressing it as he waited for your response. Without missing a beat, you said, “Slowly, starting with a sweet kiss.”

A small smirk came to his face, one that only he could pull off without looking cocky. He looked smart and pretty with his glasses and blonde hair, when he spoke he made it sound poetic and when he looked at you it felt like he was focused on whatever was beneath the surface. You watched him push his glasses up the slope of his nose and before you knew it, he was leaning closer, lithe fingers coming up to touch your chin and tilt your jaw.

Although you knew what was coming, there was no denying the small second of hesitation that coursed through you when his lips so tenderly pressed against yours, his voice low as he asked, “Like this?”

You licked your lips despite the extremely small space between yours and his and without the ounce of hesitation from earlier, your hand came up to his neck where you pulled him into you for a real kiss. It started off slowly just like the two of you knew it would but there was no denying the desire that laced throughout it. At first all that happened was your mouths moving against each other, getting used to the idea of kissing — something neither of you have done in a while. Then, it became more feverish. If possible, you seemed to move closer with your hand on his thigh to support yourself. You were on your knees leaning into him and he had a single hand against the floor to support his sitting position while the other was cupping your chin for the best angle. There was a growing intensity between your mouths, lips moving more forcefully now, saliva gradually increasing when you felt his tongue make a swiping motion against your lips.

“Or like this?” His voice had become more hoarse with need. He enjoyed feeling the way your body seemed to lean toward his and he seemed to ask, “What would he do next?”

“It’s not what he would do next,” you said as you moved without your own violation and trailed your lips along the curve of his jaw, “But what would happen to him next.”

Taehyung’s head seemed to tip back as he used both of his hands to keep him upright while you moved between his patted legs to kiss down his neck. He licked at his lips, slowly blinking at the first feel of your tongue licking his ear lobe before you sucked it into your mouth making a tingle run down his spine. Your warm breath tickling his ear made his breath bitch and it didn’t take you long to realize that you had found his weak spot. Unable to help yourself you brought your mouth back to his for a kiss that was much needier than any of the ones prior.

“Y/n,” Taehyung’s throat was dry and it made his voice raspier than usual, “Touch me more.”

The words surprised you. You didn’t take him for much of a womanizer but you didn’t think he would seem this touch starved. The last person you had slept with had been your dear friend, Namjoon, and when you realized feelings were beg bring to get involved you were to end the rendezvous that had transpired between you two in an effort to save the friendship and his feelings. You couldn’t explain why you could never see him as more than a friend—and you couldn’t explain why it was so easy to view Taehyung as something more. Your mind had been drawn to him before your body and yet it all felt the same.

You began to crawl away from him and in an effort to keep this going, he went after you with another kiss before your hand touched his chest to keep him in place. It got to the point where Taehyung wasn’t sure if it was the cashmere brown sweater he wore that made his body heat up, or if it was being too close to the fireplace but he felt himself begin to break into a sweat.

He stretched his legs out before him when he got the hint of what you wanted to do watching you shimmy down until you were nearly eye level with his pants and the evident bulge becoming more prominent with each passing second. Taehyung was not ashamed of how quickly you seemed to get to him and his body’s reaction to you. Sex was a normal thing, it was poetic and passionate if done with the right person and he hasn’t done it in a while—a long while. It was completely normal for him to release a light gasp when your hand grazed his inner thigh just inching toward his growing erection.

The two of you made eye contact once more, his lip caught between his teeth and his eyelids low in a lustful gaze that matched your own. There was a strong attraction toward each other — infatuation if you will — and you can’t say there’s romantic feelings between you but there’s no denying that there has been the underlying sexual tension that rose from a clear understanding of each other’s devotion to your work. It turns you on to know he seems to connect with your ideals.

You didn’t even realize Taehyung had moved a hand behind you until he was pulling on the back of your head to drag you back into a needy kiss. Your hands had already gone toward his slacks and you had been unzipping the front as the two of you made out once more. Taehyung’s hand fell back to the ground with a groan as you yanked at his underwear making him lift his hips enough for them to come down with his pants. A small hissing sound left his lips as his hard dick finally made its appearance, springing free of its right confines, hard enough to already angle toward his navel.

Taehyung was not ashamed by the way his stomach caved in with a deep breath at the first feel of your hand wrapping around his tip spreading the beads of precum that had already dribbled out the slit. His tongue was in your mouth, sliding against yours with you swallowing each groan he let out when you began to stroke his length slowly from base to tip. Like earlier, when you tried pulling away from the kiss to catch your breath, he was following after you to stop you from breaking apart from him.

A thin line of drool connected your mouth to his as you finally pulled back, biting down on your lip. He watched you look down at his exposed member, leaning down until you were face to face with it. His long fingers curled around your hair, slowly pushing your head down just a middle until he felt the first tender lick of your tongue along his tip. Taehyung’s entire body reacted to the way you tentatively licked his head teasingly making a small shudder travel right through him.

You have to say, Taehyung has one of the prettiest dicks you’ve ever seen and you just couldn’t help but want to savor it. It was just so pretty and you found yourself wanting to play with it some more. Your hand held onto him at his base as you ran your tongue down the side of his length lathering it in drool to aid your closed fist.

His brows scrunched together as he attempted to watch what you were doing. He could feel your hand jerking him off as you teasingly kissed up his side and tip, tongue swirling around his slit that leaked precum. He just couldn’t see you over the bulk of his sweater.

With an annoyed huffed, he released your hair to pull at his sweater with one arm as he brought it up toward his chest and tucked it under his jaw. Just as he had it fixed, a low and deep sound vibrating in his chest feeling your lips finally surround his tip, sucking gently before relaxing and taking more of him inside. You made yourself relax so you could loosen your jaw enough to accommodate his length as you began to suck him off, tongue licking along the bottom side everytime you bobbed your head up and down.

You had a firm hand on his upper thigh as the other was at his base against his pelvic bone to hold his hips down and let your mouth do all the work. His sweater slipped from under his chin making him groan as he threw his head back, “So good.”

He kept his gaze on the ceiling taking in the feel of your warm and tight mouth taking his cock so deeply. You looked up at his stomach trying to see his face but with the way his head was tilted back, you just couldn’t. All you could see was his chest rise and lower with each breathy sigh he let out, ducking his cock deeper down your throat.

Unable to help yourself, you moved your hand to his navel, feeling his breathing better and he needed to see what you looked like with his dick in your mouth.

He held the end of his sweater between his teeth as he stared down the expanse of his torso to where you laid between his legs swallowing around his cock with a dark look in your eyes that had him muffling a moan.

His hips bucked helplessly into you making you swallow more and more of his length till you couldn’t breathe properly anymore and needed to get off. The hand you still had on his dick began to stroke him, wrist flicking on each upward stroke to make your palm run along his slit while you caught your breath. You watched him in complete awe, he was so hard and his balls tightened against that you couldn’t help but lick between them.

"Fuck," the sweater made it hard to hear him as hw sank his teeth into it feeling it begin to moisten annoyingly so bur he was not going to miss the sight of you kissing below his cock to his balls.

When you finally decided to take him back in your mouth there was no slow build up, it was quick and sudden as you took him down your throat to the point where you gagged around him. The way he bit into the sweater looked like a restraint and he looked so pretty with the fire reflecting off his tan, bare chest and his blonde hair was just a knotted mess from how often he shook it.

“Y/n, you feel so good,” You were never much of a talker during sex, especially if it wasn’t genuine and just superficial dirty talk but he sounded so good moaning your name even if you couldn’t hear him properly.

There wasn’t much warning aside from the incessant moaning that fell from his lips and was swallowed in cashmere for you to know he was close. His hips bucked messily into your mouth, cock twitching with the need to just let go and when you met your mouth with your fist jerking off the rest of him… he just couldn’t take anymore.

Taehyung’s head fell back with a dry moan as the urge to cum got the best of him and he let go in your mouth. You didn’t seem to mind either, once the surprise of the suddenness had worn off, you didn’t hesitate but to try and swallow as much of the thick semen as you could, not at all bothered by the taste of it. Taehyung had to let his sweater go to breathe heavily through his parted lips as he used his elbows to sit himself up in the blanket, trying to understand what had just happened.

“Mm,” you hummed, proud of yourself for making him cum down your throat and you sat up to look at him. Taehyung met your eyes with his feeling heavy with need as he licked his dry lips before forcing himself to sit up properly so he could drag you into a deep kiss. You released a light mewl in surprise, kissing him back eagerly with his hand below your ear on your neck guiding you to angle your head one way while he went the other.

There was not a single part of him that felt bothered at the taste of himself on your tongue, if anything it only made him want you more so he could repay you for treating him so well. Once you had gotten lost in your little makeout, it was easy for you to follow his lead as he moved over you to get you to lie down in his place. The only time he pulled away from you was to finally free himself from the confines of his stupid sweaters and kick off his pants the rest of the way. It didn’t take you long to get what he wanted and you hurried to remove your cardigan feeling the straps of your dress begin to slip off your shoulders. Taehyung dragged you to him, kissing along the exposed skin of your collarbone and shoulder, hands sliding down your back till they could inch the dress down and off of you, making you take it off through the bottom so he wouldn’t have to pull away again.

Your bra and underwear were made of a thin crème colored lace that looked pretty against your complexion and soft between his fingertips as he ran his hands over your covered breasts that had been taunting him all night.

A quiet gasp left your lips due to the way his lips kissed down the valley of your breaths, soft hair tickling your neck. Taehyung’s hands held onto your sides, sliding them up to the end of your bra, feeling you arch your back into his affections until he was able to move them under your to grab at the clasp. Once he was able to unhook it, he tugged it off your arms letting you throw it to the side and dragged him into another kiss when he cupped your bare tits in his warm hands, using his thumbs to rub over your hardening nipples.

“Taehyung,” you whined softly against him, eyes on the ceiling when he began to leave love bites along your neck, traveling his wet mouth lower and lower down your stomach.

“Hm,” he hummed in acknowledgement, making his way between your legs while his hands groped your chest loving the softness of your skin under his rough painter’s hands.

As Taehyung slipped further between your legs till his face was near your spread legs, he looked down. The lace underwear was transparent enough for him to see just a bit underneath and he could see a small shadow of slick over where your cunt should be. He tried to look up at you through his blonde fringe and you sat forward enough to brush it back, smiling as he pressed a teasing kiss against the hood of your clit over your underwear. You lied back down letting yourself relax feeling his fingers hook under the hem of your panties till he was tugging it off and move your thighs over his shoulders so he four fit snugly against you.

Taehyung didn’t waste time teasing you, he had already been so turned on that not even cumming down your throat was able to calm his raging hormones. He just wanted to have you as soon as he could, any way he could, and that meant with his tongue stiffening as he parted your folds around him before licking flatly toward your clit. A light moan left your lips as your clit immediately reacted to stimulation, a small gush of slick pushing out of your pussy with arousal. Taehyung was not inexperienced in the art of making someone cum undone on his to hue and that was becoming more and more evident with the way he made out with your cunt like it was your mouth.

“Oh my god,” you threw your head back, out of breath, as his tongue began to flick messily at your clit while hands slid further down your inner thighs until he was using his thumbs to pull your folds apart for him. You could feel your wetness begin to drip further down but he was quick to leave your clit and lap his tongue against your wet entrance where your arousal seemed to form a puddle at. With the way his thumbs kept you open, you felt everything.

Every now and then his thumb would teasingly push in just a little more than before, acting like he didn’t even notice he was doing it while he hungrily sucked on your clit, tugging it between his lips. His thumb was rubbing against your labia, pressing into it, teasing your entrance every now and then by pushing into it until he felt your legs begin to tremble around him. Unable to help himself, he got a big more rough, tonguing your clit with such effort that his head shook with eagerness, swallowing your slick and pressing his face into your cunt to taste all that you had to offer.

“Oh,” you breathed out shakily, hand sinking into his hair when he nosed at your clit, tongue joining his finger as he thrusted it into you, “I-I, oh god.”

“Mhm,” Taehyung nodded, urging you to let go of him and you had to bite your lip to keep from moaning. Your thighs tried shutting but his head didn’t let you and instead you pressed them against him making him groan with need, eyes nearly rolling as he doubled his efforts.

Your throat became dry as you planted heavily, hips bucking against his mouth until finally you felt the knot in your stomach come undone. His motions did not miss a beat in licking everything you had to offer as your orgasm came in a wave.

“S-so, good,” you breathed out tiredly feeling your pussy walls clenching around nothing and as much as you wanted to just be done, you needed him inside you. When he came up to kiss you, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him flush against you so his hard cock rutted against your wet pussy. The taste of each other on your tongues was what made it easy for you two to want to keep going without the thought of repercussions. His hand slid between your sweaty bodies to hold his cock, lining it up with your entrance, bumping into your clue as he refused to break away from the kiss.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close as the two of you looked at each other with such need, such want that your lips didn’t spend too long apart from each other.

Your tongue met his just as his cock met the inside of your pussy, taking it slowly as he stroked himself with your slick to ease himself in better. His dick was rock hard, and your pussy was so fucking wet he couldn’t help but moan into your mouth as you took him in.

Taehyung has to hold onto you with a hand on your waist to keep you from sliding away from him too much as the blanket wrinkles on his wooden floor. He had his other tucked by the side of your head looking down at you lovingly as he finally began to thrust, “Tell me if it’s too much, love.”

“Mhm,” you said softly, legs falling apart even more to accommodate his as he dug his knees into the floor so he use his hips to fuck you better. A groan left his lips at the expert roll of your pelvis against his taking more and more of his length inside your tight walls.

“You make me feel so full,” you moaned gently into his ear as he dropped his head down against your neck to try and ignore the fact that your pussy around his dick without any protective layer between them felt so fucking good. You were already so close and he’s barely started. He fucked you slowly but firmly, getting himself used to being inside you and sucking on your neck, his hand left your hip to cup your breast once more and you gasped when he pinched your nipple.

“So tight,” Taehyung breathed out heavily with a single touch thrust that had your walls tightening around him, “So good for me.”

He did it again, and once again drew another moan out of you, repeating his thrusts more roughly than before until you were moaning out a string of his name.

Taehyung was well endowed and you never doubted that for even a second. He knew how to have sex, not just to fuck, but to have sex. It wasn’t just loud groans and rough thrusts. He was sensual, he kissed your neck, whispered sweet words of praise in your ear, touch your body as he fucked you almost passionately—unlike the usual guys you hook up with.

“It’s like you were made for me,” Taehyung groaned, brows scrunched together in concentration as he pulled back to sit and swing your right leg over him to press against your left until you were nearly lying on your side. He laid down next to you, curving his body against yours and lifting your leg back and held it up with his knee as he fucked you from the side. His lips were against your ear, whispering, “Just for me, like my own creation.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, “Just for you, please Taehyung, I’m so close.”

You looked straight out of a vintage erotica film. His apartment was warm due to the fireplace and comforting because of the classical music playing. The moon looked over you as you had sex, nearly love making, lying on your sides with his body cuddled into yours, fucking you with his cock while groping your breasts in his hands. You had to angle your head back and then your neck to kiss him and he swallowed your mouth with his, thrusts getting tougher as he curled around you, “Me too, love, all for you.”

“So paint me,” you moaned, fucking back against him.

For a moment he wondered if you meant on a canvas, or with his cock in your pussy, but he realized he would gladly do both if you let him. Your hand slid back to guide his hips into yours, “Cum, Taehyung, inside me, please.”

“Oh god,” a low growl left his lips as he dug his face into your hair, “Fuck, Y/n, d-don’t tempt me.”

“Do it,” your hand came up to his hair now, dragging his head toward yours until your lips met in a messy kiss, “I’m going to cum, Tae, please.”

It wasn’t a good idea. You were on the pill but he didn’t know that, all he knew was that he wasn’t wearing a condom and he wanted to fill you with so much cum that he painted you white.

“Mhm,” he moaned when you tugged on his bottom lip between your teeth and his hand pinched your hips, “Cum, Y/n, please—oh fuck.”

The only thing that came from you two was the sound of skin slapping as the urge to cum overtook you both and you were fucking like rabbits in heat. Nothing but animalistic grunts left him as he finally felt the flood of release you let go around with him with a whine of his name and before he knew it, he was cumming.

You immediately felt full with his release as it joined yours, cock pulsing inside you as he waited a moment to reel his emotions back in, sweaty forehead pressed against yours, “So good.” He hugged you closely, breathing heavily into your neck, softly kissing your skin affectionately.

It took you both some time to regain awareness of what had just happened and you lied on the fur blanket he had tossed on the floor. The fire sizzled behind you and some classical song [you were ashamed to admit you didn’t know] was playing. Taehyung seemed to be more in control of himself now and reached up to his small table in search of his pack. Once he had a cigarette between his lips, he lay back down next to you to catch his breath, pressing it to yours next.

There was a sort of glow to your skin, your eyes shined with the night sky reflecting through the windows. Light came from the fire not far behind and a small dim lamp in the corner yet the moon was still casted over you two.

His eyes traced your features once more and before he knew it, he was saying something unexpected, “She was the most beautiful person he had ever seen.”

Despite the way your heart seemed to stop, your brows furrowed, “What?”

Taehyung took another drag of his cigarette, “Who wrote that? ‘She was the most beautiful person he had ever seen’ I read it somewhere… ‘With stars in her eyes’.”

Your eyes seemed to widen as you thought it over for a second. A sense of realization flooded you but even knowing you might be right, you still shyly asked, “Virgina Woolf?”

“Yes, I believe so, ‘She was the most beautiful person he had ever seen, with stars in her eyes and veils in her hair.’ I read it years ago,” Taehyung stared out at the moon through the bay windows, “Anyways, it just came to mind, and reminded me of you.”

There was a cloud of smoke drifting into nothing like they were his words being absorbed all around you. After that a silence seemed to fill the room and it was so calming in fact that you found yourself lulled to sleep against his chest.

It wasn’t until hours later when you had woken to loud noises, did you realize that he had not had the luxury of peaceful post-sex sleep.

The first thing you had noticed in your haze of sleep was the sky still blue out and the fire still crackling behind you. The second was that you still slept on the floor and Taehyung was not beside you anymore. It took you some time to realize all the noise that had woken you up was coming from him and his quick brush strokes.

Taehyung had a pair of jeans on and a smock. He didn’t even bother with a shirt, just slipped the smock over his bare chest and he sat on the floor with a pallet full of paint in his hands as he did soft strokes on his canvas. He was so focused that he didn’t seem to mind his glasses which had slipped down to the tip of his nose, lips slightly parted in concentration and eyes bouncing around his painting.

You wondered what this meant for you. You didn’t know what time it was but the way he worked so diligently didn’t even make you want to stay, what if it would bother him? You don’t want to do that and he seems to have already forgotten you were there and what you had just done. With a small sigh you looked around for all of your things, finishing getting dressed and in search of your shoes and bag.

Taehyung’s strokes were fast and agile, he didn’t even have to think of how he was painting, he was just moving mindlessly and mixing all the right colors and blending in all the right places. You took a seat on the sofa trying to put your boots back on.

“What are you doing?” Taehyung asked but his eyes never left the canvas. You could barely hear him over the sound of the record player still playing and it took you a second to know he was even talking to you.

You looked up curiously, “Um… it’s late, I should probably go, I don’t want to disturb your work.”

You were very understanding actually. There are many times you’ve woken up in the middle of the night to write and you didn’t waste time on thinking of anything else while doing it so if Taehyung was the same about his painting then you didn’t want to bother him.

Taehyung pushed his glasses up with the tip of his brush as he finally looked at you, “You won’t disturb me. Stay.”

He watched as you brought your lower lip between your teeth in thought before saying, “Seriously Tae, I don’t mind leaving. You’re working, I understand.”

“But I mind,” Taehyung said in his deep voice that sounded even deeper this late with the fire in the fireplace still crackling and Beethoven’s String Quartet No. 14 playing in the background. You didn’t say anything for a moment and he ran a hand through his messy hair, a small paint streak coating a strand, “Won��t you stay, Y/n? I’ve been in a slump and right now it just hit me all at once and I think it’s because of you. Please, won’t you stay?”

“Can I watch?”

Taehyung did not hesitate to nod his head and motion for you to sit on the floor next to him so you moved quickly to do so.

By the end of the night you watched him paint until dawn with your head resting against his back adoringly. His brush strokes were hypnotizing and the way he captured the light perfectly had you in awe, especially when you realized it was a painting of you.

It inspired you the way he was so devoted to his work and it reminded you of yourself.

Your days carried on as usual after that night with Taehyung. The only differences being ones that involved him. For instance, he has called you a couple times —he’s completely against the act of texting. It’s never anything major, usually to ask how your day has been or to get coffee. There was no sign of an actual relationship but it was close to it.

Today you had your shared anatomy class and he sat next to you instead of behind you like he normally would.

You’re not very fond of the fact that he’s distracting you more than you would like him to but it’s something you can’t explain. Your pen scribbled away in your yellow page notebook with word after word just piecing together effortlessly. Taehyung was utterly fascinated by it all, sometimes you wouldn’t even look down but your pen seemed to never fully lift off the page. You filled page after page in the three hour class, eyes on the professor but nothing you wrote down had to do with what he was teaching.

Every now and then you would look over at him and your eyes would meet, he would raise a brow and you would give him a smile, before looking down to write.

“I don’t think you heard a single thing he said today,” Taehyung said once the two of you made your way out of the lecture hall side by side. From the way you stared off into space, lips moving every now and then as if mouthing silent words, he knew you weren’t listening. He doubts you meant to ignore him but clearly you seemed to be in your own world right now, just thinking about writing and writing and he gets it.

You weren’t thinking of anything else, and he knows this because he had to grab onto your waist and pull you back to keep you from walking right into the pouring rain just outside. You seemed to snap back into reality and looked around, “Did you say something?”

Taehyung was opening his umbrella for you, pulling you under it beside him, “I’ve written notes for you, you seemed a bit distracted to take them yourself today.”

Your eyes slowly widened in surprise as it finally dawned on you that you had spent the last three hours doing nothing but writing about him. You came to a sudden stop and he waited there beside you with the rain pounding on his umbrella. With a small sigh, he let go of you to rummage through his bag with his free hand and took out his notebook, “I wrote two of everything.”

“Taehyung,” you said, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” he said with a shrug, “But you were so lost in your writing I didn’t want anything disturbing you. I had no problem with it, I’m a fast writer and a good listener.”

“Thank you,” you finally began to walk again now that you couldn’t bear the cold standing in one place, “I am bad at focusing on anything else when I write.”

“I understand,” he had to speak up so you could hear him over the rain, “And if you do not think I would be a bother, maybe you’ll let me watch you write more?”

“You’ll get bored,” you said as the two of you walked toward his car, a vintage Chevrolet Corvette that belonged to his grandfather.

“Watching you?” He asked, holding the door open for you, “Never.”

Your apartment was how he pictured it—books and papers scattered everywhere. You were still much neater than him but not by much, clearly the two of you focused too much on your craft that it’s completely taken over everything.

Your place was small yet spacious and well furnished with vintage chairs and mahogany bookshelves. There was a slight clutter of books upon books and dead plants that didn’t get enough sun with the curtains closed. It was warm and had your lovely scent. There was a stack of papers on a desk next to a laptop and an expensive looking typewriter.

There wasn’t much of a conversation going on between you, the last time you said something to him was when you asked him if he needed a drink. Your back was to him and he spent about an hour or so sitting alone on the daybed as he drew in his sketchbook.

After some time when you finally decided to join him, you were exhausted and physically drained. You lied down with your head on his lap looking up at him when his hand began to caress your cheek. “Taehyung.”

“Yes, my love?” He asked with his gaze meeting yours. The name just slipped and he didn’t care to take it back, only watched you curiously still waiting to hear what you would say. You blinked once, “I think I’m beginning to understand better.”

You had been writing nonstop for a long time but for the first time it felt like you finally understood your work.

There was no way to explain it but these interactions with Taehyung—your living reverie—have opened your eyes to his character and the way you wanted to write him in the first place. He was everything you had been searching for.

He leaned back, startled by the sudden way you sat up, hand around his looking at him, “You.”

“Me?” Taehyung asked with his hands on your waist, shifting you more on his lap, “You understand me?”

All it took was one nod of your head for him to be pulling you into a kiss meeting you halfway. He had a hand on your chin, angling your head opposite of his letting the kiss deepen, soon he was tracing the curve of your neck with his jaw. Every ounce of lust and greed poured out in his fingers when he touched you.

It didn’t take Jungkook long to realize something about his friend seemed different. He was used to Taehyung isolating himself when he had a wave of creativity. There would be days on end where Jungkook would call only for every call to be ignored. He would even write his friend letters but he never answered him. When he was back to normal, Taehyung would look tired like he hadn't eaten or slept in days.

Right now, Jungkook sees Taehyung but he doesn’t think Taehyung sees him. Despite sitting across from him, he wouldn’t look his way. Instead he was staring out the large windows that overlooked the courtyard

“Have you eaten?” Jungkook asked, looking up from his sketchbook. The two had been on the second floor of the library this evening studying classical art techniques. Jungkook had gotten bored and began to sketch up an idea for another sculpture while Taehyung drew someone he couldn’t recognize. His friend didn’t even so much as flinch and give any sign that he was listening.

A small scoff left his lips, “Taehyung.” With an annoyed huff, he reached for his sketchbook and watched with a confused expression, “Who is this?”

It was quite detailed despite how little time he had to draw this and Jungkook was in awe. For a second he wondered if this was original work from Taehyung, all created from his mind but as he followed Taehyung’s gaze out the window, he realized it wasn’t.

It was you.

You sat on a wooden bench facing the swan fountain and there was a book in your hands. Jungkook couldn’t make out the book but seemed to have all your attention because you stopped every now and then to highlight something then jot it down in a notebook. There were powder blue headphones on your head and you were in a red lace long sleeve top with roses embroidered on and under was a white shirt. The black skirt you wore reached below your knees with a slit on the side that exposed your boots and over it all, you had on a black coat. He’ll admit, you did look rather captivating against the dead green of the lawn and trees paired with the foggy sky from days on end of rain.

Taehyung seemed to have found his newest muse and it was all he could think about.

“Are you still interested in her?” Jungkook finally asked, catching the way a small smile seemed to fall on Taehyung’s face—something he rarely got to see despite how easily he gave them to you. Jungkook did recognize you in the drawing better once he got a good look at you. He had almost forgotten seeing you weeks ago when he was with Taehyung, but he had certainly forgotten his friend’s knowledge and curiosity of you.

“Only a little,” Taehyung said, ignoring the way Jungkook looked at him with disbelief. He was used to his friend having a sudden infatuation with a certain person but they were short lived and always ended with the poor girl crying about how cold he was—Jungkook knows because he was always there to pick up their broken pieces with a night in his bed [Taehyung never cared].

“She’s hot,” Jungkook said, half teasingly to read how his friend would feel. Taehyung merely gave him a side glance in acknowledgment but the smile he had for you had tightened as he looked back outside.

“It’s that guy again,” Jungkook pointed out as they both watched outside, “What’s his name?”

Kim Namjoon.

Taehyung was used to seeing him around throughout the years but he never had a need to pay attention to him before. Like most of those who he sees in passing they never become more than that—just a passing blur that he doesn’t care to know a single thing about. Namjoon used to be one of the ones he ignored until he heard you mention him once or twice.

“Who knows,” Taehyung said, shifting his gaze down to his sketch pad avoiding the sight of Namjoon and you now standing like you had somewhere to go.

Jungkook, the ever curious and procrastinating, kept watching you just out of sheer boredom. The library had gone dark aside from the few kerosene lamps scattered across tables but it was already getting hard to see his sketches properly so now he’s just waiting for Taehyung to finish.

Suddenly, all too suddenly that it made him jump in his seat, Taehyung was standing, shoving his things in his bag loud enough to create an echo in the cold library. Jungkook looked up at him, pencil laying limp in his hand now, “Are we done?”

Taehyung pushed his chair into the wooden table, not bothering to look back at his friend as he stormed off, “Yes.”

Not long after he watched his friend make his abrupt leave from the library… he saw him now approaching you and Namjoon.

You were blissfully unaware that you had been watching through the windows of a library as much as you were unaware of Taehyung coming up behind you as Namjoon talked. “I was thinking maybe we could go catch that new movie that just came out.”

“Oh, I was going to do some writing—You won’t believe it Joonie,” your tone changed so suddenly as you grabbed him by the arm, jerking him toward you excitedly carrying on like he hadn’t said anything, “It’s like I can’t stop writing, you wouldn’t believe how easily the words are flowing like… I don’t know, I’ve never felt this way before, Joonie.”

“That’s good, Y/n but,” Namjoon’s words slowed down as he looked behind you at the looming figure standing a few feet away. He’s never spoken a word to Kim Taehyung despite both being grad students, he only knows of him from what others have spoken and he’s very… cold. Since when did you and him begin to talk? Namjoon took your hands in his as he pulled you closer to have your attention knowing you still didn’t know who was behind you, “But it’s nice to get a break, you don’t want to overwork yourself.”

“You don’t get it, Namjoon,” you said his name instead of the affectionate nickname you’ve always called him, he couldn’t help but look at Taehyung who pretended like he wasn’t watching closely with a cigarette dangling between his fingers, “I can’t stop. I cannot stop. If I-I do, I don’t know.”

His gaze shifted behind you making you turn to look too and your eyes seemed to soften as you made eye contact with the dirty blonde you’ve been spending time with lately.

“Y/n,” Taehyung’s deep voice spoke as he stared at you two, “I thought you would be busy writing”

“I’m on my way to right now,” you said, taking a step toward him with your back to your friend, “Would you join me?”

A smile came to his face as he pushed his glasses up, “If I could paint you again.”

You stood still in thought. The first time he painted you was after you had sex for the first time when it felt warm, passionate and hungry. He never slept that night, he stayed up the entire time getting the right blends of pigment on your body as it lay on the flue blanket completely nude. You’re not sure if he knew what saying that would make you think but from the way his brow raised questioning made you think he did.

Namjoon felt his jaw clench, eyes glaring at Taehyung who didn’t even bat an eye in his direction. You looked back to Namjoon now who waited for you with a bated breath. You walked up to him making his heart face as you pressed your lips against his cheek with your softly brushing against his jaw. The kiss was tender on his face and when he looked down at you, you gave him an apologetic smile, “Will you call me?”

“Will you answer?” Namjoon asked but you weren’t beside him anymore. You were next to Taehyung who took your book bag off your shoulders and put it over his, a hand grazing your back as he talked to you but too far out of your friend’s ear shot.

“What did your friend want?” Taehyung asked.

“To see a movie but I have to finish what I’m writing before it slips my mind,” You said moving your hand to his bent arm walking alongside him, “I’ll have to catch up with him another day.”

He didn’t have anything to say to that but you could still feel his eyes on you. A part of you wanted to ignore his gaze because you find yourself at a loss for words any time he looks at you that way. It’s like he sees through you not at you and sometimes you don’t know which one is better.

There’s no denying that he likes the look of you, he finds you attractive and not just physically. You know that. You just can’t tell what he’s thinking that makes him look at you that way.

“Namjoon.”

He stood alone where you once had been beside him, just watching you leave with the art major he had no idea you were even involved with. Since when did you begin to talk to him and how did Namjoon never notice? Did you just decide that you would not be open with him anymore?

“Jimin,” Namjoon looked at his friend, a bit stunned, “Hey.”

The ballerina watched after you alongside him now as he asked, “Y/n is leaving with Taehyung?”

“Are they together?” Namjoon asked suddenly, “Did you know?”

Jimin shook his head no, “Not exactly, I mean, Y/n never hid the fact that she had a thing for Taehyung, I’m just surprised to see them leave together. Y/n never told me they began to talk.”

Namjoon bit his lip nervously, “You don’t think they’ll date or anything, do you? This just seems sudden.”

He looked to his friend for some comfort but all Jimin did was shrug his shoulders and say, “I don’t know, you know Y/n doesn’t really date and neither does he, they’re always too focused on writing or painting to think about anything else. Who knows, they might just work out because of how similar they are.”

“Yeah but…” Namjoon was trying to find words to say but nothing came to mind. Maybe he was just being bitter… he’s been your friend for years. He’s always been there for you anytime you needed him without question. You were attracted to him enough to sleep with him but was that all it was ever going to be? You won’t see him as more than just a friend but then Kim Taehyung comes along and suddenly you have no problem walking away from Namjoon to go with him?

Jimin looked at his friend apologetically, he sympathized with him. He’s known you for longer than Namjoon has and he’s been through this exact same thing before too. There was a time when he thought you and him were the closest until Namjoon came along and suddenly you spent all your time with him instead. Now Namjoon is experiencing what Jimin did but this time because of Taehyung and he feels bad for that.

“Look, I’m going to be honest,” Jimin tried to work out what he was going to say so it didn’t come off badly, “I think, Y/n loves the idea of Taehyung on paper… how she can write or create him like she’s done with you and I in the past. I think maybe it’s nothing past something superficial but at the same time…”

“At the same time,” Jimin repeated himself with a bated breath, “I see a lot of similarities between them especially when it comes to putting their work first and maybe that’s something they seem to understand about each other that we don’t.”

Namjoon didn’t get it.

So was it not that you two had feelings for each other?

Was it not that you might love each other?

Was it just that you two understood each other?

He doesn’t get it. Now, Namjoon might not understand your obsession with perfecting every aspect of your writing… but that didn’t mean he didn’t love you. He loved you a lot—more than he assumes Taehyung could love you.

It’s not like it’s a secret, Namjoon has always been open about the way he felt about you so why did you choose someone else? All because he couldn’t understand you the way Taehyung might? Is it because he can’t just look at you and know what you need the way Taehyung can?

Is it because he doesn’t spend hours missing sleep or eating just so he could obsess over his work too?

How could Taehyung possibly understand you more than he does?

::.

okokok this was kinda long but I’m sorry, blonde Taehyung as an art major was doing it for me 🫶this was a romance but also not necessarily bc the focus isn’t entirely on their relationship 🤒neither one of them are supposed to be super likable so if you hate them and the way oc did Joon and Jimin dirty i get it 🫡but they just genuinely do not think about anything but their craft.

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#kim taehyung #bts taehyung #taehyung smut #taehyung au #taehyung #taehyung imagine #Taehyung fic #Taehyung fanfic #taehyung oneshot #taehyung one shot #taehyung x reader #taehyung x oc #Taehyung angst #taehyung fluff #bts angst #bts fic #bts imagines

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pandoraslxna · 1 year

Text

Bittersweet revenge

adult Lo‘ak x Quaritch‘s daughter reader

Words: 3.7k

Summary: Ever since the day Lo‘ak had found out that you’ve chosen to rescue your father, the man that basically murdered Neteyam and made his whole life hell, he was out for revenge.

Warnings: explicit smut, minors dni, dark!Lo‘ak, human reader, aged up characters, degradation kink, non-con / dub-con, p in v, handcuffs, vaginal fingering, forced orgasm, size difference, belly bulge, angst

Fifteen years have passed since the battle at the three brothers rock. Fifteen years, since you’ve chosen your fathers side over those of your, more or less, adoptive Na’vi family. It’s been so many years since you’ve last seen any of them, the people you’ve basically spent your whole childhood with, like a second family. No, like your only family, since you didn’t even know your father was (somehow) still alive.

It wasn’t really him, you knew that. He was a clone. A recombinant soldier. The only thing he and your father had in common were his memories, but that didn’t really matter to you. What mattered was the way he treated you. To him, you were his daughter. No if’s and but's. Quaritch was the only thing that came closest to a real father to you in this world and even though you loved the Sully‘s, it was the only right thing to do. You belonged to him and his people more than you belonged to the Na‘vi.

It’s been so many years, yet you don’t even need to look twice to recognize the familiar Na‘vi that was standing right in front of you.

Originally, you’ve only planned to take a walk. Get some samples for Dr. Garvin‘s study about Panopyras while you’re at it. You didn’t even realize how far away from bridgehead city you’ve wandered off to, until it was too late. You’ve mindlessly walked past the kill zone and into the forest, further than you were allowed. Thankfully, after growing up around here, you knew these forests enough to protect yourself from most danger. What you didn’t expect though, was that any Na‘vi would dare to come this close to the border of forest that lead straight to bridgehead‘s kill zone.

But of course, this one did. So typical of him.

You instantly knew that it was him. Lo‘ak. You hadn’t seen him in over a decade, but you knew that it was him without a doubt. And you could tell that he knew it’s you, too. You could see it in his eyes.

"You’ve grown", he simply says, his features not giving away anything. You finally exhale the breathe that you didn’t even realize you were holding, relieved that he was the first to break this unbearable silence, after staring at each other for several minutes. What do you even say to someone, years after you’ve left them so abruptly? And when you had parted ways, it wasn’t in a good way. You had left as a traitor.

But he was one to talk about growing up. You remember the times when he was just barely an inch taller than you, when you teased him about how you would overtake him one day and how he was so small and thin. Oh were you wrong about that. How tall was he now, you wondered. Nine, maybe even ten feet? He was probably taller than the recombinant clone of your father, which was insane to even think about. His body was lean, wide shoulders and a small waist and he looked so much like Jake now. But he still wears his hair the same, two braids loosely dangling in front of his face, the sides of his head shaved clean.

Though his braids are longer now, at least by eight inches. He must’ve spent a whole while longer with the metkayina after you had left– the clans infamous tattoos decorating his chest and parts of his stomach were a clear inidcation of it.

The way he carried himself had changed too. He seems so confident and reserved as he stands there, his features stern and serious and you can’t help but wonder where that happy, curious and playful teenager you‘ve known for all your childhood had went. The one you had always loved from the bottom of your heart, for being exactly that. Did he hide his true self because he was cautious of you? You definitely wouldn’t blame him.

"It’s nice to see you, Lo‘ak", you greet him with a smile, genuinely happy, because you thought you would never see him again. At the same time, it made you wonder what he was even doing out here. Did the Sully‘s finally decide to come back to their home, return to the Omatikaya clan? Or was he just here for a visit? Nevertheless, what was he doing out here? The Na‘vi usually never came this close to the kill zone. You knew that it was strictly forbidden, when you had still lived among the omatikaya clan.

Lo‘aks eyes carefully scanned over your much smaller frame, eyes barely moving as he did. He was taking in every inch of change on your appearance, just like you did. But he was much more subtle about it. If you didn’t know him so well, you probably wouldn’t even have noticed. You couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking about right now. Was he angry? Was he happy to see you again? Did he even care? Your questions were surprisingly answered just shortly after, when he finally moved from his spot and approached you slowly.

"I’ve been thinking about you ever since", Lo‘ak confesses, with his eyes still fixed on yours. You can’t help the way your eyebrows rise at his statement.

"About… me?", you question him as if you weren’t sure you heard him right. Lo‘ak shakes his head and chuckles, a low, throaty sound that almost sounds a little sinister to you. "Oh you have no idea…"

You swallow thickly, meanwhile he steps even closer to you. The eye contact that he was holding with you, was almost too intense to bear, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to shy away. You felt uneasy. Like some prey that’s face to face with its predator and if you would dare to look away, he would eat you alive.

"I’ve been thinking about you. You and Quaritch, to be more specific", Lo‘ak says and instantly, you feel your blood run cold, "Been thinking about how I can make daddy’s life hell, just like he did with mine. I’ve been thinking about the things that mean most to him. And you know what I’ve realized?"

You blink at him, like a deer caught in headlights, "W-What?"

"There’s nothing", he chuckles, "Nothing matters to him, nothing really means anything to him."

You could almost hear your own heartbeat pound in your ears when his hand unexpectedly, but slowly, reaches out for you. Your eyes widen, scared of whatever his intentions might be, but then he simply tugs a strand of hair behind your ear. With a half hearted smile on his face, he continues, "Nothing, but you. You’re the one thing he cares about."

"Lo‘ak what d—", but before you could finish asking him what he was even talking about, you find yourself flat on the ground. Lo‘ak crouches over you, pins you down, with your front pressed flat against the ground. You give a yelp of surprise, instinctively struggling against his hold but it’s pointless. He’s always been superior to your strength.

You could feel him shift behind you and then he binds something around your wrists, tying them together so tight that it almost hurt. Almost.

"Lo‘ak please d-don’t hurt me! I swear I’ll tell you anything, everything that I know, but please don’t hurt me!"

"Shh, it’s okay", he coos, "I could never hurt you, sweet thing." His words were meant to soothe you, yet they send your heart racing. Your anxiety grows worse underneath your skin, once you feel the dull side of what you could only assume was a knife and then the sharp sound of fabric ripping, as he cut through the seams of your pants. Next was your slip and then your shirt. He cut everything off that you wore, leaving you bare and exposed before him. You felt humiliated. A cold breeze of air made you shiver as you laid there, not even daring to breathe.

With his hands on your hip, Lo‘ak guides you, makes you curve your spine and wedges your thighs apart with his knee. His hands are warm on your skin, rough palms gliding over the underside of your thighs and then knead the plump of your ass. Blame it on the adrenaline rushing through your veins like some drug, but it felt strangely good. Still, you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him know that. You trembled at the feeling of his fingers digging into your flesh. A low hum, coming from deep inside his chest reached your ears when his hands wandered further down the roundness of your bottom. With his hands on either side of your thighs, he spread your soft folds apart using his thumbs. Instantly, you tug against your restraints. The cold forest air brushing against your most private parts suddenly made you very aware of the situation you were in.

"Lo‘ak wait–"

But the Na‘vi only chuckled. Glancing at him over your shoulder, you’re met with the same pair of eyes that always looked at you so adoringly, so full of love. But now he was just looking at you like you were prey. Like a cat watching a mouse that was caught in a trap. Like he wanted to consume you.

Lo’ak brings his hands down between your thighs, cupping your sex to get a feel of how wet you are and you inhale sharply. His long, slender digits glide through your folds easily and he hums, "So wet for me already, hm? Did I get you all excited like this? Or did you just miss me so much?"

You hiss when not only one, but two of his fingers then slide into you with little to no effort. "What would your daddy think, if he could see you like this? You’ve grown into such a filthy girl", Lo‘ak says lowly, his words mocking you and you squeeze your eyes shut as if you couldn’t hear him like this. But they fly right open again when he starts to pump his digits in and out of you. His pace is fast, merciless even, and you squirm underneath him. He curls them as if he was beckoning to you, rapidly hitting that spongey spot that made your eyes roll to the back of your head.

It was embarrassing how fast Lo‘ak could turn you into a trembling, whimpering mess. The squelching sounds he expertly worked out of your pussy only added further to your humiliation. At this pace, it was impossible not to come. And Lo‘ak knew it. It was like he needed to draw that orgasm out of you, like his life depended on it.

You could feel that familiar, addicting, tension building up in your core, stealing the very air from your lungs as you moaned and gasped with your cheek shoved against the mossy ground. Lo’ak wasn’t gentle as he helped you to your release. He straight up pushed you over the edge with a pinch to your sensitive clit, rolling it with his thumb until your legs were shaking. But he didn’t let you ride it out, didn’t let you relish in the feeling of your orgasm because he draws away when you’re still at your high.

You can’t help but whine when he leaves you empty, with your walls clenching around nothing, missing the feeling of his rough fingers scissoring you open.

Looking over your shoulder, you watch him flip his loincloth to the side to reveal his hard cock. He was big– like, really big. Definitely matching the rest of him, in size and color. You didn’t know what scared you most, the thought of taking his entire length or having his girth split you open. You could literally see it throb in his hands as he stroked himself a few times. Meanwhile, his eyes were still fixed on yours, like he was in some sort of staring contest that he was about to win. He seemingly took great pleasure in watching you swallow thickly by the sight of him.

"You know", he begins as he then lines his cock up with your slick hole, "I used to have a huge crush on you when we were kids."

You feel the head of it, thick and warm, nudge between your soft lips and then prod at your entrance. You close your eyes shut and try your best to mentally prepare yourself, but it’s all for nothing when he finally pushes the tip in, letting his cock sink into the tight heat of your cunt. He’s rewarded with a high pitched whine falling from your plumb lips as you tense underneath him.

"I’d come home and rub one out whenever we hung out. Always hugged you a little tighter when you said goodbye so I could imagine you pressed against me, all hot and desperate. Ha. Just like right now, isn’t that funny?" He was saying this so nonchalantly, like he wasn’t just burying himself balls deep inside your pussy.

When his pelvis finally makes contact with the soft swell of your ass, he groans and let’s his head fall back against his neck. For a moment he stays like this, just relishing in the feeling of your soft walls fluttering around his cock.

"Fuck", Lo‘ak breathes out before he looks down at you again, "Just as tight as I imagined. Always knew you’d feel so fucking good."

He let out a grunt as he pulled back slightly, before burying himself deep again, his dick knocking on your cervix like an iron hammer. You choke on a whimper and then he sets his pace, fast and deep strokes, like he was aiming to fuck the very soul out of you. You were so tiny compared to him, it was a miracle that you were even physically able to take all of him and with the way he plunged his cock into you, it felt like he was already in your stomach. The sounds he knocked out of your throat, every time his pelvis made contact with your ass, were straight up pornographic. With his hands secured on your hips, he pulled you back to meet his thrusts and it made the whole thing so much worse. Or better? At this point, you didn’t even know anymore.

Everything was too much –too good, too deep, too fast, too rough. All you could do was take it. Just lay there, with your face shoved uncomfortably against the ground and your back painfully arched and take whatever he was giving to you. It was like he used fifteen years full of pent up hate and anger and the unresolved need for revenge and took it all out on you. Because anger was everything he had left. Because anger was better than tears, better than grief and better than guilt. It was so much easier to handle.

Meanwhile, you felt that tension building again. You feel it crawl under your skin, a warmth spreading through your core and you can’t help but push yourself back against Lo‘ak. You wanted– no, you needed to cum. You find yourself having no control over this, just letting yourself go because it feels too damn good.

"Shit, are you coming again? Feels good, right?", you hear Lo‘ak chuckle behind you, squeezing the flesh of your hips a little harder when you clench around his cock, "Yeah, so fucking good, we should’ve done this sooner."

It's a buildup of tension that arches your back and curls your toes and just when you think you can't take it anymore, something snaps. When you come, it’s like a release. It pulses throughout your body and you moan, loud and lewd and you should probably feel a little embarrassed too, but you couldn’t care less. Not when Lo’ak was fucking you through it so good, until it was on the verge of overstimulation.

"There you go, fuuck yes", he groans, slumped over your trembling frame so his mouth was close enough to your ear that you could hear him breathe and pant, "You sound so fucking cute when you come, you know that? All these noises just for me. I‘m flattered."

You hum in response, whether you agreed to his words or not, you didn’t even know. You feel like a warm puddle of goo when he suddenly pulls out of you. You’re slick between your legs, wincing when he flips you over and onto your back so you were facing him. Laying on your own arms, that were still bound behind your back, like this was uncomfortable, but you didn’t had nearly enough brain capacity to care about that right now.

You probably looked a little worn out, your eyes half lidded and barely focused until Lo‘ak pinched the soft of you thighs and you let out a small hiss.

"Hey", he chuckled above you when you finally looked up at him, "don’t pass out on me now."

Almost effortlessly, he pushes his thick cock back inside you. You felt full. So incredibly full, as he slid himself past your sensitive entrance. The last few inches of his length were introduced with a harsh thrust that punched the air from your lungs with a grunt.

"You feel that?", one of his hands comes to caress the swell of your lower abdomen, where his cock was nestled deep in your core and created this very visible bulge, "I’m all the way up here, see?"

Your eyes widen when he uses his thumb to press down on it, before he started moving his hips again. It seemingly bought him pleasure, feeling his cock move underneath your flesh. He was transfixed by the sight too.

Putting just a little more force behind his thrusts, he enjoyed how your pussy tightened around him, your body struggling to take all of him in this new position. Thankfully, you were so, so incredibly wet. So much so, that your slick begins to leak out and dribble down the curve of your bottom. His heavy balls smack against the slickness flowing out of you, creating more of these obscene sounds that filled both of your ears.

"Hmh, that’s it. Want you to feel me— fuck, so deep inside that little pussy you'll still feel me there for days."

"Lo‘ak", you draw his name out into a mewl, almost as if you were begging. But begging for what? You had no idea what you were even begging for. Maybe you just wanted to say his name, taste it on your tongue. "Lo‘ak", you moan it again. It’s been so long since you’ve said it out loud, so many years. "Lo‘ak, Lo‘ak", you chant it with every thrust of his hips, mix it between loud moans and whimpers.

"Again", he pants, his breathing becoming more rapid and heavier than before, "Say it again."

"Lo’ak! Lo’ak! F-Fuck, Lo’ak!", you moan his name like a prayer, again and again. Once for every year that you had spent without him. Once for every time you cried yourself to sleep because you missed him so much. Once for every time you found yourself laying in your bed, hands pushed past the waistband of your pyjama pants as you played with yourself, with him on your mind. "Lo‘ak! Lo‘ak!"

His rhythm seemingly begins to falter, like your words affected him enough to draw him closer to the edge of his orgasm. But he wasn’t the only one who was close yet again, with the way your walls were clamping down on his cock. You feel his pace change, not necessarily slower but his thrusts become shorter, deeper.

"I’m gonna cum. Gonna cum and fill you up and you will walk all the way back home with my cum dripping down your thighs and shit— I hope your daddy sees. Let him know it was me, that I did it. I fucked his precious daughter, ruined her for every other men", Lo‘ak groaned the words before he slumped over. His face was hovering over yours, just inches apart and for a moment you think, you hope, that he would kiss you. He’s was so close. So incredibly close, you wouldn’t even need to lift your head, just a little tilt would be enough—

But that kiss never comes.

What finally brings you to fall apart, was the sudden feeling of his warm cum flooding your insides. You whimper his name, one last time before he stills his movements. Your walls spasm around him and he watches your eyes roll to the back of your head. He’s silent, just watching you, until you’ve come down from your high.

When you finally open your eyes again, you’re struggling to catch your breathe, while he seemed completely unfazed.

You blink a few times before you realize that his mimic had returned to this cold, untouchable and emotionless face. The one you would’ve never thought you’d ever see on him. On him, that boy that you would’ve described as the most joyful person in your life not long ago.

But the words, that then leave your lips, are the complete opposite of that. You cringe at little once they had slipped out, yet it was impossible to hold them back any longer. Where he had all this hate, pent up over the last fifteen years, you had nothing but love. For him.

It filled your heart, painfully even. It was like your feelings, the ones you had suppressed for so long, had suddenly erupted like lava from a volcano. And they hurt quiet the same way. Burned your throat and then your tongue, once they had spilled.

"Lo‘ak I… you know I love you. I always have."

He looks at you. A second passes and then another. You wince when he pulls himself out of you, leaving you completely exposed before him. The sensation of his still warm cum seeping out of your overused hole was uncomfortable and you couldn’t help but close your thighs and press them together tightly in an attempt to keep it from flowing out. Meanwhile, Lo’ak raises to his full height, straightening his loincloth to cover his privat parts again.

You look at him with big, round eyes, a faint blush still lingering on your face as you wait for him to finally respond. Or at least untie your arms as they were starting to ache horribly.

"L-Lo‘ak?", you call out for him softly.

Warmth spreads in your chest when he crouches down next to you, one of his hands coming to caress your soft cheek. You lean into it almost instinctively and right when you thought he would either respond or untie you, help you up and redress… he draws away completely.

"No. You don’t."

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jobean12-blog · 4 days

Text

In the Middle of Somewhere

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader

Word Count: 1,003

Summary: You and Joel are searching for shelter for the night and come across something unexpected.

Author's Note: A few friends have shared the list of 'Reverse Trope Writing Prompts" and I couldn't get over a few of them, especially the "too many beds," one. Thought this would work well with Joel in this setting. Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely Daisy @firefly-graphics 🥰thank you! I'll share the list below the cut at the end of the fic.

Warnings: it's fluffy floof and Joel is soft

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

The forest seems to holds it’s breath as dusk falls, the rustling leaves and singing birds hushing to a soft murmur. You cling to the fabric of Joel’s flannel, pressed close to his back as he walks cautiously over the dense underbrush.

“How great would it be if we found a treehouse?” you say, trying to keep your voice light even as your eyes dart through the impending darkness.

The trees cast elongated shadows along the ground, their bright green leaves blackening against the deepening purple of the sky.

“I just hope we find somethin’ before the rain,” Joel mutters.

The air is thick with the promise of an oncoming storm and every now and then the distant rumble of thunder echoes through the woods.

You shiver and he stops, turning to look at you with a softness in his eyes.

“Are you cold?”

You swallow hard, wanting nothing more than to be wrapped in the safety and warmth of his arms but instead you shake your head no and give him your best reassuring smile.

He studies you, his eyes narrowing and his jaw working hard with the grind of his teeth.

“We’ll find somethin’ soon darlin’.”

After walking for another mile or so you spot a clearing up ahead and you can just make out the outline of several small structures.

“Are those….,” you start, clutching his bicep tighter, “cabins?”

He stops and nudges you behind him.

“Wait here. I’m goin’ to get a closer look.”

“Joel…”

“If anything goes wrong you run.”

Your fingers dig into his arm.

“Darlin’,” he pleads.

He reaches around to run his large hand across your lower back, checking for the gun he gave you.

“Promise me,” he whispers.

“Ok,” you answer after a moment of silence.

He stares for longer than necessary and just as he starts to turn away you grab his face in your hands and softly kiss the corner of his mouth. His eyes are closed with you pull away and when they open again you whisper, “be careful.”

With a nod he quietly moves away from you, motioning to a nearby tree. You move out of sight, your eyes tracking his movement from behind the large trunk as he slowly approaches the cabins.

After what feels like an eternity you see him emerge from the third and last cabin, his steps quick and sure as he walks back to you.

“It’s all clear,” he explains with a relieved exhale. “Let’s take the middle one.”

He takes your hand in his and leads you up the old and worn wooden stairs, glancing around one last time before pushing the door open to reveal an open space with high ceilings and four sets of bunk beds.

“What the…” you trail off, staring unblinking at all the beds.

“Probably a sleepaway camp,” he says with a small sideways smile. “We got lucky.”

You drop your bag to the floor and look around, trying to decide which bed to take and finally picking the top bed of the bunk in the far corner. You step onto the ladder to try it out.

Sturdy.

You throw him a smile and climb up to the top.

“I’ve never slept in a bunk bed before,” you admit.

He’s quiet before replying, “actually, me either.”

Once you’ve had a quick meal you hear the first drop of rain, the rhythm quickly becoming relentless against the wooden roof. Outside, the darkness is dense, the thick rain clouds obscuring almost all the starlight and moon glow.

Lying in bed sleep eludes you as your mind remains alert despite the hour. Each flash of lightning briefly illuminates the cabin, casting eerie shadows that dance across the walls before fading back into darkness.

You toss and turn on the hard wood, searching for comfort.

“Can’t sleep?” Joel asks from the other side of the room.

“No,” you answer softly. “Sorry if I’m keeping you up.”

When he doesn’t answer you let out a quiet sigh and curl your arms around yourself.

The sound of wood creaking makes you sit up with a gasp but when you realize it’s only Joel climbing the ladder you let out a rush of air.

“You could have said you were coming up here,” you tease.

“I’m coming up,” he counters, and even though you can’t see his face you can hear the mirth in his tone.

Your only reply is a light chuckle as you shift over to the far side of the small bed and he climbs in, lying on his side to face you.

“What was wrong with your bed?” you ask.

His hand reaches out across the darkness and closes around your fingers.

“You weren’t in it.”

The palm of your free hand presses to his chest before your fingers curl into his shirt. He tugs you closer, circling one arm around you while the other rests between your bodies, your fingers still entwined with his. When your knee nudges against his he hitches his thigh over yours, surrounding you in exactly what you need.

You nuzzle your face into his neck with a soft inhale then press a delicate kiss just under his jaw. He exhales your name and dips his head to find your lips, capturing them gently at first.

The rain has begun to dissipate and a steady breeze carries the clouds from the sky, revealing the bright moon. It’s light filters through the opaque glass windows, highlighting the features of his face.

At his tentative expression you slowly brush your thumb across his lips, smiling when he kisses the pad of your finger. Your touch continues, tracing his scruffy jaw before taking his face in your hand and bringing his mouth closer.

He presses another gentle kiss to your lips and slides his hand along your waist, tucking you into the curve of his body. A whimper leaves your throat and he groans at the sound, taking the opportunity to deepen the kiss and press you harder against him.

@hiddles-rose @kmc1989 @lorilane33 @littleseasiren @lizette50

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #joel miller x female reader #joel miller imagine #the last of us #too many beds #pedro pascal x reader #reverse tropes

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candycandy00 · 5 days

Note

Character: Sukuna

AU setting: Church

spice level: NSFW

Mood: writers choice

Kinks: Non-Con(however would it be alright if it's consensual non con?), daddy kink, breeding, spanking, Size difference and Praise

(Could it be Fem reader? Thx !! :))

I might have added a couple kinks and took some liberties with the CNC kink but I hope you like it!

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Sukuna as a Priest. Probably very offensive to Catholics (I know nothing about Catholicism so please look over any errors). Breeding. Spanking. Sort of CNC. Dubcon. Daddy kink (he’s a priest so Father is used instead of Daddy), light bondage. Size difference. Rough sex. Praise. Dividers by @benkeibear.

Part of CandyCandy’s 2k Followers Event! Any feedback whatsoever would be adored!

You stand in the drafty hallway outside Father Sukuna’s office, shifting from one foot to the other. He’s angry with you. He definitely saw that you were late for morning prayers, and he happened to be walking by when you flubbed reading the study verses to your students. As a new nun working in this Catholic school, you should be providing a strong example for the students to follow. Instead, they giggle when you try to scold them.

Father Sukuna, the headmaster, has had to discipline you several times now for your careless behavior and mistakes. You appreciate that he’s taking the time to give you such personal attention, but his punishments can be… severe.

And so you take a deep breath before knocking lightly on his door. He calls for you to come in, so you twist the brass doorknob and push the heavy wooden door open, then step inside.

The room is large, with high ceilings and tall windows along the back wall. The air is chilly, despite the low fire burning in the fireplace. You flinch when the door slides closed behind you, feeling like you’ve been sealed in.

There’s a large wooden desk in the center of the room, and behind it sits Father Sukuna, looking at you over the top of his reading glasses and closing the Bible in his lap before placing it on the desk.

“Do you know why I asked you to come?”

His voice is deep and smooth. His black priest robes do little to conceal his muscular form. As he pulls off his glasses, his unusual red eyes seem to shimmer. His handsome face is lined with black tattoos, remnants of his former life before joining the priesthood.

You fidget beneath his piercing gaze, thinking, far from the first time, that it’s a waste for someone like him to be a priest. Sensuality seems to ooze from every pore on his body. Every little move he makes, every word he utters with that voice, makes you think impure thoughts.

“I was late this morning,” you say, looking at the floor.

“And?” he prompts.

“And I messed up my reading of scripture.”

“Twice,” he adds.

You nod pathetically. “Yes, twice.” You raise your head then, meeting his eyes. “I beg your forgiveness, Father! I’ve only been a nun for six months now. I’m having a hard time adjusting.”

He stands up from his leather chair and walks around the desk to stand in front of you. This close, you’re very aware of how tall and big he is, how he towers over you, how he could throw you around like a rag doll if he wished. You can smell his cologne, a deep musky scent with contrasting cherry blossom undertones.

“It seems that you need more discipline, Sister. Did you come prepared?”

You swallow the lump in your throat, your face burning with shame as you reach your trembling hands down and grip your robe. Hesitantly, eyes on the floor to avoid his face, you slowly pull the fabric up to your waist.

Just as he instructed, you’re wearing no panties, only black silk thigh high stockings. Even with your soft thighs pressed together, he can definitely see your bare pussy, shaved the way he demanded.

“Ah, so you can follow instructions after all,” he says, and you glance up at his face to find him grinning widely. It’s an expression wholly unbecoming of a priest.

You watch as he steps back to his desk and uses one arm to knock everything off it with a single swipe. Then he pats the desk and says, “Climb on, and get in position for your punishment.”

You drop your robe and move over to his desk. He lifts you up and sits you on it, then you nervously maneuver yourself to be on your hands and knees. Your limbs are shaky as he walks around behind you and jerks your robe up again, letting it bunch up at your waist, leaving your lower half bare. One of his large hands sets upon your naked ass, then rubs down it, tracing your shape.

“As for what we discussed earlier… are you still certain?” he asks.

“Y-yes,” you say.

Two days ago, Father Sukuna proposed giving you “special discipline” to help you improve as a nun and turn away from your careless, sinful behavior. He said it would be intense, possibly painful and embarrassing, and that you would have to consent to allowing him full access to your body, using it however he sees fit. He gave you those two days to think about it. Today, you gave him your answer.

Now, with his eyes roaming over your exposed flesh and his warm hand squeezing the fat of your ass cheek, you don’t regret your choice, even if it’s humiliating. Because you truly do want to be the best nun you can be, and… being touched by a man like him, so tall and so intimidating, with those wild tattoos, makes your body quiver with excitement. So many nights you’ve laid in your bed, shamefully touching yourself while thinking of him.

He gave you a word, what he called a “safe word”, for you to say if you decide you can no longer handle the discipline and want to stop. Otherwise, he said, he would continue no matter what you say. The very thought of being completely at his mercy both frightens and thrills you.

Stepping around to the front of you, Father Sukuna pulls your rosary from your neck and winds it tightly around your wrists, binding them together and forcing you to lean more on your elbows than your hands. This makes your position slightly more unstable, and leaves your ass elevated higher than the rest of you.

He moves out of sight for a moment, and returns holding something in his hands. It’s a large wooden paddle with several holes drilled into it. Your eyes widen as you stare at the threatening object.

“Years ago, before I became Headmaster, this paddle was used to punish misbehaving students. We don’t do that anymore, but we keep the paddle around. Sometimes it’s effective to just have it lying on the desk when talking to an unruly student.”

He slaps the paddle into his open palm, resulting in a loud thwacking sound that makes you jump. “The holes supposedly make it sting more,” he tells you, that unnerving grin spreading across his face again.

Moving to your side, he holds the paddle up, looking down at your glassy, wide eyes, then he swings it downward, smacking the harsh wood against your trembling, vulnerable ass. You cry out in pain, feeling the burn of the holes, instinctively trying to scoot away.

Father Sukuna uses his free hand to firmly grip your shoulder, holding you in place, before bringing the paddle down again. This time the sting is enough to bring tears to your eyes and a scream from your throat.

But he remains merciless.

Thwack!

Three more hits, each one hard enough to make your body jump from the desk. Your ass burns. It has to be totally raw by now.

“Father, please! Forgive me!” you weep, your knees nearly collapsing, your face now buried in your forearms, your hands clutching the rosary that has them bound together.

Father Sukuna pauses and sits the paddle on the desk beside you. He uses his now empty hand to grip your sore cheek, kneading it, making you whimper.

“Spread your legs wider,” he commands, and you struggle to comply, scooting your shaking knees further apart. He leans over to look, making you flush with heat and embarrassment. “Such a sinful body,” he says. “You’re absolutely dripping.”

“I’m so sorry, Father!” you cry, desperate to close your thighs and hide your shame, but knowing better than to anger him.

You feel his hand slide down, and then his fingers dip into your wet folds. You shudder, fighting the urge to try to pull away. He laughs as his fingers brush over your clit, making you twitch. “Such a fuckable little cunt,” he says, and you glance back at him over your shoulder, shocked by his words.

“Father?” you ask, trying to ignore the feeling of his fingers stroking you.

“Hmm? Do my words concern you, Sister? I find that hard to believe when this soaked pussy is practically begging to be fucked. Do you want that? Do you want to be fucked by my huge cock?”

“I… I don’t…”

He suddenly withdraws his hand, picking up the paddle again in one smooth motion and then slamming it back down on your raw, stinging ass. This time it hits so low that it connected with your pussy. You squeal and jerk, and Father Sukuna holds the paddle up to his face. “You’ve gotten it all sticky,” he says.

After sitting the paddle back down, he reaches down with both strong hands and effortlessly flips you over onto your back. He grabs your bound wrists by the rosary and jerks your arms above your head, then forces your legs even wider apart. He pulls your whole body down toward the end of the desk, making your robe ride up even further, nearly exposing your chest.

He uses one hand to pull up his own robe and open the black pants underneath. “I fucked countless women before becoming a priest,” he says, his voice deeper than usual. “I thought I got it all out of my system. But fuck it, I’m still a man. So I’m gonna ruin this cute little pussy of yours.”

His tone of voice, his manner of speech, they seem different, rougher. “F-father, please,” you beg, “be gentle with me!”

He pulls a massive cock from his pants and lines it up with your entrance. “Not a fuckin’ chance!” he says, then immediately shoves himself all the way in.

You gasp as you feel yourself being completely stuffed, his hands firm on your waist, keeping you steady as he pounds into you. “Please forgive me, Father!” you sob out.

“Huh? Forgive you for what?” he asks, that maniacal grin on his face.

“F-for being so sinful!”

He laughs before he leans down and extends his tongue, licking a stripe up your crying face. “No need to apologize. Your tight pussy feels fucking incredible! This sinful body of yours is a blessing!”

You feel dazed, out of your mind, as his cock repeatedly slams into you. You have no idea what’s right or wrong anymore. You gaze up at him through teary eyes. “Is… is this part of the discipline? To make me a better nun?”

He reaches one hand down to stroke your clit, making your hips buck off the desk. “Yeah, I’m making you a better nun!” he grunts. “I’m making you my personal little slutty nun!”

You can’t take anymore. Your mind and heart are so confused. Only your body seems to understand Father Sukuna’s discipline. So you let go, you let yourself fall over the edge, and you scream out his name as you cum around his cock, clenching him with everything you have.

His grin only gets wider, his red eyes gleaming, as he fucks you even harder. And when you finally feel him pulsing inside you, followed by a gush of his hot sticky cum filling you up, you lose all strength, going limp on the desk beneath him.

Once he’s bottomed out, he pulls back and looks down at you. “Good girl, taking my cock so deep. I’ll forgive your mistakes this time,” he says as he buttons his pants and pulls his robe back down. His voice is returning to his more formal tone. “But if you don’t show more grace as an employee of this school, I will have to discipline you again.”

He reaches down and unties your hands, then gives your rosary back to you, leaving you speechless and stunned. You quickly recover and scoot off the desk, jerking your robe back down to hide the cum dripping down your thighs.

“Thank you, Father,” you say with a quivering voice as you hurry out of the room.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna x reader #x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #Candy #candys2kevent

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iveseenstrangerthings · 1 year

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more than friends - a steve harrington imagine

summary: a real fluffy imagine after writing angst for the past few, best friends turns to lovers. Reader is teased about their close relationship with Steve by a jocky asshole, so Steve decides to do something about his feelings. both are obviously pining for each other but just don’t know how to do something about it!!

word count: 3.3k

warnings: really cringe asshole male talk about female character (inappropriate sexual remarks) & swearing.

thanks @urfriendlywriter for the friends to lovers confession prompt!!! <3

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“Alrighty class, notes for the biological study are on the blackboard, you have the full hour to complete this. I expect everyone to have the practical experiment done, and their write up started by the bell. Am I clear with that?” Mrs Peters stands with her hands on top of her blooming belly, slightly leaning against the desk with her hip.

The class grumble a response and Mrs Peters smiles, nodding. “I’ll float until my ankles hurt,” She starts, hinting to her swollen pregnancy ankles and gets a murmur of laughter in response, “Off you go!”

The equipment is already lain out for you and your lab partner, Brad. He stands awfully close to you as you sort through the different brightly coloured flowers scattering your table. You have a feeling you’ll end up doing all the work, with Brad copying everything down in the last ten minutes.

“Jheez.” Brad whistles under his breath as the class volume raises to the sound of students discussing their impending flower dissections. “Wonder who the lucky bastard is that gets a ride on her.” You turn to face him, your insides screaming with utter disgust, he motions his head to Mrs Peters and slides his eyebrows up and down.

“You’re disgusting.” You say to the white peony that you’ve set out for your first dissection. Brad hears, and just laughs to you. He takes that as a joke, as a compliment, and it disgusts you even more. “Can you start to take the petals off those,” your eyes flit to the five other flowers laid out in a neat, colourful row, “and make notes on their type of pollination?” A tinge of annoyance already lacing your voice.

“Their type’ah what now?” He sits picking the petals off roughly, not following any of Mrs Peters prior instructions, and that fills you with rage. As someone who excels in school and wants to do well, your lab partner pairing feels like someone, somewhere, wants to torture you. You realise that it’s going to be easier, and less painful, if you just do it. Just crack on with the lab practical and let Brad sit there and sniff the pretty petals. “Can you get high on this stuff?” He says, his nose dotted with a tiny bit of pollen from where he dug it into the centre of the flower.

You widen your eyes and nod enthusiastically, “High as a kite.” You confirm, sarcastically, and his eyes glow back at you. Jesus...

Time passes and you’re in your element, investigating stigmas and anthers up close under the microscope, adding to your quick diagrams of each part with brief, but helpful, notes. Ones that Brad will no doubt copy from in due course. He’s sitting, like an impatient child, folding and tearing the petals he picked off earlier. The only time he’s made an effort so far is when Mrs Peters made her rounds and he came to stand by you and ‘make notes’ on your observations, only to sit back down again and scribble in the margin of his notebook when she slunk back away.

“Harrington shown you a good time yet, huh?” Brad’s voice breaks the silence between the two of you and your cheeks flush a deep red as you squint through the lens of the microscope. A thick glob of saliva forms under your tongue which you swiftly swallow back. “Come on, we’re in biology... can we not discuss things like that?”

You lift your head from the lens and look at him. His face is expectant, expectant of your response, hoping for a bite back, and he calmly crosses his arms over his chest. Your cheeks are still firing up, your vision goes slightly blurry for a short while as white-hot anger burns up inside you. After glaring at him for some time, you return to your position at the microscope.

Before you could realise, he’s bumping your arm with his and leaning down to speak to you, not even the beautifully intricate flower beneath you is giving you any sanity. “If he’s too much of a pussy to do it, let me show you what a good time is really like.” He’s so close you can feel his breath warm your ear and send shivers down your spine, feeling like it’s hitting every vertebrate on the way down.

“Steve and I are just friends.” The more uninterested you seem, the more likely he is to give up on his pursuit and just shut the fuck up. Or so you’re hoping.

He scoffs, “Pfft.” His tongue creeps from his mouth and licks his bottom lip, “Friends with benefits? C’mon. I ain’t stupid.” He goes quiet then you feel a soft tickle forming down your spine, Brad’s finger. Then, his breath back in your ear, “Bet he doesn’t know your sweet spots.”

You shoot back from Brad, holding your hands up, like you’ve been scolded with a hot iron, “Okay. That’s it.” You charge from your station down to the front where Mrs Peters sits, grading papers. “Mrs Peters.” You say, quietly now that you’re down here, not wanting anyone to hear your conversation. In your hands, your fingers tremble slightly with the adrenaline of the conversation you just had. “I would like to request a change of lab partner.” Your voice comes out strong and confident but your face paints a different picture. “Please.”

Mrs Peters looks behind you, at your now half empty desk, and to Brad who sits and moves stems and petals around the table into a phallic shape. He grabs the attention of the pair in front, who seem displeased at the childish distraction. She raises her brows in his direction, when he meets her glare, his cheeks flush a light pink, and he rearranges the flowers into the muddle they were before.

“Say no more, sweet pea.” She says with an exasperated sigh, shuffling papers to pull out her seating plan. You look over as she pulls a pencil from her pot and pats her lip with the eraser. “Eleanor’s in need of a partner.” She says, tracing over the spare seat on her plan, “That sound good?” Mrs Peter’s kind eyes meet your own and she offers you a sincere smile.

“That would be great.” Your heart leaps with relief.

“Finish up there for today, you can move on Monday. He can stay with me.” As you make your way back to your desk, Mrs Peters calls out from hers. “Brad Norton.” The class falls silent, her usual sing-song voice has turned cold, stern. “I don’t recall asking you to make penises with your pretty little flowers. You can stay and do your lab work, tho-rough-ly,” she sounds out each syllable in the word, the veins in her neck protruding with distaste at her student, “with me in detention.”

The classroom remains quiet as you find your seat and complete your notes. “Bitch.” Is muttered venomously from next to you and you’re unsure if it’s directed at you or Mrs Peters, but you’re past caring.

✦ ✦ ✦

On Friday nights, you and Steve like to walk from school to the diner which flickers welcomingly in the dark winter light as you approach. As usual, you take to your table which is located in the corner of the diner. It is cosy. You love coming here, especially with Steve. It’s a time that you can spend together, just the two of you, have a burger, have a milkshake, and just catch up on the week. You adore your Friday nights with Steve.

Now, you’re leaning against the comfy backing of the squishy diner chair, the fabric crinkling awkwardly as you get yourself comfortable. You’ve both cleared your plates, smears of ketchup and dustings of salt lie in remnant of what was two full plates of burgers and fries. Gluttonously, as your stomach feels heavy with the greasy food that you adore, you continue to gulp your milkshake.

“I heard Brad Norton got a detention today in bio.” Steve finishes dragging his last fry through a dreg of ketchup before placing it into his mouth, laughing at the new conversation topic. You simply roll your eyes and let the milkshake freeze your back teeth before swallowing.

“He’s an asshole.” You retort, swirling your straw around in the thick, creamy drink. Your eyes stay fixed on the pink substance in your glass, watching the small particles of ice slowly melt the more you stir. “I’ve switched partners, finally. I asked Mrs Peters to move.”

“Really?”

You nod, your brows furrowing. “Uh, yeah. I don’t fancy sitting and getting creepy back strokes from him for the rest of the year.”

Steve sits back against the seat, “He did what?” A surge of jealousy, and anger flits through him and you can see it flash across his eyes, a change so subtle you feel proud you noticed. He knows that would’ve made you uncomfortable and he knows where Brad usually goes on a Friday night, he runs over the possibility of going there and beating the shit out of him, but quickly decides that would be a terrible idea. “Is that what he got his detention for? Being a creep?”

You laugh slightly, “Close.” You take another gulp of milkshake. “He was making dicks out of the flowers.” You realise you’re talking to your milkshake and not to Steve, he’s noticed too and realises there’s more to this story than you’re letting on. He knows you too well.

“You sure that’s all he did?” He knows not to push things with you, but the feeling is bubbling up inside of him.

You toy with the idea for a moment. Tell Steve, let Steve get angry and potentially make your favourite night of the week awkward? Or, don’t tell Steve, enjoy each other’s company and go from there?

You’ve both been close to sharing your feelings with each other on multiple occasions, sat in this very booth. The diner must have an aura that allows you to become content with your feelings with one another, almost becoming more than friends. The diner is where you’ve shared feelings, ranted about shitty weeks, shitty dates; cried into milkshakes over the clear downfall of Hawkins. But it’s also where you’ve brushed hands as you reach for napkins, letting your fingertips linger a little longer than is necessary. It’s where you’ve held eye contact as you talk about things that interest you, the other listening with intent adoration. His eyes glisten as he listens to you discuss another biological theory that you love talking about with him, his lips curling as he listens intently and marvels at your passion and drive for science. You return the active listening as he discusses the trips to the Upside Down, watch little pieces of him break apart as he cracks open his memories of things he tries so hard to supress, but keep creeping back into his consciousness.

So, with all that in mind, you decide to tell him. “He quizzed me on whether you show me a good time.” You blurt out, placing your milkshake down and folding your arms onto the table. “said he would show me a good time, said he knew my sweet spots. Basically, he spent the lesson trying to get into my pants.”

His face is a picture of disgust, his eyebrows furrowing so deep you think they’ll knit together. “I promise you; he is one of a kind.” He holds his hands up in defence, “We are not all sex crazed lunatics who like making people feel uncomfortable.” His features soften and he looks over to you, taking in your features as he likes to here. They look softer in the glow of the luminous light that hangs above their window, the streetlights casting a yellow tinge into the corner where you sit tucked away. “I’m sorry he made you feel like that.” His voice is sincere.

You shake it off with a whip of a hand, “Shall we get out of here?”

He nods, leaving the money on the table. “Come back to mine? We can watch a movie.”

As you stand to straighten yourself up, you smile back at him warmly, nodding gently at his offer.

✦ ✦ ✦

Warm waves of air circulate out of the heater placed by your feet as you sit in Steve’s basement on the couch, watching a new film Steve rented out. You haven’t really been paying attention, you’ve been more interested in gradually moving your limbs inch by inch closer to Steve’s, your breath hitching as you feel him doing the same. Soon enough, you’re sat with your arms pressed against one another and your leg is resting comfortably against his.

“Can’t stop thinking about what that asshole said to you.” His voice sounds weird after not talking for so long, the only sound being the grumbling heater and the soundtrack of the film playing out in front of you.

You rub his arm gently, sighing, “Stop thinking about it Steve, he’s not worth it.”

“No, I know.” He’s quiet for a while again, the flickers of vibrant colours on the screen lighting up his features and your eyes travel around them all. He feels your eyes on him and leans to pause the TV, the sudden cut of sound making the room feel too quiet. Your breathing slows, waiting for him to start the conversation again. Sheepishly, you slowly pull your hand from his arm, suddenly feeling awkward having left it there for so long. He turns his body so he’s facing you and you scoot back a touch, propping your arm up on the back of the couch and leaning your head against your palm.

“Penny for your thoughts?” You probe delicately, you can tell he has something whirlpooling in his mind.

He shakes his head, smiling coyly. “Just thinking.”

“About...” Your hands tumble over one another, hinting for him to go on.

“You.” His bluntness makes your stomach squeeze tight, as if you’ve just dropped from one of those free-fall rides at the amusement park. His face remains unchanged, his eyes studying yours. “Thinking about you.”

Slowly, you take a deep breath in. Unaware you were holding it in the first place. “Why me?” Annoyingly, your voice comes out as quiet as the hum of the heater, almost inaudible to someone who wasn’t trained in on the conversation. Suddenly the room feels warm, and you realise this could be the time to have the conversation you’ve been longing to have.

“’Cause I think about you all the time.”

You’d hoped all this time that he does just that.

And he does, he thinks of you when you aren’t there, when he’s lonely, when he feels sad, when he lies awake at night wishing he could turn over and feel the warmth of your skin against this. Wishing he could spend the night with you in a blur of heavy breathing, lustful kisses and soft moans. Wishing he could tell you how much you mean to him afterwards, holding you close whilst you both catch your breath and settle into the sheets in a dream-like state. He’s realising now how close he is to having all of this. To having you. If you want him, that is.

“I know you feel what I feel.” His voice is low and his hand travels to rest just in between the two of you, like he wanted to commit to holding you but got scared half-way and changed his mind.

A speckle of heat rests on your cheeks. “What is it that you feel?” Again, your voice is quiet, and you feel the pulse thick and fast, the heat rising up your neck from your chest.

He clears his throat. “I know we both enjoy the time we spend together, as friends. But I don’t wanna be just friends anymore.” Silence settles over the pair of you, but you know that he’s not done yet, so you wait patiently for him to continue. “You make me feel so comfortable and you always know how to cheer me up, when to give me space, when to distract me from whatever’s going on...”

Hairs on the back of your neck prickle as the tingling sensation of adrenaline courses through your body. He continues, “I hate the fact that even assholes like Brad know there is something between us.” He sighs softly but carries on, “The fact that we haven’t even done as much as discussed how we feel, yet he’s happy to make degrading sexual comments to you about us.”

You nod along in agreement. “I know.” Suddenly, your whole body feels drawn to him and you slide back along the couch, shuffling down into his side and placing your head in the crook of his neck, resting your arm over his stomach. This feels right, you think to yourself happily. “I love spending time with you, too. I have loved growing close to you these past few months and I-”

He lets his arm fall around your shoulders and he cuts you off, “Wait.” He insists as you feel his other hand come to rest gently against your neck, his thumb resting lightly against your jaw. “Look at me when you say it.” With his hand still resting on your neck, he gradually guides your face up so that it’s inches away from his own. His eyes travelling lazily over your features he’s grown to know so well before locking in with your own.

Inside your chest, your heart is hammering wildly. Never have you been this close. Never this intimate. “I want to be with you, Steve.” You quietly admit, although it’s not much of a shocker. A smile forms on his lips, which have now moved ever so close to your own. Impatient and running on adrenaline, you close the gap between the pair of you and bring your lips together. His hand stays firmly on your neck, his fingertips gradually gripping the hair at the nape of your neck as your fist grasps his t-shirt as the kiss intensifies.

The months of longing are finally coming to a head here and now as you are both desperate for each other. Not just in a sexual longing, but an emotional and physical intimacy longing, too. You can feel yourself getting lulled further into the kiss as his tongue searches for your own.

After a few moments have passed, you both pull away gently, chests slightly heaving as you both work to catch some of your breath back. You rest your forehead against his and brush your nose past his, moving back to give him a small kiss on the corner of his mouth. “What do you say then?” You can see the happiness radiating across his face, the creases by his eyes and the soft pink glow gives it all away. His thumb traces across your cheek, “You wanna give us a shot?” He says.

Nodding, you reflect the same happiness glow that Steven is portraying. “I wanna give us the best shot.”

Satisfied, he takes his hand back from your face and you feel how hot your cheek has been under his touch. He holds you close to him as he reaches back down to play the movie. A couple minutes later, he clears his throat. “And, if ‘Brad’” He uses air-quotes around his name, “Or any of his asshole friends wanna make any comments to you again, I’ll drop those motherfuckers.” He point blank says as his eyes follow along with the scene playing out in the movie before you.

The sudden threat from Steve brings a laugh out from you and it fills the room. Your shoulders shake as your laugh intensifies; he gestures his hands towards the TV. “Hey, do you mind keeping it down? Trying to watch a movie here.” He tuts and shakes his head playfully before resting it on top of your own, tracing his fingertips over your arm so that tiny goosebumps raise on your skin. A couple of minutes later, you find your breathing rising and falling at the same time as Steve’s, your eyes fall softly closed as you’re lulled into a light sleep, cocooned under the blankets and Steve’s arms.

#masterlist #stranger things prompts #stranger things preferences #stranger things imagine #stranger things imagines #stranger things blurbs #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x fem reader #steve harrington comfort #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic

1K notes · View notes

wangxianficfinder · 2 months

Text

In the mood for...

Feb 26th

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1. hi, would like to ask if you know of any fic about the sunshot campaign after a failed golden core transfer. thank you :)

Never Again by Hauntcats (T, 67k, WWX & WN & WQ, JC & WWX, wangxian, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, Canon Divergence, Angst, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Time Travel Fix-It, Not JC Friendly, Dark, BAMF WWX, mentions of abuse, Not Everyone Dies au, XY doesn’t have a happy ending) IDK about failed transfer, but this is a Time Travel AU where WQ travels back to when she was performing the transfer & refuses to go through with it

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2. Hello! I have been reading a fic where the elder Lan Wangji Hanguang Jun time travels into the past time in Cloud Recess during the time when his Younger self and Wwx were studying

And then wwx is all over the older Hanguang Jun fawning and fussing .

Fic like Vinegar Jug by Dandelion Sun .

Or something similar coded. @lostsoul234

💖 Hanguang-jun’s Husband by lilacevergarden (alittlemorecreative) (T, 6k, wangxian, time travel, bullying ur younger versions, jealous wwx)

💖 From the Future for the Past by friedchickenlord (G, 27k, wangxian, time travel fix-it, first love, love confessions, fluff & humor, denial, pining, happy ending)

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3. Tysm Mods for all you do to accommodate and keep up with these asks and recs. As well as all your efforts in keeping up this site. We all appreciate it very much.❤️❤️🥰

But, here’s the ittmf ask. I’m looking for longer fics, (30k+ words) for modern cultivation aus. I’m looking for something like the societies portrayed in Truth Will Out (when caught on video) - End_OTW_Racism! byKizuKatana or All Old Things are New Again byThe Feels Whale (miscellea) would be great, but just give me what you’ve got. I’m hungry for more, does anyone have any good ones? @omgnectarina

I feel like I win when I lose by so_shhy (T, 25k, wangxian, modern cultivation, Sports AU, Getting Together, some semblance of a plot, gently implied 3zun, obsessively observing someone from a distance is super romantic, LWJ pls use your words, really WWX cannot be blamed for obliviousness in this one, WC causing trouble, WN is precious, Fluff, Podfic Available)

Hear a song this deeply by so_shhy (T, 87k, wangxian, modern cultivation, music, kid fic, action/adventure, canon typical JGY behavior, slow burn, fluff & angst, happy ending)

🔒 close the door behind me, i'm leaving by thelastdboy (M, 3k, LXC & LWJ, LQR & LWJ, Madam Lan & LWJ, Modern Cultivation, Canon Divergence, POV LWJ, Character Study, Coming of Age, Past Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Neurodiversity, Autism Spectrum, Situational Mutism, Hurt No Comfort)

💙 this river runs to you by sundiscus (T, 53k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Mutual Pining, Dragons, Literal Sleeping Together, Tender wound tending) Idk how close these are to what OP wants, but I've been reading a lot of Modern Cultivation fics recently, so here's my fave so far

something wicked by isabilightwood (T, 13k, wangxian, modern with magic, coffee shop AU, Animal Transformation Curse, Bunji, LWJ is a Talking Bunji, True Love’s Kiss, Specifically the Same Type of Love, Miscommunication, Pining, Jealous WWX, WWX attempts to set LWJ up on dates, LWJ is not having it, WWX is an empath but he’s bad at telling how people feel about him, Friends to Lovers, Moms and WCZ Live, blink and you’ll miss it implied 3zun, Werewolf Baker WN, extremely mild angst, Fluff, minor background WQ/JYL/JZX, Halloween)

The Curse Breaker by NebulusCharlie (Not rated, 34k, wangxian, Curses, soft and fluffy WangXian, past mistakes, school of Cultivation, modern with magic, Definitely a happy ending, not much angst)

Extracts from the diaries of Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, relating to the case of Lan Zetian (Nov. 4 to Nov. 27) by Accidental_Child (T, 6k, wangxian, Modern Cultivation, Case Fic, Epistolaryish, Diary/Journal, WWX-centric, LWJ-centric, Slow Burn, (academic), Enemies to Lovers, academic rivals to Lovers, Mentions of Murder, mentions of abuse, mentions of assult)

And you must keep your soul/ Like a secret in your throat by athena_crikey (E, 48k, wangxian, Modern with Magic, Vampire WWX, Cultivator LWJ, Case Fic, hur/comfort, Angst, Falling In Love, First Time, Reference to Torture)

那些年错过的大雨 (Nàxiē nián cuòguò de dàyǔ | The heavy rain we missed in those years) by PorcupineGirl (E, 29k, wangxian, LSZ & WWX, Modern Cultiovation, Secret Identity, Wangxian Reunion, Dual Cultivation, Sorta kinda soulmates, but not a soulmate au, Consensual Non-Consent, Explicit Consent, Dom/sub, dom LWJ, sub WWX, Wangxian Have a Non-Con/Rape Kink, No Golden Core Transfer, discussion of mental health issues, WWX & LSZ reunion, Scheming NHS, NHS is Sir Not-Appearing-in-This-Fic (except for how his fingerprints are all over it), Content Warnings in Chapter Notes, no lube we die like WWX's asshole)

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4. I've read a few fics with this lovely concept, but may I have more recs with talisman-genius wwx? getting rich/admired as a result of that is a welcome bonus! thank you💚

🧡 Stunted, Starving Juvenility by TomatenMark (E, 762k, WangXian, WIP, Fix-it of sorts, Talisman master WWX, Not JFM Friendly, Study Arc, Getting together, Fluff and Angst, Engagement) The ultimate Talisman Genius WWX Gets Recognition fic

🧡 One Can Keep A Secret (If He Does Not Know It’s There) by H_Belle (T, 5k, WangXian, Modern Cultivators, Inventor WWX, Secret Identity, Identity Reveal, YLLZ WWX, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Pining LWJ, POV WWX, Background Wangxian Getting Together, Jiangs are only mentioned in the passing, inspired by a tumblr post)

💙🔒 Away from Trouble by Ilona22 (M, 15k, WangXian, Not JC Friendly, LWJ/WWX Get a Happy Ending)

🔒 The Second Hand Unwinds by trulywicked (E, 46k, WIP, WangXian, XuanLi, Time Travel Fix-It, JC Bashing, Yúnmèng Jiāng Sect Bashing Jiāng Family Bashing, YZY Bashing, Time Travelling LWJ, Protective LWJ, Fluff, Minor Angst, Minor Character Death, Wooing, Inventor WWX, Genius WWX, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, frankencanon, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Protective Gūsū Lán Sect, Supportive LXC, Good Uncle LQR, WWX Protection Squad)

A Thousand Things by tickertape (M, 108k, wangxian, canon divergence, WWX not adopted by Jiangs, developing friendships, miscommunication, misunderstangings, nightmares, hurt/comfort, panic attacks, WWX’s fear of dogs, slow burn, cultivation world bureaucracy)

~*~

5. this is for itmf! (no wips)

A. bottomji fics please

B. fics w lots of cuddling, soft fics (post- canon preferably, but anything is good!!)

5A)

do with me what spring does with cherry trees by jalpari (E, 34k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, No War AU, Bottom LWJ, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sharing a Bed, Idiots in Love, Touch-Starved LWJ)

this bed of love by YaYa (Terabyte_my_ass) (E, 4k, wangxian, Established Relationship, Post-Canon, Rimming, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Tender Sex, super sensitive LWJ, Blink and you miss it humiliation kink, and a little bit of praise kink, First Time Bottoming, Bottom LWJ, POV LWJ, Coming Untouched)

Respectable, Decent, and Quiet by Theotrix (E, 5k, wangxian, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, repressed LWJ, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Loud Sex, Emotional release, How about instead of more rules you get your disciples some therapy)

leave all your love and your longing behind by ScarlettStorm (E, 143k, WangXian, Modern AU, no magic, Meet-Ugly, Panic Attacks, autistic lwj, neurodivergent wwx, the neighborhood asshole dog, if you’ve met one then you know, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Minor Angst, major shenanigans, Happy Ending, for everyone including the asshole dog, Eventual Smut, switch rights, Sex Toys, horny yearning, Masturbation)

To Know, To Be Known by cqlorphan (E, 38k, wangxian, PWP, Bottom LWJ, Top WWX, Cock Warming, Multiple Orgasms, Marathon Sex, Under-negotiated Kink, Porn with Feelings, Aftercare, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, let lwj get railed agenda, LWJ Learns Some Things about himself, sex tears, gratuitous use of names, Begging, Kink Discovery, Post-Canon, Top LWJ, Bottom WWX, Switching, Light Bondage, Blow Jobs, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Let wwx get tied up but also let lwj railed, Repressed LWJ, Inventor WWX, Cock Rings, Angst and Fluff and Smut, begging, talking about feelings, Dirty Talk, Rough Sex, Dildos, Rimming, Edging) link in #15

~*~

6. my first time sending an ask! this is for the i’m in a mood for thing, i wanted fics where xue yang ends up in the burial mounds and/or becoming wwx’s protégé, like canon divergence where he isn’t like a full spawn of evil

no one ever said the single-plank bridge had to be walked alone by rosemu (T, 124k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Yílíng Wèi Sect au, Fix-It, Not Everyone Dies, LWJ Stays at the Burial Mounds, Fluff, Angst, Domestic Fluff, Canon-Typical Violence, Found Family, Slow Burn, LWJ and WWX get to be Dads together, the healing power of homoerotic flute/guqin duets, Happy Ending) XY is sent to the Burial Mounds to spy for JGY, becomes WWX's student & switches sides, is still snarky without being evil

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7. Hi! I’m in the mood for fics where WWX comes back in MXYs body but it’s absolute canon divergence from there. Thanks for all your help! @empress-of-elsewhere

Home isn't Where the Heart is. by Hauntcats (Not rated, 7k, wangxian) Technically already an AU before WWX came back, since LWJ noped out of the Lans while he was dead, but might still count for the request

Love Song In Reverse by timetoboldlygo (T, 237k, WangXian, Amnesia, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Falling In Love, Slow Burn, agressively mixing and matching novel and cql canon, No Homophobia, Mentions of Starvation, Parental WWX)

~*~

8. heyyy, do yall have a cross dressing comp.?? if not can u rec some (or put this in itmf?)

My Leaves Reach Ever for the Sun by nonplussed (T, 26k, WangXian, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fix-It, Crossdressing, Idiots in Love, Sharing a Bed, Canon Divergence, Happy Ending, Mutual Pining, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies)

Wei Wuxian, Who’s That? by bumbledees (T, 48k, wangxian, crossdressing, pining, sibling feels)

we’ll get him falling for a stranger (or a catfish) by sweetlolixo (T, 38k, WangXian, Modern AU, College AU, Catfish AU, Eventual Happy Ending, Crossdressing WWX, Rich heir LWJ gets catfished by pretty WWX online that’s it that’s the fic, Pining LWJ, Fluff, Humor, lwj is a grade A+ SIMP, Identity Porn)

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9. I've read a few fics with side plots of the lans learning about the culture of yunmeng and seeing all of the cultural differences, and was wondering if there were anymore fics like that? It could be any sect tbh I'm just super interested in the cultural differences between the sects. @reyoffuckingsunshine

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10. do u have some outsider pov mdzs fics (especially if it's like from any of the juniors or lan xichen )

Time, Time, Time by skeletonofaplant (G, 44k, wangxian, JYL/JZX, LSZ & WWX, JYL & JL & JZX, LJY & LSZ, Time Travel Fix-It, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Identity Porn, Identity Reveal, Angst, Fluff, Junior Quartet Dynamics, Time Travelling Junior Ensemble, Junior Ensemble Shenanigans, Humor) Juniors pov time travel fic

Weep You No More, Sad Fountains by athena_crikey (T, 59k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, LXC & JGY, Canon Divergence, Fix-it, Whump, Curses, Fever, Delirium, Stabbing, Loneliness, Confessions, LWJ's emotional repression, WWX giving everything as always, LXC realising sympathy is not support, LQR Being an Asshole) LXC POV

The Story of El-ahrairah and the Rabbits of Cloud Recesses by zylaa (G, 1k, wangxian, Crack, Fluff, literal fluff, it's all about the rabbits) Definitely outsider pov as it's from characters from outside MDZS canon

There's a Baby Loose in the Burial Mounds! by ScarlettStorm (G, 3k, LSZ is the best boy, even the ghosts think so, OCs, But they're all dead, What is a family?, the burial mounds, sentient burial mounds, don't worry wangxian are together and in love, that's just not relevant to anything that happens in this fic, radish truther agenda) POV various ghosts

❤️ The One-Body Problem by metisket (T, 29k, LJY & WWX, LJY & LSZ, wangxian, possession, cohabitation, Mojo’s bookmark) LJY POC

pitfalls of greed by glitteringmoonlight (T, 3k, WangXian, POV Outsider, BAMF WWX, Kidnapping, Violence, YLLZ WWX, not exactly but the vibes are there, Post-Canon) POV random idiots

💖 Lessons relearned by Iamnotawriter (T, 44k, WangXian, LQR & WWX, Not Madam Yu Friendly, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inventor WWX, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, No Golden Core Transfer, YZY Bashing) LQR POV

Oh, my precious didi! by PrinceInuYasha (G, 7k, wangxian, High School AU, LXC's pov, Misunderstandings, Fluff, Some angst, Protective WWX, overprotective LXC, Rumors, Established Relationship, bad boy WWX, but not really) link in #11

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11. Do u have some lan xichen or jin ling pov fics esp ones that are already not quite so popular on ao3

climbing up that coastal shelf by Sour_Idealist (T, 15k, JC & JL & WWX, JC & JL, JC & WWX, JL & LSZ, JL & WWX, Post-Canon, Mutually Unrequited Forgiveness, JC & WWX Reconciliation, Family History, Generational Trauma, Discussion of Canonical Abuse, Awkward Attempts at Communication, mentions of past JC/WQ, Fairy is a good dog, Podfic by RevolutionaryJo)

a symbol to remind you that there's more to see by paperminds (T, 9k, JL & WWX, JC & JL, JC & WWX, canon-compliant, post-canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Mild/Moderate Angst with happy ending, Yunmeng Shuangjie, Twin Idiots, Reconciliation, JL has too many uncles, JL deserves a hug, JL will save us all, excessive verbosity by yours truly)

To Love What Is Mortal by treemaidengeek (T, 22k, XiSong, Post-Canon, Grief/Mourning, Fluff and Angst, Healing, past 3Zun, past SongXiao, background WangXian, background SL & WN, & LSZ, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, [Podfic] To Love What Is Mortal by flamingwell)

Gentle Exile by rynleaf (E, 9k, XiSong, Post-Canon, Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, References to Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Character Study, Epistolary, Post-Canon, Exploration, [PODFIC] Gentle Exile by flamingwell, semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona))

🔒hills and rivers are waiting by LtLJ (G, 15k, WangXian, CQL canon, Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, domestic fluff and angst, Family Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, BAMF WWX)

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12. I’m ITMF a fic where it’s a AITA au / where the characters are in a AITA scenario @zerokogane

Am I (Gusu Lan Cultivator, 24 M) the Asshole? by moonwaif (M, 41k, wangxian, Modern Cultivation, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Oblivious LWJ, Jealous LWJ, Jealous WWX, Misunderstandings, No actual Wei Ying x Others, A "What If Wei Wuxian Figured Out His Own Feelings First?" AU, Hanguang-jun unlearns compulsory heteronormativity, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, give LWJ friends agenda)

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13. hi! for itmf i wanted to ask, are there any fics where cssr's infidelity accusation gets addressed definitively? it's mentioned sometimes but there aren't ever consequences for yzy or the other gossipers, or wwx doesn't get to honor and take pride in his parents (I'll also take any angsty options where the the jfm-bastard assumption gets wwx in trouble) thank you!!

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14. hey admins! i'm in the mood for any fics where wwx is depressed and sad, but people help him? i'm in an angsty mood, thanks!

🔒🧡 rain falls and soaks into the earth series by RoseThorne (T, 53k, WangXian, WIP, Near Death Experience, Attempt Drowning, Madam Yu Bashing, Recovery, No war AU)

🔒 tuck me in by belovedmuerto (T, 4k, WangXian, bed sharing, Hurt/Comfort, mostly comfort, Pre-Slash, Getting Together, Nightmares, expressions of care)

~*~

15. hi! if you dont mind me asking, what is the mdzs/the untamed fic with the best smut you ever read? any kind of fic is fair game

Make me by anaphoricae (E, 180k, wangxian, Modern, Dom/sub, Dominant WWX, Submissive LWJ, Friends With Benefits, Pining while fucking, Co-workers, Praise Kink, Touch-Starved LWJ, Semi-Public Sex, Exhibitionism, Nipple Play, Mutual Masturbation, Overstimulation, POV WWX, In which I trick you into reading about Wangxian falling in love by making you think it's all just a smut fic, Brief Mentions of WWX/Others and LWJ/Others, Bondage, Blindfolds, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Flogging, Chair Bondage, Aftercare, Edging, Jealous LWJ, Facials, Come as Lube, and also lube as lube, Cock & Ball Torture, But it's mild, Coming Untouched, Deepthroating, Face-Fucking, Face Slapping, Choking, Subspace, Couch Sex, LWJ sitting on WWXs lap agenda, Biting, Spanking, LWJ having his cheeks pinched as a treat, So much RESPECT and TRUST this is actually way softer than the tags make it seem, Bottom LWJ, POV LWJ, Rope Bondage, Office Sex, Rope Bunny LWJ, Spit As Lube, LWJ's canonical habit of keeping (stealing) Wei Wuxian's things, Intercrural Sex, Light Angst, Blow Jobs, Snowballing, Service Submission, Lingerie, LWJ's brain going BRRRRR, Jealous WWX, Cock Rings, Cock Warming, Collars, Power Play, Orgasm Control, LWJ and WWX's inability to pretend they're not actually madly in love with each other, slight degradation [Affectionate], Miscommunication, Impact Play, Rigger WWX, BDSM fetish party, Public Blow Jobs, Rope Suspension, Cuddlefucking, Fluff, LWJ and WWX being boyfriends without realizing they're boyfriends, Porn with Feelings, Body Worship) lots of bdsm and stuff so u might wanna check out the tags

🔒sleep in your bed by copperwings (E, 12k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Fluff, Humor, Smut, Attempt at Humor, Boys Kissing, Emotional Sex, Anal Sex)

Fentao-laoshi’s Guide to Cut-Sleeve Pleasures by occultings (microcomets) (E, 31k, wangxian, canon divergence, pining while fucking, friends with benefits, first time, cloud recesses study arc, practice kissing, sharing a bed, jealousy, getting together, confessions, happy ending)

~*~

16. Hi! This is for ITMF ✨

I'm looking for two kind of fics:

A) Cloud Recesses Arc where WWX and LWJ are together soon, Happy ending pls. I like longer fics, but shorts ones are OK. 🤗💕

B) Travel time fics where WWX (I prefer WWX but if it's LWJ it's ok too) travel in time to fix everything and save everyone. I love this kind of fics. Please give me all you have. Happy endings, pls. 💕😉

Thanks for everything!! Ily 🤟😊 @wangxiansgirl

16A)

❤️ Gentians in bloom by teawater (M, 251k, wangxian, canon divergence, political marriage, dysfunctional family, implied/referenced self-harm, hurt/comfort, fix-it, implied/referenced suicide, BAMF WWX, eventual happy ending, not YZY friendly, not LQR friendly (kind of), Mojo’s bookmark)

16B)

the cycle of regret by KouriArashi (T, 14k, WangXian, Groundhog Day, Fix-It, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Alternate Canon) LWJ stuck in a time loop

Regrets by antebunny (G, 38k, wangxian, miscommunication, misundersandings, time travel fix-it, temporary character death, angst w/ happy ending, fluff, hurt/comfort) Both LWJ & WWX time travel

Here With Me by iamwish (T, 58k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time travel Fix-It, No war AU, Not YZY Friendly, Somebody Lives/Not everyone dies, Established Relationship) WWX time travels

Ad Oblivione by Baph, HikariNoHimeWriter (M, 70k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, POV Multiple, Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Identity Reveal, Golden Core Reveal, Cultivation World Critical, Not JC Friendly, Abusive YZY, Angst with a Happy Ending) WWX time travels

A Narrow Bridge by FrameofMind, Jo Lasalle (Jo_Lasalle) (E, 700k, wangxian, time travel fix-it, slow burn, getting together, first time, pining, pining while fucking, burial mounds settlement days, angst w happy ending) LWJ time travels

🔒 Hope series by RoseThorne (M, 59k, wangxian, WIP, Transmigration, Time Travel Fix-It, Illnesses, Family, Scars, Memory Loss, Angst, Crying, Music, Nosebleed, Fear, Recovery, Nightmares, Sharing a Bed, Flirting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good Parent YZY, Referenced Sexual Slavery, Blood and Gore, Monsters, Sexual Tension, betrothal, Arranged Marriage, Adoption, POV Third Person, POV Alternating, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Good Parent LQR, Clairvoyance, Butterfly Effect, Kid Fic, Epistolary, Food, Secrets, Resentful Energy, Cultivation Sect Politics, Character Death, Resentment, Anger, Explosions, Yīn Iron, Grief/Mourning, POV WWX)

Wish Me Luck by Starlight1395 (Not rated, 164k, wangxian, time travel, fix it, PTSD) It's the perfect angsty/cute combo time travel fix-it fix! Also fits #16A

And Time Is But a Paper Moon by sami (M, 139k, WangXian, XiChengQing, Time Travel, Fix-It, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Healing, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Depression, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, BAMF JYL, Getting Together)

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17. Hola! Nice to meet you ☺️

I want to ask for some fics in ITMF. Lately I'm reading a lot of Wangxian fics where they kiss or confess in Xuanwu cave or Gusu cave. I like when they have their happy ending, long fics better. (I'm happy with mpreg and omegaverse too).

Thx!!

💙🔒 Wish I could forget the taste of your skin and the feel of your hands pinning me down by KizuKatana (E, 63k, wangxian, WQ & WWX & WN, modern w/ cultivation, getting back together, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, case fic, pining)

hope dangling by a string by KouriArashi (M, 70k, wangxian, JC/WQ, JYL/JZX, LXC & LWJ, JC & WWX, Alternate Canon, Fix-It, Everybody Lives, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Psychic Bond, Telepathy, Communication, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, jiang family feels, Lan Family Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, canon typical political bullshit, improper use of sacred forehead ribbons, gratuitous hair washing)

Quartet series by WithBroomBefore (T, 69k wangxian, JZX & JC & WWX & LWJ, Canon Divergence, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, WWX's canonical comfort with the prospect of his own death, Hurt/Comfort, JZX makes friends, Eventual Happy Ending, some unhappiness along the way, Canon-Typical Violence, JC keeps his golden core, JYL Lives, WQ Lives, Minor Character Death, Kissing, WWX Lives, no golden core transfer, JZX Lives, Fix-It, WN Lives, Weeping, temporary major character death, Murder Road Trip, Implied Sexual Content, Sunshot Campaign, Nonbinary NHS, Telepathy, platonic group soulbonding, Family, Found Family, POV WWX, Podfic Available, Siblings Sworn Brothers, aroace JZX, Happy Ending, all the Wen remnants live, POV JZX, JGY is less murdery, Asexual Character, Aromantic Character, JZX's social awkwardness, Poison) the first part starts with the Xuanwu cave and confessions/realisations.

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If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

177 notes · View notes

shirefantasies · 3 months

Note

hi!! I love your writing so I'd like to request if that's ok :D please could you write a preference scenario (romantic plz) for all the Hobbit characters with an s/o with touch as their love language? if you'd feel comfortable making it a little suggestive then that'd be amazing but don't worry if not, fluff is more than ok with me!

thank you! <3

Your kind words do my heart wonders lovie 🥹🥰 also absolutely 100% take my metaphorical money 💸🫶🏻 some are more suggestive than others just based on the personalities/natures of the characters but I really hope you love it!!! 💕 threw in some extra non-company characters since the ask sounded comprehensive, enjoy 😉

The Hobbit Characters + Physical Affection (Suggestive Version)

Balin

✧ His contented sighs and sounds of pleasure at your affection are some of the most encouraging things you’ve heard.

✧ Loves pressing kisses to your bare shoulders.

✧ Balin is always the one to help dress you, little touches like doing up your laces and things, but he is also the one who helps undress you at the end of the day. Hands carefully working over you to undo every tie of your garments, eyes trying not to roam too far, instead opting to search yours…

✧ He has this little habit of sliding his hands up your sleeves to caress your arms.

✧ Occasionally calls you a pet name he tends to reserve for in private just to flip the script upon his own reaction to your touches.

Dwalin

✧ Gives you the proudest smirk and chuckles deeply when he feels your hands upon him.

✧ You rest your head against him only to feel him move it aside with a surprising gentleness before his lips are on your neck.

✧ When you tell him that you’re cold and reach into the folds of his coat, he remarks with great satisfaction that he knows a way you two could keep warm.

✧ Sparring sessions with Dwalin tend to end up with you pinned and straddled, his gaze boring intensely into yours.

✧ Party trick as it may seem to be, Dwalin can even turn lifting you up on his bicep sensual if he so desires, his other hand reaching for you as you pull to his lips.

Thorin

✧ The type to tell you ‘no, not here’ when he feels you pulling into him, then cave and proceed to kiss you so hard you lose all breath in your lungs.

✧ The further your relationship goes on, soon it will come to your notice how accustomed you are to the feeling of Thorin’s hand protectively about your waist nearly at all times, giving it the occasional squeeze.

✧ Cannot keep his hands off you if you wear his coat, especially if you are wearing little to nothing else.

✧ It’s irresistible to tease Thorin just to see the arch of his brows in surprise at your forward motions, be they placing his hands upon you or roaming yours over him.

✧ Driving Thorin crazy is quite easy, my friend- simply whisper “yes, My King” in his ear.

Oin

✧ Shamelessly makes jokes about how you should slow down, he is the one who's supposed to give you the check-up after all.

✧ Knowing the most about bodies and being studied in their reactions, he very quickly learns both your habits and in turn the places you prefer to be touched.

✧ His massages are expert, heavenly, his hands working over all the right muscles and spots. Such moments are an excuse for you to look through Oin’s oils and choose your favorite scent or mood.

✧ Insists he only know how to undress you so fast from having to do it in emergencies, he swears…

✧ Whispers his desires into your ear, but favors your love of demonstrations to save you having to call out private matters through his trumpet in front of the whole camp.

Gloin

✧ If you were to open up a dictionary and look up the word 'handsy', you would see a picture of Gloin beneath it; he adores the fact that you're the same, proud to tell anyone you can't keep your hands off him.

✧ One of his favorite sensations upon this earth is the way your hands slide over his chest, sometimes even grabbing the edges of his coat, as your lips collide.

✧ Another is when your fingers tangle into his hair, even if they end up pulling a bit.

✧ Bedtime all but brings Gloin wrestling you down into position where he can hold you or lie on top of you. Whether you stay that way or not is up to you…

✧ Puffs out his chest first, then sweeps you into the kiss of a lifetime the day you absentmindedly run your hands over him and squeeze his arms, complimenting his muscles.

Bifur

✧ When allowed to, his hands will roam your body as if trying to memorize every inch of it.

✧ Absentmindedly strokes a hand up and down your legs when you throw them in his lap.

✧ Has been known to silently slip off articles of your clothing and offer pieces of his instead.

✧ In addition to that, he has the teasing habit of sliding hands into your clothes, especially when they’ve gotten cold, just to see and feel the way you contort and shiver in shock.

✧ Signs obscene things with such a straight face or look of mild questioning when you initiate affection, laughing wickedly at your reply of shock or eagerness.

Bofur

✧ I maintain that Bofur adores affection and is unafraid to show it, even going so far as to hold you in his lap and show you (and the fact that only he can do that) off!

✧ As you stand together, foreheads resting against each other, you can feel his hands draw patterns upon your hips.

✧ Even cuddling with Bofur is quite a sensual experience, your limbs a tangle and his lips often sneaking their way to find your neck or chest.

✧ You can always feel him smile against you when your tongue slides to the seam of his lips, deepening the kiss instantly.

✧ Bofur also quite enjoys nibbling on your earlobes if you let him, taking breaks between kisses over there.

Bombur

✧ Blushes at your affections and gives you a look like you are an angel upon the earth.

✧ Main offender of turning a peck onto the cheek into more at the last minute, turning to capture your lips instead.

✧ Occasionally forgets himself amidst your nature and gets a wee bit too comfortable; tells you you have something on your face at dinner and then proceeds to kiss or lick it off like that’s normal procedure.

✧ Almost always has a hand upon your knee or thigh beneath the table, too. Sometimes it remains stationary, other times not so much.

✧ Tends to mirror the affections you give under the assumption that you give what you desire. Sometimes does the things that pleasure you most with the silence, but the most eager look you’ve ever seen, questioning if he’s doing well because frankly he enjoys the praise.

Dori

✧ Definitely more prim and proper about things, so all of that must be in private!

✧ That being said, 'collecting firewood' is a great excuse to go somewhere secluded and enjoy each other’s company behind a tree.

✧ Always asking if you’re enjoying things to learn what gives you the most pleasure, following your responses to his every kiss and touch.

✧ You can feel it in the way he touches you, responds to your touch, that he is all but wondering if you are real or someone who stumbled forth from his wildest dreams set to disappear back into the recesses of his mind.

✧ Takes your hand and places kisses up your arm, sometimes getting less gentlemanly as he goes along.

Nori

✧ You are two peas in a pod! Keeping his hands to himself is barely in Nori’s vocabulary.

✧ When you kiss you can fully expect to feel them roaming, sometimes settling for a grip upon the hindquarters or others running up and down your back.

✧ Lets his lips brush the shell of your ear as he leans in to whisper all sorts of messages, be they comments on the others or promises for the evening.

✧ If your hair is long enough, he loves to tangle his hands in it and tug it in your most intimate moments.

✧ Do not expect to sit down without his grip upon your thigh or even the feeling of your skirt’s edge lifting if you wear one…

Ori

✧ Goes bright red at the way you’re always keeping connected, a hand over his or even both around him.

✧ When you yank him in by the scarf for a passionate kiss, why he’s in heaven, smiling into every motion.

✧ Desperation colors his kisses at times, sending his hands gripping you for dear life and his lips searching for treasure he finds with you again and again.

✧ Has never voiced this, but you can tell by the way his breath hitches that he loves it when you wrap your legs around him.

✧ If he is feeling quite bold you may catch Ori sneaking a hand into your pocket, usually to find yours or place a little surprise gift knowing the small touch keeps your heart warm.

Fili

✧ Loves the way your hands slide around his waist and up his tunic, searching for the warmth of his skin.

✧ Knowing how loved you feel by his touch, Fili often keeps you right beneath his arm, halfway embracing as you stroll.

✧ Traps you with his legs upon taking his desired big spoon role, finding new and creative ways to wrap them around you that may apply in later times as well.

✧ Adores when you shuffle underneath him while he does push-ups, kissing your lips, cheeks, or neck with each bob down. You know the shifts of his mood by if this changes to bites.

✧ Bites upon your neck are another common occurrence, leaving you to tease him that you’ll need a whole new wardrobe of turtlenecks!

Kili

✧ He’s right there with you, whether it’s simply wanting to be holding hands all the time or playfully giving your arse a light smack as you walk by!

✧ You two already have the habit of resting one’s legs upon the other’s lap, but if you happen to wear a skirt when it’s your turn…

✧ Cups your face and looks at you with the biggest smile, breathless in your presence before a kiss that has you barely separating for air, but never fully apart.

✧ One of his habits is catching your hands as they trace over his body when they reach a spot he really likes to be touched.

✧ His hands tend to slide down your back and settle upon your hindquarters when you two share kisses.

Bilbo

✧ Sometimes you’ll just pass the burglar by, running a hand down his arm and giving him a look that has him flushing beet red.

✧ Another one who prefers these things in private, but if you initiate and Bilbo is feeling quite bold he may deftly sneak a hand into your back pocket as you walk. Only if no one is behind you two, of course.

✧ Nuzzles his nose against your before kissing you like he isn’t about to dip you passionately.

✧ Whatever access to your skin is granted, Bilbo practically worships it, awed and reverent in his every touch.

✧ He loves resting his head against your chest, nuzzling in there and if he can peppering it with little kisses or maybe even nips.

Thranduil

✧ Teases the dickens out of you for the way you seek out his touch, practically purring into kisses and running your hands over his shoulders.

✧ Only to turn around and run his nails down your spine as your lips meet again and again…

✧ Upon shared meals, sometimes he will feed you things by hand, hoping you will be unafraid to let him feel you taking it from him.

✧ Much as you love surprising him with kisses, Thranduil hopes you enjoy the deeper feeling of your tongues entwined as much as he does. He is unafraid to use his tongue really practically anywhere you’ll let him.

✧ Trails kisses along your collarbones when you sit in his lap, often upon his throne.

Bard

✧ Laketown's bowman is opening himself to affection again, and receiving it is aiding in that pursuit, reminding him to give in to the desire to show it.

✧ Snaking a hand around your waist, he tugs you against his chest, smiling at the fall of your hand upon him.

✧ His eyelids flutter involuntarily shut at the feeling of your hand dragging slowly down his chest or along the length of his spine.

✧ You can feel his lips part in pure shock the first time your tongue travels along their entrance, but with great haste you are let in.

✧ Even if he is not always forthcoming with it, Bard longs for the comfort of another body nearly as much as you do. As he falls asleep, you can feel him relax, his head buried between your neck and shoulder as one hand travels up and down.

Beorn

✧ He definitely isn’t used to physical affection, starting or even glaring in surprise at first, but when he realizes your love is true, that is when you begin to feel the way Beorn melts into your touch, something different glinting in his brown eyes.

✧ His favorite form of affection is, quite simply, holding you against his chest, height allowing him to rest his head atop yours. From there, Beorn can hardly resist the way you lean up to press kisses to his neck.

✧ You tend to initiate many of your shared kisses, but Beorn inadvertently deepens them with his habit of nipping at your lips. He apologizes, but you assure him he has nothing to worry about.

✧ Finding out you love to cuddle means you’ll hardly find yourself sleeping without Beorn’s form draped protectively over you. Whether he soothes you or claims you entirely depends upon the night.

✧ Beorn’s bear-like tendencies come out in his affection sometimes, the way he rubs his head or sides against yours.

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verysium · 5 months

Text

『03』ブルーロック: blue lock recs

冴糸師: sae itoshi

lost to time by @syriiina

nostalgia. it’s delicate but potent. “nostalgia” literally means “the pain from an old wound” in greek. it’s the twinge in your heart far more powerful than memory alone – a feeling of a place where we ache to go again. but in sae’s case, it’s the painful ache in his chest to return to someone that’s already been buried by the sands of the past; the yearning for someone that’s already been lost to time. notes: this fic emotionally destroyed me; heavy angst paired with audio recordings; basically the most gut-wrenching combination ever; smooth chronological plot development; encapsulates the dichotomous pain and pleasure of love; i felt like my heart was healing and hurting at the same time

merry go round by @syriiina

what if you were given another chance? another chance to say all the things you’ve wanted to say, cry all the tears you couldn’t and hear the voice of the person you’ve cherished all your life? sae itoshi was given that chance. just one more chance for your birthday that he’ll never get to spend with you. just another chance at goodbye. notes: at this point this author needs to pay for my therapy; examining the process of grief; almost dreamy and hallucination-inducing atmosphere; idea of letting go; new beginnings; childhood nostalgia; sequel to first fic

to my first love / to my last love by @by-moonflower

when you agreed to date itoshi sae in mid-october of 1993, you never imagined he'd be your first love—whose presence would continue to linger in your life, hauntingly, even if a year, two, or ten came to pass. notes: high school sweethearts to exes to lovers again; examines insecurities of girlhood; idea of love being a process of trying and trying again; reader discovers herself before she discovers others; happy ending; pre-2000s nostalgia; montage/vignette style

come out and haunt me by @alaboadoa

sae is 13 years old when he moves to madrid. his temporary apartment is old and cheap, and worst of all it's haunted. but he finds your company better than nothing, even if you do tend to knock all of his belongings over. notes: incredibly well-written study of sae’s character especially as a pre-teen; honestly would've never expected a ghost AU; this author has such a beautiful mind; finding commonality in exclusion and lack of belonging; a unique rendition of right person, wrong time; loving someone but still not being enough

hungry hearts by @sanzu-sanzu-sanzu

You are Itoshi Sae’s Manager. Fielder of dumb reporter questions and keeper of his schedule. Among many others. notes: their dynamic reminds me of miguel and lyla from the spiderverse or that one kdrama about secretary kim; sae denying that he is in love yet noticing every little detail about reader; their witty banter is so funny; gradual realization of feelings; honestly i think this is how canon sae would fall in love

find love by @tenjiiku

“Mama?” “Yes, little bunny?” You call her by such a name because when she was a toddler she had somewhat of an obsession with playing leap frog with others. The original pet name had been little frog, but it had caused a rather large tantrum, so you never used such a term with her. Her father suggested it. It was the only thing he made that you still used. notes: i don't even need a rec to tell you how good this is; nuanced portrayal of divorce; honestly hit too close to home; idea of marriage not being endgame; slight hint of second-chance romance; love that never fades; sae being emotionally oblivious; for the hopeless romantics

the hanshin expressway by @tenjiiku

He remembers how sad you had looked — gentle, sweet and kindhearted you. And he remembers feeling the urge to hold you. Because it was the first time he voluntarily felt such a gripping emotion. He recalls the way your nimble fingers trembled around your second mug of jasmine tea, and he looks back on the way you turned to him with a forced smile, as if it was the easiest thing to do — to bear yourself and all of your little idiosyncrasies in front of him, no walls, no windows. Just you and him. You, reprimanded for your selfless displays of kindness. Him, admonished for his lack of expressing his. It was hard not to let himself fall into you. notes: literally even the premise of this fic is not for the weak; amnesia tropes are the death of me; prose is so tender and beautiful; sae being the one who now teaches the reader how to love; role reversal; reliving grief; idea of being unable to equate the past and present versions of the person you love; people change and you are helpless to stop it; being unable to return to what once was

rezkinoff / prelude by @tenjiiku

07.01. It is the first day of my break. I am going to journal both my fitness levels and caloric intake because my nutritionist has told me to. I will also note a daily observation so as to look back on my time with certainty that I have spent it properly and because you have told me to. Today’s observation: the heels of my feet are growing calluses and I found a single strand of white hair, still on my head. I need better shoes and hair dye. Perhaps something is in the water. — Itoshi. S notes: one of the most authentic portrayals of sae’s character; sae being emotionally inept but slowly learning; aging but as a graceful process; daily observations of life; the epistolary style makes it a smooth reading experience; ambiguous enough for interpretation

us, again by @ode2rin

in which: itoshi sae returns to the only place on earth he vows to never set foot again. notes: one of the best second-chance romance fics out there; i still think about this fic at night; just the right balance of hurt and comfort; sae and reader both messing it up and finding each other again; dilemma of both loving and hating a person; has a coffee shop scene and a dramatic airport reunion so what is there not to like

scraps by @itoshiexx

you give him all you have. it's time to collect the scraps before there is nothing left. notes: short but packs the most brutal emotional punch at the end; idea of love not being enough; sae pushing reader away; miscommunication; hurt people hurt people; giving up on someone you love most; falling out of love

conversations by @saerins

he’s back home, and you recall the times you’d spoken to him. all the calls you made, then all the calls he made, and then all the times it went to voicemail. notes: i was having a good day until i read this and started violently sobbing; honestly it's a pretty accurate reflection of fame and the troubles it brings for both you and sae; the voicemails crushed something within me; i was grieving for a relationship that never existed; please read when you want a good cry; thank god for the alternate ending here

do stars return? by @hanyjar

your childhood friend leaves, and you question if he’ll ever come back. notes: the way that i ate this shit up with no crumbs. sae itoshi and star metaphors go hand in hand. picture this: you and sae grow up and then he leaves you and then he comes back again. now amplify that and add childhood angst and a sprinkle of poetic language. you're welcome.

凛糸師: rin itoshi

the first snow by @tenjiiku

It’d take him 3 lonely nights for Rin to admit to himself he wanted to see you again. He wonders if he torments you as much as you do him. notes: two-shot that changed the trajectory of my life; this author absolutely nails the slice of life genre every single time; finding beauty in the mundane; realistic depictions of modern love; somewhat slow-burn; dialogue and internal conscience are beautifully written

riptide by @misssleepless12

Concerned with how things were left after U-20, Isagi goes to visit Rin before the end of break. They address it. Sort of. notes: not necessarily a rinsagi shipper but this fic has a stunningly accurate portrayal of MLM romance; no sense of false idealism or over-romanticization; rin and isagi’s natural dynamic is perfectly captured; strong imagery and cultural setting of kamakura; rin’s sarcasm is on point

カイザ: michael kaiser

five dates and a proposal by @by-moonflower

all it takes is five dates for kaiser to fall in love with you and you in him, much to your surprise. notes: this fic actually made me believe in love; strong female character; fear of love and gradual opening up; basically what it feels like to fall in love with someone you never thought you’d actually love; realistic depiction of insecurities

color me blue by @saekkas

in which you need to wrestle your boyfriend, michael kaiser, out of his bed to fulfill a promise: re-dye his hair. notes: domestic fluff; michael being childishly cute; imperfections as perfections; heart-warming snapshot of established couple life; never fails to make me smile when i reread it

#fic recs #bllk #blue lock x reader #blue lock #sae itoshi #sae itoshi x reader #sae x reader #rin itoshi #rin itoshi x reader #rin x reader #michael kaiser #kaiser x reader

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cockslutpadalecki · 1 year

Text

Come Around Sundown

Summary: What happens at Christmas is never just a one time thing, and when summer break rolls around, you find yourself repeating past mistakes. Or is it a mistake?

Characters: Tattooed!DBF!Steve x F!Reader.

Words: 2.3K.

Warnings: age gap relationship, use of pet name (little mouse), explicit sexual content, mention of previous sexual encounter (oral sex— fem receiving), reader is in her 20s, Steve being covered in tattoos, female masturbation, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids), cream pie, 18+. MINORS DNI.

A/N: Inspired solely of the manip of Chris used above in the header which I promptly lost my shit at. It’s all thanks to @sweeterthanthis 💖 And thanks to @randomagnes0210 for creating the best manip ever. Beta: @princessmisery666 but all the general bullshit is entirely mine. While likes are gold, feedback is golden. Please support our content creators by sharing our work.

“Hey Little Mouse,” a familiar voice teases from beside you, “almost didn’t see you sneakin’ around there.”

You flash a small smile at your dad’s best friend, Steve, hating how forced it feels pinching at your lips, hoping he can’t see the strain of it in your cheeks. Your gut twists, warming at the sound of the deep gravelled baritone. You’ve loved the nickname ever since he coined it for you, but right up until six months ago, it’s since evolved into a point of reluctant appetency when it comes hand in hand with the man who gave it meaning.

A sweet, playful name that used to symbolise your meek and quiet nature. Now it represents something far more licentious, and you can tell by the way the epithet leaves his lips that he’s aroused by the association.

The attractive woman standing alongside him gives you a clipped grin, not really knowing how to react to the exchange between you. Her presence sets you on edge, and you almost feel like he’s brought her here just to fuck with you.

Well, it’s working.

Trying to create some distance, you wander over to the kitchen island. Your gaze travels over the bottles of your parents’ alcohol collection, and knowing which to avoid after replacing most of them with water a long time ago, you smile to yourself.

The first time you tried the vodka with your best friend Trini, you were both violently sick the morning after. And the headache lasted for what felt like days.

“Something funny, Little Mouse?” Steve asks curiously.

Finally glancing up, your eyes catch purest sapphire. The smirk on his lips makes warmth pool in the cradle of your pelvis. Deep-seated heat that could— can— easily bring you to your knees. You try to keep his stare, but your eyes are drawn to the open v of his shirt, showing off his tattooed covered chest.

“Why’d you call her little mouse?” The brunette tersely pipes up between you. Like she’s pissed off you have a nickname and she doesn’t.

Steve finally looks towards his date. “This is George’s kid,” he explains like he’s talking to a five year old. She nods as if she knows who George is, but you can tell she doesn’t from the befuddled expression on her beyond pretty face. “She used to be such a shy little thing.” He glances back at you, lips threatening a fresh yet menacing smile.

Used to.

She seems to accept the explanation without the need for more depth. You’re grateful. You don’t want her knowing the reason you’re no longer shy, or how Steve is privy to such private information.

“Wasn’t sure if you’d be here,” he continues softly, ignoring his date. “Your folks sure missed you over spring break. I know I did.” The way he stares you down both unnerves and arouses you.

“I had too much studying to do,” comes your clipped reply.

He narrows his eyes at that, completely unconvinced by the lie, but you remain stoic. He doesn’t have to know that you spent spring break with your roommate and her friends, or that the real reason you didn’t want to be here was because you knew he would be.

It’s hard to avoid Steve at the best of times, however since the incident at Christmas, he seems to be around more than usual.

His existence is a constant reminder of what it felt like to have his face buried between your thighs— his beard both scratchy and comforting as his tongue lapped at you, humming against your clit.

The warmth in your gut starts to stir as he moves around the island, coming to face you over the sea of bottles. You try to keep his gaze, but you’re distracted by the sight of his thick fingers gliding over the polished marble. And it conjures up the memory of all the time he spent tracing delicate patterns across your skin, like he was painting a plethora of invisible tattoos to match the everlasting artwork adorning his.

“Uh, this tastes disgusting,” Steve’s date suddenly spits, effectively ending your daydream. You look towards her a little confused until you spot the open bottle of vodka in front of her and have to stifle a giggle.

”I’m so sorry, let me get rid of that,” you mumble. “Must have gone off.” You take the bottle away from her with an overly faux grin, thankful to be given an excuse to get away from Steve.

You manage to avoid Steve for the majority of the afternoon and late into evening just as the crickets start to sing. You’re grateful for your parents seemingly inviting half the neighborhood, making it easy to blend in and hide when you need to, but after a while you get curious, wondering if he’s still around.

You search the house, your hopes slowly dwindling as you go from room to room without any sign of him. Your heart sinks at the possibility that he left hours ago with his date, no doubt showing her just how talented he is with his tongue. Envy nips at your heels, threatening to discolor your thoughts when you finally spot him in the garden, laying on one of the sun loungers.

He stares mindlessly up into the darkening sky that swallows up the fringes of pinks and reds painting the western horizon. Every few minutes or so, he brings a bottle of beer to his mouth and you find yourself daydreaming about how it would taste to lick the alcohol right off his lips.

“Hey honey, you alright out here? It’s gettin’ a little cold,” your dad’s sudden voice says from behind you. You turn, giving him a small smile as he rubs his hands up and down your bare arms, no doubt feeling the flourish of goose flesh prickling up over your skin. “Want me to fetch you a jacket?”

“I’m fine,” you return softly.

“Okay,” he leans in, giving your hair a kiss, “we’ll be inside.” Dad squeezes your arm gently before letting go and disappears back into the house. This should be your sign to follow him, but your feet are firmly planted to the floor.

Before you know it, your feet are moving— but not in the direction of the house. Maybe it’s the few vodka sodas that’s giving you the liquid courage to approach him, or perhaps, deep down, you want his attention.

Eventually you reach him, pausing briefly as Steve looks up at you. As he silently returns his gaze to the ground, you step around the sun lounger beside him and smooth out the skirt of your dress before taking a seat.

“Where’d your friend go?” you ask softly.

Steve sighs a little. “She left.” He doesn’t sound particularly upset by the notion.

“Oh.”

“Don’t think she liked you very much,” Steve chuckles, taking another swig of beer as he stares up at the dusky sky.

Your brow furrows. “Why?”

“Kept making snide comments about you whenever she could,” he shrugs. “I told her to go if she was gonna spend the night insulting you.”

Your heart constricts in your chest at that and sudden guilt pulls at you. You’ve been cold towards him all evening, and he’s been nothing but courteous, even going as far as defending you against his best chance to get laid tonight.

“Thank you,” you squeak. Just like a mouse.

He turns his head to face you— a gentle tender look that sets your skin ablaze, and smiles softly. “No need.”

Returning it, you remain with your eyes locked until you feel a familiar warmth creeping up your back. You shift against the sun lounger uncomfortably before hurrying to stand. Brushing out the creases in your skirt, you’re desperate to give your hands something to do, besides grab hold of Steve and kiss him again.

You turn to leave, but the rapid way in which Steve moves to a sitting position, combined with the feel of his fingers around your wrist stops you in your tracks. Your stomach twists when your eyes catch his once more.

“Stay,” he asks of you. You’re distracted temporarily as he places down the empty beer bottle between his spread legs.

“I shouldn’t,” you reply when he glances back up.

“Why not?”

“Don’t you remember what happened the last time we ended up alone together?”

Without warning, he tugs on your wrist, and pulls you onto his lap, whispering with a deep husk, “Of course I do.”

You swallow deeply before quickly turning around to make sure nobody can see you in such a compromising position. You’re so far away from the house that the spotlights don’t reach this distance, the blanket of night slowly swallowing you as the sun sets.

“Look at me.”

You obey without a word.

“I think about it every fuckin’ day,” he admits quietly, letting go of your wrist and drapes his heavily tattooed hand across your bare thigh. His other hand slides around to the nape of your neck, pulling you in closer. “I never wanna wash the taste of you off my tongue.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, and unconsciously, you roll your hips, grinding down hard into his crotch. Steve hisses through gritted teeth as you do so, his grip tightening around your neck and thigh.

“Shouldn’t do that.”

“Why not?” you tease, bearing down even harder as heat blooms beneath your cheeks with delight. You feel Steve react, pushing back against you as the bulge of his cock brushes your clothed sex.

“Because I’m this close to pullin’ your panties to the side and makin’ you ride me for real.” His lips brush yours and you let out a squeak. “There’s my little mouse,” he adds with a chuckle, finally pressing a kiss to your mouth. He tastes of whiskey and bad decisions, but you’re addicted.

You curse under your breath when he pulls away, his hand climbing higher up your thigh until it disappears beneath your dress entirely. His fingers tease the edge of your underwear, hooking them under the material to caress your skin as his thumb glides over the top of the fabric, spreading your folds apart. When he reaches your clit, you moan into his open mouth, quietly begging him to “do it.”

Steve tugs your panties to one side and sinks his fingers into your velvety heat— one at first, then two. With whispered praise and encouragement, he manages to stretch you out to three— gaping and dripping all over his fancy dress pants. You’re on the cusp of coming when he snatches his fingers away and wraps his arms around you, pulling you with him as he lays back on the chair, knees propped up behind you.

There’s a quick scramble as he fingers open his zipper, and you feel his thick veiny cock spring up between your thighs. And even though dusk has fallen, and he’s nothing more than a hazy shadow beneath you, you’ve never been able to see him more clearly.

You work in sync, your bodies in tune as he coaxes you, with a hand under your ass, to lift yourself up. He drags the tip of his cock through your puffy folds— up and down, up and down— until you’re pushing against his hand, desperate to feel him inside you. He laughs gently through the darkness— a low echoing chuckle which slowly morphs into a groan as he finally allows you to get what you want. He slips into you with ease, your greedy wetness swallowing him inch by eager inch until he’s buried up to the root.

You sit motionless for a moment, enjoying the feel of him swelling and twitching inside you, but impatience takes over quickly and you begin to rock back and forth. Steve plants his hands on your hips, helping to guide you back down onto his cock when you rise up. You place yours on his chest, and hard steel melts beneath your touch. Slowly you ride him, wanting to feel every ridge and imperfection in his cock perfectly fill you to your limit.

You can tell he likes it. The muffled moans and under the breath expletives keep you in the moment, feeling pride swell thick in your chest. One of his hands moves from your hips to your neck, he pulls you roughly in to meet his lips with yours while he continues to groan against your tongue.

“Fuck, you have no clue what you do to me,” Steve mutters between kisses as you lift your hips, letting his cock slip out to your entrance.

“I think I have a pretty good idea.” You sink back down on him and the word, “fuck,” is sudden and hot on your cheek.

Steve soon takes over— fucking you long and slow, hard and fast— until your gut is tightening to the point where you’re not sure you can hold it anymore. Every thrust of his hips sends you careening further and further towards euphoria, and then you’re shattering into a thousand rapturous pieces.

Your thighs still damp, you slink back inside the house. Steve is close behind, his hand hovering over the small of your back. You want his touch back on your skin— crave it like a high, but you know that you’ll only be able to take a hit in secret. As you enter the lounge, he hangs back, waiting a beat before following you in.

“Oh, there you are,” Dad laughs when he spots you. “We were about to send for a search party.”

Steve perches on the arm of the couch before leaning forward to scoop some dip onto his index finger. The same finger that had been inside you.

“Sorry, we lost track of time,” he replies, sucking the dip from his finger just as your eyes meet. “Me and Little Mouse were too busy catchin’ up.”

***

ALL CE: @buckymydarlingangel @broadwaybabe18 @captain-asguard @chamberofsloths @cevansgurl @dreamlessinparis @deanwinchesterswitch @fandom-princess-forevermore @hurricanerin @jvstjewels @kellhems @la-cey @ladybug05 @livstilinski @ladydmalfoy @mugi-chwan95 @navybrat817 @otomefromtheheart @oneoftheprettynerds @patzammit @rebel-stardust @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @sammykb1994 @syrenavenger @straywords @saiyanprincessswanie @sunwardsss @selfsun @threeminutesoflife @vicmc624 @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @xoxonotme

4EVS: @amirra88 @andreasworlsboring101 @b3autyfuldisast3r @cheesyclaire @chibijusstuff @callsignrambam @dangertoozmanykids101 @daughterofthenight117 @deangirl93 @doozywoozy @foxyjwls007 @geekofmanyforms @heyyouwiththeassbutt @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @ilovefanfic86 @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @letsby @letsdisneythings @labella420 @mogaruke @maliburenee @notyourtypicalrose @nik2writes @obsessivelycapricious @patrick-hockslutter @princessmisery666 @phildunphyisadilf @roxyfan14-blog @sage-writing @sea040561 @sweeterthanthis @slutformarvelmen @simpformarvelmenandwoman @smokeandnailz @stoneyggirl @stoneyggirl2 @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @thegirlnextdoorssister @unfortunate-brat @warriorqueen1991 @xoxabs88xox

#steve rogers #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #chris evans fanfiction

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unabashedly-so · 5 months

Text

Knots

Elliott x gn!farmer, SFW, soft little romantic character study, barely proofed, 1k words, drabble.

content warning: alcohol mention, nothing else I can think of.

This is dedicated to 3 posts in particular that got me thinking the other night: pizza, Elliott Scrap, and be gentle carrying me home.

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Like a knotted skein in loving hands, there's a slow unraveling.

The largest knots get attention first. You find one in his hair, incidentally—after the first night Elliott stays over, accidentally. It was winter and wrapped in warm flannel and a warmer embrace, the farm could wait. He’d come over for dinner, excited to share the latest rounds of edits over some a fresh catch of tuna and your first batch of wine from the farm. When the gentlemanly hour came to leave, the door wouldn’t budge for all the freshly packed snow. You bid him stay, and for the first time, he did.

Chastely—not for lack of interest but for an abundance of intimate moments that might have been stretched too thin if pushed too far: he fumbles taking off his tie and his hands shake unbuttoning his jacket. He folds them, sets them just so on the dresser. He exhales—a sigh or a steadying breath?

He turns, asking what kind of hairbrush you have. You didn’t know how to answer that question—or any question at all, really. It was the first time you’d seen him simply dressed in just his white button-down shirt, and more importantly, one of the few times you’d even seen him look sheepish. This, the same man that an hour ago only let you out of his arms to twirl you to the music, wrapping you back in even tighter than before, filling your head with lovely words in murmured baritone.

And it doesn’t escape you how his fingers absently run over the embroidered hem of his jacket when you manage to say there should be one on the bathroom counter that he’s welcome to use. Nor how his leg bounces as he sits and pours over his manuscript while you change. Nor how he seems to look anywhere else but at you, blushing, once you’ve changed into your most unassuming night clothes.

It’s so quiet but for the crackling fire place and the occasional rushing wind from the blizzard outside. You’re not as good with words as he is, but you have to try. You walk over to him, bare feet quiet against the cold wooden floor. “Elliott?”

It’s slow, but he looks up from his manuscript, at you. “Yes… darling?”

“I know it’s not ideal or perfect but… I’m happy to have this time with you, just…” words fail, and you gesture vaguely at the blizzard, your frayed pajama bottoms and oversized t-shirt, and… him, “just as we are.”

His shoulders lower, slowly, a tension loosening. He exhales—a sigh, this time you’re certain—and sets the manuscript atop his neatly folded clothes. He rises to standing, and meets your gaze with a tired but truly mirthful smile. “As am I.”

Elliott’s hands reach to cup your face, his finger tips brushing against your jaw, hesitating, waiting for permission. You lean your head into his touch, and there’s another exhale—an airy, loving laugh—before he cups your face and leans down to meet your lips. He’s so warm tonight—blame the wine, the fire place, but certainly not the blush—as he holds you and kisses you still.

His freshly brushed hair tickles your cheek when he pulls back. It tickles your neck, shoulders, and lips too, in time, as you share in each other’s body heat throughout the cold, cold night.

You’re dozing, and you’re almost certain he is too when you hear, heavy with sleep and soft with love, “Thank you, my dear.”

“…for what?”

“This.” He says, with a kiss into your hair.

And in the morning while you lay cozily in his arms, slowly combing your fingers through his silky auburn hair as he sleeps, it’s there you find a knot. Nestled above the nape of his neck, it snags and bids you pause. It’s not a matter of how, but a matter of trust—would it be a step too far?

Under loving hands the largest knots are made pliant to reveal the stark truth: it’s never one, but several smaller bundles huddled and wrapped around one another—cornered nestlings shivering at being seen.

The trembling hands, clinging to an ornately embroidered shelter, avoiding your gaze until you offer reassurance…

You withdraw your hand, instead placing it on his chest, where his plain white shirt, albeit wrinkled now, is so…

…so soft.

You’d come to find many more knots in his hair, but that was the last time you saw him sheepish.

It’s autumn now—not the autumn of your wedding, but the autumn of your anniversary. You’re playfully sick of picking his discarded ties off the foot of the bed. The sound of the microwave beeping at 3am wakes you to the sight of him partway through a slice of cold, leftover pizza. (He cooly, lying, insists you dreamt such a thing.) Elliott eagerly and openly makes his plans to get fully “sloshed” on pumpkin ale and asks that you still claim him at the end of the night and be gentle carrying him home. The next day he vows that was a horrid idea he’ll never repeat, and in the autumn after your first child is born, he does it happily again.

There’s a barbecue stain on one of his white shirts, and despite both your best efforts, the ghost of the stain persists. It’s now accompanied by speckling of other stains from being worn and worn out as he helps you on the farm. Originally a “house shirt”, he no longer has need for that, as it turns out sometimes an oversized t-shirt and frayed pajama bottoms will do the trick just as well.

And you still doze in on winter mornings. Combing your fingers through his hair, delighting in both the sun-kissed copper and moon-kissed silver strands, when you hit a snag, you know it’s just a simple knot. One that will come gently, surely undone under your patient, loving hands.

#returning to my roots a bit with this one #stardew valley #sdv #sdv fanfic #sdv elliott #stardew elliott #elliott sdv #stardew valley elliott #elliott x reader #elliott x farmer #unabashedly posting

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dotieeee · 5 days

Text

The Gamemaker's Apprentice

Level 16

Pairing: Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow x You, named!Reader

Overall Warnings:

NON-CON, DUB-CON, Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow, Snow himself should be a warning, lots of blackmailing, gaslighting, manipulation, obsession, possesiveness, eventual forced marriage, eventual loss of virginity, breeding kink, canon-compliant major character death, reader is named but has no physical descriptions in the fic so one might also consider her an OC but in 2nd POV, will have canon inconsistencies, drugging, somnophilia, and other stuff that may be added

Masterlist

Level 16 Warnings:

Non-consensual dom-sub dynamic (belt-flogging), alcoholic consumption, bullying

Replay Level 15

Ready? Level 16 Start:

You didn’t really want to be here. Not at all, no sir.

You were a big fan of routine. Every day from Monday to Friday, Ms Rosenthal would come by at your home to supervise your studies. You’ve heard her compliment you many times to Uncle Cas about how you’re quite a few levels too advanced for children your age; you’ve been getting perfect scores in all your arithmetic tests; your reading and writing skills are superb.

Two months ago, however, Uncle had decided to take a pause on the routine and mentioned it was perhaps time to try something new: going to school for a day to see how you’d like it. This, you didn't understand. You’ve been doing exceptionally well with your studies, kept your nose clean and everything – so how come Uncle had to disrupt the way things were just because your psychologist told him to?

“Nellie is just eight and she needs to spend time with people her age, Mr Innis. She may be intellectually gifted, but besides her tutoring sessions, you may want to see her enrolled in any of our elementary schools and be around with other kids to prevent emotionally stunted growth.”

According to your research, the psychologist just called you aloof and immature.

But Uncle Cas pleaded that you give this day a chance. Just this first day of school, and he said if you didn’t like it, he wouldn’t pressure you to stay.

So far, except for odd stares from the other kids on the playground, you’d been left alone on a stone bench reading a book you had brought for comfort.

Algebra I For Beginners.

You wanted to be like your uncle working with computers one day, and he said if you wanted a leg-up, Algebra was the way to start. You took out a notebook and a pencil, intending to begin with an equation on page thirty-one, when you spotted several kids convening around the base of one of the slides, whispering among themselves. One of them, the blonde girl with pigtails in the middle, pointed to someone on the swing – a boy with thick brown curls and downcast brown eyes – followed by everyone else’s laughter. Anyone from a distance like yours could easily see that they were making fun of him for whatever reason – all of them except the tall boy with blond wavy locks and bright blue eyes, who ignored both the laughter and the boy on the swing, merely hanging back to observe. There was something a tad snobbish in his facial expression, but you couldn’t really tell. Maybe that’s just how he usually looked. You’d later discover how correct your initial assumption would be.

One of the kids, you didn’t see who, pelted the boy with brown curls with a pebble, but it hit the sand near him, loud enough to attract his attention.

From across the short distance you heard one of them say, “Hey, is it true they eat babies in the districts?”

Everyone, save the blond boy, burst into raucous laughter and went on to call him names you’ve only heard on television before, which made you frown a bit.

The boy was clearly minding his own business. Why would they bother him at all by calling him needlessly cruel names?

You abandoned your book and your bag and approached them.

“Excuse me,” you politely interjected. “What did he do?”

The girl with pigtails in the middle said, “Who are you?”

“That doesn’t matter,” you said.

They whispered among themselves, which you only caught glimpses of.

“You think she’s District too?”

“She doesn’t sound like it…”

“I haven’t seen her before…”

One of them quipped, “He’s District. Are you?”

“That shouldn’t matter, either. Everyone should be treated fairly.”

“You know what my father calls your type? A rebel s-sin..synthesiser,” a brown-haired girl said with contempt.

“I think the correct word would be ‘sympathiser,’” you replied with a tilt of your head, which earned an eye roll from the girl.

“Whatever, freak,” she said snootily. “Ugh, I’m leaving, this isn’t fun anymore.”

Everyone in the group groaned but they dispersed. The blond boy, however, stared at you with mild interest, which he tried to hide using a blank expression. You ignored him in favour of talking to the brown-haired boy – he could’ve stopped his ‘friends’ from calling him terrible names, but instead, he just stood back and did nothing.

“Don’t mind them,” you gave him what you thought was a friendly smile. “They’re all just huge shitbags.”

Both the boys seemed taken aback by your language. Your uncle always had to tell you not to say things like that, but you hear him use that kind of language all the time, especially in the kitchen. “My name is Prunella Innis. You can call me Nellie.”

You held out your hand to the brown-eyed boy, which he shook tentatively.

The blond boy confidently strode over to you and took out his palm. “Coriolanus. Coriolanus Snow.”

“Hi,” you flashed him the same smile and shook his hand lightly. You then turned to the other boy, who got out of his perch on the swing and introduced himself, sniffling.

“My name’s Sejanus Plinth.”

“I know,” Coriolanus said matter-of-factly. “I heard your family just moved to the Capitol.”

The boy named Sejanus nodded, but there was something sad behind his eyes. To try and make him feel better, you said, “Sejanus, huh? Mine did about two years ago.”

Both the boys gave you surprised looks; you shrugged it off and said, “So what? It certainly didn’t do my parents any favours.”

Sejanus actually cracked a smile, but Coriolanus’s real expression remained masked behind what you could tell was a fake smile.

A word you recently learned, ‘elitist,’ crossed your mind. You’d discover much later that assumption too, would be correct.

“You’ve been here since the middle of the war? I haven’t seen you in school before,” the curious blond asked.

“I’m homeschooled.” And if you had anything to say about it, you liked it better that way.

Sejanus bashfully showed a tiny brown bag. You peered inside and saw gumdrops. Your uncle didn’t hoard gumdrops as much as he did with chocolates, so you suspected that he didn’t like them very much. You took one, saying ‘thank you’, and Coriolanus took some after you.

“Am I going to see you around?” Sejanus asked you, looking somewhat hopeful.

Your smile faltered a little. “Probably not.”

Sejanus’s brows drew together. “Why not?”

“My uncle says I don’t have to stay if I don’t like it. And I’ve decided that I don’t.”

“So you’re going to keep studying…at home?” Coriolanus wondered with a tone that sounded like it was a foreign concept to him.

“Yes.”

You smiled at them both and went back to your bench to pick up where you left off in the book. Your uncle emerged not much later from the building with an expectant look on his face. That look immediately morphed into exasperation once he saw you begin packing your bag.

“Let me guess: the place didn’t even stand a chance.”

Nodding, you added, “The kids here are hostile; therefore I think the environment may be cutthroat.”

Your Uncle Cas sighed to himself and commented under his breath, “You know, sometimes I think your vocabulary is a punishment for my past actions…”

Ignoring this, you glanced up at your uncle with an innocent grin and asked, “So, do we get ice cream after?”

“A big, whopping ‘no.’ Not a damn chance.”

Uncle Cas only laughed at the pout on your face, but you glanced back at the boys named Sejanus and Coriolanus, nodding farewell to them both. The corner of Coriolanus’s mouth twitched upwards and Sejanus gave you a small wave. Your gaze lingered just a little on Sejanus’s warm brown eyes.

You would see both of them again in a few years’ time, but that little girl walking away from the schoolyard didn’t yet know that the boys would remain a permanent fixture in her life: one of them, taking her heart with him to his grave, and the other, forcibly twining with and shaping her entire future for the worse.

Nine fifty-eight on a Friday night is quite a busy time for Club She Said. The girls-only membership club is already packed with well-dressed rich Capitol women with pretty drinks in their hands, chattering about and giggling among themselves. The company whom you invited seems to have arrived surprisingly earlier than you have and is sitting at the bar seemingly engaged in a lively conversation with the lady bartender.

“You’re early,” you comment as you take the seat beside her.

“It’s called ‘growth. You should try it sometime, it wouldn’t hurt,” Livia Cardew jabs at you as she sips her drink.

Your maid of honour, casually dissing you. You roll your eyes in mild amusement as she orders a drink called The Dark Lady on your behalf – a blackberry-lemon smash – and say, “This is a nice place. It feels cosy and...safe.”

Your eyes dart around the club, spotting nothing but female staff – waitresses, DJs, bouncers – plus the numerous cliques who seem to be having a blast catching up with their girlfriends over drinks without the presence of their male partners. You’re thankful Livia chose this place on your behalf – even with your fiancé’s money and influence, this is a place he’ll never be allowed to enter.

Livia grinned smugly at your compliment. “Well, with your ridiculous time limit, I figured we both deserve to spend it wisely and without your boyfriend breathing down your neck.” She gives you a dead-eyed look and adds, “Honestly, he’s the only man I know who gives his girl just a measly one hour and thirty minutes to be out and about on a Friday night. So, unless he’s horny and he wants to fuck all the time, he’s just being an ass.”

This, you can’t agree more.

The lady bartender arrives with your drink, elegantly presented in a tall, slender glass, garnished with fresh blackberries and a lemon wedge. You thank her and turn to Livia to reply, “What can I say, I hit the jackpot. Oh my, this is amazing.” You had just taken a sip of the drink, which is by far the best you’ve ever had, to which the bartender beams in thanks.

Livia lets out screech of excitement. “Wait till you try Better Than Sex...”

She then proceeds to explain the drink’s etymology in great detail – a drink made of coffee liqueur, chocolate liqueur, full-cream milk and cherry grenadine, garnished with whipped cream and chocolate shavings. She goes on from She Said’s cocktails to showing you photos of bridesmaids’ gowns which she fishes out of her purse.

“I think this one fits your theme best,” she says as she points to a photo. “Besides, I look fucking fabulous in that colour and cut.”

Then she starts pointing out to you who’s sleeping with whom in the club, right before she jumps into the topic of arranging your bachelorette party.

“What? Absolutely not,” you say. Images of you passed out, drunk, and being hauled home by a displeased Coriolanus cross your mind. You shiver inwardly in horror at the idea.

“And why not?” she retorts, clearly outraged. “How could you fucking pass on your own hen party? That’s like, the hen’s only chance to have a bit of fun before the cock locks her in a cage and throws away the key. Pun totally intended.”

She takes a long swig of her drink and holds out a pointer finger for emphasis. “Read: by ‘fun,’ I meant strippers.”

With your eyebrows raised, you shake your head and respond, “Try mentioning that when he’s around and see if you get more than the icy stare.”

“Oh, boo-hoo. He used to hire escorts all the time. Honestly, he’s such a hypocrite.”

It takes you quite a bit of convincing for her to finally drop it and relent.

“Ugh, fine. Forgive me for trying to take my role seriously,” she sighs as she rolls her eyes dramatically and curls her lips in mock disapproval. “Don’t blame me down the line if you start feeling unfulfilled for not trying out other dicks for size.”

The lady bartender brings another round of cocktails for two, and you both clink your glasses together before sipping. This is the most alcohol you’ve consumed not just in one night, but also your entire life. You haven’t even gone through your second glass halfway and you’re already feeling the proverbial buzz.

“Okay, Innis. Spill. I know you didn’t invite me out for drinks just to shut down my hen party-hosting skills. Plus, we’ll get to meet at that cake-tasting thing tomorrow anyway. What is this about, for real?” Livia, ever the sharp one, rests her chin on the back of her hand and stares at you inquisitively.

You meet her gaze nonchalantly and reply, “Nothing. I was just bored. Can’t wait to try the cakes out.”

There is truth to that, somehow, because aside from the wedding preparations, college classes, and Coriolanus dragging you along to these events he’s always invited to, he still hasn’t allowed you to freely roam the city, perhaps fearing you’d attempt to contact your uncle and make a run for it again.

Livia squints her eyes at you while inching closer and not breaking eye contact. “You’re a good liar,” she concludes, leaning back into her seat and nodding in approval. “I like it.”

She gestures to the bartender for another round of drinks – your eyes widen when you realise she just ordered shots – and says with a mischievous grin as they arrive, “Luckily for me, I have methods of extracting valuable information – methods, mind you, that have, so far, yielded me with satisfactory results.”

You shake your head in mirth, accepting the drink from her. She raises her glass as if taking you on a challenge.

“Mark my word: you are going to fold, Innis.”

“Bite me, Cardew.”

Both of you burst into fits of laughter and throw your heads back in unison as you empty the shot glass. Two more of those and eventually you tap out of the drinking spree, earning the scathing comment ‘lightweight’ from your drinking buddy, who isn’t too far from your level of tipsiness despite what she brags about. You decide to order a basket of bacon-jalapeño poppers to nibble on, and you manage to get through half the basket before Livia takes it away and places it behind her, well beyond your reach.

“Easy on the grease, will you please?”

You pout. “Hey, I wasn’t done with that.”

She just replies with a frown, “Watch your figure. Tigris won’t like it if she makes adjustments to your dress at the last minute.”

You finish off the piece you’re holding with a single bite and lean on the bar with a slumped posture.

“Or not. You know, maybe if you let yourself go, your boyfriend might just – ”

“It’s Sejanus’s second death anniversary tomorrow.”

A pause passes between you two, with Livia staring at you as if she doesn’t know how to react or what to say to what you just blurted without warning.

“‘District boy?’” When you shoot her a half-hearted glare, she corrects herself, her tone a little more mellow, “Sorry, force of habit. And not to be a bitch, but why do you care?”

Why, indeed? The first year, you had no trouble going through, but the second somehow seems like another empty hole in your heart, slowly growing and gnawing away at the rest of it. Like all the aches you experienced just a few months after his death has come back in full force.

“Shit.”

Livia’s curse is followed by a slump in her posture as she leans on the bar and processes the information. “So, you really love him.”

“I do. Or did. I don’t know anymore.”

She motions for two glasses of water which arrives instantly. You’re only too happy for something without any trace of booze in it and drink the entire glass in one go.

“So, you called me here,” your drinking buddy says carefully, “Because you don’t know what to do and you can’t really talk to your boyfriend about it because he’d get jealous.”

Once again, she’s spot-on. Except she missed the part where you suspect that your boyfriend might’ve also killed him. You give her just a single look and she instantly confirms her hypothesis.

“He won’t get jealous; he’ll just shut me down.”

“That’s the same thing.” She sighs audibly and stares at you sombrely.

“You’re a sucker for self-punishment, you know that?”

You merely shrug in response.

“I’m not invalidating your feelings and shit, but this isn’t helping you at all in this Snow-situation.” Livia empties the last remaining shot glass. “I know you miss him, okay? It’s pretty clear. But that’s not going to bring him back. Just because your first love is gone and you’re stuck with your sociopathic fiancé doesn’t mean you have to be miserable.”

Livia gives you a look that can only mean ‘get your shit together’ and orders one more set of cocktails. When they arrive, she takes one for herself and hands you the other.

“But that also doesn’t mean we can’t toast to his memory.”

You take the glass and raise it. “To Sejanus Plinth.”

She copies your movement, muttering, “To your District Lover Boy, Sejanus Plinth.”

You both empty your glasses at the same time and you almost slam the glass back on the table. Never in a lifetime did you ever think toasting to your dead friend over a fruity-boozy drink could feel so cathartic, but here you are.

“There. Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, get your shit together, Innis. You’re smarter than that.”

Despite her harsh reprimand, you find yourself chuckling, to which she just rolls her eyes, smirking exasperatedly.

“You know, he gives me so much grief for asking you to be my maid of honour.”

Livia lets out a shriek of glee. “I’d pay a fortune to have seen his reaction when you told him.”

“Oh, he was beyond m-miffed.” Your words are beginning to slur, indicating you probably had way too much of your capacity. “I was jus’ wondering why you accepted. Curious, ‘is’all.”

“If you’re asking if I’m over’im – ” her own garbled words are interrupted by her loud burp, which startles the waitress passing by – “Yes, I am. I’m over him, swear. But if I can get laid while I’m at it, why the fuck not, right?”

Guffawing, she adds, “Jus’ wanna see him suffer. ‘Magine the guy losing you? He’d spiral the fuck down. Honessly, I tried, m’kay? All this wedding prep – I already bumped into him sooo many times, made a loooot of passes, but no-ooo, he only has eyes for you.”

Side-eying you in jest, she adds, “No accounting for taste.”

You giggle. You actually giggle along with her as she shoves your arm playfully. Then, both of you share a look and dart like lightning to the washroom, throwing up in separate cubicles in unison. Having let some of that out, you begin feeling just a tad better even if the buzz still lingers.

You’re on the sink washing your hands when you notice the time on your watch.

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“I have to go.” According to the time, you’ve gone thirty minutes over your fiancé’s time limit.

Livia lets out a groan as she emerges from her stall. “Yeah, me too. I’m so hammered. I already paid, you get the next one. And you better not pull a District and go cheap on me, Innis.”

“Trust me, Cardew. When I pay, you can go drown in it for all I care.”

She snorts in laughter on the way outside the She Said Club, where she says her driver is waiting in the parking lot.

“Look sharp, Innis. Your executioner has arrived,” she mutters so only you can hear.

True enough, you look into the icy blue glare of Coriolanus Snow, leaning against the service car door, the stone-cold smile on his face concealing his ire.

“Did you have fun, sugarplum?” he says as he approaches.

From behind you, Livia fakes a retching noise.

You, however, are rooted to your spot as you try your best to appear sober.

“Livia, pardon me, but I have to take my fiancée home.” Coriolanus’s falsely cheery tone is disarming, as usual.

“You heard him. To the gallows, you go.” Livia pats you on the back and mumbles a ‘good luck’ under her breath before addressing the male. “See you both tomorrow. Try not to tire her out too much tonight, will you, Coriolanus? She can’t miss this; you know how she lo-oooves cakes. Loves them.”

Inwardly, you groan the way she just tries to rile him up, but he seems to keep a level head as always. In fact, he goes on to give her a wider grin.

“You shouldn’t concern yourself too much with what my fiancée and I do behind closed doors, Livia, and I am well aware how important this is for her.”

Livia just blows a loud raspberry in his direction before getting inside her car and driving off. A firm, large hand immediately grips your arm and the now stern voice of your fiancé chills your blood.

“Come, Nellie. We will talk when we get home.”

And you all but get shoved into the car before it drives you both home, where you suspect he might just pop off.

To the gallows, you go, alright.

Coriolanus Snow had never thought he’d see you again, but here you were, in the same year as him and in his class, sitting just a few seats before him to his right, listening aptly to Professor Cecil drone on about a linear equation on the board that he was well aware you’d be able to solve blindfolded and with hands tied behind your back.

You had left an impression on him when he met you in that playground all those years ago. Even if he remembered you using such colourful language unbecoming of a girl, there had already been something behind your eyes and in the way you spoke that he couldn’t pinpoint then.

He'd later discover the correct adjective: erudite.

Everything about you perplexed him to no end: your perfectly natural Capitol accent, your exemplary manners, your sharp wit, your gifted mind…

Your District origins.

Coriolanus had never thought someone of your calibre could emerge from such a place, yet here you were: an enigma he didn’t know what to feel about.

Festus elbowed him discreetly, distracting him from his thoughts and passing a crudely written note.

u crushing on district-homeschool freak?

Festus sniggered behind a closed fist to avoid drawing attention to himself. Coriolanus grinned imperceptibly and wrote down below the scribble a tasteful reply before handing it back to him:

Fuck off, kindly

The note comes back with more of Festus Creed’s infamous chicken-scratch handwriting:

really pretty though. too bad she’s district.

Coriolanus crumpled the note and tossed it in his bag and went back to staring at the back of your head.

Now, Festus’s former observation he could firmly attest to. You were undeniably easy on the eyes and considered one of the prettiest in his class. Over the next few weeks, he would find out that even the boys in the upper class agreed, with the way they would throw stares at you when you walk by them in the hallways. Unfortunately, he can’t confirm the part about you being District; you weren’t really forthcoming about your personal life to anyone yet. He’s heard of rumours circulating about you being born to a former Capitol actress, though, so the thought that maybe you’re not even District. Maybe someone else spread the idea of your District roots out of jealousy, and maybe you hinting at them when he first met you was just a way to make the real District rat feel good about himself.

Because if you were indeed not of Capitol origins, then that meant the Districts had the capacity to produce more children like you, which they could one day weaponise to try and overthrow the government once more. An army of district kids like you, putting the ones like Arachne, for instance, from the Capitol to shame…

Coriolanus shuddered at the thought.

He’d later discover another aspect of you: that underneath your well-mannered demeanour, you hid what he can only describe as intellectual savagery.

It was lunch break sometime in the first semester. You were alone at a table as usual, declining the nicer girls’ offer of sitting with them at their table.

Coriolanus sat with Festus Creed, Sejanus Plinth, and some of his other male classmates were sitting just a few tables away when Arachne Crane, for whatever reason, had just decided to cause a scene in her usual fashion, backed up by Juno and her other lackeys. The group seemed to have come from the Talent Show rehearsal and approached your table looking just about as menacing as a pack of squirrels ganging up on a rattlesnake.

“Hey, district-homeschool freak,” he heard Arachne call out, as she leaned on your table.

Coriolanus saw a hint of danger flash in your eyes before you stood with grace and an uncannily calm air.

“Oh, so she thinks she’s so tough, huh?” one of the girls quipped behind their leader, but he didn’t see who it was.

“Not at all. I’m just supposed to stand when somebody’s addressing me,” even your tone came off as non-confrontational. “It’s called courtesy, you might’ve heard of it.”

Arachne sneered. “Is that what they teach you at home? What else did they teach you, how to fold your laundry? How to be more submissive to your future husband?” The group laughed with her in a jeering manner.

Plastering a cold smile, you responded, “On the contrary, Arachne, they teach me Algebra II. We’re currently on the radian measure which you wouldn’t know because you’re not on that level yet. I could ask you what they teach you here, but judging by the way you talk, I’d say not that much. In fact, I fear for the state of the Capitol Academe.”

Arachne’s eyes narrowed at the insult. “Just because you have money for tutors doesn’t mean you’re smart.”

“True,” you said. “Money can’t buy intellect.”

“Well, it can’t buy class, either,” Arachne countered a little more loudly.

“I know. I can tell,” you said, clearly unfazed by her increasingly hostile behaviour. “Because you clearly have neither of the two. Are we finished?” You took a quiet, demure sip from your juice pack, before continuing, “Because this is boring me. That’s great Talent Show material, by the way: boring people to death.”

Arachne hid her hurt by scoffing, muttering, “Come on, this is pathetic.”

As they left you alone, you sat back down with the grace of a princess and continued your lunch like nothing happened. Festus kicked him under the table, grinning obnoxiously, and said, “What’s the matter, Snow? Scared that she’ll bite?”

Coriolanus curled his lips in a challenge and kicked him back, while the rest of the table chuckled, still in disbelief at what they just witnessed. He could’ve sworn it was this very moment that made you earn his classmates’ respect, even if you eventually revealed your underlying intolerance for blood and gore during a Hunger Games rerun in History class.

With his eyes glued on you across the mess hall, he couldn’t deny that the way you maintained your cool while hurling witty insults was a form of art you seemed to have mastered.

Later on, he would have his first proper conversation with you in an empty classroom when he arrived earlier than he had planned for a math period. You had been there earlier than he was, your razor-sharp focus on a fourth-year pre-calculus problem written on the board, your arms crossed in full-concentration mode. He watched you take a piece of chalk and attempt to correct what seemed like a solution written by a student.

It took him ten seconds. Ten seconds before he could stop himself and break the silence.

“What made you change your mind about attending school?” Coriolanus asked.

“Hello to you, too,” you turned to face him with a smile momentarily before shifting back your attention to the problem on the board. “Psychologist’s orders. She said I needed to spend time with people my age.”

As if he wasn’t already curious about you – or at least, matters concerning you – you had to add this to the mix.

“Why are you in freshman year?”

“As opposed to what, being locked up in an insane asylum? They have pretty rigorous qualifications that I haven’t met yet.”

It was this moment that he decided he liked your humour immensely. Coriolanus let out a genuine laugh, and you turned to grin at him before you writing a few more lines and returned the piece of chalk to the side of the board.

“No, I meant, why aren’t you in a higher year?” He clarified. “That’s clearly senior-level material.”

“It’s just math,” you shrugged. “Outside that, I’m just like everyone else.”

“I highly doubt that,” a voice said.

You both turned to the voice at the same time to find Sejanus Plinth standing at the classroom doorway.

Ah yes. The District rat.

Now, Coriolanus could confirm that he was, beyond a reasonable doubt, full-blooded, cloddish-accented, one hundred-percent District. The blond quickly masked the sneer of disdain forming on his face with his usual grin as a greeting. He spared you a glance and you both catch each other’s eye. He had thought for a moment that he’d seen a flash of recognition behind them – had you caught that scornful look he had for the District rat? But before he could even confirm, you were already smiling warmly at the other boy – that other boy who was leagues below who you deserved (even if you were part District). That boy with a bag of gumdrops you both briefly interacted with about six years ago who needed you to come to rescue him from almost being ganged up by a bunch of other children.

Sejanus Plinth, who would later grow closer to you and thus would divulge to his best friend the tragic events that would explain your need for a psychologist. Sejanus, who’d later reveal to him that he’s developed a crush on you. Private Plinth, who’d be too chickenshit to tell you until before he left for District 12 and ultimately stayed there.

The teenage Coriolanus might not have been aware then, but the two would have profound, lasting influences in his life: the girl, he’d fall madly in love with and force into marriage, and the boy, very much dead yet he’d still be competing with for her love.

Behind you, you hear the apartment door slamming close and you almost jump at the noise.

You sit on the loveseat in the living room, where Oscar the cat greets you with a head bump on your leg. Before you can pet him, however, Coriolanus picks him up gently and exits, presumably to put him back inside his playroom. He soon returns, pausing on the other side of the coffee table and staring down at you with an utmost displeased expression. Nowhere near comparable as when he found you crouching inside a wooden crate in the middle of a botched escape attempt, but it’s still significant.

“Explain why you went over thirty minutes beyond what you were allowed to spend outside.”

With his hands inside his pockets, he draws to his full height and glares at you icily while he waits for you to speak up and defend yourself. You rub your face with your palms to appear more sober than you really are, but so far, the buzz is still there like an annoying fly you can’t swat off.

“How much did she make you drink?” He asks, crossing his arms in his growing impatience.

“Wha-no, she din’ make me do anything.”

Great. Because slurring your words when you’re being interrogated by a former peacekeeper leads to excellent results. Still, you can’t help but frown at the way he makes it sound like Livia forced you into it.

“Fine. How much did you drink?”

“Much.” Dammit. “I mean, plenty.”

Coriolanus pinches his nose bridge and exhales audibly. “You know you’re not a heavy drinker. You shouldn’t have allowed her to goad you into this. How could you be so irresponsible?”

“Stop talking to me like ’mma child,” you bite back and cross your arms. Inebriated or not, you will not be reduced to an invalid without an agency of your own. “I can think for myself.”

Letting out an aggravated sigh, he gives you a condescending glower. “This is exactly why I told you not to pick her. She is not a good influence on you, Nellie.”

You blink once or twice to process what he just said. You get to your feet, finally realising why he’s so upset with such a simple thing as you drinking out like a normal young adult on a Friday night.

“No, you don’t like her because I’m actually having fun with her. There’s a difference,” you conclude softly. The idea is so absurd, it sobers you up a little. “Remember when you said, I needed to reconnect with old friends or some shit? This is me doing that.”

“This is not about you making friends,” he admonishes in the same patronizing manner. “This is about who you chose as your maid of honour.”

You choose to stand your ground and glare at him. “I made it clear I’m not changing.”

“And I made it clear that I do not approve of your choice,” he says roughly. “Get her off the list and call Clemmie or Lys.”

“Or just call off this fucking wedding, how about that?”

As you harden your expression, he, in turn, gives you a look that you are aware does not bode well for you.

“I don’t like your language, Nellie.”

At this moment, you find yourself agreeing with Livia.

Who cares what he thinks?

“It’s my wedding too, okay?” you snap. You exit the living room quickly, intending to just get the argument over with and lock yourself in your room where he can leave you alone. Unfortunately, he follows you at once. “I can choose whoever I want in my own damn entourage. It’s the only thing in this...this charade that I get choice in and you’re not going to take that from me.”

Coriolanus catches up on you and grabs your arm, which you yank back without much force. “Do not talk to me that way – ”

“She’s the first real friend I’ve ever made since Seja – ”

But there’s something within you that catches you mid-speech. the temperature in the living room seems to drop several degrees, which matches the tone he uses.

“Carefully choose what you say next.”

So, you’re really not even allowed to talk about him as a friend, now. It almost physically pains you that even the man he once considered to be his best friend now refuses to even speak of him.

“Coryo, it’s his second death an – ”

“I know what fucking day it is,” he draws close and hisses in your face. “And you don’t get to use that tone on me. You don’t get to endanger yourself this way and step out of line.”

After his menacing tirade, Coriolanus pulls away. In a second, his fury instantly dissipates, replaced by a blank, even serene expression.

The calm before the storm.

“I can’t have my future wife misbehaving like this,” he says with a tone enough to chill your blood. He then closes the space between you two in a calculated manner, stopping merely inches away from you to stare down at you. “I should be nipping this in the bud.”

Your vision spins next, and you wonder for a second if the alcohol you consumed finally has gotten the better of you – until you notice an almost painful grip around your thighs: your fiancé had just hauled you off the floor and placed you over his shoulders. Before you can protest, you’re dumped unceremoniously into a soft surface. Disoriented, you make a feeble attempt to get off the surface, but you’re harshly flipped over on your stomach, unable to lift yourself off owing to being pinned down by something you can’t shake off.

You’re filled with dread the instant your mind processes what just happened: Coriolanus had just carried you to his room and is keeping you in place on his bed with his entire body draped on your back.

It's the alcohol you’d have to thank for your delayed response time.

Desperately, you claw at the pillow, as if it’ll help you out from underneath him, but you freeze when you feel his breath fan your ear with a whisper that sends shivers down your spine:

“I want you to count to from ten when I say so, sugarplum.”

You feel him pull back, the bed shifting slightly. It takes the rustling of a belt behind you to send you into hysterics; the feel of the cold, night air on your ass as your dress is lifted, revealing you in just your underwear, is enough to make you beg.

“Coryo, please, no – ”

Your words die in your throat as a sharp, white-hot pain lands on the swell of your ass, almost at the same time you hear a loud crack.

He's just hit your almost bare backside with the softer side of his leather belt, and it fucking burns to high hell.

You’re still reeling at the shock of it, but your hair is bunched and pulled, not enough to hurt but to gain your attention.

“Start counting,” he commands from behind you.

Ten. That means ten lashes of his belt. Nine more of this and you can barely handle one.

You sob out of fear, but you don’t know if it’s out of fear of pain or of him.

“Please, I won’t do it again – ”

A pained yelp escapes you the moment the belt lands on your ass again. Another hair pull, followed by his stern voice from behind you.

“Nellie, you’re prolonging this by not counting as I said. Now, I will not ask again: count to ten.”

Go to hell.

You don’t know what compels you to – perhaps it’s the thought of you being unable to sit for the next few days on any surface without wincing in pain – you inhale sharply, swallowing back the insult you’re planning to hurl, and whisper:

“Ten.”

Another cracking of the belt, followed by your cry as it hits you, followed by you shakily whispering a number. He repeats this without mercy and without reprieve – just pure malice and the intent of inflicting pain.

Sniffling, you manage to stammer “f-five,” bracing yourself for another, but it doesn’t come.

You lay flat on your stomach as you weep audibly in your helplessness and shame, belatedly realising he’s removed himself from you and has gone off fuck-knows-where. Just as you’re about to try and get up, he makes a re-entrance, having come from the bathroom. He’s completely shirtless now, eyes locked in and heading straight towards you.

You begin sobbing anew and try to crawl off the bed, but he’s instantly on you, pinning you down as he straddles your thighs with his own, taking your wrists and pinning them above you with a single hand.

“No, please…”

Directly over your ear, he whispers gently, “Sshh, shh, it’s over, sugarplum, I’m here to take care of you now.”

Despite your rather pathetic sobs, he continues cooing over your ear, while you feel something wet and cold being rubbed gently on your ass where the belt had hit you multiple times.

“It’s just a salve, my little sugarplum,” he explains. “It’ll help heal the skin faster and reduce bruising.”

The salve helps like he says, thank goodness, because after he’s massaged the area, it had numbed almost entirely – too bad it does absolutely nothing with the trembling on your hands. For the next few minutes, your fiancé strokes your hair, kisses your crown, and whispers what he thinks are comforting words, all of them a blur to you as you continue lying down on your stomach, unmoving and still trying to wrap your head around what just happened.

“You made me do that, my sugarplum,” he says, and you’re almost tempted to believe how contrite his voice is. “I will never hurt the love of my life – as long as you give me no reason to.”

You’re barely paying attention when he starts peeling off your dress entirely, even when he jerks himself off above you and spills himself on your bare back, even when he cleans you up and wraps you almost lovingly in his blanket and pulls you close to him in a cuddle you’re all-too-familiar with.

What you listen to aptly, however, is what he tells you quietly as he runs his fingers through your hair in this sick form of forced intimacy.

“I will move the wedding to a month and a half from now. Mid-October. In return, you get to keep your maid of honour, and I will lift your uncle’s exile the day before the wedding. That way, he can walk you to the aisle and hand you over to me, just like he should’ve done from the start.”

Just before you let yourself succumb to sleep in his arms, you make a mental note to ask Livia for a crucial favour as this last-ditch attempt to throw a wrench at your fiancé’s plans for the future.

Sejanus Plinth felt a little guilty as he sat beside you on his bedroom couch. You were hunched over the coffee table poring over three open books at the same time, scribbling madly on a nearly full page of your notebook, essentially doing your part and more in this supposedly partnered effort of writing a ten-page analysis of some pre-Panem fantasy trilogy. It was obvious you had been spending the recent nights getting some work done on the paper based on the way you rubbed your eyes constantly and yawned into your palms. He was supposed to have written about three pages now, but he had barely scraped one and a half, and the open notebook he had on his lap was devoid of handwriting.

Yet he still couldn’t quite believe his luck that he had you in his bedroom, the first friend he had ever made since his family’s official move to the Capitol. His friend, the smart, quiet, sassy, pretty girl who had once defended him from one of the many bouts of name-calling by his own classmates and then vanished from his life. He had little hope he’d see you again, but here you both were in your second year, your friendship stronger than ever.

“You know, experts say that staring into paper has been scientifically proven to yield a ten-page book review.”

Your cheeky little comment did not go unnoticed, but Sejanus just flashed you an innocent smile he knew you couldn’t resist. You rolled your eyes at him and proceeded to sigh, before setting your pen down and heavily leaning back on the couch.

“I guess we could take a break,” you admitted as you rubbed your eyes, and grabbed a throw pillow, hugging it to yourself.

“Speak for yourself, I can go all day,” Sejanus joked. “I’ll go get us some food.”

He stood from his couch, but before he exited the door, he looked back at you and grinned, “Nellie, try not to fall asleep before I can come back, yeah? Ma worked hard on those strudels.”

You gave him a sweet, exhausted smile, and said, “Please thank her for me. Not that I won’t be thanking her later before I get home, but still.”

“I’m sure she’d like that,” Sejanus nodded when he finally closed the door behind him.

He released a breath he didn’t know he was holding and straightened the collar of his shirt. As if having you alone in his room – albeit for completing the essay together – had him feeling nervous enough before you even arrived, his Ma just had to gush over you just as soon as you crossed the threshold.

Of course, he’d revealed to them how he met you all those years ago, carefully omitting a few details, but when he told her last week he’d have you over to visit, she had wildly assumed you to be his girlfriend, which you weren’t. Something he had always been so adamant with her about. Besides, he knew he had zero chances on you, as gifted and as talented and as attractive as you are.

Sometimes, he’d find himself wishing that weren’t the case.

It wasn’t your looks or your brains that had him developing some sort of…feelings for you. You were a breath of fresh air in the Capitol for him, starkly different from the other girls in the school who were either vapid, vain, or arrogant, or all those three at once.

“So? How is it with you and your…friend so far?”

He hadn’t even crossed the doorway to the kitchen and his Ma was already on his case. He loved her with all his heart, and he was extremely grateful for her hard work, but she could scare you away even before he had made a move.

He met his mother’s expectant smile with a tired grin and replied, “It’s going great, Ma.”

His mother beamed at him – he didn’t have the heart to take this little joy away from her when she was so excited – and told him a maid would carry the tray of food upstairs for him instead and shooed him away from her kitchen.

“She’s really pretty, by the way,” she added just as he was leaving to go back to his room.

Sejanus found you resting your head on the couch’s armrest, hugging the throw pillow to yourself and in blissful slumber.

He didn’t have the heart to take this little bit of rest away from you, either.

Sighing to himself, he grabbed a fresh velvet blanket and tucked you in it before sitting beside you and observing you. He brushed a stray lock of hair away from your face and let his fingers linger on your cheek.

You didn’t wake up until about two hours later, and by then, Sejanus had made good progress on the essay since you weren’t distracting him too much. He then spent the rest of the day doing more staring than actual schoolwork, trying to commit this day to his memory, no matter how inconsequential.

Aside from the kiss he would eventually share with you, Sejanus would constantly remember in his last days just how soft your cheek was and just how he could’ve snuck in a quick kiss on them that day if he hadn’t been so faint-hearted.

Enter Level 17 - soon

Next on Level 17 - Wedding bells toll, Snows going honeymooning on the beach, just filthy filthy smut (fucking finally lmaooo)

Author notes:

Please reblog and comment, it's always appreciated! Sorry for the delay as well, the next update will likely take about 2 weeks from now duw to work still being crazyyy. Thank you for your patience!!!

#dark!coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #Young!coriolanus snow #young!coriolanus snow x reader #named!reader #or #x OC2ndPOV #18+ only #dark!coriolanus snow fic #dark!coriolanus #dark!coriolanus fic #dark!fic

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thelightsandtheroses · 7 months

Text

Two: there goes the fear again

Your Hand In Mine | Joel Miller x female reader

Summary: When Joel finds you on your self-assigned insomnia bench one night, it sparks an unexpected friendship that quickly develops into more. Finding peace in the middle of an apocalypse always seemed impossible, but being with Joel feels natural, like a missing piece has fallen into place at last. When a ghost from your past threatens to destroy the peace you’ve found in Jackson, everything will change.

Word Count – 4.3k Chapter Warnings - 18+ blog minors DNI, description of a nightmare, insomnia, mentions of Salt Lake City, reader had a backstory and her age is not specified but an age range is lightly implied in this chapter, secondary characters and ocs, reader is a parent. Notes: Thank you so much for the kind feedback and comments so far - I’ve been honestly quite blown away by it all. As it's Joel's birthday today, I wanted to push myself to get this chapter out. So happy birthday Joel, sorry about the outbreak? 😂 Chapter title is from There Goes the Fear Again by Doves.

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The memories come back to you in flashes, framed with distorted static like an old VHS. They usually start in the years Before, nostalgia tinged memories that lull you into a false sense of security that tonight may not be so bad.

Sometimes you welcome it, the reminder of your family and life before. It was normal, it was filled with love and normality and peace. You had problems, like anyone else, but schoolyard bullies, your roommate and class assignments seem so trivial compared to what the world is now.

You’re by the beach, listening to the soothing rhythm of the waves, watching Sean surf as you pretend to study, scrunch your toes in the sand. You can feel the heat of the sun of your skin, the way you scrunch your toes in the sand and want to soak in every moment of this summer. You daydream of what’s going to happen once you start college. Will Sean still be your best friend as your paths start to digress? Will anyone even like you there?

You were still agonising about those trivialities on the night that the world ended right in front of you. In hindsight, you’ll notice the signs in front of you that day that something was coming, something was wrong. It was just a normal day though. The last one. You remember it all. So much loss, so many mistakes, so much fear. The memory of your family; of the last conversations you had with them, of how unsatisfactory that was.

Then it’s you and Sean and his little sister, Isabella, and you’ve got to find a new path. College feels like lifetime ago now.

It’s here the replay of your past becomes distorted; all black and white static and poorly compiled edits after that, time jumps and skips and sequences completely out of order.

You’re in the woods and there’s blood stains on your clothes and you’re running and it’s never going to be far enough, it’s never going to leave you. It doesn’t matter how far you run; it’s buried under your skin now.

And then your mind goes to that place. To every nightmarish thought and the memories you avoid. It’s too much.

The blood. The flames. The shame.

It’s the fact you’ve bought a child into a world where monsters are real and you don’t know if you can keep them safe.

More memories.

Then it’s the fear; the unspoken terror that one day soon you’ll lose everyone, that you’ll just watch it unfold in from you. That you’ll be the only one left, doomed to loneliness and emptiness. That you’ll watch as everyone you love is taken from you; by illness, or violence, or such an innocuous looking fungus.

You’ll be left all alone and then they’ll find you.

Tendrils of anxiety twist around your body, constricting with each thought, each memory, each possible future, until you feel like you’re suffocating and your heart is racing and surely you can’t wake up from this.

It’s not real.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Joel asks placidly as you walk over to the bench, your rucksack casually slung over one shoulder. It’s clear that he’s been here for a while already but he’s left one side clear and ready for you.

“Just here for the view,” you say calmly, stuffing your hands into your pockets as you try and push away the lingering unease from your sleep.

“Aren’t we all?”

You sit next to him, playing your bag by the edge of your feet.

It’s been more than a week since he first came to your bench and since then you’ve had more run-ins with Tommy’s brother. The two of you have seen several sunrises together in a wordless peace. Neither of you have truly acknowledged each other outside of the bench, nothing beyond polite nods in the community hall at mealtimes and the pleasantries you both would surely afford to any other member of this community.

You’ve spent each night on the bench observing Joel. You’ve quietly noticed his features; the freckles and sun marks, the way his eyes warm when he smiles or and the depths in them when he’s avoiding a subject.

There’s a lot you still don’t know about him.

Neither of you have talked much about the substance of your lives before Jackson. It’s to be expected though. These days, it’s safe to assume that if you’re still alive, it came at a cost and perhaps you don’t need to dwell on that.

You know Joel a little more now - each of you have given small hints about the person you are. Not a lot, not everything, but it’s just enough that Joel feels more real to you.

“I heard it was a rough patrol yesterday,” you say after a moment. Beau had told you all about the horde of infected they’d bumped into. He told you that him, Bonnie, Tommy, and Joel had almost been surrounded at one point.

Sometimes you almost forget about the infected. For a little while anyway.

For the past twenty years, most of the true terror you’d felt was at the hands of humans, not cordyceps. Were you frightened of losing people to it? Of course. Had your few encounters with clickers or runners been terrifying? Yes. Were you terrified of the world you’d leave your son one day? Naturally.

It was just in the QZs, in the worlds you’d moved in between then, you always encountered more humans than infected. The outbreak had changed everything and it had amplified so much; there was no court of law now, no shallow allusions of propriety no order outside of dictatorial QZs, so in some places, the anticipated lawlessness and loss of humanity was your true fear.

Jackson is an exception.

Joel looks down for a moment after you speak and you wonder if you shouldn’t have bought up the patrol at all.

“It was fine,” Joel says gruffly.

“Okay.”

“Do you go on a lot of patrols?” he asks.

“Sometimes,” you say. “Only when it’s my rotation. I’m mostly based in the library and sometimes I help Sean in the greenhouses too.” You pause and wonder if you should add more that you’re good with a bow and arrow now, but you still freeze in close contact.

After a while, as the breeze reaches your fingers and you regret not packing gloves, you reach down and pull a thermos out of your rucksack. You take a long sip, savouring the hot liquid and warming your fingers on the container.

You look over at Joel and then down at the flask in your hands.

“It’s just chicory coffee,” you say, offering the thermos to him politely. “A little dandelion root too I think.”

He looks at you curiously.

“Why?”

“I’m getting chilly, and it seems rude to sit here and drink coffee and not offer any to you.” Jackson has burrowed its way under your skin now; there’s no way you would have done this a year ago. Or perhaps it’s the bench, the magic of this place in the middle of the night. It’s like the rules you’ve built over the years can ease slightly here. The air feels just minutely lighter.

“Thanks.” Joel accepts the battered thermos, takes a long look at it, and then takes a tentative sip of the drink.

“Still nowhere near as good as the real thing,” you say wistfully. “And it’s caffeine free, but sometimes I can pretend it isn’t.”

“Better than nothing, I guess.”

“Exactly.”

“Where do you get it from? I know FEDRA had regular supplies and they grew it out in one of the QZs.”

“It grows wild around Wyoming and Sean’s cultivated a patch of it in the gardens too. Esther, in town, she makes it all. Esther’s definitely a good person to befriend if you want to keep a supply of it. She’s nice too.”

“Yeah, Tommy mentioned her.”

You smirk, imagining exactly the nature of the conversation between the two brothers.

“What’s that for?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure it is. Just you really seem to be settling into Jackson now.”

Joel shakes his head with a smile. “Don’t you start.”

“Okay, I won’t. So, how’s Ellie? I saw her in the library today, well, yesterday now,” you say lightly.

“Oh yeah?”

“Uh huh, she’s going through our space section pretty quickly. We’ll have to see what we can find on patrols.”

“Yeah, she’s really into space.” You can hear the affection in his voice; the deep love he has for her and that sense of pride that he knows this about her, knows about her interests.

“If any new books come in, I can put them aside for her.”

He looks at you with an unreadable expression. “Thanks.”

“It’s nothing.” You pause. “I think I get it. I never had a space phase, but I spent several months really fascinated with deep sea exploration when I was a kid. We moved to the coast and suddenly it was right there and I’d never thought about it before. I mean that I get where she’s coming from.” You have no idea where this sudden burst of honesty came from and you feel your face heat at what you’ve said.

“We’re a long way from the coast now,” he says softly. “Don’t think I’ve seen a beach in years.”

“No?” You smile sadly. “Me either. We’ve mostly only travelled inland since - well, since everything and sometimes I really miss it. Sean and I, we’ve been friends since we were kids and we used to just spend every weekend by the water.” You remember the start of your dream and fold your arms around yourself.

“What about you?” you ask, eager to change the subject and curious about the man beside you. “What was your thing?”

“I um,” Joel pauses as though he’s genuinely bewildered by being asked this question “I was into, uh -” He looks away from you. “The usual stuff, football and uh, all that.”

“Really? Just football?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Joel asks, folding his arms.

“Nothing, nothing at all.”

He exhales and stretches his long legs out on the bench more. You follow the line from his feet up to his body and eventually his face. He looks uncertain, as though there’s something he wants to add, but he’s not sure.

“I wanted to be a writer, or to work with books, or words in some way. Had all these ideas about being an investigate journalist, or an editor, or just ... I think I just wanted to make art of some type. It’s probably why I’m so focused on the library now.”

“Music,” he whispers. “I was really into that.”

“So, you played … something? Guitar?” You look at him and decide he was most definitely a guitarist. He has the look, might even have the hands for it.

“Maybe,” Joel says,

“Please tell me you were in a terrible garage rock band at one point?” You smile at the image this conjures of the broad and elusive man next to you.

“In high school, for a brief moment. Then uh, things changed for us all and I - I had other priorities in my life than music.”

“That’s a shame.”

“It was the right call.”

“Still, if you loved it … it’s never too late? Did you know, they sometimes do open mic nights at the Tipsy Bison, but it’s … ropey, some of it.” You grimace at the memory of the last one that Sean and Beau had dragged you to a few months ago.

“You’re really selling this to me, sweetheart.”

“Hey, until you’ve heard Seth sing karaoke, you truly haven’t hit rock bottom.”

Joel scoffs, a small smile on his face that crinkles his eyes and warms every feature.

You thought you would hate sharing your bench, or having an intrusion on your solitude, but you don’t.

Over time, you’ve perfected sneaking back into this house. There’s a way to shut the back door just so to prevent anyone hearing you wander in. You avoid the bottom stair which creaks, and the other creaky floorboards on the landing.

Every time you do this, you feel like a teenager again. You grew up reading books and watching movies where teenagers snuck out to and from parties, but that had never been your life. You were studious, deferent to the rules. Your focus was singular; college, success, making a name for yourself. Sean used to try and persuade you to join him at parties or even just when he and his friends would hang out at the beach in the evening after surfing. You had thought you had time.

The world had different plans for you all though.

By the time you’ve crept back to your room, changed, and got ready for the day ahead, you can hear the familiar sounds of cupboards being opened and closed in the kitchen below.

“Mornin’ sweetie,” you say, squeezing Gabe’s shoulder as you walk into the kitchen.

Your son squirms but smiles lightly when he meets your eyes. The last twenty years have been an unending endurance test, painful and exhausting, but now you have Gabriel. You weren’t ready for him; you felt too young, too scared, too everything. He means everything to you now though.

He wears so many of your features and mannerisms, or features you remember seeing in your family. You find it uncanny; that mix of uniqueness and familiarity all at once.

“Is anyone else up yet?” you ask, stifling a yawn as you scan the kitchen for additional cups or plates, any sign the others are awake.

“Beau’s still asleep but Sean said he’d be down in five -”

“Which means he’ll be down in ten,” you both say together.

You were offered separate houses when the four of you first arrived in Jackson. There was an entire house that Maria told you could just be for you and Gabriel. After almost a decade of living in a small, crapped apartment in Kansas with too thin walls and continual threats it had seemed unbelievable. Sean and Beau had been offered the house opposite you too. Maria had recognised how close you all were.

There’d been too much death along the way though; too much loss. You and Sean had been together so much of it all too. You were close friends before the outbreak and now hopelessly and hideously co-dependent on each other. Even back in Kansas, your apartment had been next to his and Beau’s. For more than a decade, you haven’t had more than a single wall separating you.

The idea of being so separate, of being more than a wall away, in a new community prettified you. You were frightened about what Jackson really could be; what it could be hiding, how quickly you may need to run. You felt like a deer in the headlights, a wild animal being stalked by prey. For the first weeks in Jackson, the town itched your skin and filled you with anxiety. There had to be a dark side, it couldn’t be that simple. You all needed to be ready to run.

The four of you had decided to stay together, to stay close, just in case. It was meant to be temporary.

It’s been two years now.

It also means you never have to worry about Gabe when you sneak out at night, it means your son has his uncles in his life every day. It means you’re not alone throughout everything.

They’re only people you have left now - the family you both found and made. They are the ones who have shaped the last twenty years of your life.

You take a sip of your tea and smile at your son.

“So, small bit of news I asked if Uncle Beau could take me on patrol next week,” he says quietly after a moment. “He said yes.”

“No. Gabriel, you’re -”

“I’m sixteen.”

“I know.” You swallow and look at him carefully. You remember him being so small you could hold him in one hand but now he’s sitting opposite you and he looks both so young and like a man all at once. Patrols? That’s normal for him now, that’s the way of life in Jackson. He’s still so young though.

You hear a creak on the staircase and listen carefully as your son continues making his case.

“It’s time I started learning about this and Beau will watch out for me if you’re worried. He said the route next week is the best to get started with,” he says, brow furrowing with concern at your reaction. “I’m ready though.”

“I’m sure you are. I know Uncle Beau will be there with you, I’m glad of that.” It’s better if he goes with Beau. You know him, you trust him and he will ensure that your son is safe.

“So how do you feel about that, patrol? Is this your idea or have you been volunteered?” Your son starting on this path is one thing if it’s his choice, but if he’s only going along with this because he thinks he’s supposed to, or because of teenage peer pressure? Well, the consequences are a lot worse in your son’s world, than chunky highlights or double denim could ever have been.

“It’s my idea. I’m fine with it,” he says quickly, avoiding your gaze.

You put your cup down and raise an eyebrow at him.

“Ergh, look, okay Jesse did his first patrol last week. Please - I can do it, I know I can. I want to.”

You’re tempted to reply, ‘and if Jesse walked off a cliff, would you?’ If you say it out loud though, there is no way you can deny you are turning into your mother, so instead you take a long sip of your drink.

It feels like a losing battle. Patrols are part of normal life in Jackson. However, if he’s with Beau then maybe that’s okay. If you know anything about Beau it’s that he is fiercely protective of the people he cares about. These days, that’s pretty much only Sean, you, and Gabriel.

“If you feel you’re ready and if Uncle Beau agrees and it’s a sensible patrol route … It needs to be in daylight, and just a short one.”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay.”

He beams in response.

“I’ve got classes, I better go.” He stretches and stands up, downing the rest of his drink.

“Okay, I’ll see you later. Love you. ”

“Yeah, you too, mum.” he says quickly, looking around as if one if his friends could secretly be listening by the window. He looks back at you and his face turns softer before he quickly moves away. “Hey Uncle Sean,” he says as they cross in the doorway.

“Morning Gabe.” Sean looks over at you and says good morning to you, says your name with a cheerful smile as he pours himself a tea and then sits down opposite you at the kitchen table.

“How much of that did you hear?”

“I started eavesdropping when Gabe mentioned Beau and patrols. I thought you handled it beautifully, by the way.”

“You’re only trying to make me less mad at Beau.”

Sean raises his hands in mock surrender and then leans back against his chair.

“Anyway, are you going to tell me about where you went last night?”

“Where I went?”

“Heard you leave, sweetie.”

“I … shit. Sorry, I thought I was quiet.”

“You are.” He sighs heavily. “So, where’d you go? Got a late-night Jackson booty call I don’t know about?”

For some unknown reason an image of Joel fills your mind, his unruly hair particularly. He often comes to the bench with mussed up hair from where you imagine he was in his own bed, trying to sleep. You imagine other ways his hair could get messy like that; your hands in his hair as he ...

No.

Absolutely not.

“You do have a hook up?” Sean asks incredulously.

“No. No. I don’t. I just go for a walk is all.”

“Alone?” Sean waggles his eyebrows mischievously.

“Yes.” Technically you walk to the bench alone and then you and Joel only walk back together so that doesn’t count … and his house is before yours anyway It really doesn’t count, right?

“Okay,” Sean says, frowning. “Are you having nightmares again? Do you need to talk about it?”

You shake your head, biting your lip. “Do you?”

“I’m okay.”

You and Sean have been friends since you first moved to the beach town you spent your teenage years in. The bond between you is irrevocable. He’s your brother, your best friend, one of the people you love most in the world.

You share scars.

The same turmoil and trauma and ghosts have buried under both of your skins in different ways. He’s been there through it all for you. You’ve been there through it all for him.

He’s the only person in the world who will ever understand the parts of you that you keep locked in boxes you can never open. And for him? For him, you know the secrets that he hasn’t even told Beau.

“Gabe … he’s been asking me and Beau about … before. He’s asking questions again,” Sean says after a moment, looking around the kitchen carefully and speaking in a low voice. “I wondered if this patrol thing was about that at first, about what we all said and … it’s getting harder to not give him any specifics.”

“Me too, but I think it’s because Jesse went on his first patrol recently.” That’s what you’re hoping anyway.

“Huh, how about that? Look, it doesn’t matter because this isn’t going away. He’s going to keep asking.”

“This all seemed so much easier when he was a baby.”

Sean raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, I remember sixteen years ago, I wouldn’t say any of it was easier back then. It’s just the kid believed whatever we said with no questions.”

“Sean, tell me he still thinks …”

“Yeah. He just needs some details, honey. I know it hurts to talk about, but you have to give him something. He’s almost a man now and he’s got valid questions. I can - I would have been the same, so would you.“

You swallow and look out of the window. “I’ll handle it, Sean.”

You don’t flinch when you hear the crunch of Joel’s boots. You’ve come to expect it, anticipate the sound.

It makes you smile.

The bench doesn’t quite feel the same without him anymore.

“Howdy,” he says, the slight twang of his southern drawl more pronounced than usual.

You wave for him to come and join you on the bench.

“I didn’t see you here yesterday,” Joel says softly.

“Oh, I uh - was wiped out and I - I guess I just slept?” You notice how surprised your voice is there; you’re surprised you had a good night’s sleep for once, and you’re surprised that Joel noticed you weren’t there. In fairness, you had been due a night’s sleep as the exhaustion from your insomnia finally won out over your overthinking and anxiety. Gabriel had been on patrol with Beau that day and you’d worried yourself to the point of complete exhaustion.

Joel noticed though. He noticed you weren’t here.

“Were - were you here?”

Joel nods.

“Guess I’ve got sorta used to you being here too now.”

“I mean, it’s more the other way around. This was technically my bench first.”

“Really?” he says your name in a low, teasing voice. “You really wanna go there, huh?”

“I’m just saying. I’ve been here longer, technically and I’m saying this as a mere technicality, I have dibs on this bench.”

“An’ here I thought no-one truly owned anything in Jackson.”

“Benches are exceptions, everyone knows that.”

The two of you laugh, it’s light and somehow more soothing to you than the cup of herbal tea you’d drank before bed in the hope of repeating the night before and sleeping for once.

“I’m willing to consider joint custody or a small timeshare though,” you say.

“Oh wow, I’m real lucky.”

“I know. I wouldn’t bestow that right on just anyone.”

“I hope not.” Joel smiles and oh, you love it when he smiles. It’s so captivating.

“It got me thinkin’ though-“

“Sounds dangerous.”

“You know it. Anyway, I was thinking,” Joel looks away from you, towards the horizon and he wrings his hands together. “I guess it reminded me we have this whole world outside this bench.”

You’d thought the same thing, but you can’t say it. The words fall heavy on your tongue, your mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton.

“I wondered if maybe, you wanted to get a drink one day?” He’s not looking at you. “It’s a stupid idea.”

“No, no, it’s not. Why? Why would you want that with me?”

“Maybe I just want a drink with you,” he says.

You pause. Deflection is your standard response to something like this. The idea that Joel could want to spend time with you outside of your insomnia ridden nights surprises you. Why would he want that?

You can’t lie to yourself though; there’s something about Joel that draws you in. He’s easy to talk to and despite appearances and town mumbling, you can tell he’s not a bad person. He’s kind to you, thoughtful and you’ve thought about him.

You’ve thought about him a lot.

“Technically we’ve shared my thermos of coffee multiple times now,” you say weakly.

“That doesn’t count, sweetheart.”

“Wow, now you’re spurning my chicory coffee now, huh? That’s not good enough for you?”

“A real drink.” You can hear the meaning behind his words and it doesn’t fill you with the caution you would normally anticipate.

“And does this drink happen to be served somewhere this isn’t this bench?”

“As long as it ain’t karaoke night.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Joel Miller.” You pause for a moment, tilt your head in mock contemplation. “Okay, a drink.”

You meet Joel’s smile this time.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months

Text

Prerequisite

Masterlist

Warnings: this fic includes dark content including rape/noncon, power imbalance, blackmail, and other potential triggering elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You attempt to move on from your time with Professor Hansen, but can't seem to shake the past.. (plus sized reader)

Characters: Ransom Drysdale, some Lloyd Hansen

A note on reader characters:

For clarity, each reader will have a defined nickname when appearing in any installment not their own. This is Flora, previously featured in Below Average. This fic also features characters from various installments.

Note: Finally got this on paper.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Donkey love Waffles. Take care. 💖

You cross your arms as you narrow your eyes at the front of the lecture hall. It's your last choice in elective but the only one you could get to pad out your schedule. Law. Hardly riveting stuff.

What's more intriguing is the professor. No, no, you haven't acquired a taste for them, if anything Hansen taught you to be wary of them. The very lesson that has you glaring down at Professor Barber, waiting for his first slip.

You're not clever by any means, you're just the only one looking for the signs. The same ones you saw in Tweed at your first meeting, those that you catch in yourself, and the other girls who won't say the truth aloud.

Brownie, that's the one. You see the way he looks at her and you note how she stays after class, every week. Only three weeks so far but a pattern is a pattern.

You twist your pen, the nib poking out, then do it again, retracting it. The clicking noise forms a tempo at your listless fidgeting. You have a study date tonight with the girls, what’s one more? You’re forming a habit of taking on lost souls, yourself just another wisp floating in the void.

You scribble down the date for your next quiz, your mind hardly processing the words as you guide the pen. You’re trying to plot your approach. You think you have an idea.

As Professor Barber dismisses class, you slide your notebook into your bag and hike it up onto your shoulder. At the edge of the row, as usual, you quickly descend as Brownie stays in her seat, waiting and watching her feet. You catch the small glances aimed in her direction from the man behind the podium.

You take out your phone and quickly text Cookie; ‘you got room for one more?’

You don’t wait for an answer. You don’t care. You’ve made up your mind, it’s a warning, not a question.

“Hey,” you come around the front row. The girl doesn’t seem to hear you. Or she’s ignoring you, “um, Brownie?”

She looks up, startled. She sends a look towards Barber but you ignore him. You cross your arms and sway, your skirt stirring around your legs.

“Remember me?” You ask, “you lent me your pen?”

“Oh, uh, I remember,” she squeaks, her voice thin and raw, as if she never uses it, “hi.”

“Um, so,” you try to sound casual, “I’m not really a law student. English,” you touch your chest and smile, “and I think I could use a study buddy, if you’re interested?”

“Er, oh?” Her brows draw together, “I don’t know…” she scratches her neck, another peek at the professor, “I–”

“Do you have plans? Or maybe you already have someone to study with,” you look away and frown, “sorry, I just figured I’d ask. I need someone to help me make sense of all this. I’m totally lost.”

There’s a subtle rumble, a noise you likely wouldn’t notice if you didn’t know to listen for it. You don’t even glance back at Barber as you hear him packing up. You sit in the chair next to Brownie and smile.

“I just figured you’re like, the smartest person in the class, and I need this grade to bring my average up. Please?”

She chews her lip and plays with the high collar of her turtleneck. She hides beneath her lashes, shrugging before she manages a tiny nod. Her fingers flutter and she shivers nervously.

“I can help,” she presses her fingers to the ribbed fabric of her shirt, “sure, I…”

“Me and my friends are meeting tonight, we’re getting pizza,” you chirp, “wanna tag along?”

“Friends?” She bats her eyes at you frightfully.

“Oh, don’t worry, they’re all super friendly and they’ll love you.”

“I… I don’t know. I’m not very…” she speaks so quietly you have to lean in to hear her.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say much,” you assure her, “Cookie always bakes way too many brownies. You could help us finish them, huh?”

She looks terrified. Her mouth scrunches and shifts back and forth as she measures her options. You know exactly what she’s thinking. That man will be disappointed. Well, let him be. Unless he wants to step forward and admit that he’s fucking a goddamn student.

“Hm, okay, but… just for a little. I can’t stay very long.”

“Just until I figure out what actus reus means, alright?” You stand and send a sharp look towards the professor. He quickly dips his chin down in feigned concentration as he looks over his notes. Not today, fucker.

“Okay,” she gets up and lifts a crochet bag, her hand shaking as she tucks away her laptop in the slouchy purse, “um, I’m sorry, but… I forgot your name.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you wait for her to pass you before walking at her side towards the door. She’s still hesitant and reluctant as she looks over her shoulder, “Flora.”

💮

“This is Brownie,” you introduce the mousy addition to the girls as she tries to fade into the blue wall, “she’s in my law class.”

She doesn’t move. She just looks up with round eyes as the others cheerily call out their welcome, already clustered around the table amid coffee cups, laptops, and a few baked goods. The scent of cinnamon mingles with the stale caffeine.

“Welcome, Brownie,” Muse gives both of you a start as she appears at the girl’s other shoulder, “I’m Muse! Oh, you have wise eyes.” She flutters around the girl, a boa around her shoulders, “you would look wonderful in jade. Yes, it would highlight your undertones.”

Brownie frowns and mutters, but you can’t tell if it's a thank you or just a whimper.

“She says I’m a sapphire type,” you remark as you wave her away from the door, “you can toss your coat with ours,” you motion to the bench bench piled with outerwear, “then I’ll introduce you to the rest… they’re not as bouncy as Muse.”

Brownie gives up her dark gray coat and steps out of her plain boots. She dresses in a very simple way. Turtle necks, corduroys, nothing with much shape or structure. Her style can be best described as part of the wall.

“So,” you walk just ahead of her. She stays behind you as if trying to hide, “Tweed, Foxy, Sunny,” you point out the three girls at the table, “you met Muse,” you look at the artsy wraith fluttering around the counter, “and Cookie, our host.”

The woman in question puts down a plate of sugar cookies, “hi, nice to meet you! I’ll find an extra chair.”

Brownie doesn’t say a word. You realise it might be a bit overwhelming. She reminds you of Tweed in that way. You point her to a chair and assure her you’ll take whatever Cookie comes up with. She sits, hugging her bag in her lap as she stares at the table.

Foxy gets up as you head for the counter, you pause and look back at Brownie, “you want some tea? Something to drink?”

She chews her lip before she answers, “water, please, if that’s okay.”

You nod and go to the cupboard. Foxy comes up next to you and leans on the counter as you shift to pull out the water jug from the fridge. You come back to her as she keeps her voice low.

“What’s up with that one?”

“Law professor, I think,” you mutter, “could barely get her here.”

“Fuck, another one, huh?”

“Uh, yeah, you know, shitty men everywhere,” you fill the glass, “I brought her here to try to forget all that. Like the rest of us.”

“Sure thing,” she taps the countertop with her nails and pushes off.

You put the jug back and take the water over to Brownie as Cookie emerges with a small white stool. You accept it, the seat lower than the rest so that you feel like a kid at the table. You pull out your laptop and open it up. Your phone slides out with it and you catch it as notifications flash on the screen.

You tap your thumb to expand the preview; Insta, emails, and a text that neither surprises or interests you. Professor Dillhole’s message is swiped away without reading a single word. You got your grade and now you’re done with him. He doesn’t seem to get the hint.

“So, Brownie, you’re in law? Are you going to be a lawyer?” Foxy asks.

Brownie shrugs and nods. You wonder for a moment how she’ll manage a courtroom when she can barely give a vocal answer. Well, she has lots of time to figure that out.

“That’s really cool,” you say, “you know, I don’t have the mind for all that. I can’t really sort out one act from the rest. I’m more into bigger narratives than the tiny details.”

She looks at you, still hugging her bag. She’s ready to leave at any moment.

“Why don’t you stay a while?” You poke her bag, “how about we compare notes? I’m sure I missed all the important stuff. This tort gibberish is doing my head in.”

She puts her chin down and slowly lifts the flap of her bag. She slides out her laptop and gently lowers the bag between her feet. She opens the lid, almost reluctant, and her desktop comes to life. You see the email in the corner right before the notif flicks away. A.Barber… Mmm.

For a moment, you feel a pang of guilt. You hope your impromptu invitation doesn’t cost her anything. That he doesn’t hold it against her. You should’ve thought of that sooner.

“Let me find…” she trails off, her finger running over the trackpad.

You wait patiently. No, you don’t feel bad. She deserves this. Like the rest of you, she needs a place to get away. Just a single space where she doesn’t have to be crushed under his thumb.

💮

You sit outside of Dean Drysdale’s office. His secretary types away at her keyboard and you twirl your phone in your grip. It’s mostly a paperweight these days as you ignore almost every message that comes in. Blocking didn’t work on that jag off.

You jiggle your foot anxiously. This meeting is important. You really need this scholarship and through the grace of your hard work, and the regrettable cooperation of a particular professor, you’ve met all the requirements. The last piece, an interview with the dean.

The clock ticks, drawing your attention in the stagnant office. It’s five after. The dean is running late. That doesn’t really matter, he can do whatever he wants. But you’re early and that can only help in his consideration.

You hear muffled voices near the other side of the door. Shadows darken the frosted glass emblazoned with the dean’s name and credentials. You sit up straight but try not to look too eager. The door opens and your heart falls into your ass. Fuck, not this guy.

“Friday,” Dean Drysdale claps Lloyd’s back as they emerge from the office.

“Can’t wait,” Lloyd returns but his eyes are on you, “ah, sorry,” he says to you, “didn’t mean to keep him so late.”

“No problem, professor,” you stand and grip the strap of your bag, masking your disgust with a smile, “Dean Drysdale,” you greet the other man, “nice to meet you. I’m Flora.”

“The one and only,” he doesn’t offer his hand, “looks like you’re running behind so better get started.” He points you into his office, “later, Hansen.”

He tosses the last remark over his shoulder as he turns to follow you through the door. You enter and hover across from his desk. You hate to be presumptuous. He shuts the door with a click.

“Sit,” he orders tersely as he rounds the desk and falls heavy into the leather chair.

You lower yourself. Your nerves are wily, especially after seeing Professor Hansen. You had no idea he was close with the dean.

“Hansen speaks highly of you,” he begins, “as do the rest of your professors.”

“Oh, I, that’s great.”

“So, I have thirty candidates. Why should I choose you?” He leans back, elbow on the armrest, posture nonchalant as he swivels.

“Um, well, I work hard. I keep my average up where it needs to be. I have gotten involved in quite a few extracurriculars, I helped with the library bakesale and–”

“Boring. Got it. That’s all in your application,” he dismisses, “just like all the other ones. Bunch of filler. But why you?”

You’re speechless. You prepared for this but you feel as if you fell into this from thin air. You don’t know what he wants to hear.

“How many parties have you been to?” He asks suddenly.

“What?” You can’t help your surprise.

“Come on. You’re a young coed. I know how it is. So, let’s narrow it down. Fall term, how many?”

You squint and look at the wall, thinking. You’re not much of a partier. You twiddle your fingers and count in your head.

“Four, maybe,” you push your shoulders up. “I don’t really… I mostly just spend my spare time with my friends–”

“Are they hot?” He chuckles and sits up, your mouth falling open. “Relax, I hate these things. So uptight,” he rolls his shoulders as he wheels closer to the desk and plants his elbows, “at least you're honest. The last six freshmen that sat there insisted on a big O. Think they would see the plaque and realise I’m not stupid.”

“Well, I… yeah,” you chew on the tip of your tongue. You really don’t know how to proceed. “I brought a portfolio of my essays–”

“No time for that,” he waves his hand at you, “think I got the picture.”

“Oh,” you frown.

He stares at you, poking his cheek with his tongue as his brows draw together. He hums and sits back, once more swiveling back and forth. He tilts his head and clucks.

“You’ll hear from my secretary,” he declares at last.

“That’s it?” You gulp.

“Yeah, whatever, I got about five more of these today and I need a fucking coffee,” he lifts his feet onto his desk. “Be a doll and send in Sienna when you leave.”

“Um, okay,” you stand slowly, “thanks for your time.”

He doesn’t respond as he takes out his phone. You hide your unease and leave. As you emerge you see the name card on the secretary’s desk. Sienna.

“Er, he told me to send you in,” you approach.

She looks up at you and snaps her gum, “great.”

She gets up as she rolls her eyes and you swiftly march past the desk. You don’t understand what just happened. Did you fuck it up? What did Hansen say? Oh my fucking good, you swear if he–

Your thoughts race ahead of your feet as they carry you without intention. You find yourself in the stairwell, stunned and confused. You turn down the first flight only to dodge out of the way of a figure coming up. You yipe as you find yourself shoved into the corner, Lloyd’s arms outstretched to pen you in.

His hands brace the painted brick as he smirks down at you, “hey, sweet cheeks, long time, no suck.”

You curl your lip at him and snarl, “get away from me.”

You shove on his chest and he retracts his hands, grabbing your wrists. You struggle with him but he easily pushes your hands up, pinning them to the wall. He leers as looms in front of you, his eyes scanning down your body.

“Damn, I forgot how good you look in those skirts. Panties or nah?”

“Fuck off–”

“Always looked better around your waist–”

“I said get the fuck off of me. I’ll scream–”

“I’d love to hear it,” he snickers, “what happened to us, flower? We were doing great. Living life, fucking hard.”

“You’re an animal–”

“We had a good thing, the whole professor-with-benefits gig worked for us, didn’t it? It sure as hell loosened you up. Look at you, all wound tight–”

You snap your teeth at him and he recoils, barely saving his nose from the chomp. He cackles and keeps you trapped, squeezing your wrists tighter. His laughter rolls out to a growl.

“You know, if you get that scholarship, they need two professor’s to sign off on it… but you know, I don’t just put my name on anything–”

“You’re pathetic.”

“I fucking am when I got blue balls, honey,” he scoffs, “just touch em. A little bit.”

You grit your teeth and throw your knee up. You yank your hands free and shoulder past Lloyd as he bends and grips his crotch. He chokes on his breath as he leans against the wall. You bluster away as quickly as you can.

“Not like that,” he gurgles as you charge down the stairs, dizzy as you turn down the next flight.

So much for that scholarship.

💮

You stare at the C circled in red on your last quiz. Law isn’t your forte, that’s clear. Your GPA and hopes for that scholarship are dwindling in that simple little letter. You look up at the front of the lecture hall as Professor Barber reclaims the podium, preparing to take up the answers as he does every other week.

You sit closer than before. You’re always sure to take the seat next to Brownie and she has yet to tell you to stop. Something about her though suggests that she won’t ever do that. No has been erased from her vocabulary.

You don’t miss the Professor’s eyes as they flit up to your study buddy but quickly meet your own. He darts them away, caught. You wonder, however, if your middling grade has something to do with that. Oh well, you won’t regret doing the right thing.

As you open your laptop, an email pops up in the corner. ‘On Behalf of Dean R. Drysdale’. You click on it before you can stop yourself. You’re holding your breath. You read it slowly.

‘Schedule a follow up for the dean’s decision’.

What? That’s not an answer. Fuck. Why can’t they just put it right there? Yes or no. You have to stop yourself from slamming your laptop shut. You grab your quiz and rest it over your keyboard. You look over at Brownie, she stares at the paper in her hand. She got an A, as always.

“Good job,” you whisper.

“Mmm, yeah,” she returns as she drops the quiz onto her folding desk. “He’s a good teacher…”

“Sure,” you accept dryly.

She glances at you but says nothing. You hate to be sharp with her but it’s pretty obvious what’s going on. You’re just smart enough to know to be cautious. You can only be there for her when she needs you. It would be too risky to do anything else. And not fair to Brownie, that man could destroy her career. You’ve been her, you just hope she finds her way out.

“Alright, let’s get started,” Barber calls out, quieting the class, “it seems we need a lot of review on case law.”

💮

The hour is unexpected but you don’t think much of it. A dean is busier than most and you can’t help but imagine that Drysdale is even less elated to be meeting at such an off-time. Seven in the evening on a Friday is prime time, even for those outside the coed population.

You show up to an empty office. Sienna is gone, the place desolate. The vibe is off. Something about it reminds you of another meeting. No, this isn’t Hansen. Still, you’re on edge, vigilant as you approach the dean’s door, an amber glow through the frosted glass.

You knock and cross one arm over your chest, clutching your upper arm. You sway as you wait. Deja vu paralyses you on the spot. It can’t be. It can’t happen twice. This is about the scholarship.

The door opens and Drysdale steps back as he gives a flippant greeting, “come in.”

He has a glass in hand, a dark brown liquid in marbled crystal. He sips as the door falls open. You step inside and look around the office, the framed degree behind his chair and the several photographs placed around them; a previous dean with his imperious features, and a large house with a rustic landscape crowded around it. You hover at the threshold.

“Close the door,” he sits heavily, “these old buildings are drafty as–” he stops himself and smirks.

He drains the last of his drink, liquor by your measure, and puts it on the marble coaster. You shut the door and sit, just like last time. You can’t help but be slightly irked to think he brought you all the way here to issue you a rejection.

“So, top three,” he points a finger gun at you as he slumps in the same lackadaisical way, “Flora… you’re a star. Shining reviews. Can’t say my professors ever said anything nice about me but you… you even got Hansen singing your praises.”

“Oh,” you utter.

“I’ve known him a while. We were in the same frat, you know? He was a senior when I was a freshman, hazed me real good but look how things turned out,” he leans an elbow on the armrest and cradles his chin. He watches you. “All these years and I never heard him say anything nice about a fucking student.”

You’re put off by the obscenity. Further, upended by his history with Lloyd. What does that have to do with anything?

“You know, he’s all about self-discipline but you get a few scotches down his gullet and he’s like an open book. Also…” he raises a finger, “leaves his phone unlocked.”

You try not to let that suspicion turn to panic. He can’t know. Even if he did, it’s not your fault. He should be talking with Hansen, not you. He’s the one abusing his position.

“You let him fuck you in his car,” he sits up and laughs, his hand on his stomach, “looking at you, I never would’ve guessed.”

“What? How–”

“I mean, he was hitting it from quite the angle so I don’t blame you for not noticing the phone in his front pocket…”

“No.”

“Yes,” he cackles. “Listen, sweetie, it’s not the first time it’s happened. Some girls just don’t have anything else to offer, so who am I to be mad if they use what they got.”

“I’m not– I’m not like that. He made me–”

“Oh, I’m sure the promise of an A plus helped,” he scoffs as he lets his hand drift down his stomach, “so what can a scholarship get me?”

He gropes himself through his russet coloured pants. Your throat constricts as you clutch your purse tight in your lap. You’re rigid, alight in horror and shame. Of course Lloyd didn’t walk away without something.

“I’ve waited twenty years for this,” he plants his feet.

“No, I’m not– I’m not doing this again.”

You stand and Drysdale rips his hand away from his crotch, snapping his fingers, “with that video, I could take you to the review board and have you kicked out. Not only that, all your credits would be invalidated.”

You swallow and wince. No, this can’t be happening. Again. You’re stronger than this. You’re worth more than these men’s dicks.

“So, sweetie pie,” he reaches forward and takes his phone off his desk, “we’re gonna make a nice little video for Hansen and show him how it’s really done.”

You shudder and hug yourself, “I…” your throat is dry, your heart hollow. What other choice do you have? You’ll lose everything. “I’ll do it, but no video. Please.”

“My rules. I am the dean and you are… the slutty coed.” He tuts, “mmm, classic Pornhub fodder.” He taps the screen of his phone, “let’s go. Get your clothes off.”

He aims the lens at you. You look at the floor. You can’t move.

“Please, turn it off.”

“Get your fucking clothes off,” he repeats, “I want to remind that fuckface what he’s missing out on.”

You dig your nails into the back of your arms then let go. You keep your head down as you lift the strap of your purse over your head and throw it in the chair behind you. You unzip your coat and shrug it off. The room rings in your ear and blurs in your vision. Your breaths are shallow and painful. Your skin is buzzing.

Your coat falls and you pull down the straps of the denim dress you wear over a flowered blouse. You shimmy it past your waist and peek up for just a minute. Drysdale bites his thumb as he records you.

You quickly tear away your gaze and continue. You unbutton the blouse and turn as you fight to free your wrists from the cuffs. Goosebumps speckle over your skin. You close your eyes and ball your hands before pushing your fingers wide. You touch the top of your stockings.

“You can leave those on, cheeks.”

You gulp and retract your hands. You pause and turn back to face the desk.

“Tits out, ass out, go on.”

No wonder he’s tight with Lloyd. Birds of a feather. You reach back to undo your bra and sling it onto the chair. You hook your thumbs in your panties and step out of them.

“I always liked an extra helping,” Drysdale taunts, “her cups overfloweth… is that Shakespeare?”

You don’t answer. You fight the urge to hide behind your arms. You raise your head. You have a morsel of dignity left in you.

“Come here,” he demands, “I wanna fuck those tits.”

You cringe but obey. If Lloyd taught you anything it was to just get it over with. You round the desk as he opens his fly. He pulls himself out above the zipper, playing with himself, rolling his thumb over his tip as he growls.

“Knees, baby, I’m sure you know the drill,” he snickers. You get down as he wiggles his dick in your direction, “push those things together.” You grab your chest and smush it together. He taps your tits with his tip and laughs, enjoying his mocking.

He guides himself down under your tits and slides between. He cups a hand around yours as he refocuses the phone on you. He rocks the chair back, moving his pelvis as he slowly starts to thrust. He groans at the friction. You clench your jaw tight, dreaming of biting off the end of his overinflated worm.

His breath hitches as he fucks faster, the bottom of his wolly sweater rolling up his muscles stomach. You could just punch him right there. You could grab him by his balls and twist. No, that would only assure you of your scholarly doom.

“Look at me,” he demands.

You snap your eyes open as he shoves the phone in your face. You shy away but he keeps fucking, turning the lens down towards your tits. He gives a breathy laugh and it trickles into a moan. Weak and pathetic.

“Shit, yeah, that’s good,” he groans, “give it a kiss, baby.”

You grit back your disgust. You bend your neck and kiss his tip as it pokes through.

“With tongue.”

You force your tongue out as his tip pops up again and you swirl around it, planting a sloppy kiss on the salty flesh. He twitches and hisses. He pulls his hand away from yours and grips the chair.

“That’s good, get up,” he snarls, “turn around.”

You suck in a chestful of air and do as he says. You get to your feet and turn away. He grabs your hips and rolls closer.

“Bend over.”

You bend and rest your elbows on the edge of the desk. He angles you down into his lap, your body stretched between the two. He rubs his dick against your ass, once more tapping. He kneads the flesh. You shake your head as he tilts you further down.

He prods at your cunt and you can’t help but clench. He pushes against your entrance, tight and burning as he grunts, bulling his way past the resistance with a slap against your thigh. He latches onto your hip and pulls you down another inch.

“It’s all you. You just gotta fuck that scholarship outta me.”

You bite your lip and force yourself to take him. You hip down until you reach your limit but before you can pull back up, he grabs on and holds you in place.

“More.”

You sink your teeth in deeper, urging yourself lower until it’s unbearable. You take him in fully and let out a shaky breath through your nose. You raise your ass as he lets you go. He lets out a raspy noise and you repeat the motion. You keep your motion mechanical and slow, trying to adjust.

“Faster. I wanna see you jiggle.”

You roll your eyes and claw at your arm, arms crossed over the desk as you rock your weight over him. The flesh claps loudly as his chair squeaks with each descent. He groans and gulps, hand wandering over your flesh, along your thighs, across your ass, up your back.

“Fuck, look at her go,” he snarks, “you work that dick. Just like that.”

You close your eyes and let the scowl mar your features. You speed up. He’s almost there. You can feel the tension, you can hear it in his voice.

“Ah,” he pinches you meanly, “stop!”

You try to keep going but he pushes you off of him. He growls and the chair jars as he sits up. You puff and peek around your shoulder at him.

“I’m cumming in your fucking mouth,” he cradles his balls, half-keeled over. “Open the fuck up before I blow–”

You get back to your knees and glare at him. You won’t falter. You have nothing over these men but that. You lean your head back and open your mouth. He lets himself go and holds the camera over you.

“Well, not gonna finish itself.”

You grab him, roughly, and he grunts. A warning. You ease up and stroke him, placing your mouth by his tip.

“Look into the camera, cheeks.”

You glare at the camera, you hope it can catch the sheer loathing radiating from you. You stroke him, squeezing harder and harder until he spasms and mewls. He spurts all over, missing your mouth and streaking up the bridge of your noises and across your brow, a few strings over your cheek.

He gasps and clings to the chair as if he might slip out of it, the camera drooping with his arm. You let him go and wipe your slimy hand. You stand and snatch a tissue from the box on his desk and wipe the mess from your face. His heavy breaths fill the silence.

“Can I go?” You ask flatly.

“I got nothing else for you,” he spits out.

You refuse to look at him as you dress. He chuckles. You fight not to turn around and throw every single thing on his desk at him. You hate him. You hate Lloyd. But more, you hate yourself.

“Congratulations,” he says as you pick up your purse, “did I mention, paperwork went through yesterday.”

You whip around and stare at him. You quake with anger, eyes hot with unspent tears.

“Hey, even I got deadlines. Had to make the call last week.”

You take a step back. What the fuck? You stumble away, ready to scream, ready to strangle this man. For now, you’ll settle for never having to see him again.

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