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azsazz · 3 months

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Midnight Muse (Part 20)

Azriel x Reader [Art School AU]

Summary: You and your best friend Feyre have just moved into a new apartment for your sophomore year of college at art school. What you didn't know when you signed the lease is that you'd be living next to three rowdy boys.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 4,679

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17] [Part 18] [Part 19] [Masterlist]

Notes: Some of this might seem familiar hehe

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You look so beautiful, lying in his bed like that, nothing but your bare skin on display.

The evidence of last night is still marked on your skin; bruises littering your body from your neck to your breasts, from your hip bones to the inside of your thighs. Azriel had gotten over eager at all of the different noises you’d made as he’d explored your skin into the early hours of the morning, and after another round of raucous sex, you’d fallen asleep in the warmth of his arms.

Even with your comforting presence beside him, sleep evaded Azriel.

Last night must have been some sort of dream. There was no possible way that he had taken out the one person who’s been a pestering annoyance all year, and somewhere along the way that irritation became infatuation.

And you’ve seen through his harsh exterior, the barrier he puts between himself and others. He hasn’t allowed anyone to touch him like this since after the accident. Hell, he still flinches sometimes when his friends come up behind him and slap him on the shoulder. It was that same motion his step-brothers had given him before they beat him into the ground and drug him in his fathers backyard.

But you are a whirlwind of fresh air, infatuated with the scarring of his hands, before you even knew the harrowing story, the trauma that came with them. You never shied away like other girls. No, you had kissed them and touched them and…and it means everything to Azriel.

He held you for a while, long after his fingers began itching for the familiar feel of his pencils in hand. Wide awake, he snuck out of his bed and over to his desk, flipping the sketchbook filled with images of you—the very same one that had your eyes tearing up—to a fresh page.

He had gotten lucky that you didn’t react poorly to what is essentially a shrine to you. Pages upon pages of drawings of you, in this one sketchbook he normally keeps hidden on his shelf. How had he been so stupid as to leave it out? Right, because he’d be so fucking nervous to pick you up for his exhibition that the only thing that could ease his racing mind and shaky hands was drawing you.

The apartment is silent, had been all night from what he can remember. He doesn’t care if his roommates hear anyway, they’ll all figure it out eventually and tell him that they told him so.

He can’t fucking wait.

Sleep wears on his body, trying to pull him down, but his mind is wide awake. Creative, is what he calls it, insomniac others called him. He won’t dare sleep a wink when you’re there to draw his attention. You sleep so prettily, the morning sun cascading across your body as it rises, casting shadows across your skin in the most interesting way, highlighting those marks he’s left on your skin…

For now, the marks are hickeys, but his head is already filled with tattoo ideas for your body.

He takes his pencil to his paper. He has minutes to get you down in his book, if that. He doesn’t know when you’ll shift, if the sun will wake you or if everything that happened will come flooding in like a nightmare. He wonders how you will react, if it will be poor or if you will pout, telling him to come back to bed. He shoves the thoughts from his mind and focuses on his sketchpad.

Azriel snags a kneaded eraser, blackened with use. There are shards of charcoal strewn about his desk, brushed to the sides for a cleaner workspace. The chalk clings to his skin instantly and he breathes out a sigh of contentment at its familiar texture. He rolls it between his fingers and looks back up to you, the sudden urge to press his sooty fingertips against your skin barreling through his thoughts.

His heart skips a beat at that, the idea of you covered in the essence of his art, of him, on you.

The drawings in his sketchpad are both rushed and not. Lazy, languid strokes when he has all of the time in the world to recount how you’d glared up at him. Quick, harsh lines of a fleeting look, your gaze brushing across his.

The smooth, cream paper is fresh on both sides, a blank canvas inviting him to soil with his charcoal. The blankness, like the void of night he often shies away from, instead of letting it cocoon him with sleep. Azriel’s eyes ache to fall shut but his mind won’t allow it, a thousand different images of you from the night he has yet to add to the rapidly filling book propped up on his knee.

Azriel takes a deep breath, lets himself bask in the picture of you again, sheet twisted around your body, barely covering your sex. He hasn’t been so fortunate that you kicked off the thin sheet while you slept. Maybe next time.

He’s quick to get your form down. Your face, a quick circle for your skull, a tinier one following for your cheek where it’s pressed into the pillow. A line marking the bed. A box for the window so he can draw the rays of sun washing in over you. Maybe he’ll even add a halo to your messy hair.

The curve of your body is drawn in such a fluid motion it surprises him for a moment, but after last night, he knows the dips of your silhouette better than he knows his beloved bike. The drawing spans across both pages. One wouldn’t be enough to capture the raw beauty of you this morning, though he might have five other sketches of you sleeping from when he’d found you in his bed that night.

Azriel draws the swell of your breasts, your hand, relaxed at your hip, sketching the general shapes of you down before you shift. Realize that he’s missing from next to you.

And his hands don’t shake.

With two quick drags of his chalk there are your eyelids. His hand moves on its own and he does nothing to stop it. He almost doesn't’ draw the lines of the sheet, instead there’s a fleeting moment in his exhausted brain where he thinks about drawing that sweet little cunt of yours but it’s gone as fast as it comes, even if his dick does twitch in response. Instead, he drapes the bending lines across your hips before filling it in with the flat of his stick. Azriel uses his eraser to make the highlights and smudges the lines with his finger until they’re buttery smooth.

He loves the way that the chalk sticks to his skin. The onyx dust coats his hands and covers the blemishes adoring his fingertips. It feels like a second skin, a plate of armor against unwanted stares, except for yours, of course.

Tracing the lines of your fingers, Azriel begins to add the finer details now that he has your base. His mind always tends to wander through the self hatred shadowing the corners of his mind when he’s tired. The loud music only helps on some nights, but in your presence, it seems as if you’ve scared them away like a beacon of light.

He studies the way the light highlights certain areas of your body and hides others, filling in the paper with the thick stick of charcoal. The eraser is in his other hand, ready to really pull out those highlights from the chunk of black he’s just colored in.

Occasionally, he blows the soot off of the page. It lifts, swirling around in the rays of the morning sun and he’s distracted by how pleasing it looks. Reminds him of the whorls of swirling black in twining between the tattoos on his shoulders.

He scrubs the powder into the grains of the paper. His hands are a mess, and the medium sticks to the eraser he’s kneading into a point so he can carve out your nipples tight from the chilly air. He looks back up to you and then back at the page, his tongue poking between his lips as he focuses on the important task at hand.

It’s a shame that you haven’t woken up yet. He’s done with his picture and he doesn't know what to do now, what to draw because you haven’t yet shifted in your sleep. Azriel thinks about climbing back into the bed behind you because every blink feels like there’s sand in his eyes.

He knows that he needs to sleep. Knows that there are dark circles around his eyes and his skin is getting that sickly look his mother used to scold him about when he was young and stayed up all night studying anatomy on the internet.

Instead, Azriel pulls the chair closer to the bed. He could move behind you and draw your backside, but he thinks better of it, wanting to sketch the more intimate parts of you like your face or where the crook of your arm barely covers the curve of your breast.

He focuses on one thing at a time. Your hand. He draws your breast and the hickey he’d left surrounding it last night. Chalks up that scar on your shoulder that he has yet to ask you about. So many things he doesn’t know yet, but your body is not one of them. He draws the curves of your ear and the piercings shoved into them. Sketches the column of your throat, also mottled with marks from his mouth.

He wonders if you’ll be upset with him when you look in the mirror and see those, knowing that you have class tomorrow.

Azriel smirks at the thought of that copper haired fuck getting a glimpse of those. He hadn’t sucked them into your neck so high because of Lucien, but the thought of him seeing them anyway makes Azriel’s chest puff a little. You hadn’t had sex with Lucein, no, your tight cunt is all for him. Only him.

He peers down at you again. Watch you for even longer, hand frozen over the page. He’s staring again but you’re not awake to catch him.

From somewhere behind him, the buzz of his phone goes off. Azriel places his sketchbook back on the desk and rubs his filthy hands on a tissue he pulls from the box on the shelf. Black streaks the thin material but it’s not enough to clean his skin. Uncaring, Azriel crumples the tissue and tosses it into his trash can.

He finds his pants haphazardly discarded on the floor. It’s too early for Cassian or Rhysand to be texting him, and all of his notifications for social media are set to off. It’s a Sunday, so he’s not entirely sure who it could be.

The screen of the phone lights up with the text and the floor falls from beneath Azriel’s feet.

It’s his father, demanding to meet.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Here you are boys,” Rita says with a kind smile. She sets a large stack of pancakes with extra butter in front of Cassian and a breakfast special before Rhysand. Azriel’s hands haven’t stopped shaking enough for him to be able to pick up a fork yet, nor the hot mug of black coffee in his hands. Rita offers him a consoling glance—she’s always had that mothers instinct—that Azriel ducks away from. “Nice to see you around here again.”

Azriel is thankful that Rita refrains from asking any questions. He hasn’t shown up to her diner with Rhysand and Cassian since after their freshman year when Cassian figured out he could pull almost anyone he wanted and Rhysand found other places to frequent, more sophisticated to the trust fund he’d inherited for his high grades his first year away.

It feels like he hasn’t seen them in ages even though they live together. Rhys has been too busy with Feyre and Cassian’s been chasing tail as usual, but the both of them had formed a group with you and your roommate, and since Azriel has been so stubborn as to not force himself into your presence, he hasn’t seen much of his best friends as of late.

Little do they know that he’s more than acquainted with you now.

Azriel had used their special code this morning after reading the text his father sent him. The one that would ensure both Rhysand and Cassian would drop anything at any second and meet him here, at Rita’s diner.

It still looks the same as it did two years ago, with its funky neon boomerang pattern adorning the tables, straight from the 80’s. The bright blue booths and barstools have been replaced since then, but some of them are still worn, pleather ripped open and showing a yellow foam inside.

The food is just as good as it’s always been, and he doesn’t understand why they’d stopped coming here, but he always found solace in the quiet diner and the company of the owner. It became a safe haven for Azriel, when he had a bad day and needed a milkshake to make him feel better and he couldn’t ride his motorcycle. He could barely grip the straw in the cup after the accident, his hands so burnt up he’d been almost embarrassed to leave his apartment at all.

A jukebox sits on the far side of the restaurant, and he remembers shoving loads of quarters into it and setting a queue so long that it had the other patrons moaning and groaning on Friday nights while he, Cassian, and Rhysand sat in this very booth and had the time of their lives.

These days, he feels like he doesn’t know a thing about what’s going on in their lives. He doesn’t know how they’re doing in their classes, what Cassian got on his sculpting project. He doesn’t even know if Rhysand still works at the art supply store. He’d steal Azriel a kneaded eraser every other week, but since he’s met Feyre, nothing.

It’s not that he needs the eraser, but Azriel expects his friends to check in on him, and he knows that these things go both ways, that he’s been an irritable prick the last few months, kept his own secrets from them, but they’re all best friends, damnit, and he wants someone to ask after him, too.

Cassian doesn’t seem to notice any of the tension keeping Azriel’s shoulders rigid, glancing behind him with a slight furrow in his brows, but Rhysand’s violet eyes are tinged with the only worry Azriel’s emergency message could cause, and he hasn’t touched his meal.

“What’s going on, Az?” Rhys asks.

“Is this about those noises we heard last night?” Cassian tacks on, stuffing a bite of pancakes into his mouth.

“What?” Azriel coughs. Chokes, really. He manages to take a sip of the hot coffee, but it does little to soothe the lump in his throat. He hadn’t known they’d been home at all.

“Cass,” Rhys scolds, elbowing his friend. “I told you not to bring that up.”

“A whole fucking year since Azzy’s been laid and you want me not to bring it up?” Cassian shoots back, “That’s impossible. I’m only a man, Rhys. I need details.”

Rhysand rolls his eyes, shooting Azriel an apologetic look. He spears his fork into the fluffy eggs on his plate, looking expectantly at his friend for an answer as to why they’re all here at the asscrack of dawn.

“I can, uh, explain that part later,” Azriel scratches his head awkwardly. “But that’s not why I called you here.”

“Is it because of everything that’s been going on recently?” Rhysand asks, and he seems almost ashamed as he sets his fork down again. “Look, Az. I know we haven’t been best friends as of late, especially with the whole (Y/N) thing, and I want to apologize for that. I hadn’t realized how my relationship with Feyre might be affecting you and—”

“And we fucking miss you dude,” Cassian interrupts. “Where are you always running off to? Is it to that girl’s place?”

Azriel shakes his head. So they’ve noticed what’s been going on with him, how he’s always having to find something to occupy himself with while they’re hanging out next door. The last time he’s properly hung out with either of his roommates was when he’d heard you through the wall as you touched yourself.

Fuck, just the thought of you has Azriel shifting in his seat, his cock stirring at the thought of you lied up in his bed, your bare skin on display. He had left you a note with his number and an excuse so lame he cringed as he wrote it, regretting it as soon as he fled the apartment.

He hopes that you text him, or that you’re still asleep by the time he is done with this. He could use some comfort after this.

“No,” Azriel sighs, playing with the handle of his mug. “She’s not the only thing I haven’t been completely honest with you about.” He waits for a reaction from his roommates, either Cassian to start guessing what he’s been up to or Rhysand’s touch of betrayal, but nothing comes. His roommates stare at him, waiting for an explanation. “I’ve been, ah, interviewing for apprenticeships.”

“What? That’s awesome Az,” Cassian grins widely, but it’s not awesome.

Azriel shrugs. “Nothing’s come of it yet, but maybe soon.” He doesn’t tell them about how many times he’s interviewed and failed to score the job. It’s too mortifying. “And I had an exhibition last night. At Opulence.”

Rhysands eyes nearly bug out of his head. His father is an investor in that gallery. If Azriel wanted a showing, he could’ve pulled some strings.

But Azriel didn’t want that. He wanted to earn something on his own, knowing that it isn’t his art that’s keeping him from chasing his dreams. He has a backup plan if tattooing doesn’t pick up, and this is the first step in that career path. Drawing is still something that he loves, and it will be nice to have some sort of income until he can hone his tattooing enough for someone to take a chance on him.

He wants to shrink under his friends’ wide-eyed stares. They��re looking at him like he’s just announced he’s having a child or something, and the silence is making him a little uncomfortable. He checks the time on his phone, cringing, and notices that there isn’t any message from you yet.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Cassian asks, tone low. He looks like a kicked puppy right now, with a wounded look on his face.

“I thought you guys might be too busy,” Azriel answers, just as soft. His throat tightens and he doesn’t like the feeling, doesn’t like the looks on their faces, the hurt in their eyes. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Fuck, Az,” Rhys says, pushing his plate away from him. “We’ve been shit friends lately, haven’t we?”

“It’s not that big of a deal, Rhys—”

“It is that big of a deal!” Azriel can tell that Rhysand wants to explode, but he’s always been too good at keeping his composure. It’s a trait he got from his father. “We’ve been parading around, leaving you to your own devices all semester and now we don’t even know what’s going on in your life anymore? Fuck, I feel like the shittiest person in the world right now.”

Rita swings around to check in on the three of them and senses the tension immediately. Azriel sends her an apologetic look for all of the commotion and Cassian’s avoiding everyone’s eyes altogether, craning his neck around the owner towards the counter. Rhysand’s heavy violet gaze doesn’t leave Azriel’s.

“Are you boys doing all right over here?” She asks, brushing a strand of graying brown hair behind her ear. She stands closer to Azriel’s side of the booth, a protective wall should he need her.

His chest warms.

“I’d like to put in an order for blueberry waffles, please,” Rhysand says, “To go.”

Azriel deflates a little in his seat when Rita walks away. So this is how it’s going to be, then.

Cassain takes the reins because Rhysand seems too worked up to continue. “When those waffles come, we’re going to the store and buying ice cream, and then we’re going home to talk about everything we missed,” he says, and Azriel finally looks up. They ordered the waffles for him. They remembered that? When he said his ultimate comfort food was blueberry waffles and ice cream when they’d all gotten a misdemeanor for spray painting one of the buildings on the outskirts of town. They’d only gotten a fine for it, and an escort back to town, but it had spooked the three of them enough that their reign of spray painting started and ended in one night. Azriel thought his father would kill him when he found out and they found themselves right in this very booth, with enough waffles and ice cream to feed a small army. It turns out, Rhysand had called his father and pulled some strings, and the incident was cleared from their records. “We’re sorry for being such pricks lately.”

“I’m sorry too,” Azriel admits, and even though he hasn’t called them here for this, he feels lighter. “For not telling you.”

“I’ll forgive you if you tell me who you were with last night,” Cassian shrugs, stuffing another bite of food into his mouth. “She sounded like she was having fun.”

Azriel’s spine straightens and his grip around his mug tightens. He knows the walls are paper fucking thin but he doens’t like the idea of his roommates hearing the noises you make when he fucks you into his bed.

“Later,” he answers again, and it comes out sharper than he’d intended. Rhysand’s brows furrow and Cassian’s grin widens. Instead of allowing them to ask any more prying questions, Azriel blurts, “My father texted me this morning.”

“Fuck,” Cassian spits, then shouts over his shoulder, “Rita, we’re going to need two more orders of waffles!”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Azriel sits across from his carbon copy, and he doesn’t like it one fucking bit.

He hasn’t seen his father since before the accident, when his new step-sons had lit his hands on fire in an attempt to fuck with his art career. He knows that his father doesn’t want him to be an artist. It’s business, the man across from him would rather see him in. Following his footsteps, however…small they might be.

Azriel’s hands are clenched tightly in his lap. Rhysand and Cassian sit at the bar only a few feet away. His father either hadn’t noticed his two friends or didn't care, calling for a black coffee as he slid into the booth, a crinkle of disgust to his nose.

Azriel had almost smiled at that.

Neither of them have spoken yet. His father is typing something on his phone, his thick gold ring catching the light shining in from the window. His gray suit is pressed perfectly and his sunglasses are pushed up into the dark hair styled perfectly on his head.

Azriel waits.

He doesn’t want to be anywhere near his father, thought he made that clear with his lack of responses to phone calls and texts. He thought that they were on the same page, actually, when his father hadn’t visited him in the hospital after the incident that happened by his step-sons in his house.

Azriel’s hands tremble with rage.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, only because he knows his father will wait him out, and he wants the fucker gone as soon as possible. He has things to get back to, like you and his artwork. Mostly you.

His father doesn’t bother with niceties. No greetings, no ‘nice to see you’s’ because it would all be a lie, anyway. They’ve merely put up with each other their entire lives, and that doesn’t stop today.

“I’ve found an opportunity nearby,” His father says, finally slipping his phone into the interior pocket of his suit jacket.

“And?” Azriel asks, boredly. He doesn’t fucking care, but the idea that his father might be in this town more often should he invest makes him want to squirm.

His father pins him with a scathing look. One that used to terrify Azriel when he was young. Now, it only makes him hate the man more.

“And,” his father taps that thick gold ring against the ceramic of his mug impatiently. The sound makes Azriel’s teeth grit. “I want to know about the area.” His gaze lingers on Azriel’s hands. He sucks his teeth, “If you’d consider it profitable.”

“Take a walk around,” Azriel waves lazily towards the windows. There aren’t many people milling about this early in the morning, and he hopes the lack of them drives his father away from this town. “I certainly don’t have the time to do it.”

“You don’t have the time to do it between drawing those stick figures and nonsense you ruin your body with?” His father quirks his brow and from the corner of his eyes he watches the way Rhysand and Cassian’s spines lengthen.

Oh, he knows that Azriel’s still not taking the classes he wants to force him into. Azriel doesn’t want a fucking thing to do with his father’s business, even if he’s owed it by name when he retires. He wouldn’t dare give it to those step-sons of his, they’re not his by blood. Azriel knows that the fucker won’t.

When Azriel doesn’t answer, his father continues. “I’m looking at the 3rd street apartments,” he says, and Azriel’s world stops. His breath catches in his throat and he’s lucky that he hadn’t eaten anything. That’s his apartment building, and by the smirk on his father’s face, he knows it too, even if Azriel’s been paying his own rent through odd summer jobs and tutoring. “It could use some updating, and when summer rolls around and there aren’t as many students on campus, it will be the perfect time to renovate the building. My assistant just told me about the elevator getting trapped with some students inside. Have you heard about that?”

Of course, he knows about that. He was one of them. But he doesn’t say anything.

Azriel’s stomach shrivels. If his father buys the building and is wanting to renovate during the summer, that means he, Rhysand, and Cassian will be out of a place to live. Not only that, but you and Feyre will be thrown out too.

He doesn’t like the thought of that.

But his father doesn’t care. He’s already taking a final sip of his coffee and grimacing at the taste. He looks around the diner as if he might just buy this place next. If he does, Azriel doesn’t know what he’ll do.

“If the deal goes through you might be seeing a lot of your old man around this summer,” his father taunts, standing. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Azriel glares. He throws every ounce of hatred at the man who fathered him because there’s nothing that he can do. If his father is talking about buying the building that means that the plans are already in the works. He’s truly and utterly fucked.

His father throws a twenty down on the table. “This should cover that. You can keep the change too, Azriel. Spend the rest on some paint, or something.”

Gods, does he want to fucking bare his teeth at the fucker.

His stare doesn’t leave his father’s back until he’s settled into his sleek, black sports car. His breathing is heavy, fingers clenched so tightly he knows they’ll ache when he uncurls them. Rhysand and Cassian slide back into the booth, deep frowns on their faces.

And his phone is still empty of notifications.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

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@cami26cami @torchbearerkyle @a-frog-with-a-laptop @sevikas-whore @endless-worldss @vellichor01 @bangtans-jagiya @kalulakunundrum @pinksmellslikelove @sakurafrost3-blog @imxnotxhere @bookishbroadwaybish @justdreamstars @i-am-infinite @whichwitchisthebitch @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @sia-r @homeslices @quinzzelx @carlandonorri-s @juniper-july19 @ssmay123 @blackthorngirl @haivenhoule @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @bloodicka @wilmalovegood @jw83 @acourtofbatboydreams @hannzoaks @judig92 @aaronwarnerobsessedmylove @ilikefictionalmen @harrystylesfan2686 @dr4g0ngirl

#midnight muse #acotar #azsazz #acowar #acomaf #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel/reader #tattoo artist!azriel #art school au #artist!azriel #azriel series

638 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 3 months

Note

Glad your back love! I have a request if that’s alright. Remus and reader going on a bookstore date and lunch or something!! That would be so cute. Imagine how excited both of them would be picking out books and being affectionate. Just a lot of fluff and cuteness. Thanks sweetness hope you enjoyed your break!

Thanks for requesting sweetness!

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You’re feeling a bit guilty about the teas you’ve snuck in, but if there are two people who can be trusted around books, it’s you and Remus. He takes a careful sip as he leans in to skim the titles, sticking one hand in the pocket of his pants.

“Island of Love,” he reads, amusement lilting his tone. “Original.”

“I think I’ve actually read some of that author’s stuff,” you say.

Remus quirks a brow at you interestedly, hand coming out of his pocket to pull the novel from the shelf. “Let’s see, a summer wedding, the groom’s brother and bride’s maid of honor hate each other, but—oh, he’s frustratingly attractive…and something about passionate summer heat.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “Wonder what that could be alluding to.”

“Alright.” You steal the book from him, slotting back into its space. “I never said this stuff was, like, literature to be studied at Oxford. If you’re going to disrespect my section, run along to yours.”

“Fairly sure it’s considered rude to abandon your date,” he muses. “What’s my section, by the way?”

“Depressing stuff.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm.” You take a sip of your own tea, trying not to fluster under his attention. You scan the shelves idly for a distraction. “It’s all rather doom and gloom. Very well-written doom and gloom, to be fair, but I’m not always looking to have my life changed. This stuff is fun, at least.”

“I see,” he hums. “Oh, this looks familiar.”

You turn to see him holding up the shiny new version of the worn and waterstained paperback that rests perpetually on your nightstand at home.

“How do you know about that?” you ask him.

Remus smiles. Your heart flutters. “It was on the coffee table when I was over last week. Are you rereading it?”

“Yeah.” You shrug, turning your eyes away from him. “I reread it a lot, it’s my favorite.”

“Mm, I noticed it looked fairly battered.”

“Well-loved,” you correct him.

He chuckles quietly, and you grin because you can’t help it. “Right, so sorry. My mistake.”

You brush a piece of hair out of your face, slotting it behind your ear. Watch Remus’ eyes track the movement. “So what’s your battered book?”

“Hm?”

“Your favorite,” you clarify. “The book that’s all war torn and full of nonsensical annotations.”

He thinks for a minute. “I’m not sure,” he admits. “I have a few I go back and forth between, but lately it’s been The Secret History.”

You have to cover your mouth with a hand to hide the full breadth of your smile, and Remus narrows his eyes at you.

“What?” he asks.

“That book is so depressing.” You shake your head, delighted at being so right. “I mean, it’s beautifully written,” you amend. “Really gorgeous. I’m just not sure I found the plot as compelling as the prose.”

His mouth actually drops open. You can’t tell how much of the shock is teasing and how much is real. “You thought that book had no plot?”

“No, I mean, plenty happened.” You turn to face him, forgetting about the books around you for a moment to focus on this one. “But I felt like it happened so slowly, and there was so much in between that was just tons of description. It was like they almost skimmed over the murder part! There were so many plotlines that were brought in and then just disappeared, though I guess I can respect the ways in which it reflected real life.”

You think for a second that Remus might argue with you (he should, really—it’s his favorite book and you’re slandering it), but he keeps his mouth shut, watching you interestedly.

“And don’t you think Richard was a bit passive? Henry and Bunny had so much going on, but the narrator could have literally been a fly on the wall the whole time. He kind of reminds me of Nick Carroway, you know?”

“From the Great Gastby?” He tilts his head, eyes squinting a bit (it’s devastatingly cute). “How’s that?”

“Just, they’re both such flat characters.” You frown. “I don’t really think either of them needed to be in the story at all. I mean, having a narrator that’s a character with no personality is effectively the same as having a non-omniscient third-person narrator, right?”

Remus is biting the inside corner of his lips like he’s trying not to smile. “Right.”

“What?”

“I’m just thinking that I need to get you talking about books more often,” he says. And that’s real affection in his eyes, mixed in with the humor.

You look down, grinning at the front of your shirt, but his little smile doesn’t waver.

“Shouldn’t be hard,” you say. An awkward, obvious sidestep of the compliment, but he lets you get away with it. “Your turn. Let’s go to your section.”

He shrugs. “If you think you can stand it,” he says, but starts moving in that direction. You notice he’s still holding the copy of your favorite book.

“Aren’t you going to put that back?”

“No.” He doesn’t need to look down to know what you’re talking about. “You’ve already torn one of my choice novels to shreds, now it’s my turn to read yours.”

A little bite of nervousness snips behind your belly button even as his sidelong look lets you know he’s only joking. “You could always borrow mine.”

Remus blinks. “I’m flattered that you’d trust me with it,” he says, and it almost has you blushing again, that he knows the significance of you offering him your copy, “but I think I’ll read the un-annotated version first. But if the offer still stands after I’m finished, I’d love to read your thoughts on it.”

He says it like it’s nothing. Like taking the time to read your favorite book twice, just so he can get to know you more thoroughly, isn’t the sweetest thing anyone’s ever so much as thought of doing for you. You worry that if you look down, your heart will be glowing right through your shirt.

“Alright.” You muster your courage, taking him by the hand. “But now we also have to find one to read together.”

Remus has looked down at your joined hands, something like shyness coloring his expression, but he looks up to quirk an eyebrow at you. “Are you so sure we’ll be able to find something we can agree upon?” “So long as it involves a main character that actually does something, I think we can manage.”

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heeliopheelia · 7 months

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"was that your first kiss?" (heeseung x reader)

genre: fluff word count: 0.7k requested by nonnie ♡

a/n: last heeseung drabble for this event!! i had so much fun writing this, i'll probably expand this idea a little more in the future!! im so tired im falling on my face rn so i'll do a grammar check tomorrow!! 🤍

masterlist

It's hilarious, really, how your campus' it boy Lee Heeseung seems to be absolutely smitten with you.

With the mentioned above man hot on your heels like a shadow, you try your best not to get distracted and keep putting the pile of books back on their rightful place on old shelves. Paying no attention to his stubborn tailing you, you bite back a smile at his soft grunt when he stumbles into another table corner for the nth time this hour.

Without no words needed anymore, you hand him one of the books and he automatically slides it onto the top shelf where you can't reach.

This has been going on for about two months now – you spending your afternoons helping the elderly campus librarian putting back the returned books, and Heeseung entertaining you with his presence as he relentlessly tries to work for this date with you that he's been yearning for for such a long time.

"Are you free this Friday?" He asks suddenly and you send him a glance. He leans one shoulder against the tall bookshelf and beams at you. "We have a game at 6, you have to come. I won't be able to make it into the hoop without seeing your pretty little face cheering on me from the stands."

"Sounds to me like you're not that good of a player if you won't," you bite back playfully but don't say no to his offer. The both of you know well that you'll come just as you did the last five times.

Heeseung's smile broadens as he closes the distance between the two of you a little more. "Every athlete needs a lil something to get them going. In my case it's you, my muse."

You can't help but scoff at his blatant flirtation and with a shake of your head you take a step back in an attempt to get a hold of your hammering heart again.

And with a yelp, you trip over the bag that you've carelessly tossed to the floor some hours before, and stumble forward – straight into Heeseung's chest. Not wasting any second more and risking the chance of you backing away, he takes the opportunity of having you this close to him and cups your chin with his long fingers, only to lean down and plant a kiss right on your lips. You freeze in your place, stunned with the sudden new feeling as you heart nearly beats out of your chest.

He pulls away to check up on you, hoping he didn't cross any of your boundaries, but when he sees your sparkly eyes looking at him with such astonishment, face flushed so fucking adorably, he can't help but mold your lips back together again. He nibbles at the plush of your lip gently, thumb sliding to your chin to tug it down slightly and allowing him to deepen the kiss a little more.

There are no thoughts present on your mind other than Heeseung and his stupidly charming smirk and his stupidly confident attitude and his stupidly handsome face that never seems to leave your mind for even a second.

When he pulls away, he's met with your stunned face, eyes fluttering open and gaping right into his. He bites back a laugh as you remain speechless, a fat blush arising on your cheeks.

"Was that your first kiss?" He ends up asking, hand reaching up to brush the stray strand of hair out of your eyes. When all you do is nod your head sheepishly, eyes desperately avoiding his, he lets a wide grin spread on his lips. "Yeah? I was your first?"

You smack his arm gently and feel your ears burning when he catches your hand and intertwines it with his one.

"Shut up." You say and the quiet mutter squeezes at Heeseung's heart mercilessly.

And, god, he's so pathetic. So in love with you that if his teammates caught him in such state, he probably wouldn't hear the end of it until the day of his graduation.

"So you'll come? Right?"

With a roll of your eyes you close the distance parting your faces and mumble into his lips, "Yes, you idiot."

permanent taglist: @bambisgirl @arizejkt19 @luvmura @milisabunny @cathy-1997 @satoruskitchenrag @ramenoil @jenjnk @jaylaxies @yoongspi @nichoswag @s00buwu @dazzlingligth

#carly's 1k event ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა #1k event: requests ✎#enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen fluff #heeseung x reader #heeseung imagines #lee heeseung #lee heeseung x reader #heeseung drabbles

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undreaming-fanfiction · 1 year

Text

When the Corroded Coffin makes it, Eddie leans into the success completely. He can't really help it, he never thought he'd make it anywhere, wouldn't even have a moderately comfortable life and now he's here, people love him, want him, think he's worth their time. It's intoxicating and he feels like if he slows down for just a second, he'll lose it all.

Steve is supportive, of course he is. It's everything Eddie's ever wanted, success in the world and the most amazing person at home, loving him unconditionally. But Eddie grows more and more frantic about his work, tours, everything. He loves Steve so much, he talks about him in awards ceremonies, in interviews and credits him as his forever muse that he maybe forgets a little that random people who he'll never meet hear more about his love for his boyfriend than Steve himself.

Maybe if he took a moment to think, Eddie would have remembered that Steve was left alone for most of his teenage years, that the love he had was real but distant. That this love always stopped him from asking for more, asking for time spent together, for actions, not words. But he didn't.

After many dinners wrapped in cellophane and tossed in the fridge, postponed dates, hurried goodbye kisses and whispered promises over the phone that never come true, it happens. Steve doesn't blame him, doesn't scream or snap, but Eddie would have preferred if he did. He just calmly tells him that he loves him, will always love Eddie and he can't imagine there being anyone else, but he finally realized that while he's happy for Eddie, he can't live through someone else's dream. He needs, wants more than another empty house and waiting, so much waiting. He kisses Eddie goodbye and whispers, "I'm so happy you managed to break your cycle, Eddie. The crime, poverty...I'm so proud of you. But now I need to break my own."

---

As Steve fully settles in his own apartment almost a year later, heart aching but finally not paralyzed, he turns on the radio and hears a familiar voice, like the sweetest pain. He sings a new song, one that Steve doesn't know.

I painted your room at midnight

So I'd know yesterday was over

I put all your books on the top shelf

Even the one with the four leaf clover

Man, I'm getting older

I took all your pictures off the wall

And wrapped them in a newspaper blanket

I haven't slept in what seems like a century

And now I can barely breathe

Just like a crow chasing the butterfly

Dandelions lost in the summer sky

When you and I were getting high as outer space

I never thought you'd slip away

I guess I was just a little too late

Your words still serenade me

Your lullabies won't let me sleep

I've never heard such a haunting melody

Oh, it's killing me

You know I can barely breathe

Just like a crow chasing the butterfly

Dandelions lost in the summer sky

When you and I were getting high as outer space

I never thought you'd slip away

I guess I was just a little too late

The last soft tones finish and Steve takes a deep breath, shaky and uncertain. He loves his new life, loves what he's doing, studying to save lives, and yet...

It's almost funny. They broke up a year ago, yet Eddie never left him behind. There was no pressure to get back together, no unwanted declarations of love, just...showing. Steve told Eddie that he needed actions, not words, and here he was, for a year, giving Steve the space he needed but always checking in, always making sure Steve was okay.

Eddie's words were his actions and Steve finally understands how to break his own cycle. Being alone doesn't mean he's lonely. Not when Eddie's thoughts never leave him.

Not when he remembers the four leaf clover he scribbled into his textbook.

When he says he always thinks of Steve when seeing dandelions, so bright and comforting, like home.

The nights they spent together, drunk on each other's presence.

And the melody Steve always hummed when he got out of shower.

He reaches for his phone, their careful messages blinking at him, making him wonder how this love can feel so distant yet so real.

I hope your classes are going well, Stevie.

Wayne says hi. He says he'll call you next Tuesday.

I hope you found what you were looking for.

I hope you're happy.

I'm thinking about you, always.

He types something cheesy and ridiculous, but he can't help himself. He just feels loved, seen.

What if I told you that you aren't too late, crow?

His phone dings back almost immediately and he smiles.

#steddie #steddie drabble #steddie songfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie song rec #stranger things #stranger things drabble

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str4wbaeby · 8 days

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𝓶𝓪 𝓶𝓾𝓼𝓮 pt.1

ᵒᵇˢᵉˢˢᵉᵈ ᵃᵘᵗʰᵒʳ ˣ ᵇᵒᵒᵏʷᵒʳᵐ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

⤷ note : pt.2 | pt.3 | moodboard

his presence lingered in every corner of the bookstore, name spoken in reverent tones by both staff and patrons alike. and who he might be? the literary virtuoso, Ren Takahashi, who recently emerged as a new generation fiction writer, standing as a towering figure in the realm of literature. despite being a new name in the writing community, he was quick to rise to fame with the release of his latest masterpiece, which depicted the story of a yearning painter desperately in search of his muse; the story mainly revolving around the theme of lovesickness.

being an avid book lover, it was not unusual for you to keep up with the latest updates in the community, be it newly released books or the newly emerging writers. for you, Ren was not an unfamiliar name but you never really felt truly drawn to any of his writings, which often tended to revolve around a similar theme of infatuation and obsessive love.

as you made your way through the aisles, you couldn't help but notice the prominent display of his new novel on the central shelf, the vibrant red cover drawing you in. opening the glass panel, you carefully took the book out. as you started to read, your expression quickly shifted with eyebrows furrowing into concentration as your lips curled into a smile of intrigue. turning the pages with a gentle flutter, you seemed to absorb each word presented before you. completely enamoured by the book, you failed to notice the presence of an unknown figure, leaning against the opposite bookshelf, eyes longingly staring at your small figure

"so, do you like the book?", the figure softly spoke out, careful not to startle you while clearing his throat in the process.

needless to say, you were a bit startled at first but the gentleness of his voice oddly managed to calm you down almost instantly. you were never really much of a talker, thanks to your introverted nature and not wanting to make this interaction any awkward, you just found it easier to nod your head in response. your eyes were still fixated on the pages, only to look up at the figure once you were satisfied with thorough scanning of the book. infront of you stood the most gorgeous men you have ever laid your eyes upon in your 23 years of living. luscious long hair tressed a shadowy cascade against his pale porcelain skin, hazel eyes twinkling under the bright store lighting as his 6'2 figure stood towering over you, leaning against the wooden shelf in a relaxed stance.

a shade of pink subconsciously coated your cheeks, as you struggled to maintain eye contact with the handsome stranger.

"do you come here often ?", his velvety voice echoed in your ears, slowly luring you in like a siren's song. at the sudden loss of words, all you could do was nod at his question in agreement.

noticing your flustered state, he chuckled softly, silently taking in your adorable expression and soft features.

"say, would you like to have a cup of coffee with me at the nearby cafe? I've heard their pastries are quite popular here"

the proposal was unexpected. especially coming from someone like him; someone as beautiful as him. you were average to say the least, easily passing as just another face in the crowd. why would he want someone like you?

quickly snapping out of your trance, you politely denied his offer with a firm "no". but why? didn't you like him too? the dejected look in his eyes reminded you of a lost puppy. concealing the pain with a fake smile, he handed you his number in a piece of paper, telling you to call him if you ever wanted to talk or had a change of heart regarding your little coffee date. or he could just show up at the bookstore to meet you again? you wouldn't suspect anything, right? it'll just be another coincidence, after all! ♡

with a seemingly disinterested look, you took the paper out of his hand, only to catch a quick glimpse of something that caught your eyes.

"(555) 867-xxxx

- Ren Takahashi "

#yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere oc #male oc #yandere male x reader #yandere #yandere oc x reader #yandere boyfriend #yandere prompt #yandere insert #yandere fic #yandere x reader #yandere male x you #x gender neutral reader #x reader #x reader insert #gn reader #mochiii.writes #divider creds: cafekitsune

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loveliestlovelygirl · 2 months

Text

tangle of strings

pianoteacher!anakin x student!reader

synopsis: mr. skywalker has been your piano instructor since you were fourteen years old. from the moment you met, you knew he was the one. he never expressed his feelings for you vocally, despite all the time you spent together. but after you turn eighteen and prepare to leave for college, he changes his tune.

w.c: 6.9k

warnings!! {minors dni}, dark content, grooming heavily featured, sexual content occurs after the reader is 18, p in v, fingering, oral, fem!reader, gentle dom!anakin, sub!reader, "loss" of virginity, jealousy, religious themes

the content you consume is your responsibility ♡

The piano is the only thing Mr. Skywalker told you that he loved.

He was never spotted with a girl or anyone for that matter in a romantic sense. He was always single, which never made sense to anyone in your small town because he is handsome. He’s always been handsome. His yearbook pictures from high school proved it.

When you would go over to his house for piano lessons, he would show you many things from his life, like his award cabinet, filled with every trophy and certificate he’s won from piano competitions or his yearbook photos. Those photos were one of the first things he showed you. It was one of your first memories of just you and him.

Mr. Skywalker takes a big stack of books off the shelf in his library all at once. Using his strength to balance the dusty books on his arms, he brings them to the reading table where you sit. He takes off the top one and opens it up before you.

Eventually, you find his picture. You cover your mouth as you giggle. He had thick glasses making him look like a nerd. But he was cute. So, undeniably cute to you. You wish he could be the same age. You would want to be his friend. You would want to kiss him.

If you were the same age, he could be yours.

“I wasn’t always like this,” he muses, his large body looming behind you as he looks over your head to gaze at the picture. “I used to be the kid everyone picked on. When I’d get home, I would write a song about how I was feeling. Some of those songs inspired the ones I play at my shows.”

When he talks, you gush. His warm voice is safe. He’s the kind of person you could tell all your secrets to.

And you did tell him everything you couldn’t tell your parents. You’d tell him your deepest secrets. Like the boys you crushed on. Or your new feelings of lust towards them that caught you off-guard as a teen. He understood you like no one else in the whole world. He was the first to know about your first kiss when you were sixteen. And he seemed… jealous when you told him.

“I don’t know how it happened,” you say. “One moment, we were talking and laughing. And the next thing I know, Drew is pushing me down on the bed to kiss me!” you squeal. “But don’t tell my parents. They’ll think I’m a whore.”

Mr. Skywalker pats your shoulder. “Don’t worry. I always keep your secrets. Drew is the boy in your history class, correct?”

You nod, amazed that he would remember. The last time you spoke of Drew had been several months ago. But he always pays attention to even the smallest details. That’s how you know he cares.

“I don’t know if he’s good for you,” he mutters, noticeably bitter about something. “Does he really know you? I think… he doesn’t. He’s probably just trying to use you.”

Mr. Skywalker is much older than you. And wiser. So you take his advice to heart. Maybe you shouldn’t see Drew tonight after all.

“How many times have you been kissed?” you ask him, your voice all innocent. Although your motives were anything but pure. While you might have just shared a kiss with Drew, there is one man who is truly the object of your greatest desires. You just haven’t found a way to tell him.

He shakes his head. “You know I’d rather talk about you.” That’s what he says when you pry too deeply into his private life, which only adds to your secret obsession

Anakin has always been the one thing that rivals your obsession with your instrument of choice. And it’s the only secret you kept from him all through high school because you knew he couldn’t possibly feel the same way about you.

Even if the small touches, the secret looks, and long hugs seemed to indicate otherwise. You were too afraid to ask him what it all meant. He never gave that kind of attention to anyone else.

And as an awkward teen, you were furious that you couldn’t express your love to him directly. You kept telling yourself that you would when you’re older. When you turned eighteen, you would confess to him.

Since you couldn’t tell anyone, even him, about this secret, you’d use the piano to share your soul, to put your feelings out into the atmosphere. When you play, no matter where you are, you feel him sitting on the bench beside you, watching over you.

He taught you everything you know now. He’s the reason you chose to major in Piano Performance in college to the great horror of your parents. But what did they expect? They watched you sacrifice your youth for excellence in your craft. The nights were filled with pools of tears, cries, and screams as you played until you got the part, section, or note just right.

When your fingers rest on the ivory keys, you feel him and nothing else. He’s your muse in every song you write.

The piece that won you a full scholarship to your dream university, you wrote it while thinking of Anakin. Your beloved piano teacher. Your closest friend. Your secret love.

He’d been in your life for so long, giving you lessons when you first showed an interest in music. How could you not love him?

He went to the same church that your family attended every Sunday. He played piano sometimes during worship service if the music minister was out on vacation or fell ill. Church was how your father met him, and they became good friends. He often came to your Sunday lunches.

Your mom always cooked fried catfish or fried chicken because that’s what your dad wanted. Mr. Skywalker, as you called him back in your high school years, would eat two plates of food. He’d say things like “I haven’t had a home cooked meal in years,” even if he was at your house just last week. You would laugh the loudest at his jokes. As you think about them now, you realize they weren’t funny, but you’re in love with him so it doesn’t matter.

After lunch, your parents would take care of the food and dishes, giving alone time with him. Like a young pup, you’d follow him outside on the back porch where you’d sit side by side on the creaky old swing.

“Do you cook or bake?” he asks you.

You haven’t the slightest idea of why he’d ask such a thing. You still lived with your parents. Your mom does most of the cooking. Your dad grills sometimes. “No. I get scared that I’ll burn myself.”

Suddenly, he reaches over for your left hand, the closest one to him, from your lap and holds it between his great palms. “Cold,” he whispers. He massages your fingers to revive them. “I wouldn’t want you to burn your hands. They’re so perfect… for playing.”

Anakin looks down at what he’s doing to you and his expression sours. At the time, you don’t know why. You wonder if you said or did something he doesn’t like because the mood changes instantly. He drops your hand and pats your thigh.

“You have piano hands, remember?” he reminds you. He smiles at you, and you feel secure again.

That’s exactly the thing that you always tell him. His hands spread out further than a whole octave, while you struggle to hit the two octave notes simultaneously without pulling a muscle. His fingers are long, and his palms are wide. You can’t compete with that.

You wonder what other things he’s good at with hands like those.

For the entirety of your high school existence, you pined and pined after him. He was always on your thoughts every minute of every day. You never grew sick of daydreaming about him. And on occasion that was reflected in your grades though you maintained a high GPA regardless. Every week was just your going through the motions of life mindlessly, only waiting for two short hours out of the week on Friday which was when you took lessons with him.

You lived solely for those two hours in which he gave you piano lessons free of charge. He said it was because you had such potential, but still to this day, you like to think he reciprocated some of your feelings even before he actually made a move on you.

For those two hours, you would sit right up against him on the leather cushion of the piano bench and play for him whatever pieces you were working on or things he assigned you from the previous week. He was never harsh with you even when you weren’t getting something.

You throw your hands on the keys, striking a dissonant chord that makes you both wince. Mr. Skywalker instantly pulls your hands away.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he said with concern. “I promise you’ll get this. It just takes time. I know you practice too much as it is.”

“I want to be good! I want to be a star!” With that, you break down instantly and cry. He never minds when you cry in front of him.

“One day, you will be. I believe in you,” he soothes you, rubbing your back and kissing the top of your head as if you belong to him. He hugs you. “We can try again when you’re ready.”

“Okay,” you say, leaning against him to hear the echo of his heart. His heartbeat is sensual to you, even at sixteen. You can’t explain it. These stupid hormonal feelings you have for him are so wrong. But when you look up into his passionate eyes, you see the man you want to spend the rest of your life with. You have to marry him. You have to.

From the time you were five, you were afraid of thunder and lightning. Terrified by it actually. The fear is still with you today. But it was so much worse in middle school and high school. You started taking lessons from Anakin when you were fourteen years old. And you were still such a child then. You remembered the time it stormed so hard during your lesson that you had to spend the night at his house because it was too dangerous for your mother to come pick you up. But that also meant you couldn’t hide your abnormal fear of a thunderstorm from Anakin.

He had this giant plush rug under the piano. When you asked him about it, he said that it caught the sound. At the tail end of your lesson, the night you had to stay over, lightning struck close to his house and spooked you so much that you shrieked and slipped under the piano, curling up on that soft rug like a scared puppy.

Anakin was such a sweetheart because he followed you there.

“Hey,” he whispers, rubbing your back, “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

You cry into your arms, hiding your face. “I know! I know it’s stupid of me. I just—”

“It’s not stupid. We all have different fears.” After he says that, he lies on his back beside you. “But I won’t let the storm hurt you, okay. We can stay here all night.”

And that you did. You cowered under the grand piano in his parlor all night long. That was the first time you ever cuddled with a boy, only he was a man almost twice your age. But that didn’t bother you. And it seemed not to bother him. He let you hold onto him through the night and squeeze him a little harder when you heard thunder. It has been one of your most precious memories of your piano teacher.

You had always known Anakin could be a little jealous. Any time you would mention your school friends the air would get tense, as if he didn’t want you to have anyone else in your life but him. He never said that, but he didn’t have to. There was always rage somewhere beneath the still blueness of his eyes, but his rage was never directed towards you until you told him that Drew wanted you to be his girlfriend.

You were seventeen. And you were so excited to have your first boyfriend even if you weren’t in love with him. At least people might not tease you for still being a virgin because it wouldn’t be so obvious. Anakin never did make fun of you for your innocence. He always said that it’s okay to wait until you’re ready or for the right person.

Immediately after you share the news of your official relationship with Drew, he freezes and closes the lid to the piano keys.

His jaw is tight. His voice is tense. “Maybe... we should be done for today.” He doesn’t even acknowledge what you said, as if he’s afraid to.

But you have no one else to celebrate with. Drew is a secret you keep from them because he’s not involved in church. “Did you hear me?” you press.

He grinds his teeth hard, and you hear bone against bone. Anakin nods. “I did.”

You nudge his arm. “Well?”

“Well what?” he snaps bitterly. He turns slightly to glare at you. “You know how I feel ab—about him.”

You roll your eyes. Anakin is a dramatic guy sometimes. “Drew isn’t that bad. He can be sweet. And he’s going to take me to prom!”

Anakin rises off the piano bench and pats down his black slacks. “So, you don’t care what I think then?” He’s staring down upon you with overwhelming disapproval. The muscles of his arms bulge when he crosses them over his chest.

Palms against the leather cushion, you hold yourself up. You notice yourself trembling when you realize that he’s not teasing you. He’s very upset... with you. Why would he be—does this mean—does he feel something after all?

“Of course, I do, Mr. Skywalker.”

“I told you not to get close with him!” he shouts. You’ve never heard him raise his voice at you. “He has bad intentions. He’s just a dumb kid. What does he know about loving you?”

You start to sob. “I’m sorry. I thought you might be... happy for me?”

He scoffs. And it sounds like you disgust him right now. “I don’t want to hear about him ever again. I don’t want to know anything about your little boyfriend. Do. You. Understand?”

Having him speak to you that way made you feel like a little girl. And you hated that feeling more than anything else. You knew that you were innocent, and you hated yourself for it because it made you feel inadequate to love the man you really wanted.

But now you’d do anything to have that innocence again. You didn’t realize at the time how free you once were. Growing up was harder than you thought it would be. It almost broke you.

You were lucky to have someone like Anakin to build you back up again, even if he was the one that tore you down that time.

After he yelled at you, you rushed out of his home as quickly as you could. The silence lasted a day. And then he drove to your house and knocked on your door. He held in his hands a bouquet of white roses and on his lips was the apology you were waiting for.

Nothing changed between you after that. Until your next birthday came around.

Up to your eighteenth birthday, your interactions were mostly harmless. But when you turned eighteen, an official adult, the tension between you had changed. The energies you both entertained shifted and became... dare you say... sexual to a degree. Anakin seemed to treat you a little differently now that you were fair game.

To celebrate your eighteenth birthday, he was there. In fact, he was the only one you insisted that mother invite. Not Drew or any of your school friends. Just Anakin. And he had to be there because he really was your one true friend. You couldn’t imagine celebrating your birthday without him. He was always a guest at your birthday parties, but he gave you a special gift this year, one so unforgettable that sometimes you hear it clear as day.

Anakin wrote you a piano solo. One that was simple, sweet, and addicting. You told him to play it again and again. After cake and presents, you made him teach you how to play it. You were very proficient now, and often could play things just by hearing them once. But the chords he chose for your song were unique and shouldn’t have meshed so well together. But they did. Just like you and him. Unlikely friends. Star-crossed lovers in your head.

The two of you stayed at the piano all evening, messing around with the song. By the end, you both had figured out how to layer the notes and chords in an even more perfect duet. Playing piano with him was almost the best birthday gift in the world to you. But it was not what you wished for.

You wished for a kiss.

But that would mean you’d have to tell him how you felt. And you were terrified. As an adult, now you could. It was more empowering than you thought it could be.

But you never did find a chance to tell me on your birthday. You were too afraid to ruin your night with a love confession. You know he would do the right thing and reject you, but that didn’t stop you from dreaming for the impossible.

When you walked him outside to his car—you insisted—your secret birthday wish came true. Not in the way you expected. But a kiss did happen. Your piano teacher kissed you on the cheek. Your face burned the whole night through. You couldn’t sleep because you wanted to know what it meant. He had never used his lips to touch any part of you before.

Physical contact had always been an important part of your bond with Anakin since the beginning. There were always the hugs that lasted just a little too long. And he seemed to always find an excuse to hold your hand. But he was your piano teacher, and the hand-to-hand contact always felt necessary and never strange.

But following your very special birthday, you found him staring at you a little longer, a little more deeply, and he seemed to always find an excuse to touch you, not in a sexual way but in a way that led you to believe the attraction wasn’t one sided.

He’d tuck your hair behind your ears, brush the side of your arm, and sit impossibly close to you that you swore you could almost hear his heartbeat. Anakin had never been hesitant to touch you before, but if there were any boundaries before, they were forgotten by him. And you enjoyed it. His new attention made you feel special and wanted. And that was all you ever wanted.

You began to touch him too. And seek physical attention from him. You would nuzzle his arm. Slip your fingers between his. Tap your shoes against his. He’d always notice, and he always hugged you or kissed your cheek in response.

You two were getting closer than ever before. Sometimes... you would barely touch the keys, getting lost in conversation. At this point, Drew and any other boy you were interested in before might as well have been dead. There was only room in your heart for Anakin.

And you had discovered a way to tell him without using your fragile words.

You sit on the bench waiting for him to get off the phone with his mother. She called him shortly after he let you in. About ten minutes later, he comes back.

“Sorry. I was worried she was in trouble,” he says, taking his spot beside you. “Now, where were we last week?”

“We... didn’t really go over anything.”

He bites into his full lower lip with a mischievous look in his eyes. “What are you paying me for then?”

You laugh because you’ve never once paid him for his time. You nudge his thigh with yours. “Honestly, I don’t really think there’s much more you could teach me.”

He raises a brow. “Oh really?”

You nod. “Actually, I’ve been writing something for you.”

His jaw lowers, and his mouth hangs open slightly. “How long have you kept this secret?”

“Since my birthday.”

He slips his arm around your back and rests his hand on your hip. “I’m impressed. Show me?”

You gulp heavily. That had been the plan today. It is ready for him. He’d never judge you even if it were bad. But you know that it’s not. You know that he’ll know what this piece means. He knows you too well. He’s too perceptive of everything. You wrote it in his favorite key, C minor.

With your hands a little shaky, your fingers glide softly across the piano and press down powerfully in chords. Through music, you profess your love. Anakin sits beside you and waits for you to finish. When you do, he’s waiting, staring with tears thickening his dark eyelashes. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t say anything, but you know... he knows how you feel.

You tug on his shirt, drawing him closer. A war of heart and mind reflects on his face. He’s doubting what he wants. His resistance is half-hearted. It isn’t long before he scoops you up in his arms and kisses you. This time his mouth is on your lips, wetting them, and tugging them apart to fill you with his tongue.

Drew was never this good. His mouth was sloppy and tight. Anakin kisses like he’s done this a thousand times before. And he kisses like he wants you. Like he’s wanted you for such a long time, despite how wrong you both know that is.

He holds you down in his lap, and you hug him tightly, carding your fingers through his dreamy hair. You start to feel lightheaded because you haven’t been able to breathe, but you don’t want to stop him. If you stop him, he might think and realize that he doesn’t want you anymore.

But you’re dying. Turning blue. You tap his shoulder. And he stops devouring you. His lips sparkle when he smiles. “Too much for you, baby?”

You sharply inhale, finally catching your breath. You shake your head. You want more. You need it. More isn’t even enough.

You spend the whole lesson entangled with one another until your mother comes to pick you up.

For the next month, that’s all you did. Kiss and kiss and kiss. Breathe and breathe and breathe. And kiss some more. You wondered why he was waiting to take you to his bed. You wanted that with him, but he never asked you to go that far. He seemed afraid. Even when his affection was overflowing in passion as you always knew it would be, it was clear that he was holding himself back. Did he need you to tell him what to do?

Your make out sessions extended beyond just your lesson time. Whenever he would come over to your house, he would go upstairs with you to your bedroom, and you’d end up tangled in the sheets. Though with every item of clothing on. Your parents never suspected anything was happening to their young, virtuous daughter. They trusted him completely. And so did you. You would have done anything he asked of you no matter the risks.

Even at church, he’d find a way to get you alone. In the girl’s bathroom. During the preacher’s sermon.

Anakin lifts you onto the sink and spreads your legs out so that he can fit between them and get close to you. Thumb under your chin, he tilts your face up to his. He grins before going in for a kiss.

Your lavender baby doll dress rides up your thighs as he inches closer. He presses up against the crotch of your panties. The dampness is cold against your tender flesh. His erection only grows as the friction between you builds, your bodies rubbing against each other in a clothed attempt to satisfy yourselves sexually.

And now you’re glad you waited and didn’t mess around with Drew like he wanted when you were together. Because that means Anakin could be your very first.

He freezes up when you try to unbuckle his big belt. Anakin looks at you strangely, almost disturbed by your actions.

You lean to his ear and whisper, “I. Want. It.” You had thought your seductive voice would be enough to cast him off the edge of all hesitation, that he’d bend to your will and give you what you want.

But all you did was kill the fire.

Head shaking, he backs away. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

And you didn’t see him for nearly a month after that. But you don’t regret what you said. You were tired of just endless make out sessions. It seemed so immature, and you knew you were ready for something real.

All of those memories, those beautiful capsules of your favorite times with Anakin, are the reason you find yourself on his doorstep, a quarter till midnight in the pouring rain.

Complete desperation.

You took your moms car without permission just to drive over despite the threat of a storm. And you’re still deathly afraid of them. But you came anyway. Because tomorrow, you’re leaving for college. You might not get another chance to fix things. Death would be better than living another moment without him.

“You haven’t been answering my texts or my calls, Anakin.”

The door is barely cracked open, just enough that you can see his pale face. Dark circles surround his rainy eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, not even making eye contact.

Thunder echoes behind you. The wind blows your hair around. Leaves rustle, filling the silence between you both. It’s going to storm soon. You had been stupid enough to drive to his house just before a storm. But you couldn’t take not knowing what had happened to him and why he was dodging your calls.

The eyes that used to linger a little too long won’t acknowledge you even as you stand in front of him.

“Why are you being like this? This isn’t you!” you nearly scream. You’re so afraid that he’s not only pushing you away but also ejecting you from his life completely, as if the memories you share can be erased. He’s engrained in almost every memory you have.

“It can’t happen. Go away.”

He tries to close the door on you, but you stick the toe of your right shoe in the crack before it shuts.

“Please… please don’t do this.”

Anakin’s eyes are bloodshot as if he’s been crying. “What I want isn’t right. I can’t do it. I don’t know if I could live with myself after.”

Does he really hate me so much? Is that the truth? Perhaps it’s your naivety, but you won’t let him go so easily. You have suffered in silence for nearly a decade, pining after him, waiting for him to reciprocate the depth of your feelings. Your hands shake as you reach out to him. If he would just… hold your hand like he used to, then maybe everything would be alright.

Your fingertips brush against each other. You feel the spark instantly, and it travels down your spine, leaving you wanting to touch him more.

“What about what I want?”

Anakin blinks several times before he speaks. It’s as if he didn’t consider your feelings in this decision. “You’re… not in a position to see things clearly. You’re—”

“Don’t say it!” you exclaim, squeezing your fists. “I’m not a child. I’m all grown up. And you know it. You see it.”

Anakin sighs a long time, his eyes scanning down your body. “Of course, I see it. But that doesn’t make it okay.”

Though you can never overpower him, you still try to force the door open. “Just let me in. We can talk. Just let me talk to you.”

Anakin’s frown is firm, and his stillness enforces that he’s not backing down. “I don’t know. If I let you in… if you cry… I’ll want to hold you. Then things might happen. I don’t know if I can control myself around you.”

Hugging yourself, you gaze upwards, into eyes that finally meet yours. His eyes reveal his mourning, his grief, his lust. It’s the latter that sends shivers through your body. The knowing that he wants you is more than you can take.

“I don’t want you to.”

There.

You said it.

You have told him exactly what you want. And if you hadn’t made it painfully obvious before, he knows now that you’re no longer thinking like a little girl.

Following a sigh of defeat, he backs away from the door, and you move in.

All the lights are off in his home. He must have been sitting in the dark like a vampire. The piano lid is open. He never left it open unless he was actively playing.

Anakin strides across the room to seat himself on the piano bench. He taps the spot next to him. “You’re right.... We should talk. Talk. Nothing more.”

Sitting beside him here feels like the most natural thing in the world. Here, you’re not afraid to speak from the heart. He’d never judge you even if he disagrees. But you’re not so sure he disagrees this time.

He wants you too.

“I couldn’t let you go back. I can’t believe you drove in the rain.”

You shrug. “It’s just rain. The storm hasn’t—”

The windows flash like they would in a horror flick, and thunder comes after. With a whimper, you grab onto his arm.

“I can drive you back home once we talk,” he says emotionlessly, gently pulling you off him.

But you double down and grab his arm, tugging him back again. “Don’t push me away.”

He doesn’t do it again. He stills. And sighs. “That’s the last thing that I want to do.”

With your chin resting on his sleeve, you look up at him, wide-eyed. “Just kiss me like you always do. And don’t think about it.” You stretch your arm out and fiddle with the top button of his dress shirt. “I’m not thinking.”

His chest rises and falls with his breaths. He doesn’t stop you as you unbutton his shirt.

When you rise on your knees, you’re at eye level. He’s so much bigger than you even now. He makes you feel so small. Holding onto his arm, you lean close and peck his clean-shaven cheek. He winces as if you pricked him with a needle.

“Angel, I shouldn’t.”

You kiss him again, closer to his lips, almost tasting him. “It’s me. Don’t you want me?”

Finally, he turns and looks in your eyes. Then at your mouth. “Don’t tell anyone. You... understand how this might look. What they might say about—”

“I’m good at keeping secrets,” you whisper. “What’s one more?”

You finish unbuttoning his shirt for him. Taking care of him feels good. You run your fingertips down his chest and his abdomen. His bare skin. It’s soft and warm. Suddenly, he grabs your wrist.

“Cold hands,” he murmurs. He takes your hands between them. He rubs his hands over your fast to warm them with friction.

“Sorry.”

Still rubbing your hands, he stands and leads you to the back of his grand piano near the flashing window.

Any other time, you would be trembling in fear because of the loud storm, but tonight you’re trembling because of the new feelings bubbling inside you. You’ve never been so aroused before.

“Can I hold you?” he says as pulls you into his embrace.

You can hear his steady heartbeat and feel it pumping right against your sensitive ear. Your piano teacher holds you against him and tangles his talented fingers in your hair. He sniffs your neck before taking a bite. His teeth pinch your flesh, and his tongue soothes you. The pain he leaves in several spots along your neck means that he’s marked you as his.

Your own heart is racing at lightning speed. You can’t think. In his arms, you’re helpless to his whims. You need him to tell you what to do. All you want is to please him.

“I’ll do anything,” you whisper to him so weakly you question if he hears you.

Anakin slowly unzips the back of your dress. “Consider this a teaching moment.” His voice doesn’t sound like it usually does. The undertones are sultry and possessive. “I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to—” He stops to pull down your dress, and his eyes wander over your pretty body. You wore transparent lace underwear and a matching bralette. He can see everything you hide from the rest of the world.

And he tells you, “You’re perfection.”

That makes you want to kiss him so badly. You try to lift yourself to reach his lips, but he’s too tall.

“Be patient,” he chides. “I want you to lay down first.” He guides you under the piano.

You lie down on your back atop the giant rug. Instantly, relaxation takes over as you remember all the times you used to lie here with him, hiding from the storm. Never did you think this would be the place where you’d give yourself to him. This must be meant to be.

He follows you after fully undressing. His body is every inch a man’s. His size makes you feel so small. He runs the risk of crushing you with his weight.

Lying on his side, he looks down at you, watching his own fingers running under the elastic of your lacy panties. “Take these off and spread your legs.” He whispers kisses to your cheek. “You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Nodding, you do as you’re told and wiggle out of your underwear. He snatches them from you and crunches them in his hands before throwing them over his shoulder. You proceed with fanning your legs open. The air is frigid as it touches you.

Anakin is looking where no one else has. “I’m so proud of you for waiting. Saving yourself just for me.”

You gasp as he kisses you between your legs. He kisses you there for a long time. It feels strange and wonderful. The feeling building inside you makes you moan and your toes curl. You feel so good your body aches. You hear your own heartbeat. You breathe but can’t find relief. Nothing soothes the need inside you but his mouth, his lips, his tongue. And before long you hit the breaking point, pleasure storming through your body from your place beneath him. Your cries are dampened by the thunderous sounds outside, but he hears you. He stops to look at your face. Making eye contact with him heightens the vulnerability of the situation. The intense way he looks at you burns. He notices every little change in your expression.

Anakin knows he made you feel good, but he still asks, “Did you like that?” He brushes the wild strands of hair away from your face. You know you’re precious to him. He sweetly kisses your forehead. “I like your taste.”

Your cheeks are seared by that comment. You cover your eyes, not wanting to let him see how he’s affecting you. “I did like it.”

“Do you want to do more?” He kisses your lips this time, and you taste yourself. “I don’t want to push you if you’re not ready.”

“I am ready!” you lift your head up and cup his cheek. “Don’t make me wait longer. I’m leaving tomorrow.” You bite your lip, knowing how dangerous what you’re about to say is because of who you’re saying it to. “Do you really want some college guy to be the one who gets me first?”

As if trying to reject the image you gave his mind, he closes his eyes and tightens his jaw. “No,” is his short answer. From the way his lips are pressed together, you know he wants to say more, but he’s saving you from his own selfish anger.

“Me either.” You rub his cheek with your thumb. “Anakin,” it feels right to call him by his first name instead of Mr. Skywalker, “I’ve waited for you. I always knew this would happen.”

He chuckles lightly. “I never gave you permission to use my name. Don’t forget—” he grunts as he slides two of his fingers between your slick folds and pushes them inside, “your manners, young one.”

These same fingers were the ones that rested atop yours when you were first learning to play piano. They pointed to the right key when you played the wrong note. They pointed to the sheet music to guide you along for all these years. They held your hands when they were cold.

And now he’s using them to teach you something new. But he’s just as skilled at fingering you as he is with music. You’re like his new instrument. He’s plucking all the right strings in just the right way to make you cry out for him. With your body pliant, he controls when you come. He doesn’t make you wait for it. He uses his thumb too and nudges until you come. It’s wetter than the last. And he instructs you to lick his fingers off when he’s done.

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks again. “Don’t hate me for asking.” He hangs his head a little.

What he doesn’t understand is how insatiable he’s caused you to be. There were so many times you thought you might explode from how desperately you wanted him. But now it’s okay if that does happen.

“Keep going. Please,” you beg. You’re not ready to stop. You’ve waited for this moment since you were fourteen years old. If it were up to you, you’d live here forever.

“If that’s what you really want,” Anakin moves from lying at your side to settling himself between your legs.

“It is,” you reassure him. Holding onto his neck, you pull yourself up a bit. “Can you kiss me too?”

He grins before pushing you down, his large hand spread out over your soft stomach, and he chases your lips as you fall. You’re partially distracted by his mouth as his cock slides inside you. You had expected it to be more of a challenge, all things considered. Throughout high school, your friends always complained about how much it hurt their first time. Some girls bled too. And that had scared you, which is one of the reasons you never took Drew up on his many offers of a “good time.” Deep down you knew he wouldn’t treat you right. But Anakin clearly is experienced with having sex. Maybe he wasn’t as alone as you thought he had been all those years.

This being your very first time, it does sting when he fills you completely, his bony hips pressed against yours. You feel the tightness and the stretch. But you enjoy how it feels. You’re so close to passing out just because this is as close as you can get to someone.

Anakin rocks in and out slowly. Maybe he can feel that you’re tired. He’s being gentle with you despite how much he wants to rail your cunt to shreds. You can tell when he’s holding himself back. He has that weary, pained look in his rainy eyes. A part of you wants to tell him that it’s okay. Let go. But you both know that you couldn’t handle the full extent of his lust.

“Can I come inside you?” he asks before sinking his teeth into a bruise along your neck.

Short of breath, you answer, “I said... anything.”

“Okay,” his shaky voice whispers. He buries his face into the curve of your neck and moans your name into your skin. He pulls your hair gently as he finishes, his heat spreading through your core. It’s so much that you feel it leaking out.

After, he holds you there all night long. He doesn’t let you leave. And you wouldn’t want to escape.

The three words he says to you as you leave his house the morning after, you realize that he’s lied to you all the years you’ve known him.

The piano isn’t his only love or his only obsession.

It’s an outlet, and yet a mask for his sin nature which you understand more deeply than any other girl ever will.

He’s kept his real obsession hidden from everyone but you.

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fleet-of-fiction · 3 months

Text

Josh Kiszka // Female Reader

Summary: After meeting Josh at a spiritual development group, your friendship intensifies after an evening of intimate meditation. He insists on showing you the room where he likes to do most of his incantations. And there, what transpires is the most mind blowing sex you've ever had.

Warnings: Spiritual sex. Foreplay and penetration. A little dirty talk.

He just wouldn't stop talking.

You knew his voice was going to echo into your dreams that night, talking about the universe and how mankind simply hasn't tapped into the spiritual knowledge at its fingertips. He spoke fluently about opening consciousness to the vast spaces and dimensions of existence. It didn't seem impossible the way he said it could be achieved. But still, it had been almost an hour since he had first opened his mouth and you could feel your eyelids begin to grow heavy. Not through boredom, but for the fact the hour was almost at midnight.

"Well?"

Your eyes flutter open, as if straining against the need to close them. Josh is looking at you expectantly with all the enthusiasm he carried into the evening when it was a more reasonable hour.

"I'm sorry, what?" You muster, coming back to your senses.

He muses over you. With immediate realisation that you're exhausted.

"I asked if you'd like to meditate with me sometime." He repeated, in a quieter tone.

His face carried with it all the sweetness of a child-like innocence. A smile that shrouded a row of pearly white teeth and a solitary dimple in his left cheek. Whisps of hair above his lip sat, almost twitching, as his smile changed from child-like to coy.

"I'd love to." You respond, as excitedly as you can, given your tiredness. "When?"

Josh had crept into your life on tiptoes. His shy demeanour had meant you didn't notice him at first, sitting at the back of the Spiritual Development group you'd been attending in an attempt to combat the grief which had burdened you for so long. But when finally, he'd found the courage to raise his hand and offer his insight, you'd taken note of him in far more detail than you usually afforded.

You began to grow excited for each meet, your heart a beating mess as you realised that sometimes he would be there and sometimes he would be wholly absent. The days on which he was absent you sat in a melancholy you couldn't fathom, listening to the others in their wisdom and wishing it was his you basked in. Until, when you had given up on him returning, he appeared in the doorway in his usual white sweater and beige jeans and the universe spoke to you for the very first time.

Since that moment it had been a flurry of musings. You, hanging on to his every word and he in return giving you space to be vocal about your grief. Your friendship had been born through these tangible moments and when he'd asked you to start meeting up away from the group it was inevitable that you'd find yourself on the edge of love.

Josh was not a constant in your life, though. His absences were long and drawn out, peppered with long winded text messages from the road he travelled. You, staring at your phone in the dark reading them like a novel you never wanted to put down. If love was beginning to stir, you took the spoon from the pot and hoped it bubbled away to nothing.

"Not tonight." He said, breaking into your reverie. "I can see how tired you are."

He leaned forward across the table and began to blow out the centre candles. He gathered his books and went to return them to the shelf.

"I am tired." You agreed. "But I find myself not wanting to leave."

His bashfulness piqued. A rosy hint emerged on his cheeks as he put the books back onto the table and in the new darkness tried to seek out your face.

"You are always leaving." You add, the darkness giving you a boldness to speak more honestly.

You see his outline shift weight from one leg to the other. "I always return."

He seems to have retreated to his initial shyness. You hear his breath grow shallow and wonder if you should approach. You have never known Josh deny himself the touch of another, offering hugs and comforting arm squeezes to your fellow group members. If you approached him you were certain he wouldn't shrink from you.

"Why can't we meditate tonight, then?" You ask, rising from your chair with only the distant lights from the street outside penetrating the window blind to guide you.

He turned his head to watch your shadow. Josh had never given you any indication that he wanted more save for his requests that you join him at his home on evenings when you should have been attending the group.

He had welcomed you in and brought you a steaming bowl of soup that his brother had made over the course of three days. So the story went. You'd eaten together and discussed the vast differences between spirituality and religion. Even his text messages, as prolific as they were, included nothing but the thoughts which occurred to him on lonely nights in hotel rooms. None of the thoughts ever made you think he was anything but your friend.

You knew your feelings had come about completely unwanted. Sprung forth from him simply being who he was and your desire to attach yourself to him. Josh was a source of sunshine in dark times. Even as you stood together at the dining table, the darkness seemed to dissipate around him.

"I thought you might want to go home and get some sleep." He offered, stiffening against your movements around the table to stand at his side.

Your eyes adjusted a little. You could see him now, his face peering at you in wonder.

"The next time you go away I'll have to wonder if we will ever meet like this again. And I'll ache for you, as I have ached for you all the other times you were gone from me. So, if it's all the same, I'd like to meditate with you tonight. Just in case." Your words fall out without process.

His wonderment remained etched on his face as you notice his Adams apple move with a deep swallow. His brown eyes lift to meet your blue, the air between the two of you heating up as if the candles were still alight.

"You ache for me?" He asked, as if the notion had never occurred to him.

There was truly no way to ascertain if Josh was ever aware of how he made people feel. His vibration was love itself and you knew there were thousands of people in the world who saw him for precisely who he was, if only from afar, and loved him in return.

Because, despite the ache it left, Josh lived for taking his message on the road and the two parts of his life could meet for the briefest of moments. You existed in that quiet part of his life that he sought out when the lights went out and the crowds went home. You'd known for a long time that him being his brothers' band was his own little universe. You just wished, sometimes, that you could be a part of the loud in his life.

"If I confess that I do, will you leave again?" You ask tentatively.

He breathed in deeply and shook his head. "We're not due back on tour for another week."

That wasn't what you meant. But he seemed so bashful you giggled at his sentiment. Immediately he was put at ease and seemed to return to being the man you had come to know and love. Except, with an edge you had not expected.

He took your hand and moved you through his house, through the corridors and up a set of spiral stairs that wound up towards a room that sat at the top of the building. Adorned with a twinkle of fairy lights and plush bean bags, on the walls hung pieces of art ranging from things he'd had commissioned and pieces he had acquired from his travels. Your breath catches as you begin to understand the beauty of this room.

"I only meditate here alone, you're the first person to join me." He said, gesturing you to sit on the floor.

You catch his scent as he sits across from you, cross legged and your knees just grazing each other. The lighting is low enough to be able to discern his facial features, but enough to keep your confidence cloaked. He shakes his hands out as if his palms are sweating and you see his nerves for the first time.

"I'm honoured." You say, realising you haven't responded to him in words.

He nods absently. "Well, you know, it's a nice place. I like to come here when I'm home and just do some breath work or even just take a nap or something. I really felt like this room deserved to be a dedicated space, you know, when I bought it. I wish I could be here more often, but you know, it's probably going to get used a lot more once the tour ends."

His nervous use of 'you know' is not lost upon you. You watch him wipe his palms on his thighs and take cursory glances at you. Your honesty has only served to make you calmer. You are in no doubt, now, that he knows how you feel about him.

"Josh?" You say, placing your hands upon his.

His body flinches. A reaction so completely unlike anything he has ever shown you before that doubt begins to creep in. There is no way to take it back, no way to remove your hands without the action being felt. Whatever it was that you were about to say is immediately lost. You were going to comfort him and tell him that he need not be nervous with you. But suddenly you are in your own head, feeling nothing but his body stiffen against your touch.

"I'm sorry." He manages, reaching out to bring your hands further into his. "Please forgive me."

"Have I done something..." You begin, afraid now.

In the pit of your stomach a sickness begins to churn. Josh shakes his head erratically, frantically trying to find the words he needed but for the first time failing to form a sentence which made any sense. He looks at you as if looking at a starry night. Seeking out new points of light amongst the ones which have always been there.

"No, never." He says in a perfunctory whisper. "You have brought such peace to my life; I had never thought to try and break it. Perhaps I should have?"

Your knees were touching now. Your hands intertwined and the previous stiffness which had brought you to your doubts was now slowly dissipating. He eased into your touch like he had known it in lifetimes which stretched out long before this.

You smile at him in the twinkle of the lights above. "I'll always be your peace, Josh. I promise."

He closes his eyes against your words. "And I will always be yours."

You instinctively fall into a pattern of breathing that links the two of you into a trance like state. You feel his hands still within yours, but the room falls away until you are completely separated from your body. You hear the sync of his breath with yours, but from a position above. He is here with you in this space. You can feel that warmth envelope you. You can feel that familiar vibration hanging in the air above your connected bodies.

In this realm, he is free of his mortal coil and any part of him that knows fear. You can hear his voice, as you knew you would in dream, saying fuck fear... the echo of it resonating through you like mist on the city streets. All you can feel is him. All of him. All his rampant insecurities laid bare, telling you his love is yours.

You gasp as you feel him pulling you back to your body, with an urgency you had never known could be his. Opening your eyes, you realise your knees are no longer touching and both your legs are outstretched. Yours lay on top of his, open and your heart chakras level with one another. His eyes are seeking you out, as if he has brought you to this moment purposefully.

"You must know I ache for you, too." He says, keeping his voice low and soft. "Day and night when we are apart."

You feel yourself a little dizzy and he responds with a comforting touch, resting his forehead against yours in the most intimate way. You and Josh have never drawn yourselves this close to one another in the physical realm. Whatever words of wisdom you may have exchanged during the course of your friendship, it was nothing compared to the wisdom he shared with you now as he silently laid his hand against your pale cheek.

"If I didn't know it, I do now." You breathe.

He smiles that devastating grin, all teeth and solitary dimple. "I'd like to try something, if I may?"

You nod your approval, and he leans back, pulling off his shirt to reveal a sculpted chest and arms that you hadn't known he would possess beneath the loose fitted clothes he chose to wear. Immediately, your mind goes to where his has gone already and you peel off your halter neck to bring your flesh together as one.

His eyes move down towards your breasts. He makes no apology in the way he studies them. Taking in the gooseflesh around your nipples, the way you hope he is satisfied. He licks his lips and returns his gaze to your eyes, his breath laboured beneath half closed eyes.

"You know, there are several benefits to meditating naked." He says, almost playfully. "It can give you a much greater awareness of your senses."

You decide to edge towards him, bringing your breasts to his chest. "I think I read somewhere that being physically naked allows you to be naked in all other aspects."

He raised a speculative eyebrow, as if he knew where this was going. The two of you justify it in languid reasoning, until you are stood opposite each other with your hands tackling belt buckles and buttons.

Stripped of your clothes, you stand, taking in the sight of each other. You notice a trail of hair leading down from his navel that meets the rest of his pubic hair. You like the way it looks in the low light, the way he dresses to the right and it rests upon his thigh. His body excites you in a way you've never felt before, impulses of warmth and ecstasy rushing through your veins making your heartbeat faster.

His eyes rest on your core. He drinks you in, moving from your breasts to your hands which are clasped together in front of your vulva. He makes a cautionary gesture, to move your hands away, and you can't help but oblige. His eyes widen as your arms come to rest at your sides. He feels your nerves as he feels his own.

"Don't be afraid." He instructs. "I have thought about this from the moment I first saw you."

His confession felt like a blow to the abdomen. It filled you up with a sense of astonishment. That he had been able to hide such a thing was astounding. His melodic voice, his graceful movements and the way you never caught him looking at you unguarded. He was a careful vessel. Never revealing anything of himself until the precise moment he intended.

You knew yourself to be somewhat more of a creature of instinct. Your glances had been caught and measured; you were sure of it. You were unable to hide the intrinsic feelings that were forming for him. You could feel them now, moistening between your legs as he continued to look at you.

"Shall we?" You ask.

He bids you to sit back down in your former positions. Legs outstretched, yours upon his and your torsos unflinchingly close. Now that your bodies were laid bare, your opening rested against his hardness as you brought yourself as close to him as you could.

His mouth and yours sought each other out, your arms rested gently on his shoulders as his found their way to your waist. You'd seen this position illustrated in a book you'd read years ago. You recalled how it could bring your souls together, on the physical plane and the spiritual.

Josh was fighting against the urge to kiss you; you sensed it as his lips inched closer to yours under the guise of sharing breath. His lips parted, taking yours with them and without thinking the tips of your tongues collided. A delicious moan escaped your lips, and Josh took the kiss deeper.

With his hands on your hips, he helped you to begin moving against him. Back and forth, your wet parting sliding against his hard length. Not for one moment did he pull away from your first kiss. His arms reached up, pulling you in closer so that your lower lips were pressed against his pubic hair, his hard penis resting to the side. The feel of his skin against yours sent electrical pulses through your body.

There had never been a time when you had imagined how it would be with Josh that you could have ever known it would be like this. There was no part of you that could have been prepared for the complete breakdown of your senses that you gave to him willingly. There was no part of you which did not belong to him now.

"Beautiful..." You hear him say, breathless and between his mouth finding yours once more.

His lips move to your arched neck, craving his touch as you pull your hair to the side. The feeling that you can't bear to go another moment without him inside you begins to build. First in your stomach and then lower, as your clit begins to throb in anticipation.

This is not meditation. You don't care to give it a name as you push his body back, forcing him onto the palms of his hands. You rise slowly, careful to keep his gaze locked. He can't help but falter and trail a look down your body as you take his cock in your hand and feel him leak into your grasp.

"I want you inside me." You tell him, "Connected. Now and always."

He does not speak. There is an audible gasp as he tilts his head back, revealing his throat and somehow the sight of it spurs you on. As you guide him inside of you, his hands grip at your hips, fingertips digging into your flesh. The sensations of him filling you is more than you can take.

You moan, not softly nor with caution, raising your voice until he sinks his teeth into your jawline. Your legs inch around, bringing you to your knees. You begin to move up and down, sliding your entire body against him so that your breasts ease against his neck and face.

Panting now, he makes tiny kisses against you as you move. Sweat building, you can feel it on your brow as you move your hair back and run an errant hand through his wet curls. His face is a joyous red, completely lost and bound to you now.

"Josh..." You release his name as if you have never spoken it before.

He responds in a way that takes the breath from your lungs. He thrusts upward, making sure his full-length hits you hard. Your name escapes his lips in a low, authorative hiss and you reel back so that he can look down and see himself pound into you.

He'd always called you something nobody else ever had. A name he created just for you, when he had caught you scouring the self-help books on grief in the library where the Spiritual Development group had their meetings.

"Goddess...."

You know he is nearing orgasm as he begins to move faster, his lips seeking out one of your breasts to suck and to bear his teeth against your hard nipple. You grind down harder, quicker and tell him to suck on you harder as you feel the stirrings of your own orgasm begin to build.

"Inside me..." You mutter, in a voice not entirely your own.

Your instruction leaves him without choice. His body shudders into another realm, taking you with him. You rise above your own body. He holds you close, spurting inside you. But all you can feel is his essence. Warm and comforting. You can feel your own wetness mixed with his, as you come down onto your knees and hold his heaving body to yours. He is not quite returned, and you feel his reluctance to let go.

"It's ok..." You whisper.

You're not quite certain if you are telling him or yourself. When finally, he looks up at you, covered in sweat, the sweetness of his face brings you back to that moment when you first laid eyes on him.

"Are you ok?" He asks, resting his hot cheek against your breast.

You nod and run sweaty fingers through his hair, cradling him to you as you calm down. You feel him swallow hard, trying to stabilise his breathing. Somehow it still feels as if you're not quite within yourself just yet.

When he pulls out, you feel your body jerk and the reality of what you have done hits. You begin to wish you had not opened that portal. You feel that familiar ache creep in, even though he is in your arms and not thousands of miles away.

He seems to pick up on your reluctance immediately and pulls you into a sweet kiss where you can taste the salt of his sweat.

"My Goddess..." He croons. "Don't pull away from me."

Tears begin to spill down your cheek. Unabashedly and without guilt. He holds you. You are safe. The grief you have been trying to combat takes its leave of you, in it's place only a sense of hope that wasn't there before.

You hear Josh tell you to stay with him.

"Where else would I be?" You ask, allowing him to wipe your tears with his thumb.

"I don't know." He replies, almost casually in a way that allows you to know that you are back in the reality of your everyday life. "Sometimes you go somewhere, and I can't follow."

There's a glint in his eye that wasn't there before as you meet his gaze as someone who now knows him a way no other could. The intimacy that remained let you know he had no intention of closing that opened portal. It was yours and his. To enter whenever you chose.

"Not anymore." You tell him earnestly, your previous tiredness returning to your bones. "I promise, I wont go anywhere where you cannot follow."

He planted a solitary kiss on the end of your nose. "I make that same promise."

You know of what he speaks, but the disbelief courses through you all the same. There's a wry smile brewing on his lips as he plants a succession of more kisses on the end of your nose.

"I quite like getting your text message novels." You say, "I can't say I won't miss them."

A laugh escapes his lips, throwing his head back in obvious joy. "You can hear me speak them instead."

You knew, in your heart, that he just wouldn't stop talking.

@caprisunsister @thewritingbeforesunrise @takenbythemadness @katuschka @its-interesting-van-kleep @lvnterninthenight @writingcold @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @edgingthedarkness @velveteencatch @lyndz2names @nina-23-45 @itsafullmoon y @char289 @dancingcarbon @gvfpal @violetstarcatcher @wetkleenex-gvf @jazzyfigz @gvfmarge @ignite-my-fire

#josh kiszka #fanfic #greta van fleet fan fiction #gvf #fanfiction #gvf fanfiction #josh kiszka x reader #josh kiszka smut #spirituality #spiritual knowledge #meditation #manifesting #my fics #popular fics #greta van fleet

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heartpiratedrabbles · 3 months

Text

Misunderstanding Part 2

Part 1 ~ Part 3

Crocodile X Fem Reader

After watching Crocodile and his, associates, you decided to ask for more Brandy from Miss. All-Sunday, who gladly brought you the top-shelf supply with an amused look. “Miss. Y/N, Why don’t you enjoy yourself?” Miss. All-Sunday muses at you and you give her a quizzical look but raise your glass to urge her to continue, “Well, if Sir Crocodile is having fun acting. Why not have some fun yourself?”

You glance out the window, seeing how he was still in the notorious VIP section just talking. Business took time, you knew that, and you anxiety was growing and withering just sitting in the room doing nothing. “How do you mean?”

~~~

After she had gotten you new clothes and fixed your hair and make-up, she sent you to the casino floor and a destination of the VIP table adjacent to where your lover sat with those strange women. As you walked by, you noticed some guards glancing your way but none of them made a move to stop you.

As you walked up to the bouncer, he looked at you and became stiff, glancing behind him for a second before turning back around, “This area is for VIP’s only ma’am. I’m sorry but I’ll have to tur-“

“Miss. Princess, I should be on the list.” You gleamed, flipping your hair over your shoulder. His eyes go wide a bit and stare for a second, “Well?” You ask impatiently, “Aren’t you going to check?” You cross your arms after pointing at the book in front of him.

“O-Oh of course Ma’am. My apologies,” He clammers out before flipping the pages open. You watch as the man scans the page, and see him freeze when his eyes meet the name you had given. “Well. You see. Ma’am, we’re at maximum capacity at the momen-“

“I see plenty of empty tables. Do I need to seat myself? What type of place is this?” You loudly proclaim, some people closer to the bouncer started to turn their heads to see what the commotion was. You could see further back, in the booth Crocodile was seated, Mr. 1 glance out to see the event unfolding. You give a charming smile to the bouncer who was starting to panic, “How about I just go to the back? I won’t bother no one,” You lean forward to whisper, “We wouldn’t want to cause a scene when the boss is in an important meeting would we?”

“Miss. Y/N-“

“Miss. Princess.” You straighten your back and hold your hand out expectingly.

“Miss. Princess, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Despite his worried words he takes hold of your hand, leading you to a booth away from Crocodile.

“I haven’t a clue what you mean,” You smile as you continue to walk to the second closest booth to your target, you make a comment of getting some food while the bouncer stares at you and glances about. You must admit that watching those who know you be frantic was making you feel a little better than when you were in the dark.

You’re left alone quickly but can sense eyes on you every now and then as you lean back to listen in on the closest occupied booth.

~~~

Crocodile heard a bit of a commotion and noticed some people looking to the entrance of the VIP. The displeasure on his face evident to anyone who had known him for awhile as he nodded at Daz Bones to see what was happening.

This was taking too long for his pleasure, he had already meticulously planned how this would go, but unfortunately the men in front of him wouldn’t take the bait yet. It was obvious they were just stalling for time. The floozy next to him leaned in closer and it took a lot to not knock her away. When Crocodile choose her he had assumed she’d be brighter, she had cheated the casino out of just under a million berries at this point. Yet here she was, oblivious of her actual role, even confident enough to think she deserved this.

The sooner he could get out of this the better. The sooner they’d take the bait and the rest would unfold, the sooner Crocodile could stop doing this stupid parading around. Daz Bones leans in close and Crocodile glances at his associates before offering a ear, “There’s a certain… Guest, who has made themselves comfortable.” Crocodile raises his brow, curious at his wording before looking at his face.

There wasn’t anyone he’d allow to make such a scene; the staff could handle problems accordingly, so who was it that had been allowed to do what they wanted. His thoughts quickly left him as he felt a squeeze around his arm, and looked down to the main actress of the show.

It had been a month since Crocodile approached her, giving her the bare minimum attention and taking her to his meetings. Letting her do as she pleased while she was next to him, she had no idea what was truly in store for her and he couldn’t find the time to care of what will happen after this. “Crocy-poo this is boring. Lets go do something fun~”

Crocodile could feel his fist clench, those stupid fucken nicknames had been the bane of his existence this entire time. You never tried to do something so tacky as she had, you wouldn’t wear a shirt 2 sizes to small while leaning over to show everyone everything.

His associates, no doubt tipsy at this point watched the display in front of them, waiting for a response. This was too much for him to deal with. “Mr. One, go take care of that guest,” He waved his hand as a dismissal, “And why don’t you show our guests to their rooms? I’ll meet you afterwards.” He looked down to see the drunken sparkle in her eyes as she stared at the men in front of her. Even in this façade of a relationship that Crocodile had concocted he was shocked at how unfaithful the sleuth next to him could be at times. He took a long drag of his cigar to calm himself down before leaning into her ear, “I’ll make it worth your while,” He said loud enough for the men across from them to hear.

The two men glanced at each other smirking, Crocodile knew they’d take the bait this time. They were simpletons, though it had taken some time for them to believe this act, they had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.

~~~

“Miss. Will you please come with me?” Mr. one had come to your booth right after you heard the most ridiculous name for your lover to be called out. You were still stifling your laughter when he had towered over you. After taking a second to compose your most certainly drunken self, you stare up at him with a smile on your face.

“Oh? And why should I do that?” You raised your now empty glass towards him, the ice clinking against the edge, “You know, it’s quite rude to not introduce yourself to a single lady.” You emphasized your words, the liquid courage becoming stronger with every passing moment. You could see the cogs in Mr. One’s brain, as he tries to figure out a way to dance around the situation for a favorable outcome. You sat up, grabbing another glass from the setting and pouring a drink for two, setting the other one closer to the edge of the table, “I’m Miss. Princess… and you are?”

The intimidating presence of Mr. One had long since disappeared since the first time you met him; he’d follow orders to a tea but knew the nuances of situations. And you certainly hadn’t gotten to where you were by being a docile person yourself. You heard shuffling behind him and you could only assume that the meeting had ended. Mr. One shifting to cover you from their view in the most subtle of ways, only being able to hear an obnoxious laughing walk by.

You glance around Mr. One, seeing the 2 men and that women but no crocodile. You couldn’t believe how she was conducting herself though, she had taken her place between the men, holding onto either of their arms and she stumbled with them in tow. You scoff at the uncouth display, sipping the drink in your hand. “I can’t believe the manners of some people,” You mutter under your breath, the anger you had forgotten moments earlier coming back to you.

“Miss. Princess, If you could please follow me to a more secluded area,” Mr. One had finally urged out once the grouping was far enough away and you shot the man a glare before softening your face with a gleam.

~~~

Crocodile watched the group disappear, noticing the Daz Bones was still in front of a rather close booth. He leaned back, finally breathing at the nuisances being gone. Deciding he’d rather not deal with things for a second, he tried to listen into what his subordinate was already supposed to have taken care of. “My, I didn’t know you would be so forward. I don’t even know your name and you’re already asking me to bed?” The sickly sweet, slightly slurred words tickled his ears, the familiar voice wracking his brain.

He had clearly remembered sending word to Mrs. All-Sunday to watch over you in his absence, making sure you didn’t get into trouble. He held back a frustrated sigh, glancing to make sure the group was long gone before getting up to walk behind Daz Bones, “Miss Princess, please allow me to escort you to-“

“Mr. One I’ll take it from here. Watch over the plan.” Crocodile could hear the flustered voice of his subordinate, quirking a brow at the name you had seemingly chosen. He looked at the table, seeing the conveniently placed glass and seeing you, head held high but face averted from him in defiance. Mr. One breathes a sigh of relief, retreating to the easier task at hand.

You cross your arms, disappointed to not see more of Mr. One flustered actions, but refuse to acknowledge the man in front of you now. You hear a scoff and the heat of a body next to you as Crocodile sits. “I didn’t think the trouble maker would be such a brat” He grumbles, taking the glass in front of him.

You feel a hook brush over your shoulder and you turn further away from him, “I wouldn’t be such a brat if you’d let me in on things.” You take another swig of your own glass.

“That’s enough of that princess,” he takes the glass from your hand, blowing a puff of smoke your way in the process, “It’s obvious you’ve drank too much.” Your forced to lean on him as his hooked arm pulls you in closer.

“At least I’m not an embarrassing excuse of your partner,” You bite back, “She can’t even talk to your business partners appropriately.” The anger was sizzling but you were still able to keep it under control for the most part.

Crocodile hums in agreeance, “Good thing she’ll be forgotten before I even remember her name.” He glances out, making eye contact with a couple of guards, “Why don’t we take this somewhere more private?”

You grumble and weakly resist but know that it’s no use when it comes to Crocodile himself. He stands up, pulling you with him, “Won’t your girlfriend be jealous,” You slur out while lightly hitting his chest.

You feel the below of a laugh come out, “Please, I’m sure she’s getting exactly what she deserves. Besides, I have business with you.” Crocodile ushers at those around him in a familiar dance as you’re led somewhere else once again.

#One Piece #One Piece X Reader #Sir Crocodile #Crocodile X Reader #Part 2

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thatdammchickennugget · 25 days

Text

Bookish Escapades

pairing - lorenzo berkshire x fem!reader

warnings - fluff, kinda shy enzo I guess, bookworm!reader

a/n - I loved writing the first one and can't get this pairing out of my head, so I had to write a second part 💕

wordcount - 1.6k

part one - part two

The days leading up to Saturday seemed to drag on endlessly, each moment filled with anticipation and nervous energy. Enzo found himself counting down the hours until he could see you again, his thoughts consumed by the prospect of your upcoming date.

Finally, Saturday arrived, and Enzo could hardly contain his excitement. He spent the morning getting ready, carefully selecting his outfit and making sure he looked presentable. He wanted everything to be perfect for your date.

As the afternoon approached, Enzo made his way to Hogsmeade, his heart pounding with anticipation. He couldn't wait to see you, couldn't wait to spend the day exploring the village together.

When he finally caught sight of you waiting outside the Three Broomsticks, a smile spread across his face. You looked even more beautiful than he remembered, and Enzo felt a surge of happiness at the sight of you.

"Hey," he said softly as he approached, his heart racing in his chest.

"Hey," you replied, returning his smile with one of your own. "You look great, Enzo."

Enzo felt a flush of warmth spread across his cheeks at your compliment. "Thanks," he said, feeling suddenly shy under your gaze. "You look amazing too."

The two of you fell into step together, making your way through the bustling streets of Hogsmeade. A wave of contentment washed over him as he walked beside you, the warmth of your presence filling him with joy.

As you explored the village together, Enzo found himself drawn to your infectious enthusiasm. You seemed to find wonder and delight in everything around you, and he couldn't help but be swept up in your excitement.

The hours flew by unnoticed as you wandered from shop to shop, chatting and laughing as you went. Before Enzo knew it, the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow over the village.

"Hey, do you want to head to Tomes and Scrolls now?" you asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you.

Enzo nodded eagerly, a smile spreading across his face. "I'd love to," he replied.

Together, you made your way to the bookstore, the warmth of your laughter filling the air as you went. Enzo couldn't remember the last time he had felt this happy, this at ease with someone else.

As Enzo and you entered Tomes and Scrolls, the cozy atmosphere of the bookstore enveloped you. The scent of old books mixed with the faint aroma of ink and parchment, creating a comforting ambiance that felt like home to you.

You immediately gravitated towards a shelf displaying a collection of classic wizarding novels. Enzo watched you with a fond smile as you ran your fingers over the spines, your eyes alight with excitement.

"I love this section," you said, turning to Enzo with a gleam in your eyes. "Have you read any of these?"

Enzo shook his head, feeling a little sheepish. "I haven't, actually," he admitted. "But they look interesting. Do you have any recommendations?"

You grinned, pulling out a book from the shelf and holding it up for him to see. "You have to read 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard'," you exclaimed. "It's a collection of wizarding fairy tales, and they're absolutely enchanting."

Enzo took the book from you, flipping through the pages and skimming the titles of the tales. "It sounds intriguing," he mused. "I'll definitely give it a try."

As you continued to browse the shelves, Enzo followed along behind you, enjoying the way your eyes lit up with each new discovery. He found himself drawn to your passion for literature, captivated by the way you spoke about the books you loved, letting himself get lost in the thought that eventually, you might talk about him with the same fondness.

Eventually, you came across a shelf filled with books on magical creatures, and your excitement bubbled over. "Oh, these are amazing!” you exclaimed, reaching out to pull a book off the shelf. "Have you ever heard of a Niffler? They're the most adorable little creatures, but they have a tendency to steal shiny things."

Enzo chuckled at your enthusiasm, nodding along as you launched into an animated explanation of Nifflers and their mischievous antics. He found himself hanging on your every word, captivated by the way your eyes sparkled with excitement.

He couldn't help but feel a sense of peace wash over him as he watched you pull out book after book, entrusting him with your thoughts and opinions on each of them. He had never felt more at ease than he did in that moment, surrounded by books and laughter and the warmth of your presence.

As you placed the last book back on the shelf, Enzo noticed a determined look in your eyes, as if you were on a mission. He watched curiously as you scanned the shelves, searching for something specific.

"What are you looking for?" he asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

You turned to him with a grin, excitement shining in your eyes. "Did you forget? We’re on a quest today," you declared. "We’re going to find the perfect book for you—one that you'll absolutely love."

"You don't have to do that," he protested, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep into his cheeks. “Today should be about you. Go pick some out for yourself, it’s on me.”

But you waved off his concerns with a laugh. "Nonsense," you said. "I want to do this. Besides, it'll be fun!"

With that, you launched into a series of questions, asking Enzo about his interests, his favorite genres, and the types of stories he enjoyed. Enzo found himself opening up to you, sharing bits and pieces of himself.

As you listened intently, a thoughtful expression crossed your face. "I think I have just the thing," you said finally, taking his hand with a grin on your face.

Leading Enzo through the aisles, you eventually arrived at a section filled with adventure fiction books. You scanned the shelves, your eyes darting back and forth as you searched for the perfect title.

"Here we go," you said, pulling out a book and holding it up for Enzo to see. "How about this one? It's got action, adventure, and a hint of romance. I think you'll really enjoy it. And the main character is a Quidditch player like you!"

Enzo took the book from you, examining the cover with interest. The artwork depicted a young man clad in Quidditch robes, sat on his broom as he was chased by a group of cloaked assailants against a backdrop of swirling clouds and jagged mountains.

"It looks great," Enzo said, a smile spreading across his face. "I'll give it a try."

With a sense of excitement, Enzo tucked the book under his arm, feeling a rush of gratitude towards you. He couldn't wait to dive into the story, eager to experience the adventure that awaited him within its pages. But maybe this sudden interest came from the hope that when he was done, he got to discuss it with you.

You smiled at Enzo's enthusiasm, feeling a surge of happiness at the thought of sharing the book with him. You grabbed another copy for yourself. "I'm glad you like it," you said, feeling a sense of satisfaction at having found the perfect book for him. "We can buddy read it together and share our thoughts as we go."

Enzo's eyes lit up at the suggestion, and he nodded eagerly. "That sounds great," he agreed. "I'd love that."

You shot him another dizzying smile, turning to make your way to the counter to pay when he stopped you, gently taking a hold of your arm.

"But wait, there's one more thing," he said, gesturing back towards the shelves. "I get to pick out a book for you too."

Your eyes widened in surprise, but you quickly recovered, shoving down the flutter stirring up in your stomach. "Do your best," you declared, watching him turning to the shelves with determination.

You watched with amusement as Enzo browsed the shelves, his brow furrowed in concentration as he searched for the perfect book. After a few moments, he pulled out a book and held it up for you to see.

"How about this one?" he asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It says that it’s a mystery novel set in the wizarding world. I think you'll enjoy it."

You took the book from him, examining the cover with interest. It showed a dark alleyway illuminated by the glow of a wand, hinting at the secrets and intrigue that lay within the pages.

"It looks intriguing," you said, a smile spreading across your face. "I can't wait to read it. Thank you, Enzo."

Enzo grinned back at you, feeling a rush of satisfaction at having found a book that he thought you would enjoy. "Anytime," he replied, feeling a sense of warmth at your gratitude.

He lead you up to the counter, pushing you away playfully when you reached for your wallet, refusing to let you pay. With the books in hand, you and Enzo made your way out of the bookstore, the warmth of the setting sun casting a golden glow over the village. As you walked side by side, a sense of excitement filled the air, anticipation for the adventures that lay ahead in the pages of the books you now held in your hands. And maybe, just maybe, in the adventures you would share together.

Enzo Taglist - @slytherinboysappreciation @urmomsgirlfriend1 @starsval @gillyweeds @sir-elian @harryslittlebitch @gayforyelena @whoreforfictionalmen18 @ravenclawprincess33 @sbrn0905 @helpimhopelesslyinlove @Yhiiil @themarauderswife7 @moonlightreader649 @ihatemyexs @chgrch @nat1221 @thestarlithideout @iamaslytherin0 @bath1lda @ohmaigwad @pinkposttragedy @allshitsangiggles @hoeforvinniehackerrr @mildly-delulu @h3artz4soph @sunasbbie @marsbars09 @vcosette @meepycheep @aglady13 @rinalouu @floswife @ariensversion @agent-tempest @s0urw00lf @thebiggestnaturaldisaster @pinkestfloyd @xlinxdax0704 @chulabeans @l0v3do11 @unstablereader @acourtoflostandwanderingstars @catiwinky @wolfstar-marvelsfan @captainstanksblog @istill-dream-ofyou @pinktreee @ceehance @lizhub @theadventuresofanartist @iamgayforyourmom1501 @feistyfox47 @nat1221 @i-think-you-are-gr8 @cas-planet @csmt_m @selyselyselyse @mrsriddles-blog @the-sylver-dragon @poppysrin @camille-1019 @laniirackssss @slvtfortheo @chosenoneslver @txzii @c0rnf1akessss @yourenogoodforme @opheliamalfoy236 @jeannie-beannie

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#enzo berkshire #enzo berkshire x reader #enzo berkshire x you #enzo berkshire imagine #lorenzo berkshire #lorenzo berkshire x reader #lorenzo berkshire imagine #harry potter #slytherin boys #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #mari writes

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heart-founded · 2 years

Text

"... oh dear, this is an odd place."

"Did I fall through another painting?"

[ IB has joined the roster ]

#a rose by any other name is just as sharp | ib #book on the shelf | new muse

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intoanotherworld23 · 7 months

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Devil Inside

Pairing: Reader x Bradley Bradshaw

Warnings: MATURE CONTENT NSFW 18+, there’s minor smut, description of sex, mention of masturbation, female masturbation, swear words

Length: 2826 words

Summary: Just having moved into your new home in a new town leaving behind everything you knew including your long time crush and best friend, but you quickly find out you aren’t alone cause something lingers in the dark waiting for you

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

"Yeah I'm almost settled in now." Pressing the phone between your ear and shoulder as you talked to your best friend Jake. "Just got a few more boxes to unpack."

"I'm just sorry I couldn't help you with the move." He apologized as you placed some more books onto the shelf.

"Jake stop you're even worse than me at unpacking ," you laughed at him remembering that you did all the unpacking for him when he moved, "Besides you had work, and you're already in trouble with them enough as it is."

"That's not fair." He exclaimed on the other end of the phone knowing damn well you were right. "And it's not my fault."

"Bullshit you know it's all your fault." Jake was never one for lying, and you could sense it even over the phone.

"I hate when you're right." He was shaking his head even though you couldn't see.

"You love it." Teasing as you rolled up wrapping paper into a trash bag.

"You sure you don't need me to come down there?" He asked genuine concern in his tone.

"I'm doing just fine all on my own Jake." Standing in the kitchen now leaning your elbows on the countertop.

"I'm just worried since you're there all by yourself." He was always concerned for you, and constantly wanting to make sure you were safe.

"Not even an hour away from you," you laughed at how protective he was, "I think I'll be okay."

"Say the word and I'll be there."

"Roger that captain Seresin." A chuckle was all you received in response.

When Jake had heard that you were moving he was incredibly upset. Telling you over and over again that you couldn't leave him, but when you told him how far away his mood instantly changed. Ecstatic that you weren't going that far, and he could drive to see you all the time. You've been each other's best friends since you were young.

You've had a little crush on Jake for quite some time now, but never expressed those feelings to him. Afraid that he would turn you down, and then it would ruin your friendship. That's why you decided it would be best to just push those feelings deep down inside of you.

Jake would flirt back from time to time, and it made you think he felt the same. Then he would tell you about dates, and you'd be dying a little inside. Wondering what going on dates with him would be like.

Constantly imagining how soft and plump his lips would feel against yours. Picturing his strong arms wrapping around your figure, his hands touching your skin, and to feel his body pressing against yours.

The dirty thoughts were becoming more and more aggressive to the point you'd touch yourself late at night just to help yourself go to sleep.

Feeling ashamed every time you hung out with him unbeknownst to him that you pictured in your mind him railing you up against a wall. Feeling flustered around him like a shy little girl who didn't know how to act around the boy she liked. You knew that one day you would have to confess your feelings to him so you could know how he felt too.

"You have any jobs in mind?" He asked you continuing with the conversation.

"Yeah there's a couple jobs that I'm looking at." Leaning up exiting the kitchen heading up the stairs to your bedroom. "I've got some interviews in a couple weeks so I'll see how those go."

"Not even been there a day and you've already got interviews." He mused with a light scoff.

"Anybody could do that." Scoffing at his compliment trying to act nonchalant.

"Come on you know damn well that's not true." Blowing raspberries over the phone. "Only someone as amazing as you could pull that off."

"Yeah you're right. What can I say I'm just a boss ass bitch." You joked playfully mentally smacking yourself in the forehead at your word choice.

"Oh god please don't ever say that again." He responded back as both of you laughed on the phone.

"Yeah you're right I shouldn't have said that." Now feeling a little awkward just thankful he wasn't here in front of you.

"You're lucky your cute." His choice words had you smiling to yourself feeling a little giddy.

"Hey I'm more than cute." Pulling a pair of sweatpants and a shirt from the dresser drawers throwing them on top of the bed.

"You're absolutely right," he agreed immediately with you," you're sexy and gorgeous."

"Well I don't know about that." Groaning as you stood in front of the mirror looking at yourself.

"Trust me you are." His words held much more true meaning than you realized.

"Well I hate to end this stimulating conversation, but I am absolutely exhausted." Sighing loudly as as yawn escaped your lips.

"Yeah you've have a busy ass day so I'll be unselfish for once and let you go." Fake pouting to himself even though he was a little disappointed he couldn't talk to you more.

"How kind of you." Playing along with him as he chuckled.

"Try not to think too much about me tonight." His tone cocky as you just rolled your eyes at him.

"Yeah I'll try to control my thoughts." The sarcasm dripping off your tongue, but that was easier said than done.

"Good night Y/N." His tone gentle as he said his goodbyes.

"Good night Jake." Ending the conversation as you plugged your phone into the charger.

Smiling once again to yourself biting your bottom lip softly wishing that he was here to wrap his thick arms around you. He was like a safety blanket for you in a sense. Always bringing you comfort in times when you felt nervous or anxious. He knew how to make you feel better without ever speaking a word.

You hated to think about Jake the way you did without knowing how he felt about you. Having a guilty conscious for not speaking your mind to him before you left. Too chicken to just blurt out the fact that you were pretty much in love with him. The next time you saw him you were going to have to tell him your feelings before you get your heart broken.

Changing out of your clothes as you got your comfy clothes on. Tossing the dirty ones into your hamper that was in the corner. Sitting down on the bed blowing air out of your mouth looking around your bedroom the emptiness freaking you out a little bit.

The longer you sat there the silence around you was becoming eerie. For some odd reason you felt like someone was watching you. Like an invisible set of eyes were staring holes into your body.

Shaking those thoughts from your mind thinking that was just the exhaustion talking. You needed to do something else to distract your paranoid thoughts.

You were too tired to do anything else right now knowing the best thing, and really only thing to do was get into bed. Throwing back the covers as you got perfectly into place until you were comfortable.

Grabbing your phone as you pulled up your pictures staring at one that you took with Jake the morning before you left. Smiling at how hard he was grinning with his arm wrapped around your waist keeping you close.

The longer you stared at the picture the more your heart ached to have Jake here. Focusing on his bulging arms imagining those same arms pinning you down onto the bed as he slammed himself deep inside of you.

"Jesus Y/N pull yourself together." Mumbling to yourself as you felt that tingle in your core.

Groaning as you threw your phone down beside you with a loud groan. Closing your eyes hoping you could erase those images from your mind if you thought hard enough. That just only made things worse as the scenarios became more graphic and erotic.

Cracking your eyes open as your hand moved down your body automatically. Lifting up the top of them to slide your fingers downs to your folds. Discovering very quickly how wet you already were. Shame once again filling your body, but it was gone in seconds as the tips of your fingers grazed your clit.

Looking up at the ceiling as you coated your fingers in your arousal pushing two of them inside. Mouth parting open as you opened your legs a little more for easier access. Pumping them faster a sloshing sound echoing across the room from how soaked you were.

Feeling your fingers stretch you out moving your fingers faster wishing it was Jake thrusting his fingers into you instead. Knowing he had thick fingers and wondering how many of them he could fit in you.

Bending your knees as your feet were planted firmly down moving your hips in rhythm to your fingers. Going in a figure eight movement briefly lifting your hips off the bed. Picturing Jake hovering over you his fingers slamming into your body as he watched you like you were his favorite movie.

Pathetic little whimpers and moan leaving your lips like you were worried someone would hear. Kicking off the blanket feeling like it was trapping you and restraining you. Not knowing what was taking over your body, but you felt like you were under a spell.

Your unoccupied hand gripping the sheets beneath you as you curled your fingers up deeper. Your nails scraping along your walls as you searched for your sweet spot.

Lifting up your shirt up far enough to expose your breasts the cold air hitting your nipples turning them erect. Knowing Jake would not hesitate to attach his mouth to suck on them like his favorite piece of candy. Wondering what his mouth would like kissing and sucking on your breasts.

A breeze running across your body making a shiver run up your spine. A tingle in your stomach and the heat was spreading into your core. For a second it felt like a cold hand was touching your ankle. Rubbing the skin in a manner that seemed soothing and encouraging.

The paranoia you were feeling before was disappearing very quickly. It felt almost as if someone was standing in the room with you watching everything that you were doing, and the thing is that you weren't stopping nor did you plan to stop.

"That's it darling." A hushed voice that sounded like Jake spoke in your ear, but not once did you lose a beat. "Such a good little girl for me."

Keeping your eyes closed to the sound of Jakes encouraging words. Your head rolling back against the pillow as your palm rubbed against your now sensitive clit. Feeling flustered at the fact you were literally imagining Jake here with you feeding you into your fantasies and desires.

Your walls clenching around your fingers knowing you were so close to sweet release. Unable to keep your body still as the heat was spreading across your body like wildfire. Sweat was building up on the back of your neck. Toes curling into the bed, and your back arching off the bed.

That same cold breeze was moving further up your leg, and all you could see in your mind was Jake. Stopping when they got to your inner thighs pushing your legs further apart. Feeling like dark eyes were staring between your legs watching intensely what was happening.

"I'll have to keep you all to myself to play with." Something about hearing those words and tone seemed sinister to you.

It literally sounded like he was sitting in the room with you speaking to you. Things didn't seem right but you couldn't stop yourself. Already so deep into it you couldn't pull your hands away like some force was keeping them there.

Squinting your eyes as they were drawn to the corner of the room focusing on a dark figure lingering in the corner. A hard scream leaving your lips as you pulled the covers you pushed off you back onto your body. Your eyes wide with fear wondering if you were just hallucinating this. It was a tall figure wearing all black, and you couldn't see their face.

Your heart was beating so fast that's all you could hear. There was a light ringing in your ear as you stared at the corner not blinking. For a brief second you thought you were dreaming, but the chuckle that you heard confirmed that you weren't dreaming at all.

"What the fuck?" Squealing at the stranger who hadn't moved a muscle. "What the fuck are you doing in my house?"

"I came to watch the show." Clasping his hands together as he stepped forward. "And I must say it's been quite a show already."

"How the hell did you get in here?" Looking around frantically for something you could use to protect yourself with.

"I have my ways." Winking at you as he was now standing at the foot of the bed.

Getting a closer look at him you noticed that he looked like a normal man, but a good looking man. His dark wavy hair tousled around perfectly, and some scruff covering his jaw and a mustache that looked neatly trimmed. His muscles bulging out of his short sleeved black shirt.

Taking note of how dark his eyes were they were like olives. It was scary but you couldn't tear your gaze away no matter how hard you tried to look away.

"Get the fuck out or I'll call the police." Threatening the man as you pointed to the door. "I'm warning you."

"The police can't touch me sweetheart." He replied no worry written on his face which only pissed you off more. "In fact there's nothing you can do either."

"I'm calling the police." Grabbing your phone hands shaking as you started to dial numbers.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." He warned but you chose not to listen. "I said don't do that."

A gust of wind blew by you as your phone was snagged from your hand, and thrown onto the floor. Screaming at the sudden movement looking like he didn't even move. Hands raised up by your side in surrender as you felt the tears ready to spill.

You took notice that his eyes were literally pitch black. It wasn't just from where you were sitting. He legit had black eyes. You've never seen someone who had black eyes like he did, and it was something out of a horror movie.

Standing almost chest to chest with you his body language was like a predator ready to attack his prey. He smelled like whiskey and cigarettes and it was intoxicating. You could feel your chest heaving up and down as you tried to slow your breathing down.

There was something about this guy that wasn't normal. This man could snap at any moment, and kill your within a blink of an eye. You needed to do whatever it took to stay alive.

"Please don't hurt me." Your voice trembling as you begged the stranger.

"Don't worry cupcake I'm not gonna hurt you." Funny thing is he was the most attractive man you had ever seen, and wouldn't think someone like him could be dangerous. "Least not yet."

"Why are you here?" Scrunching your face in disgust realizing he was the one touching you as you touched yourself.

"Like I said before I came to watch the show." Repeating his words from earlier.

"You some kind of pervert or something?"

"I have certain tastes, and you look quite delicious."

"Do you always break into women's homes?"

"Oddly enough no I've never had a problem with women." He replied confidently.

"Could have fooled me." Chuckling to your response like you told a funny joke but you weren't laughing.

Instead of responding with a quick comeback he now stood there just staring at you. As much as you wanted to push him away it's like something was keeping your body glued close to him. You thought you would be trembling in fear, but crazily enough you felt comfortably warm.

"Who are you?" Whispering as you kept your eyes on him.

"The names Bradley Bradshaw."

There was something off about this guy that you just didn't know what. He broke into your home without making a sound. His eyes were pitch black, and he was able to whisper to you in a voice like Jake. This was something that you would see out of a movie or a nightmare.

Maybe you were imagining things, and needed to get a good nights sleep, but that wasn't going to stop you from getting answers from this mysterious man.

"What are you?" Asking him quizzically as you took notice of his eyes changing to a more normal color.

"I'm what they call a demon sweetheart."

#miles teller #miles teller smut #miles teller x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw smut #miles teller fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagines #miles teller imagines #miles teller fic #bradley bradshaw fic

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bapple117 · 1 month

Text

Another snippet from Bluest Monday, my Radiostatic fic set in the 80s <3

link to full story here

Alastor takes a book from a shelf then and hands it to him. Vox looks at the cover.

Radio, TV & Audio: Technical Reference Book

“I don’t get it,” Vox says.

Alastor huffs.

“That’s us,” he says. “Look.”

Alastor takes the book and starts to flick through it, showing Vox the various technical diagrams, breaking down the technology of both radio and television.

“We’re together, in this book, see?” Alastor tries again. “We’re not that different. Same technology, just different wavelengths and frequencies.”

Vox is touched. He grins. Alastor smiles back, sincere.

“You act like we’re so alien to each other, sometimes,” Alastor muses, a little pensive. “Just because radio came first. But look, see? Television came from radio.”

Vox takes the book then; he browses the pages. It’s all much too complicated for him to really make any sense of it, but he skims some words and recognises a few terms. More importantly; Vox understands the point Alastor is trying to make.

The Radio Demon carefully watches Vox’s screen as he looks through the book. If only Vox would stay as he is, he thinks; stay close to Alastor, not only physically but in technology. The more upgrades Vox gets, the further away he grows from his origins; the further he separates from Alastor. A digital future looms on the horizon; if only Vox can just stay analog, they can stay the same.

The sad truth is, no matter how many small concessions each demon makes to appease the other - wearing a sweater, choosing records over cassettes - neither are willing to compromise on their own larger desires for the sake each other. Not really. Neither demon can give up their true selves; they can only make these feeble attempts to meet in some sort of mashed up middle ground.

It worked for years; before all this new technology came along, of course. Now Alastor senses it’s only a matter of time until Vox is lost to him forever in a sea of pixels and sound chips.

The Radio Demon, at this point in time, is still unrealised from who he will be in the future. He still has some of his warmth, his boyishness; as does Vox. They are two lost boys together, signals mixed and confused; not yet marred by the conflicts to come.

“Don’t you see?” Alastor says, and his tone is just slightly desperate.

Stay. Stay the same. With me.

Vox looks up at Alastor then; his expression full of wonder.

“I… I get it,” Vox says, softly. “…And I’m stealing this book.”

Two hearts, one blue, one red; they run out of the library together, laughing maniacally. The book sits in Vox’s inside jacket pocket. They turn a corner, slipping into an alley, breathless and exhilarated. The Television Demon looks at his Radio counterpart, feeling woozy with nerves and joy. Alastor is grinning wildly; they cackle together.

Find all my writing here ~ 🍎

#bapple writes #hazbin hotel #alastor #radiostatic fanfiction #radiostatic #bluest monday #vox x alastor #vox hazbin #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x vox

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betterbooktitles · 3 months

Text

I had placed a stack of albums on the counter of a tiny strip mall record shop when my smartest writer friend called me out of the blue to tell me I should “always have a mistress.”

Relax. She meant a metaphorical mistress. That is, a writing project on the side. You have your main squeeze (a novel or a script) but then you flirt with the idea of writing a YA Romance or a Thriller or (god forbid) poetry. You need something to write that feels like a break from your “Big Project.”

I was staring at the cover of Tears for Fears’ Songs From The Big Chair, imagining the person I would be once I heard “Head Over Heels” on vinyl when my phone rang. I only had the ringer on because I was waiting for a potential call from a casting director. A certain late-night show sent out a casting notice for “shirtless man” and I, without any shame, turned on the lights in my wife’s office and had her take a few shots with my phone. I had the ringer on in case a stranger got my (half) nudes in an email, and said “That’s it! Get me that torso!” I’m sorry to say, enough time has passed without a call that you will not be seeing my chest on TV any time soon. Usually, my phone remains on silent when I’m out in the world. It also remains on silent when I’m at home because I’m staring at it all day anyway. Who needs to bring noise into that equation? If you call, I’ll see it.

Between the tone of her voice and the occasional swoosh of a car going by, I could tell my friend was driving and had me on speakerphone. She was on her way to lunch with someone on the business/agency side of Entertainment, heading to a mix of pleasurable banter over food with a friend but also a business-minded networking session with someone she hadn’t seen in 6 months. This call, pleasurable to me but in retrospect a bit of business since we talked instantly and almost entirely about work for 20 minutes, was eerily fortuitous. It was like she knew I was writing this week about work and relationships.

“You have the mistress project because it makes you feel young,” she said, telling me about her decision to write 50 pages of a Romance novel. “The problem is that you think ‘Maybe I should leave my wife for this younger project.’” She had submitted the first chunk of her frivolous manuscript to an agent, and, to her horror, the agent loved it. Now she has to live with it for a while. She has to explain to her previous project that they are either in a polyamorous marriage now or about to enter a trial separation. Plus, she had to see if the mistress project was wife material or if she’d fall into the same patterns as her previous relationship. OK. We get the metaphor.

“I’m afraid my new mistress is buying dollar records,” I said, watching the traffic go by, sipping from a lid-off paper cup full of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee that, between the time I’d spent looking at records and chatting in the parking lot, had turned cold. I felt the urge to rush back into the store and apologize to Timmy the manager for stepping out. I worried he’d already re-shelved my copy of The Go-Go’s Beauty And The Beat or that someone had seen the Tears For Fears on the top of “my” unpurchased heap and bought it for himself. This shopping trip was supposed to be an Artist Date (I guess the metaphor is still going), a weekly outing you do solo to engage with your Muse before journalling about it because a book called The Artist’s Way says it’s the only way to remain creative. You woo the Muse by engaging with art alone. Typically, I’d go to a museum or a movie by myself for my Artist Date but I’d had a record player for over 2 months and had only amassed a measly hundred-plus albums in my house so far. My next Artist Date will be a trip to IKEA to buy a shelf to hold more.

“No, Dan.” My brilliant friend said, “Replacing your main project with records or books is like saying you’re not going to have a mistress and instead get into sex dolls. You need a creative project.”

Read the rest of the essay here.

#essay #writing #amwriting #essays #substack #funny #tips #humor #personal essay #muse #art #better book titles #dan wilbur

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mysecretlittlelibrary · 1 year

Text

Wash Day With The Moonknight Boys

Pairing: Moonknight trio x Black!Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: None, if it wasn't obvious these are self indulgent fluff PALACES

Genre: fluff

Summary: What wash day is like when the moonknight boys drop by for a visit

***

You toss the last bit of hair into your wastebin as you finish taking down your braids.

"Hey, y/n, where are ya sweetheart?" You hear from your living room. Oh. You didn't even hear the sliding door to your balcony open. Apparently your one of your boyfriends is getting much better at sneaking in. It was Marc's voice shouting for you but it's equally likely that Jake had gotten in for him.

"Bedroom!" You shout back, pausing the series you started to get through taking out your hair.

"What're you doing babe?" Marc leans against your doorframe.

"It's wash day so- I just finished taking down my braids." You say standing from the floor to greet him with a kiss.

"Wash day, huh?" He hums.

"Yeah, what brings you by?" You ask.

"Nothing specific, we just missed you. Hope we're not inconveniencing you too much."

"You're never inconveniencing me, don't be ridiculous. Hi Steven, hi Jake, by the way."

"Hello love." Steven smiles quickly.

"You guys are so much better at switching these days." You muse.

"It helps that we aren't hiding from each other anymore. Hello mi vida." Jake shrugs with a lazy smirk.

"Yeah that might help." You giggle.

"So, reinita, what're your plans for the evening? Just washing your hair?" Jake asks.

"Well, that alone is going to take an hour, but I do also have to do something after so that it's manageable tomorrow."

"Are you braiding it again?" Steven's back now, always the most inquisitive.

"Not in the immediate future. I think I'll wear it out for a bit." You shrug.

"Really?"

"Yes lovely."

"Mm I love when you wear your hair out." Marc hums.

"I didn't realize you've seen my hair out?" You frown.

"You know just because you didn't meet me right away doesn't mean I didn't see you before you knew about us."

"I mean I know but in the beginning I hardly wore it out even around Steven. I think I had braids when we met."

"You did." He nods. "I'd like to backtrack though, you said washing your hair takes an hour?"

"Yes."

"Wait how long do the braids take then?"

"To put in or take out?" You laugh.

"Both?"

"Depends on the style. The braids I just had take like 5 hours to put in by myself on a good day and maybe 4 to take out because I can cut them and do much less unbraiding than braiding. But of course that's if I don't get distracted or hungry. Usually I just dedicate a whole day to anything hair related." You shrug.

"Oh- do you just always plan it around whenever we're occupied with Khonshu?"

"No actually that's usually just coincidence, but I do try to make sure we're not supposed to have plans that day. Like today."

"We're really sorry-"

"Don't apologize Steven. I already said you weren't a bother. I love that you all came to surprise me. I just have to wash my hair first then we can order food and watch a movie once I've finished." You say.

"Wait what should I do while you wash your hair?" Steven asks.

"Uh I got some new books on the shelf if you wanna check them out. Or you could watch something, I'm not sure Steven there's 3 of you I'd hope you can manage the hour my love." You chuckle.

"We can manage he's just clingy my vida." Jake rolls his eyes.

"Be nice now Jakey, I love Steven just as he is. Don't make him feel bad about it." You nudge him grabbing a spare t-shirt and your wide tooth comb.

"Sure thing. See you in an hour. Should I order food?"

"We'll wait to order since I'll be a while." You step into the bathroom. You take several minutes to soak your hair before you shampoo. After massaging your scalp for a while, you rinse it out. You cut the water off and put conditioner in your hair. You hear a knock on the bathroom door once you start working through your hair with a comb.

"Are you done love?" Steven's voice is muffled through the door and you giggle.

"No, not yet. I did say I'd be a while lovely." You tell him.

"I know but I was grabbing a phone charger from your room and I heard the water stop."

"Yeah- because I'm about to spend at least 30 minutes detangling it and if I kept the water on it would surely go cold before I get out." You explain. You hear the door crack open before he speaks again.

"Thirty minutes?! That's so long to just stand in silence."

"Well usually I listen to music while I wash my hair but I didn't bring my speaker today so I was probably just going to sing or something."

"Did you want company?"

"You want to sit in the bathroom while I detangle my hair?" You stop detangling for a second to look towards him even though you can't see him through the shower curtain.

"Only if you'd like, to help pass the time, you know? I can talk about our assignment for Khonshu last night, or work today, or the book I've been reading lately. I can also grab your speaker if you'd rather just-"

"You can stay Steven. Come on in baby." You say with a smile. Marc and Jake make fun of him for being clingy but you actually think his tendencies are cute. Even if it means he wants to hang with you while you wash your hair. It's endearing, even if he won't outwardly say it, that he wants to be close to you at all times.

"What should I talk about then?"

"You had a mission for Khonshu yesterday?"

"Yes, I was off work and Jake was bored so, ended up basically running an errand."

"Was it interesting at all?" You ask.

"More interesting than doing nothing but as far as missions for him go, it was very tame." Steven says.

"I hope that silly old bird is being nice to you all." You hum.

"He's not any worse than he's ever been. Still a cranky old deity." He laughs.

"Well tell me about this errand Jake had to run." You tell him. Steven launches in a retelling of their latest Khonshu mission while you finish detangling your hair.

"I'm turning the shower back on but keep talking baby." You tell him once you're finished taking knots out of your hair and scrubbing your skin with bodywash.

"Oh- has it been a half hour already?" Steven asks.

"Probably. I mean I did start before you came in here but I only know how much time I've been in here when I have music to mark the passage of time." You say rinsing first your body and then your hair. When you finally push back the shower curtain and grab your towel Steven is smiling at you.

"Hi." He says.

"Hello, I'd ask if you miss me but, you were in here for half the time I was here." You giggle, tying your t-shirt around your hair to dry yourself off.

"I didn't realize how much effort goes into your hair." Steven tells you.

"I don't usually talk about it. It's never really comes up, but I mean if you have any questions you can ask." You say leaving the bathroom. Steven follows you to your room.

"I don't have anything to ask right now but I'll keep that in mind. Should we order food now?"

"Sure, what do you want?" You ask putting on lotion and looking for clothes. You throw on a pair of shorts and one of your hoodies before Steven answers. "Steven?" You frown at him.

"Steven and Jake are arguing. We're ordering pizza because it'll be another hour before they agree on something." Marc says.

"Alright, pizza it is." You laugh grabbing your phone. You order a large pizza for you to share with them and walk out to the living room with Marc behind you.

"I can't believe Steven sat in there talking your ear off while you washed your hair." Marc muses sitting on the couch.

"Don't start. You know I think it's cute." You smack is arm as you sit beside him and turn the TV on.

"You're so soft on him."

"Because he's my boyfriend? Just like you and Jake- don't pretend I'm not soft to all of you." You roll your eyes.

"I don't need soft." Marc scoffs.

"You sure about that?" You ask carding your fingers through his hair.

"Now that isn't fair." He says with a pout as he instinctively leans into your touch.

"I'm soft, no one said anything about fair." You smile unwrapping your hair to dry it with the shirt you tied it in.

"Don't you own a blow dryer?" Marc asks.

"I do, somewhere, but I try not to use it if I can help it. Air drying is the best way so I usually stick with that. Especially since it'll have all night to dry completely after I twist it later." You shrug. Marc takes the t-shirt from you and takes over drying your hair.

"You're gonna twist it later? Won't that take a while?"

"Depends on how many. It usually takes an hour or so and they don't have to be super nice because I'm gonna take them out in the morning. It's just to keep it from tangling while it dries so it's not a nightmare to style tomorrow." You shrug.

"No wonder you dedicate an entire day to hair related activities." Marc snorts. You're a little surprised to notice he's mimicking what you'd been doing to dry your hair. You know he pays attention to detail when it comes to you but he picked it up rather quickly, even for him.

"I can't help but wonder how long you thought all this stuff that I do takes." You muse.

"I've never thought about it really? Steven says 'not nearly as long as it does take' and Jake has never given it much thought either."

"Right well, as they say, you learn something new everyday I guess." You shrug.

"Is twisting it hard?"

"Not at all actually. It's easier than some of my protective styles that I keep in for extended periods of time."

"So- we could learn to do it, theoretically? If we wanted to help or something."

"You- could. Theoretically. Are you offering to help?" You ask with a small laugh.

"Maybe. Just wondering if it's even possible for us to help you."

"Of course it is. If any of you want to. But that'll be after we eat anyway." You shrug.

"Well- if we can, maybe we will."

"That would be very sweet of you." You muse. He mutters an affirmative as if he's reluctant to admit he wants to help. They're all so bad with words it's both hilarious and adorable.

"Your hair is- really nice. Very soft." He says dropping the t-shirt on the arm of the couch next to him.

"Thank you." You say. You run your fingers through your hair. It's not fully dry but you're sure the shirt is too wet to really take anymore moisture out of it so this will do for now. It'll probably be better by the time you eat and set out to teach your clueless boyfriends how to style your hair. You're as happy to include them in things as they are happy to be included- even if they don't outright say how much it means to them.

***

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