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ayaboba · 5 months

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WELCOME TO MY HEART

summary: how has loving you changed him?

characters: neuvillette, alhaitham, diluc, xiao. (seperate)

notes: gn! reader, fluff, getting poetic in xiao, weird time skips. wc: 2k!

neuvillette

Hesitancy lingers like a translucent mist around Neuvillette. Thick, but also not thick enough to be indiscernible. As centuries tick by, soon enough, that protective mist wanes into nothing but a fragile facade that threatens to vaporise. That outcome is most unfavourable; simply visualising it already causes a spike in distress in his chest.

Fast forward a few 'scenic meetings’ later, Neuvillette wonders where that mist disappeared off to.

He needn’t put up a missing poster with a contact number because, shockingly, the Chief Justice no longer desired that prudential coverage.

You evaporated Neuvillette’s final layer of defence, stripped his rationality with unwavering strength of character, and erased any uneasiness within the language of love.

Throughout your shared timeline, every point marked with a memorable moment, there are many small aspects about each other that only the continuation of time can reveal. It’s as sweet as it sounds, unless, well, the other finds out about something you did try to conceal.

Sometimes you think to yourself: Who knew the Monsieur Neuvillette could be so…earnest in seeing you flustered?

Truly, there are only very few opportunities Neuvillette would starve himself from such delight. The other times, though, they consist of your rose-tinted cheeks and his charmed chuckle, florid promises ending with a trail of marks of his love down the slope of your neck.

Neuvillette is quite the bold one. Far too cheeky for his own good, really.

alhaitham

It was a warm memory. Still as vivid as ever, despite the years that have passed. A golden tattoo, activated whenever the dazzling drops of summer sunshine radiated down.

Three years ago, summer, the Akedemiya.

Heatwaves weren’t a rare occurrence in Sumeru. For weeks on end, the city of wisdom experienced boiling highs and dry, scorching winds. The streets were empty as shopkeepers resorted to staying under the cool of shaded roofs. That was the correct response, the only response to such situations.

Yet, there were still people willing to test your limited patience even more.

“We’re going to get a heatstroke,” you explained to each member of your darshan. “We can postpone the field trip to the desert some other day.”

“But this weather is indefinite, and knowing Sumeru, it is going to last a very long time. We can’t afford to waste time,” someone argued as nods of agreement travelled across the table.

Wow, you huffed to yourself, sitting yourself down. You were doing this for their own good, and partly yours.

“We should go ahead with the trip,” said the agitating, raucous noise again as a cacophony of voices arose in agreement. Maybe he should be in charge, then. As if you wanted to cancel this trip, you’ve spent endless nights planning the perfect itinerary! Also, the last time you remembered, you were appointed leader of this whole excursion.

“Facing the facts, there’s no traces of concrete evidence that our planned area holds the ruins,” you declared as the table fell silent. “Theoretically, we have more to lose than gain.”

“We’ve already decided,” came another voice. Archons, these people were going to be the end of you. “We’re still going to go next week.”

You came to the conclusion that, to knock some sense into their brains, you needed someone more intimating to interfere.

“…You want me to be pretend to collapse from a severe heatstroke?” the (acting!) grand sage repeated, not even attempting to conceal his bewilderment. “And, preferably, making it look as dramatic and exaggerated as possible?”

At the other end of his desk, you nodded with faux solemnity. “I’m afraid so.”

“Afraid so?” Alhaitham humours. “Everything from your…request to your actions betrays that.”

In the end, you didn’t manage to convince Alhaitham to put on a show showcasing the risks and dangers of heatwaves and heatstrokes, but he did agree to go out for lunch. To negotiate alternatives, of course.

After that lunch, he asked for your presence for dinner, and after dinner, you found yourself making breakfast at Alhaitham’s place.

“Since when did you come over so much?” you asked, sleep clearly clinging to your senses. “Last time I remember, I was waiting by your office door waiting to sneak in ten minutes of your time.”

The coffee he freshly brewed threatens to burst from the confinement of his mouth as he stares at you with a curious expression. “This is my house.”

The realisation spreads through your face like ink in water as you glance at the surroundings. “Oh yeah…that’s right.”

Alhaitham subtly rolls his eyes, letting out a lighthearted tsk as he disappears off into the kitchen. “Do you feel like going to Gandharva Ville in the evening?” he asks, the clatter of dishes echoing through the lounge. “You were groaning over how you hadn’t seen Collei and Tighnari in ages a few days ago.”

He remembered that? You gawk to yourself, mouth and eyes wide open as you trod towards the sunshine of the kitchen . Moreover, he certainly wanted to go. Since when did Alhaitham suggest you leave the house for purposes such as catching up with friends?

“I’d love to,” you answer as you help him load the dishwasher. “You beat me to it.”

A soft smile imperceptibly brightens his face, casting you in slight awe. “What? You don’t think I disregard your desires just like that, do you?”

Alhaitham is the hopelessly romantic one. Those intricate plans he sets up for your happiness are nowhere as simple-minded as he plays them out to be.

diluc

There was always something peculiar about Diluc Ragnvindr. The snarky remarks about the Knights of Favonius’ poor service, which you found highly offensive in the presence of an employee (you), the genuine air of mystery he upheld, but the most interesting thing you were desperate to crack down on was his frosty distaste for the Cavalry Captain, your co-worker, Kaeya.

As far as you knew, Kaeya was a lovely co-worker. considerate, dedicated and reliable, he was an admirable worker. You didn’t understand why Diluc didn’t applaud him for his discipline renowned throughout the city, especially if he was continuously murmuring about the incompetence of the staff.

Amidst the possible explanations, you came to the conclusion that the unwelcoming atmosphere stemmed from something more personal. Jealously? Past disagreements? No, that couldn’t be. They didn’t appear the closest.

Little did you know that all you needed to do was ask. Not really, but you get the idea.

“You…want to talk to Diluc?” Kaeya spluttered, wide-eyed at your determined face, before moving his gaze towards Angel Share’s bartender with a smirk. “Ah, I see what’s going on.”

“You’re very far off, by the way,” you replied silkily, taking a sip of the apple juice. “I’m not interested in him romantically, if that’s what you were thinking.”

Kaeya raises an eyebrow. “If not romantically, then what could you possibly talk to him about?”

You shrug, making a beeline for the counter. “Thanks for the drink.”

Diluc had caught the words, ‘interested in him romantically.’

According to those four words he heard from you, the context of you and Kaeya’s conversation could already be visualised.

For someone who seemed to be interested in him, your choice of words regarding his interest in you were a little all over the place. So, he assisted you.

“How about we discuss this over dinner?”

Sometimes, you think to yourself, how did this ever happen?

For example, the weak beams of lighting from the east signify that it’s the birth of dawn, your neatly tucked in bed, except this bed isn’t actually yours.

The evidence lies with the person’s arms around your waist, tight and warm against the chills of early morning.

“Good morning,” a sleepy voice suddenly erupts from besides you. “Have I told you how even more striking you are in the sunlight?”

Diluc Ragnvindir is the passionate one—the one who would give you his heart if you asked. In some ways, he’s still as mysterious as the first time you laid eyes on him.

xiao

The moon is the muse for thousands of people. Whether it’s written in a rhyme, painted on a canvas, sung in a song or resonated with a soul, it has immersed itself in the complex depths of the sensitive human heart.

There’s a particular interpretation that has stuck with you since the first time you read it. A lyrical piece of literature from somewhere long lost. You were especially tired that night. A most unlucky dilemma, as it might’ve guaranteed to be one of the most critical and serendipitous nights of your life. Not that you knew at the time.

From that somewhere long lost, between the rolling tides of shadows, tucked away in the safety of peaking mountains, a mysterious figure observed with curiousity at your sentiment.

However, the discreetness of Xiao’s hiding spot was tested most instantaneously when you suddenly made a decision to look up. To the sky, or to him? Truthfully, you were actually aiming for the moon, but the pounding chambers of his chest crashed his steaming trains of thought.

He had to restrain himself from investigating further as your figure dissolved one by one into the night. Maybe you'll be there again tomorrow.

What started off as a little exchange of words soon blossomed into short conversations. Short conversations soon bloomed into a gap in time filled with occasional laughter and encouraging smiles. He learned your name, and you learned his secrets. Vicious, woeful secrets plaguing his dreams, or perhaps the title of nightmares suited it better.

On their own, the characteristics were incessant in disaster. Fusing those characteristics with centuries of solitude and emptiness, it assisted in further igniting the raging fire burning away his will.

The idea of somehow unravelling those years of pain seemed so clearly impossible, even if that person felt like they had a chance. Even if they felt just the tiniest bit more special than all the others.

“Some things are impossible,” Xiao had muttered as he watched you go through an assortment of books he lended from Verr Goldet, eyes flickering from your face to the yellowing pages. “It’s better to admit that than spend years searching for hope.”

Skimming through the columns of ancient literature, a strong feeling of suspicion arose as you distinctively felt like he'd seen you do this once before.

“But what if you find the hope?” you whispered gently, switching your attention to his avoidant gaze. “There’s always that outcome, too.”

That outcome. Of course he’s considered that conclusion, wished for it. But Xiao would never dare to believe that far.

“I read a poem a few nights ago,” you started again. “A comparison of us and the moon. Humans, just like the moon, need to wax and wane. We’ll grow and shine our beauty, but that can’t be achieved unless we remember to rest, to wane. After all, a full moon only lasts around three days out of a whole month.”

How can you just return to reading after you told him that?

That moon analogy was shared about a year ago.

It’s likely that you brushed it off, but for Xiao, it’s still freshly etched into the shelves of his mind. And it would be a lie if he said that he didn’t change in small, irrevocable ways because of it.

Particularly tonight.

An exhausted sigh escapes from your lips as you sink into bed. Lying like a starfish, a hollow expression is evident in your eyes alone.

“This project is never going to work,” you spoke, turning to stuff your face in a pillow. Adjacent to you, Xiao observed as you screamed, once again the same words into the fabric. Only this time, the words were separated by sharp heaves and quiet sniffs. Being a little inexperienced with scenarios such as this, Xiao could only reassure you with the same words and actions that you had endlessly showered him with in similar situations.

He knew you were listening, despite the softness of his voice, which was hardly detectable. He repeated the words you told him a year ago when he felt as if the world was about to end.

“Someone once told me humans and moons are alike,” he smiled as he saw your face lift just a bit, as if you couldn’t believe what he was saying. “We both need to wane before we can emit our light in full greatness.”

Xiao is the quiet one, whose love is often under-looked, but in truth, it’s expressed just as vividly, if not brighter.

#genshin fluff #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #neuvillette x reader #alhaitham x reader #diluc x reader #xiao x reader #anya writes ✧.*

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bambiesfics · 8 months

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𝐄. 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 ♥️’𝐬 𝐌*𝐥𝐟𝐬 ╰₊✧ ﾟ

Part One - [FIND PART TWO HERE]

ˎˊ˗ SYNOPSIS: You’re a yummy, soft around the edges older lady, with a post-partum body that jiggles in the most delicious ways. Ellie simply can’t get ahold of herself, every time she sees you, her pupils turn into pretty pink hearts, and her clit thumps in rhythm with her beating heart.

ˎˊ˗ A/N: This is re-upload of my series fic, part 2 & 3 are already written!

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓, when Ellie Williams realized for the first time, how much of a sick little whore she was for older women, especially with children.

Her jaw went slack when she walked by your house in the warm weather, lustfully staring at how the crease of your ass was spilling out from under your denim cut off shorts. You were too busy wiping chocolate off your toddler's face to notice the young brunette ogling you like a pervert.

Her steps faltered and then eventually just slowed to a complete stop. A wanton chance to stand there and stare at you. Ellie’s heart was thumping fast, but her clit was thumping faster. You were so womanly, so plush and pretty. Gosh, Ellie was so enamored with the tubby meat of your ass, and those yummy thighs of yours, to notice that her vanilla scoop ice cream had slowly melted atop her tight fist, and the sugary drippings splattered onto the toe-box of her converse sneakers.

When you finally stood up from where you were bent over your toddler, after haven given the aforementioned teen girl, a free, front-row show to ogle at your asscheeks. You’d realized that the same adorable young girl with auburn hair, had been staring at you. You naturally assumed it was heatstroke that made her all stiff like that. So you invited her inside. But reality set in when you noticed that no matter what you were doing, whether it was getting her a glass of water, or placing the back of your hand on her forehead to gauge her temperature, Ellie's eyes always found their way back down to your puffy nipples or your buttcheeks.

She continuously ran her tongue along her bottom lip as she manspread. Or rubbed her palms down her thighs just slow enough for you to catch the pride flag bracelet dangling from her wrist. And in less than a second your thoughts had flitted from ‘Oh…’ to ‘OH!’

You tried to push it into the back of your mind. Because, surely that didn’t mean anything. Ellie was just a nice young lady whose head was stuck in the clouds, the bracelet and the wandering green eyes, they didn’t necessarily mean that she wanted to…fuck you, did it? She’s too young to be so ambitious anyway, to be so wantonly lustful. No not this sweet, slightly spaced out, teenage girl. That’s what you wished to believe, so you rolled off the lustful thoughts, and instead offered her some lunch. A baloney and lettuce sandwhich with the crust cut off. Just how you assumed every kid liked it, It was the motherly thing to do.

“Wanna taste you sooo bad” she muttered as you came up close to place her lunch next to her. In an instant a deep pink blush bloomed wildly on Ellie’s face, her eyes widened in embarrassment and the blood vessels in her eyes became more pronounced. “I-I meant I wanna taste your sandwiches. L-L-like the one you just gave me…..I’m really sorry.” She turned her head to the side “Fuck. me.” The cherry cheeked girl had whispered the last part so low you almost missed it.

Ellie was so fucking humiliated, but she couldn’t help it. All she could do was trip and stumble over her words, and apologize each time her sinful lips accidentally verbalized every vivid fantasy she had, without her brain’s consent. Your curvy, post-partum body was doing sick things to her cunt. Cause damn, all she wanted was to stuff her face under your puffy pussy, tell you to drop your full weight on her head and then beg you to suffocate her.

Ellie got her wish, because after she embarrassed herself, you invited her to watch a few cartoons with your tot. Cartoons transitioned to action thrillers when your toddler got sleepy. And thrillers turned into you riding her tongue as she nipped her pink lips at your thumping, swollen clit. Suckling it into her mouth as she rubbed her own pussy through her jeans. Ellie brought both hands to grab the fatty dough of your ass and forced you to grind on her face, ride her nose until your heart's content. She even licked downwards until she reached your pucker, tonguing your furled tight rim. She’d always wanted to rim a girl, and fuck, today she just might. Before Ellie could continue poking the tip of her tongue into your asshole, you lifted yourself off her face and hovered your pussy above her lips as you came, watching your hole drip out sticky strings of your arousal onto her chin. Ellie held out her tongue to catch it.

And then you—.

“—Ellie!”

“Ellie!”

Your voice ripped right through her fantasy. “I think it’s starting to get late, you should go home now.” You said as you held her shoulder, worried about the ditzy girl.

Ellie’s eyes faltered momentarily, disappointed at the realization she had just gotten too deep into her fantasy again. Of course some random lady with a kid and likely a husband wasn’t going to let her fuck on the first day they met.

She pushed herself off from your counter and readjusted the front of her pants, trying to accommodate her swollen clit.

She hadn’t been this ravenously attracted to a girl in years. She already knew she was going to finger herself at the thought of you and your ass suffocating her deliriously, tonight.

Ellie shuffled outside, hands stuffed in the front of her pockets playing with the little Hawaiian tooth pick you put on her baloney sandwich.

The sun was low, and the horizon of its setting was a warm orange. The air cooled the nape of her neck. All she could think about was you.

Ellie had completely forgotten about how the point of her walk through your neighbour, was to go pick up her date from the next park over.

-Fin-

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bedsyandco · 9 months

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𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐒

🫧 — {fem!reader x jack hughes}

🫧 — established relationsip! set a few years in the future. Reader and Jack are married! Reader is pregnant! Kind of set in Jack's POV I guess.

🫧 — in which Jack's wife is pregnant and a little emotional.

WC — 1.5K

"Babe” Jack whispers.

“Hm?”

“Can you scoot over a bit?” he asks

“I’m on the edge”

He looks over his shoulder, right at the face of his beautiful wife.

“Babe, I find that hard to believe,”

“What?” you ask, a little disoriented.

“There’s no way you’re on the edge when your face is pressed into my back, your legs are tangled with mine and our child is kicking me in the back.”

“But I am,”

“You’re not,” Jack argues.

“You scoot over,”

“I can’t. I’m on the edge of our California King bed that you insisted we get because you didn’t want to touch during the night because you always get too hot. Yet, you’re laying on top of me,”

“I am not,” you complain, nuzzling closer, if that were possible. “Shh go to sleep.”

Jack sighs loudly and says, “I can’t. You’re too hot and our child is kicking me in the back.”

“Yeah well, welcome to my world buddy. Can you stop talking? I'm tired.” you say.

Usually Jack wouldn’t care. He’d deal with it because he loved you and he wanted you to be comfortable, but he needed to get up early tomorrow morning and he really needed a good night’s sleep. Jack was beyond stressed. It felt like he was always 2 seconds away from having a panic attack.

His constant worry about you was driving him insane, but then he also had hockey to think about. The Devils had just lost in the third round of the playoffs. They were so close. Jack wanted nothing more than to win and hold that cup up. But then he realised he was about to hold his baby, and that was an even greater prize.

That was if he didn’t kill you first.

Turning over, you glared at him as he popped his head on one arm, looking over her to the amount of space behind you. “Baby, we could literally fit all my teammates beside you,”

“What does that mean?” you ask frowning

“I’m saying scoot the hell over!” he says, his voice rising. “You’re burning me up!”

“I want to sleep with you,”

“You are, but just give me some space so I don’t die of heatstroke!”

“Ugh, fine.” you say annoyed and rolled over to the other side of the bed.

Jack sighs, shaking his head and lays back down. He could finally breathe, but just as he’s about to fall asleep you say, “I just think it’s messed up that you won’t cuddle with me and I’m carrying your child, which is the reason I’m burning up!”

Jack opens his eyes and takes a deep breath. Here they go again.

“Sweetheart, I love cuddling with you. But I have to be up early to do press and clean out my locker. I can’t sleep through that and I definitely can’t sleep with you burning me up and our child kicking me the whole night. I love you though, you know that right?” Jack asks, looking over at you with a soft smile.

But you were glaring, lips pursed as you glared at him. “Oh yeah, I forgot it’s so hard being Jack Hughes and you need all the sleep you can get. While I can’t sleep a certain way due to the fact that it hurts because I’m the thing your child is sucking the life out of.”

“I thought you loved being pregnant.”

“I do!” you yell and his brows go up. “That’s not the point. I’m just reminding you that I don’t get to sleep or do any of the things that I wanna do anymore, but it’s fine. I’ll sleep all the way over here without the love and support from my husband because he needs to get some sleep. God forbid you don’t get any sleep.” you mumble and Jack wants to laugh. You were being ridiculous. But before he could tell you that, you look over to him and say, “And just a friendly reminder Jack Hughes, when this baby comes, say fucking good-bye to sleep.”

“I guess I should say good-bye to sleep now, because I’m sure as hell not getting any more tonight,” Jack says, holding your gaze.

Your eyes darken a little and Jack swears he’s never seen anyone as beautiful as his wife. Even when you’re a little crazy, hostile, and 7 months pregnant, you were still hot as fuck.

“You got that right, I just wanted to cuddle,” you say rolling away from him again.

When Jack hears you sniff he can’t help but smile. The emotional rollercoaster of a pregnant wife was no joke. Reaching out, he went to cuddle with you, but you smack his hand away.

“I don’t wanna cuddle now,” you mutter

“Fine,” Jack sighs, falling back onto his own pillow. Sometimes he just really couldn't win with you.

“I just want you to know, I did want to cuddle. But that’s gone now.”

“I hear you.” Jack replies.

“And I’m very upset.”

“I got that.” he says with a sigh, rolling on his side to look at you.

“I just don’t think it’s fair. I cook, I clean, I work. And I’m carrying your child.”

“And I appreciate you more than words can ever say.” Jack says sincerely.

“Then you'd cuddle with me!” you say exasperated.

“But baby, I need sleep too. And you’re literally a furnace.”

“Well if you need sleep so badly and I’m too hot and our baby won’t stop kicking you then go sleep somewhere else!” you yell

“Seriously?”

“Yes! Go to the couch”

Surely you were joking. But then you yank the covers off him and pull his pillow from under him, throwing both on the floor. He stands up and goes to pick up his pillow.

“I need sleep and I’m too mad to sleep with you here.” you mutter

“Because I won’t cuddle with you?”

“Yes!” you yell tears streaming down your face.

“Then come here, I’ll cuddle.” he says and ducks when you throw another pillow at his head.

“No! I don’t want to cuddle anymore!” you yell

“Then let’s just go to bed.” Jack mumbles

‘No! I’m mad!”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Jack says with a laugh, and why he would do that would be his last thought.

“Go!” you yell.

“If I go, I’m not coming back tonight.” Jack says

“That’s fine. Maybe tomorrow you won’t mind cuddling your wife and child.”

“Sweetheart, I said let’s cu-”

“I don’t wanna cuddle!” you yell laying your head on the pillow with a sob. “I just wanted you to want to cuddle with me!”

Watching as you cried, Jack sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He picked up his pillow and looked at you one more time. “You sure?”

“Yes. You broke my heart Jack.” you say.

He went to say something sassy back but he knew it wouldn't get him anywhere so instead he said, “I’m sorry that I didn’t wanna cuddle because of the blazing heat you were putting off. I love you. Good night.”

When you don't answer, Jack chuckles as he walks out of the room. His girl was so stubborn. Heading to the couch he lays down and stares at the ceiling. Only two more months and maybe he would get his normal wife back. He was lucky that some of the guys on the team had kids and also went through this process. If not he wouldn’t know it was normal for his wife to be completely and utterly irrational about the dumbest things.

Tonight it was cuddling.

Last week, it was because he ate the last oreo.

Next week, it might be because he breathed a little too hard.

Jesus. Two more months. He could do it.

Leaning back on his pillow he closed his eyes, thankful that he chose to spend so much money to get a comfortable couch. He hopes you stopped crying. He hates when you cry. He was tempted to check but he really didn’t want you to bite his head off. Just as he was about to drift off he felt someone beside him.

Opening his eyes, he saw you standing there.

You looked adorable, hair a mess, cute pyjama shorts, cheeks flushed. Wearing one of Jack’s T-shirts that you cropped. It kinda made you look like Winnie the Pooh. Jack still thought you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Jack?”

“Yeah babe?”

“Can I lie with you?”

Chuckling to himself he scooted over as far as he could to make space for you. As you lay down your stomach presses into his and Jack wraps his arms around you, kissing you cheek.

“I’m sorry.” you whisper.

“It’s okay baby. I’m sorry too.” Jack whispers.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.” Jack says kissing you again.

The next morning, when he woke up with a sore back, all he could do was repeat three words over and over.

Two more months. Two more months. Two more months.

#⇢ ˗ˏˋ 📂 bedsyandco works!#⇢ ˗ˏˋ 📜 cam's fics #jack hughes fanfiction #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes fic #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes x you #hockey fic #hockey blurb #nhl fic #nhl blurb #hockey imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine

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yandere-sins · 10 months

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“he follows until you are pressed to the cold wall, his arm around you, pulling you back so you wouldn’t have to be cold all night”

this made me remember that bed post, of how couples sleep Vs how single ppl sleep. Single ppl often have their bed up against the wall, cause it saves space and they don’t need to worry about falling off the bed, while couple usually have their bed in the middle with the headboard against the wall and the sides not touching anything, and that makes it easier for one of them to get up without having to disturb the other. This made me think… it would be such a yandere thing to do to have the bed pressed up against the wall anyways, so their darling can’t leave without them knowing or waking up. It just feels like such a subtly controlling action, where the darling wouldn’t be able to even go to the washroom in the middle of the night without the yandere allowing it. I mean, they prob would have had to wake up the yandere anyways if the yandere hugs them in their sleep, but this is still make the darling feel even more confined mentally, because they know that there is no way that they could sneak out so they would stress over whether they should wake up the yandere or if they would be able to tolerate it till morning comes. It makes you wonder if the yandere did it on purpose or by accident, especially if the yandere lives in a spacious house so there is no actual need to press the bed against the wall… ah, I just think it makes for a very nice small detail in this kind of scenario ☺️

(Sorry if this is rambling, I just woke up so my brain is muddled lol)

I haven't heard about that theory before! But it makes sense, now that I think about it :D

(Warning: Yandere, Sexual Mentions)

I can totally see yans taking advantage of that. Two entrances to the same bed are just taking up sooo much space (even if the room is completely empty otherwise, hehe). Why not make sure the darling has to do impossible aerobics to get on top and over their captor if they want to get out? Oh, the darling is such a tease, accidentally loosing their footing and waking the yandere with the beautiful sight of their darling on top of them. And then there's the wonderful spiel of:

"I just need to go to the toilet."

"Sure you do, darling."

Even if he yan knows the truth they just grip their darling's waist, keeping them in place and teasing them a little before allowing them to finally get off their captor and to the bathroom, the yan always following of course, yawning but excited to be up with their darling.

Or the very clingy yans that cannot imagine sleeping separately from their darling, even if the darling is sweating bullets because it's so damn hot in the room and locked in the yan's arms around them. They already abstain from drinking before going to bed, knowing they won't be able to free themselves of the yan's hold, so now they just hope to pass out from heatstroke or dehydration 'cause they are so fucking tired but can't sleep.

And then, of course, there's the aspect of being able to watch their darling all night long. It might take them a while with their captor staring down at them for hours to no end. How could they sleep with their sweet love right next to them? Pass up the chance to leave fluttering touches all over their bodies and whisper sweet nothings into their ear while they dream (hopefully of the yandere)? Never! They're just looking out for you—protecting you even! But the pleasure is all theirs, and the yan soaks up ever little utter or whimper from their darling, drunk on the vulnerable sight of their most precious darling. ♥

Oh, and can you imagine, those really mean yandere that drug their darlings? They are so freaking overjoyed when their darling is searching for any kind of comfort, after the yan put them into bed, while their brain is a huge mess. Darlings that cry and sob, but then bury their face in the yan's chest and the yan just instantly has a huge grin on their face as they pat their darlings head and rub their back, telling them everything is okay. They try to be empathetic but they just can't stop grinning, loosing their freaking mind from excitement. Yans who get so fucking hard/wet from their darling inching as close as possible to them, scared of some imaginary monsters they are trying to hide from, not realizing the monster is right in front of them.

Last but not least, sharing a bed doesn't just mean sharing a mattress. There's also just one blanket and one pillow, and the darling will be forced to stay near and rest their head on the yan's arm or chest. There's no escaping that, so they'll eventually admit defeat due to being so tired. But the morning after is when things get really interesting. When the mood shifts from sleepy to horny real quick, the yan not wanting to lose the warmth they shared all night, as always insatiable for their darling.

Thanks for sharing your thoughts!

#yandere #yandere talk #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere stories #yandere oneshots #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #Yandere TW

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libertyybellls · 5 months

Text

BELIEVE ME NOW ?

pairing; mentor!finnick odair x reader

summary: finnick odair, to love you- to protect you, battles it out with tough love that you can’t quite see.

contains; ENEMIES TO LOVERS, fluff/tad bit of angst, finnick nearly breaking readers door down, ONE singular kiss is shared 😇, unspoken feelings, death/typical hunger games violence, comfort.

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

you didn’t know why you hated finnick odair, but you know when it started. you knew it the minute he was assigned you mentor, the minute he put on an act and thought of himself to be better than you, and the second that he wouldn’t give you any reasonable advice before your games.

it was only when you’d won your games, did finnick finally feel for you, it ate him up inside- guilt, fear, shame, it all sickened him.

he sought death in his games, not of the other kids- but himself. but when you’re forced into that arena- when someone stronger, faster, smarter than you starts running towards you- desperate to hear that cannon sound, you fight. and he hated everything about how he fought- only to end up a possession to the republic, a slave to his own mind.

so when he saw you, wide eyed- sitting on that train- scared, unsuspecting, unprepared- he saw himself. he saw that fourteen year old boy stripped from his home, to end the game with blood on his hands.

you were older than he was then, but it didn’t matter if he was nineteen, thirty, even eighty- he’d give anything to have been lucky enough to die in that arena.

you’d arrived from your games a few days ago, only having seen mags. mags who had helped you before your games, signing to you how to find food and water, how to not get sick or hypothermic, die of heatstroke. mags, who brushed your hair after your first shower when all you wanted to do was curl in a ball and disappear, who sent you off to rest knowing if she hadn’t given you medicine you’d stay up- stuck in your head.

being in that hotel after your games was like a ghost town. all the other mentors and stylist sent home- only your own had been there. all the other kids were gone- quite frankly dead. the room next to yours vacant- your district partner, a boy you’d gotten to know quite well- someone you’d even call a friend, dead. just you left.

you’d just finished your interview, faking a smile, plastering on a look of faux happiness- preaching about how grateful you were to have made it out. dressed so extravagantly, so see-through, so indecent, your makeup so dissimilar to you- you couldn’t even recognize yourself.

you’d been rushing back to your room- rushing to hide away until you’d once more get back on the train and give a ‘victory’ tour.

finnick had been waiting for you, he had so many things he needed to say, to tell you- no, warn you about.

but as you strided towards him from the elevator, and let out a sharp; “what? here to take the credit from all the advice you gave me?” and slammed your door without batting an eye- the words were lost in his throat.

he started with knocking, simply calling your name, “can i please just speak to you?” then the knocks got harder, less distance in time between each one, then he was pounded on the white door incessantly. “y/n, open this door.”

your head was pounding, and you could care less for what glorious speech he was going to spew at you, “i don’t want your fucking pity story, finnick.” you tell back from the other side of the door- at this he pushes, and pushes the door until the lock gives.

when he sees you, your sitting on the edge of your bed- your heads in your hands, the lamp beside you is dim.

“what? what’s so important you had to force yourself into my room? do you think anything you say is going to change how you left me? you left me to die.” you were glaring at him. with so much hate behind your eyes he couldn’t take it anymore.

you thought you’d been nothing but kind to him, respectful, even after he’d won his games you still treated him normally once he’d gone back to district four- worst of all, you thought you deserved some type of help from him. but all you ended up being was dirt on his shoe?

“i was trying to protect you-“

you laugh incredulously at this, “trying to protect me? no, finnick. you wanted to protect malik-“ you waved your hand in the direction of the very empty, lifeless room of your district partner, “and look where your ‘help’ got him.”

“i mean, you made no effort to do so much as look my way, and now you want to talk? you’re of no use to me now. i already got through the worst of it- without you.” you continued rambling as you took of your necklace, your rings, your bracelets.

“trust me y/n you’ll realize victory isn’t the better option. so if you’d just fucking-“ he sighed, running his hand over his face and looking down. “if you’d just listen to me- you’ll see i’m trying to be your friend- to help you for what’s coming next.”

there’s a few beats of silence as he waits for your response, it’s deafening- you’ve completely paused in your action of taking out your earrings. “my friend?” you laugh, hair falling over your shoulders. “i don’t really like you, finnick.”

this perplexes finnick, shaking his head. “and i don’t really believe you, y/n.” he takes a step closer, breaking your imaginary bubble. “you know you were the only person who didn’t hover around me in our town after my games? the only person who never looked up to me? like i was this spectacle? waiting to see my next move?”

you take one step closer to him now, you can smell him- it’s of salt air and expensive cologne- and it’s unbearable. there’s heat emitting from his body.

“that’s called caring, finnick.” you look into his eyes now, for the first time. “and i’d only wish you’d have that same respect for me.”

there’s something he can’t understand about you, you’re constantly trying to fight back- you won’t admit defeat or accept help- just continuing your fight for survival. but he prays you know you don’t have to fight him, he only wants to help you.

“why do you think i’m here?” his eyes are pulling you in, his smell is suffocating you. it’s all a paradox. “you think im here to torment you further, y/n?”

truth be told, you don’t know why he’s here. you don’t know why he’s caring so much. but you’re here, standing inches away from him in your hotel room and admiring him- for reasons you can’t quite explain.

“snows going to do everything he can to make you feel small. he’s going to make you the capitols dream girl. he’s going to objectify you, and show you off like you’re a prize.” he takes a breath, you’re driven to further confusion- why does it look like this is hurting him too? “and you can’t fight it, because it will only have him sway more control over you. only more pain for you. and i won’t have that y/n.”

finnicks closer to you now, “i won’t-i cant have him take more of you.” from me, he wants to say, he wants to tell you that all he’s tried to do from the moment he met you as a boy, is protect you.

there it is again, that glint in his eyes- the utter, pure concern and passion, and you can’t take it. “don’t do that. don’t look at me like you care about me.”

finnicks face is not even an inch away from yours now, you can see the birthmarks on his neck- the freckles the sun has blessed him with that are so faint you wouldn’t have seen them before.

“i do.” he says like it’s the last words he’ll ever say. the air has left both of your lungs.

you keep this eye contact with him, like he can see your heart, and like you’re trying to read his mind. “i don’t believe you.” you mock his words from earlier.

he angles his head at these words, moving closer so your lips are touching-and your eyes flutter shut- but he hasn’t kissed you, not yet.

“i want to protect you until i can’t anymore. until im gone.” he doesn’t let you speak now, his lips stealing your words when they crash into yours. the movement is natural, fluid, soft.

he expects you to pull away, shove him off of you, tell him that you hate him- but you deepen the kiss much to his surprise.

you kiss him, pull him impossibly close to you until you can’t anymore- until your lungs now beg for oxygen- but all you want to do is breath him in. you pull away, and your eyes open, nearly in shock, but more in amusement.

“believe me now?”

masterlist

#finnick angst #finnick fanfic #finnick fluff #finnick imagine #finnick odair #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair smut #finnick odair x reader #finnick oneshot #finnick smut

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bealovesmarauders · 1 year

Text

paper rings // gilbert blythe

or,

the 4 times gilbert blythe fell in love with you, and the 1 time he knew he’d do it all over again

⋆ ࣪. ⁺⑅ ⋰˚ *.ﾟ .˳⁺⁎˚ ˚⁎⁺˳ . ༺ ˖

gilbert blythe x fem!reader

wc: 5.7k

i like shiny things, but i’d marry you with paper rings

a/n: trying something new here! i’ve never used this format (five times // one time- i tweaked it to make it four and one since i’m exhausted) so i hope you all enjoy <3 also fair warning that this is not historically accurate. but i actually spend my summers in PEI (and have for my entire life) so i think my portrayal of the environment at least is good! also, this is rushed as per usual :)

⋆ ࣪. ⁺⑅ ⋰˚ *.ﾟ .˳⁺⁎˚ ˚⁎⁺˳ . ༺ ˖

one. when he walked you home from school.

the late june air was sticky in the avonlea schoolhouse, clinging to skin, beads of sweat gathering by brows. sunlight spilled through the windows, and even billy andrews couldn’t muster enough enthusiasm to tease anyone in this heat. pinafores too heavy for this weather, the girls gathered in one corner, pretending to read the excerpt mr phillips had picked out for today, but in honesty, you were all just complaining about the summer heat.

“i can’t wait until i have my hair up,” ruby gillis sighed, casting a longing glance across the room towards the boys. “my ribbon does suit my complexion, of course- but it’s much too hot in summer to have my hair down.”

murmurs of agreement spread throughout your little group. “i tried it one time,” whispered anne dramatically, “when marilla was away. it was rather romantic, but the pins hurt a great deal.”

sitting in between jane andrews and tillie boulter, you tried not to zone out. gaze drifting across the classroom, you caught gilbert blythe’s eye from where he was sitting with the boys, and he shot you a quick smile. you gave him a shy one back, and looked away before you could blush. you’d known gilbert forever- his family was close to yours- but something had changed recently, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

mr. phillips finally dismissed the class, and in a rush of rowdiness, the boys all excused themselves from the schoolhouse, whooping and hollering about a potential skinny dip in the wild waves. in a flurry of giggles and secrets, your friends gathered their books and rushed outside (in a rather unladylike manner- but it was summer and the world was their oyster, so who cared). you knew diana was hosting a tea party over the weekend- complete with ice cream, she’d said!- but as far as you knew, there were no plans for tonight, save the beach trip the boys had talked about. trying your best to avoid the heat for as long as possible, you lingered in the coatroom, taking the time to adjust your hat into place. but you weren’t alone, and you startled as a familiar face appeared over your shoulder.

“gilbert,” you said, his name sweet on your tongue. “you’re not going to the beach with billy?”

he shook his head. “i’m not quite in the mood for that today. but i was wondering. do you want- can i- would you like some company on your walk home?”

heart in your throat, you looked at the boy you’d known your whole life. was gilbert blythe asking to walk you home? you nodded wordlessly, and his eyes immediately softened. there was a nervousness you’d never seen in him before, a cautiousness, as if he were treading on eggshells and was terrified to break them. “i- i’d love that, gilbert, thank you.” a smile slowly spread across his face, and you seemed to see him in a new light. noticing the things you hadn’t before. the softness of his dark eyes and the way they sparkled. the gentle curve of his jaw. the way he smelled like rosemary and mint soap and the blythe farm’s apple orchard, mixed with a hint of cinnamon. the way gilbert blythe was the prettiest boy you’d ever seen.

“great,” he said, finally breaking you out of your reverie. “i wouldn’t want you to get heatstroke, after all. it’d be ungentlemanly of me to let you go home without making sure you’re alright in this heat.”

your stomach erupted with butterflies, and you walked in silence with him as you left the schoolhouse. treading along the path, your footsteps settled into the same rhythm, and eventually gilbert spoke, his voice clear among the songbirds and crickets.

“how’s your family? i haven’t seen them in a fortnight.”

his tone was proper and gentlemanly, but curious and kind. you looked shyly up at him. gilbert was tall, taller than you, sturdy with broad shoulders and a grin that showed off a lopsided roguishness once in a while on his otherwise serious face. you gripped your books a little tighter, trying to focus your thoughts back to the conversation. “they’re good, thanks for asking. mother’s been wondering about you, though. she’s wanted to drop soup off for your father, but wasn’t sure if he’d appreciate it. it’s been a while since you were over, so she doesn’t know if he still likes biscuits or bone broth.”

gilbert scuffed the ground with his boot a little bit, looking down at you contemplatively. “that’s kind of her,” he said. “he’s barely been able to keep anything down, but he likes soup. i’m not sure about the biscuits, but i’d certainly like some. i wouldn’t mind some of your mother’s plum preserves either. i haven’t had much time to go into town for food lately.”

you’d noticed. there were shadows under his eyes, and he’d always been on the lanky side, but since gilbert had taken on more of the farm work you’d observed his cheeks grow more drawn. his muscles had grown, too- another result of all the wood chopping you knew he was doing- but he lacked energy, and your heart ached for the boy. cicadas chirped as you walked in unison through the path, minding the garden snakes slinking through the tall grass, and an idea sparked in your mind as you passed the field signaling close to home.

“gilbert,” you said thoughtfully, stopping in your tracks. “mother was going to make a layer cake today, with raspberry preserves and clotted cream. i’m sure it’s cooled by now. we can have a little picnic, you and i- we have lemonade at home too, that rachel lynde brought us, and father thinks it’s too tart, so he wants to get rid of it. you can bring some home for your father as well. mother wouldn’t mind, i promise- i can make us a picnic basket, and we can sit in that field.”

gilbert turned towards you, and you couldn’t quite decipher the expression on his face. “i don’t want you to pity me,” he said quietly. “much less drag your family into it.”

“no, no,” you said quickly, fearing he’d interpreted your invitation the wrong way. “just a picnic, to catch up, as friends. we haven’t talked in a while. i miss you.”

he bit his lip. you could almost see the gears turning in his head. “alright,” he said finally. “it’s almost summer, after all. i think- i think i’d like that.”

when you reached your house, your mother was more than happy to oblige, giving gilbert a big hug and fussing over how much taller he’d gotten since the last time she saw him. you cut two pieces of cake and put them on plates in the straw picnic basket along with the bottle of mrs. lynde’s infamous lemonade. your mother even let you bring the crystal glasses used for special occasions- she trusted the both of you well enough to know that you wouldn’t break them. covering up the basket with a red checkered tablecloth, you and gilbert set off again, waving goodbye to your mother and finding a spot in the field where there was a tree with enough shade to sit under. clover and goldenrod and cornstalk bloomed in the field, and the cool, sweet grass tickled the bottom of your dress. gilbert, beside you, leaned back against the tree, his broad shoulder touching yours, and spooned a large amount of cake into his mouth. it was the happiest you’d seen him in months. the thin layer of ruby jelly in between the vanilla layers coloured the cupid’s bow of your lips, and gilbert realized in that moment that he wanted very badly to take you into his arms and kiss you. but the moment was fleeting, and gilbert was left with the idea of love lingering on his mind.

that was the first time gilbert blythe realized he was falling for you.

two. when you showed up on his doorstep in the rain.

rain poured outside, streaking the windows and trickling down the roofs of avonlea’s houses. sorrow hung in the air, and black clothing had dominated the church the day prior. it was not often that avonlea had funerals, and when they were, they were a somber affair, impacting every one of its citizens. especially now. it seemed as though the whole world had watched mr. blythe’s casket descend into the soil, and now the rain was fertilizing it. perhaps flowers would bloom on top of his grave. the entirety of the little town hoped so- anything to bring comfort to the blythe’s only son.

you’d seen gilbert at the funeral, features etched with sorrow, tears brimming at the corners of his eyes. but he’d looked resigned as well- putting on a strong face for those who could not. ruby had sobbed hysterically, as had rachel lynde, and even marilla cuthbert had shed a tear. normally, you would have talked to gilbert. you’d been over the day before mr. blythe had died, bringing with you a sweater you and your mother had knit together to help keep him warm. you’d known his health was declining, but it was even more heart wrenching seeing gilbert that way- expression unmoving, body stiff as he accepted the gift. you’d only had a moment with him before mr. blythe erupted into coughs again- a second in which gilbert’s mask slipped and you truly saw the fear plaguing his mind. you’d wished you could have said something to make it all better. but you hadn’t. you couldn’t.

and now you were on his porch, clutching a package of baking soda biscuits and a small posy of forget-me-nots in your hands. you were shivering from the cold rain, and you’d gotten soaked on the way over, but it was worth it. there seemed to be barely any movement in the gray house- you couldn’t spot any candles lit inside from the windows- and you were wondering if gilbert was even here when all of a sudden the door swung open and he appeared.

his expression was unreadable, brown eyes deep with emotion and seeded in sadness. “hi,” he said. “gil,” you breathed back.

after a moment of silence, the words came back to you. “these are for you,” you said, reaching out. your hands were shaking, and whether they were from nerves or the cold, gilbert couldn’t tell. he took the flowers and the parcel from your outstretched hands, almost unsure what to do with them. “they’re biscuits,” you said, mouth dry, trying to fill the quiet. “mother’s baking soda ones. you mentioned you liked them one time, and we were out of plum preserves, but i-”

“thank you,” gilbert said, and although it sounded slightly robotic, his words felt genuine. you looked at your shoes, unsure of what to say next. your parents had always taught you to say “i’m sorry for your loss” to someone grieving, but the phrase felt too unfamiliar. “i- i’ll leave you to it, then,” you stuttered, backing away from the door and turning to go. you didn’t want to intrude- even if he was your friend. because that’s what you were, right? friends. friends visited during difficult times. friends didn’t want to hug all the sadness out of him. but gilbert’s voice cracked when he spoke next, and you turned around.

“no,” he said clumsily. the words are rushed and jumbled from his mouth, and he stumbles over the next ones too. “please. you’re freezing, and soaking wet. come in.”

up until then, you’d hoped you didn’t look that bad. your straw hat had managed to protect the top of your head, but the rest of your hair was stringy and dripping over your shoulders. your cheeks were also flushed, and even in what should have been a moment focused on his own grief, gilbert found himself worrying that you’d catch pneumonia in this weather. he hadn’t expected anyone to visit today, especially not in a rainstorm.

seeing the concern in his eyes, you realized that walking all the way home in a thunderstorm was probably not such a good idea, so you stepped in cautiously per gilbert’s invitation. the house was warm, but everything seemed dim and gray. the door you knew led to mr. blythe’s bedroom was closed, and you could see gilbert’s eyes darting towards it as well, as if he were praying you wouldn’t say anything. gilbert set down the parcel of biscuits on the kitchen table and looked around for something.

“do you have a vase?” you asked quietly. “i can fill it up with water for you. i thought the forget-me-nots would bring a little light.”

gilbert nodded, but sucked in a breath. you turned to him with a questioning look. “the vase,” he said, voice dry. “it’s in his room. mrs. lynde brought some peonies over while he was still sick, and i didn’t take them out. he’s always hated peonies- he thinks they’re too big and bold. but he would’ve loved these.”

you lightly touched the small forget me not bouquet, felt the soft petals under your fingertips. “you don’t have to use a vase,” you replied softly. “a mug will do.” gilbert stood motionless in the middle of the kitchen, and you maneuvered around him, carefully filling up the pottery with water and placing the flowers in it.

he seemed rooted to the floor, even when he focused his gaze on the posy. your glance met his, and the sorrow was evident. gilbert hadn’t cried at the funeral- you’d never seen him cry. but now tears were brimming at the corners of his soft chocolate eyes, threatening to spill over, and in a moment your body overtook your mind and you had wrapped your arms around gilbert in a hug.

for a moment you regretted it. but then he was hugging you back, clutching your arms, holding onto you as if you were his lifeline. and in a way, you were. you could feel his hot breath on the back of your neck, hear his muffled cries. due to his height, your face was nestled in the crook of gilbert’s neck, and the two of you stayed like that, intertwined, for several long moments.

when gilbert finally pulled away, he knew that for better or for worse, you would be there for him until the day he died.

three. when you exchanged christmas presents in the snow.

to be honest, you hadn’t expected gilbert to come back from the steamer, or trinidad. you’d kept in close correspondence with him, saving the letters he sent you in a special drawer in your writing desk. you memorized his handwriting- the candid tone recalling his tales- the stamps on the envelope. but it still came as a surprise when he’d arrived back.

everything had been awkward at the start, but as soon as gilbert told you all the tales of his travels, you’d slowly slipped back into your old dynamic. there was still a line the both of you were toeing, trying to test out the boundaries between platonic and whatever the two of you were. when you’d met bash, he’d given you a quick wink and told you he’d heard all about you, but other than that, you were positive gilbert just wanted to stay friends. “he can’t love me,” you’d told the avonlea girls a few days prior. “the letters didn’t mean anything, he was just lonely.” but all of them agreed, even ruby- who had been zoning in on moody spurgeon ever since gilbert had left- that there was something more in his words, that it wasn’t all in your head.

and now it was christmas. gilbert, bash, and the shirley-cuthberts had all come for dinner (you’d grown close to anne the past year, and it had taken some convincing but since your father knew matthew so well, marilla had deemed it acceptable). the dinner had been lovely- your mother had brought out all the stops for gilbert and bash- roast goose, scalloped potatoes (island ones, of course), cranberry jelly, chicken pie, spiced gingerbread. flames crackled in the fireplace, biting gusts of wind rattled the windows, and blurred glittery ornaments adorned the pine tree in the center of your living room. dinner was over now, and the adults were gathered around the table and swapping stories of old. anne was there too, heavily engaged in a discussion with bash, but the social aspect was getting to be somewhat exhausting, so you quietly slipped out the back door to have a few moments alone.

in a rather unladylike fashion, you got up and sat on the fence by your house, snowflakes tickling your nose, watching the sun slowly begin to set. hues of pink and orange tinged the sky, and you were surprised you could even see it right now- the weather suggested a cloudy sky. the sound of snow crunching came from behind you, and to your surprise, gilbert was coming towards you. he had his brown cap and his red flannel on, and he looked so cozy that you somehow wished you were cuddled up in his arms. pushing the thought away, you greeted him as he came to sit on the fence beside you.

“enjoying the night so far?”

“quite,” gilbert replied. there was a sparkle in his eyes that danced, one that had been noticeably absent since his father died. you suspected it had something to do with bash’s uncle-like presence, and maybe anne’s too- it was well rumored that he’d fancied her for a while when they’d first met. gilbert looked off into the sunset, puffs of his breath materializing in the cold air, and you shivered involuntarily. he offered you his wool mittens wordlessly, and you gratefully put them on, although they were too big for you.

“oh,” you said, remembering something. he turned towards you, watching you intently as you pulled out a small package from your coat pocket. it was wrapped in festive paper, and you’d written his name on it in swooping calligraphy.

“for me?” gilbert asked. he carefully unfurled the wrapping paper to reveal a small leather bound book embossed with “the complete illustrated medical dictionary (pocket edition)” on the front. “i’ve had it since you left,” you said, breath catching in your throat. “i kept it for you. all this time.”

genuine joy shone in gilbert’s eyes. he flipped through the pages delightedly, marveling at the drawings inside. “thank you,” he grinned. “i actually have something for you too.”

breathlessly, you awaited your gift, snowflakes fluttering down and landing on you. they decorated your hair and its festive ribbon for one fleeting moment before melting, and you swore there was nothing as beautiful as this moment, exchanging gifts with gilbert in the snow, watching the sunset sweep across the dove-gray sky. finally, gilbert found what he was looking for in his pocket, and produced a tiny box.

“it doesn’t look like much,” he warned, “but i found it on my travels. i was waiting to give it to you. i wanted it to be the perfect moment.”

carefully opening the small box, you gasped as the lid revealed a necklace with a pendant. a small silver locket shaped like a heart, the kind one could put a photograph in. “gilbert,” you breathed. “this is- this is beautiful.”

and it was. the locket lay on a delicate chain, and it was engraved intricately, with elaborate designs. your mittened hands fumbled to take it out of the box and inspect it more, but gilbert took it from you with a small smile. “let me help you,” he murmured, and made to fasten it on you. you stood still, hyper aware of how close gilbert’s hands were to your face. his fingers brushed against the back of your neck, securing the necklace, and you caught yourself from flinching. you didn’t know what to say, except for thank you, so you repeated yourself again.

“a thing of beauty is a joy forever,” gilbert quoted, somewhat uncharacteristically. “keats,” he added after a moment, referencing the poet he’d read the phrase from. “i wanted you to have something to remember me by.”

“to remember you by?” you laughed. “what, are you going on the steamer again?”

he could tell the thought sobered you, so he shook his head, shrugging. “no. i just think…you’re a wonderful girl. the loveliest in avonlea.”

“i think you’re wonderful too,” you said shyly, which was about as many words as you could manage right now. the loveliest girl in avonlea? goodness.

the sun had almost set by now, and the sky was turning dark- a good cover for hiding the red tint spreading across your face. “we should go back inside,” you said hurriedly, and the two of you made your way over to the door. you stopped before opening it, basking in the glow of the oil lamp on the porch.

“gilbert, i-”

overcome by sudden anxiety, you handed back his warm mittens. “thank you,” you said, the words lingering on your tongue. “for everything.”

quickly, so fast you almost missed it, gilbert leaned down, brushed a stray wisp of hair away, and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “merry christmas,” he said simply. and then, the two of you went back inside, as if nothing had happened at all.

as soon as you entered, bash noticed the locket and smirked. gilbert shot him a warning look, lest he say anything. the two of you immersed yourself in separate conversations- you with anne, him with marilla and your mother, while matthew silently observed your father and bash discuss politics. but you kept stealing glances at each other as if you were speaking a secret language that only the two of you knew, and each time it filled you with comfort.

it was a cold christmas, but you felt the warmest you had been in a while– and, as luck would have it, so did gilbert.

four. when you climbed a tree.

and so summer rolled around again, fading into august. university loomed on the horizon. childhood was over- gone were the days of butterflies, bumblebees, and scraped knees. yet you could pretend, and so you did.

the soft salt breeze tickled your face, sending a pleasant feeling down your spine. you were with gilbert- on his farm, in the orchard. it was just the two of you- most of avonlea were in charlottetown for the island county fair, granting you the opportunity to do whatever you wanted, since no one was around to see.

so you took advantage of that. no more were the stolen glances, the sneaking around, your only physical touch with gilbert being brushed hands- and even then you’d both deemed it risky. neither of you wanted word to get around yet. sure, there had been rumors and some of your best friends knew (only the ones you were sure wouldn’t spread anything around). but here, now, the world was your oyster. and the two of you soaked it up blissfully.

you were lying on the grass with your head in gilbert’s lap, weaving a flower crown as he read a book- an old poetry collection ms stacy had lent him. the clouds were glorious fluffy shapes in the blue sky, and you pointed them out to gilbert every once in a while. your fingers deftly twined the daisies and their stems, finally tying them all together in a knot, creating a perfect circlet, and setting it teasingly on gilbert’s dark hair.

he smirked, leaving it on. “made it for me?”

“a pretty crown for a pretty boy,” you replied, smiling from your position in his lap. he was solid, sturdy, his hand resting securely on your waist. you felt safe with your body close to his, arms and legs intertwined. and he was pretty- “the prettiest boy in avonlea,” you said, mimicking his words to you from last christmas. he laughed and set the book down, taking the flower crown off and resting it gently on your hair. “it suits you,” gilbert said softly, and he was right.

the two of you stayed like that for a while, absorbing each other’s presence. you charted the rare freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose as if they were constellations, tracing them with the tip of your finger. it tickled him, and he smiled down at you. he finally returned to his book- “i want to read you something”- and blissfully, you obliged, settling down to listen.

“i almost wish we were butterflies and lived but three summer days- three such days with you i could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain,” gilbert read from the poetry collection in his lap, a break from the constant medical anatomy books he was usually seen carrying around. you recognized the fragment of poetry- “keats,” you said, “just like what you said to me last winter. when you gave me the necklace.”

a smile tugged at gilbert’s lips, and you pulled out the locket from under the neckline of your dress to show him. “i’ll never take it off,” you promised him, right then and there. “it’s like a little piece of you with me, all the time.”

“you better not,” he teased. “cost me a fortune, that one. even more than all of those romance books i’m always secretly buying you in town.”

you sat up and shoved him jokingly, tousling his dark curls to purposely peeve him. gilbert’s hair wasn’t tidy all that often, but he’d let it slip once that he always tried to make it look nice for you. struck by a sudden flash of inspiration, you jumped up. “let’s go pick some apples.”

the blythe orchard was infamous for their strawberry apples, the only place in avonlea where they were available. contrary to popular belief, this was simply a variant of apple, and not a strawberry hybrid. all too happy to appease you, gilbert took your hand and led you to the best tree on the land. most of the other boughs were still blooming with apple blossoms, but this tree was different.

he pointed to a low-hanging branch, one blessed with red fruit. “my father always picked the first apple on this tree in august,” he told you, tone contemplative and wistful. “he said this was the tree he kissed my mother under for the first time. he thought if the first apple of the season was picked here, at this tree, it brought the harvest luck.”

nostalgia flickered in gilbert’s eyes, and you knew he was missing his father more than usual. “let’s do it, then,” you said, finding your voice, fingers delicately intertwined with his- giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “we’ll each pick one. in honor of him. a new tradition.”

the words you’d spoken may have been simplistic, but to gilbert they meant the world. without his father, it had been so incredibly difficult at first to do anything- carry on old traditions, much less creating new ones. but here you were, by his side, looking up at him with adoring eyes, and giving him the opportunity to heal and grow. gilbert knew he could never put into words how much it truly meant to him.

you let him go first, watching him scamper up the tree like a squirrel. he seemed a boy again, plucking an apple from the highest bough and descending nimbly. when you started climbing, you found your footing easily, but doubt wracked your mind- imagine the horrors if mrs. lynde and her posse heard about this, climbing trees like a chimpanzee! - and so you opted for a lower branch, reaching it deftly. you reached for an apple and held it high victoriously. some hint of pride shone in gilbert’s eyes.

“to making new traditions,” he said- a toast with the notable absence of glasses brimming with champagne. “to making new traditions,” you repeated, and in that moment, you in the tree and him on the ground, you swore you could see hints of a future- one with new traditions and old traditions, little feet running around and everything in between. today was flawless.

and it would’ve been perfect, except for the sound of the branch cracking under your weight. you weren’t too high up in the tree, but inevitably, you landed on the ground, a crumpled heap of petticoats and ribbons, crying out softly upon impact.

you’d never seen gilbert this way, in ‘doctor mode’, simply put. he was immediately beside you, voice laced with concern, checking you over for scrapes and bruises. you were fine, mostly- just a little shaken up and scared, save for the red-hot throbbing in your wrist. the pain didn’t exactly warrant crying, but you weren’t used to the funny feeling, and tears welled in your waterline anyways. gilbert, telling you to take deep breaths, helped you sit up.

he’d noticed straightaway the way you held you wrist, cradling it slightly away from your body, and murmuring words of comfort, he started prodding your knuckles, gently examining the swollen area. you winced, but it wasn’t too bad. “i don’t think it’s broken,” gilbert said finally, deeming it a sprain after careful inspection. “but let’s get you back home. i have some bandages- i’ll wrap it just in case.”

tears threatened to spill over again as the two of you walked from the orchard to his home. gilbert noticed, and stopped. “hey,” he said softly. “it’s okay. i’ll make you some herbal tea. that should help with the pain a bit.”

“it’s not that,” you made out, a small pout forming on your lips. “we were having such a wonderful day, gil, and i ruined it all. i’m sorry.”

“whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said, his brow furrowing. “you didn’t ruin anything. you got hurt, it happens. and we have the rest of the afternoon to be together- i’ll tell you what, how about once we get back to the farmhouse, we’ll make the most of it, okay? we can still have some fun.”

a wobbly smile formed on your lips, and you nodded. gilbert cupped your face gently, and looked into your eyes. “i love you,” he said, voice nervous but firm. “just let me take care of you.”

your heart caught in your throat. he’d never said that before. contrary to the rumors, he hadn’t even kissed you properly yet. “i love you too,” you whispered, voice hoarse. and before you could think about it too much, you went up on your tiptoes and pressed a small kiss to gilbert’s lips.

they were soft and sweet and filled with promise and hope, and he leaned into it, your bodies closer than they’d ever been. his hands ghosted the small of your back, your hips, your shoulders, and it felt like home. when you finally pulled apart, there was a twinkle in his eye you’d never seen before. a twinkle of something called joy.

when you got back to the farmhouse, he finally settled you on the couch, comfortably sipping a cup of tea and trying wholeheartedly to braid your hair. he’d always wanted to learn, and since you were currently unable to do it yourself, he deemed it the perfect opportunity. it made you laugh- his fingers, usually nimble and clever, were clumsy in your locks, and the braid you ended up with was slightly sloppy, but filled with adoration. a realization fluttered through your mind, and set its claws into your future. you loved gilbert- gilbert loved you- and though you wouldn’t say it out loud, at least not for several years, he would make a wonderful husband.

five. when you said “i do”.

the spring skies were blue today- flowers were blooming- grass was green. “a lovely day for a wedding,” mrs. lynde had told marilla that morning, and all of avonlea agreed.

you were walking down the aisle in a few minutes, getting ready in reverence. a delicate white veil lay on your hair, the one passed down through your family for almost a century. the lace dress fit you perfectly, intricate embroidery accentuating your waist. your mother’s simple pearl earrings adorned your ears, glowing in the morning light. in your hands were a bouquet- a single spray of forget-me-nots, periwinkle blue, an ode to gilbert’s father, who had loved them so. and at the same time, a tribute to your past together, that awful rainy day after the funeral filled with grief and tears and emotion, yet what had brought you closer together. something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. all was well. you were ready.

the springtime realm of gilbert’s yard was immersed in devotion. petals decorated the grass down the aisle. your dearest friends and family observed, and the wedding itself passed in the blink of an eye. there was not a dry eye during the vows, and gilbert’s words were even more poetic than you had ever hoped. he promised to love you- to care for you- in sickness and in health, to be your rock. it was not the fanciest wedding- there were no messes of tulle and satin and roses- but it was yours, and you couldn’t be happier.

you were husband and wife. the dawn had come anew. and that night, when gilbert fell asleep watching you breathe, finding solace in the rise and fall of your chest, he knew without a doubt that he would do it all over again.

2K notes · View notes

sehodreams · 12 days

Text

cherry blossom scars

TW and tags: tattoo artist!Wonbin x insecure!reader, surgery scar, pierced nipples, nipple play, mutual masturbation, tons of overthinking and word vomiting, corny as hell, fluff, kind of dom reader but not much.

WC: 9.3k

Comment: hi guys, I made brief descriptions of the scar, to be honest, I don’t have one or ever had surgery, so I’m not exactly sure how one would look, I just saw a couple of pictures on the internet and wanted to write something about it, hope it’s okay. I didn’t sleep at all to finish it because I knew I’d leave it in a draft if I didn’t write it in one go. Probably has mistakes and inconsistencies. I don’t know anything about piercings, tattoos, or early education.

While growing up, as weird as it sounds, summer was your favourite season. You remember a lot of things about it, how your parents would drive to the coast to spend the day at the beach, playing in the water with the friend your parents had agreed to take with you, and eating the most boring sandwich your mother could make in a busy morning that felt like a feast in your mouth after swimming for hours.

It was all good, until you started to grow up. Your parents had no time to take you anymore, your friends had better things to do, and you had entered the phase of your life in which you hated the idea of wearing a swimsuit if you weren’t perfect.

Perfection is, as you thought after a particular summer, simply not you.

Perhaps your mother hadn’t said it with bad intentions, she was your mother after all, and you were sure she loved you, but that little phrase had impregnated your head like the gum on your head one of the boys in class thought it looked good smeared on your hair.

‘’I don’t think you should wear this blouse doll’’ she said, showing you her selection instead.

‘’Why? I like it, and it’s too hot to wear normal shirts’’ you replied, feeling your arms sweat just with the simple action of changing into the clothes you were wearing.

‘’It’s just… the scar is showing’’ she said, pointing at the line that went from the start of your shoulder to the middle of your chest.

It was a long line, thick, slightly red and purple, noticeable from the way it would get deeper into your smooth skin, surrounded with thin little lines that looked like roots expanding to grow. You were just fourteen, not thinking much of it; actually, not even thinking about it until she talked about it.

You spent the summer with short-sleeved shirts, leaving all the dresses with thin straps and anything that showed your cleavage behind. You could, never again, wear anything that did.

It didn’t matter how many creams your mother bought, or how many treatments in clinics you received, it stayed there with you, like a mark of how fragile your body was, and how easily you could break with a simple fall.

You had gotten hurt after biking with your friends and making a wrong turn. You fell with a strong thud, and you don’t remember much about what happened that day anymore, because when you were conscious again, you already had the scar there. Less to say your parents banned you from riding a bicycle ever again.

So, it’s not difficult to guess why you hate summer now. You can’t wear the clothes you want, you’re a broke college student living alone with no AC, and you have to walk everywhere with the fear of getting a heatstroke.

To your luck, or disgrace, today you run out of clean t-shirts acceptable for the weather, and you simply refuse to wear a long-sleeved one, resolving to grab one of the thin straps that you usually wear when you’re alone in your room.

You don’t think much about it. You’re going to your friend’s place, and she should have a shirt to lend you around there. Still, not even the thought makes the journey bearable.

You’re anxious in your seat, listening to some podcast you had found about old music (you don’t know if to call it old since it’s the 90s, but your friends didn’t even watch programs that weren’t from your century, so to avoid all explanation you simply say you like old music), when you feel weirdly observed.

Looking in front of you, a mother is carrying his child in her arms, who is looking intensely at you. You smile because the kid is cute. He has big eyes, almost black, and chubby cheeks. He must be at least four years old, and when you wave your hand to say hi, he points at your chest. You know what he’s pointing, and you nod as if you explained everything with that move.

When the mother turns at you, directing her eyes at what her son is watching, and sees you, she smiles and then her face falls, almost as abruptly as you did that day from your bicycle, and she apologizes for her son.

‘’He didn’t do anything’’ you say, and she denies it.

‘’He shouldn’t be looking at you like that’’ she answers.

‘’Why?’’ you ask.

‘’Because…’’ she can’t finish her sentence. You kind of know what she refers to. Because you’re hurt, and we can all see it. You almost want to correct the words she didn’t say because the kid doesn’t look at you as if you were a monster, he’s just curious, while she is the one doing it.

‘’He’s cute’’ you say instead.

‘’Thank you’’ she answers.

‘’Be careful when he grows up’’ you say. ‘’Because…’’

Because he could look like me it’s implied, and the mother looks at you horrified, as if you had just cursed his son. She quickly gets up and presses the button to get off the bus with such desperation you feel bad for having talked more than necessary.

When you go back to your own thing, you notice something weird again. You lift your eyes, finding the seat in front of you, in which the mother had been sitting just seconds before, empty, and a man beside you. When you meet his eyes he smiles at you, a big grin with no teeth, he’s obviously older than you, with lines of age on his face, normal looking, almost kind, and then, in front of your face, he moves his eyes down to your chest.

Great, now you didn’t have to deal with people staring at your scar, now you had to deal with old men staring at your tits too.

You feel so creeped out by it that you get up and press the button for the next stop. It’s not your stop, but now you can understand why the mother was so desperate to get off. A creep, as normal as they look, it’s still a creep.

Walking the streets at a fast pace, you try to arrive at your friend’s place as soon as possible. You feel even more observed, perhaps it’s because you’re almost running at 36oC and you’re sweating your ass off, but you think it’s because of your uncovered cleavage.

The minute you arrive you start telling your friend everything, from the cute kid to the disgusting man, and she tells you that people usually act dumb, doesn’t matter how you look, people are just people.

‘’It’s their nature, they’re programmed to act like fools, especially men’’ your friend says.

‘’Well, they’re fucking disgusting’’ you answer, grabbing one of her t-shirts and sliding into it to cover yourself like you usually do.

‘’Boys will be boys’’ she finishes, and then she rushes you to finally leave.

You have to go to a pool party (a private party he has clarified), and you honestly would’ve refused on any other occasion, but Sungchan, the owner of the house and your friend’s boyfriend, was cool enough to not force you to go in when you said you weren’t fond of swimming, nodding in understanding as if you had told him the entire story tale of your life, which was kind of comforting.

Also, since he lives with his parents, he has AC.

At the party, a couple of hours later, when almost everyone is outside enjoying the water, you’re left alone in charge of the snacks and drinks, mixing shit as if you knew what you were doing.

‘’Could I have some of that?’’ one of Sungchan’s friends asks, pointing at the jug you’re holding. You nod, you have no reason to say no, and when he takes a sip of it his eyebrow frowns for a second before he smiles. ‘’Wow, that’s… good.’’

You know it’s not, it’s just rum coke with too much rum and almost no limes, to which you decide to add a bit of sprite to see if it does the gig. It doesn’t, but it could punch anyone into not asking for more and you nod content at the result.

‘’Thanks, I should probably make a career of it’’ you answer.

He flashes you a smile before he grabs a can of Coke to sip it. ‘’Sure, if your goal is to hook more people into going to A.A meetings’’ he says while opening a bag of salt and vinegar chips. ‘’I’m Wonbin’’ he smiles.

You tell him your name and serve yourself a cup too. You try to secretly add more ice to your drink, and he laughs louder when he catches you feigning you were getting ice for the whole jug.

‘’I’ll be honest, I feel like I’ve seen you before’’ he says then.

‘’Well, we’re kind of connected through the couple there, perhaps we crossed each other’’ your finger directs at your friend over Sungchan’s shoulders, laughing and screaming something you can’t understand with the music on out there.

‘’True, but not only that… weren’t you last week at the tattoo shop right next to the bookstore that sells old books no one reads?’’ he takes a sip of the drink with more ice, and he denies, adding the rest of the can of coke he had opened.

‘’Do you mean the Rip Tree? I mean, it’s not Barnes and Noble, but it does the job. I got a nice copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray for four dollars there, and they gave me a bunch of bookmarks for free. Of course, they had the publicity of a nursing home in the back, but I’m sure it’s a completely respectable place to read books at’’ you answer immediately, adding rum to the jug when he laughs so hard his head falls back and his eyes close.

When he leans more to the front and you see his arms flexing, you can’t help but suddenly feel conscious of how much you’re talking to a boy you have just met so freely. Maybe you’ve had too many trial drinks while you were mixing and it had started to get in your head without noticing, it wouldn’t be the first time, and sure wouldn’t be the last time.

He smiles at you with a closed mouth, just like the man you had met on the bus many hours before, but you like this smile. Wonbin, unlike the older man, looks at your face without trailing down.

‘’Well, were you?’’ he asks.

‘’Where?’’ you ask too, because half of the conversation you were having just disappeared from your head when you saw his necklace, almost as pretty as him, glint.

‘’The Ink, the tattoo shop’’ he repeats.

‘’Oh, well yeah, but I just went in because I was curious.’’

You’re lying. You hate lying, but again, you didn’t feel like telling someone you just met your whole life.

You had seen on the internet how some people covered their scars with tattoos, which honestly, seemed like a great solution to your esthetic situation. However, when you crossed the door all your bravery went to hell, especially when the gorgeous admin asked you to see it and then the next time told you that a skin-colour tattoo wouldn’t be possible in your case since the scar was too dark, and that a much better option would be to get one with colours. Obviously, she didn’t know your parents or your career, because who the hell will want to hire a preschool teacher with a colored tattoo? You could already hear the comments, you being so silly to try to cover a scar with a new one, and how improper was for a lady, a teacher, to have one.

He nods at your answer. ‘’Well, was it worth it?’’ he asks.

‘’What? Going in? I guess so, it’s a nice place, a bunch of colours and great walls, they have some interesting draws too’’ you say, also leaning and grabbing a few chips to eat while talking.

Your hand almost meets his when you reach the bag again, and you look at each other’s eyes. He smiles again and you get shy at being that close to him again, pushing your hand into the bag to pretend you didn’t feel your stomach flutter with that silly interaction. He lets you put your hand in first, and then he grabs a couple more, eating them slowly, looking as if he was thinking about something else.

Michael Jackson starts to sound in the background, and you bob your head as instinct to the rhythm.

‘’Didn’t take you for a Thriller girl’’ he says, tilting his head and grinning.

‘’Because I’m not, I’m a Rock with You girl, sometimes a Dirty Diana one too’’ you answer, happy to talk a bit about music you like. Your friends don’t like him that much, but they let you sneak a few songs into the shared playlist, and that’s enough for you.

However, you didn’t choose Thriller for this playlist.

‘’I guess you’re the Thriller guy then’’ you say.

‘’Yeah, I’m a failure’’ he stands, grabbing his cup and sipping before he continues. ‘’But I’d like to hear you teaching me something about him, so I stop being one.’’

Smooth Criminal, you think, letting him guide you to the couch.

While talking, you don’t even realize how much time has passed until you hear the laughs fall and some of Sungchan guests start leaving. The day is well behind, an orange sky out there at 6 pm, and you don’t want to go home.

Your friend had come with Sungchan to say goodbye to some people, and when she asks you if you’re tired, you say that you’re okay, just a little hungry. She nods and orders a couple of pizzas with Sungchan’s phone since hers is connected to the speakers outside.

There are only like 7 people left, including you and Wonbin, who decide to stay on the couch with you when another boy, Sohee, tells him that going to the jacuzzi to submerge his feet should be fine.

You don’t think much about what Sohee says, but you’re too cosy with Wonbin to even think at all.

‘’Won’t you ask why he said that?’’ Wonbin says when you’re alone again.

‘’None of my business’’ you say.

‘’I’m a bit curious though, if you don’t mind me asking why you would prefer to stay here in charge of the bar, because as much as I like your drinks, I don’t think you’re used to staying still in charge of things like this at parties.’’

‘’Well, you’re wrong about that, I enjoy being in charge a lot, and I can do it for many hours’’ you say, not noticing how odd it sounds. He looks a bit shocked at first, and then laughs hard. You can’t go back in time to correct yourself, so you laugh with him.

You start to think that maybe you can tell him, it’s not the end of the world, but you can’t even think about revealing something that deep to him. Well, it’s not that deep, you showed it to your friend literally the day you met her. You were in the cafeteria when you spilt your milkshake over your sweater, so you had no option but to change, and you somehow knew she would be your friend when she laughed and told you to grab her sweater if you were that cold, so you showed it to her.

Still, Wonbin is so pretty, even his teeth when he laughed were pretty, and you couldn’t imagine what he would think if he knew.

You don’t imagine a whole relationship with him to think about his opinion too highly, but there is interest, and you want to keep it there as long as you can.

Being your age and haven’t fucked a boyfriend under the light, you simply couldn’t feel comfortable enough to show it to a boy you barely knew and kind of liked.

‘’Just because’’ you say.

‘’I see’’ he says, knowing there’s something you don’t want to tell him. ‘’Well, a win for me anyways, I’ve learned a lot in just an afternoon’’ he says, making you sigh, glad he changes the subject.

‘’I’m glad I was able to tell you everything Wikipedia has about the most known person in the world’’ you haven’t even stayed on the topic for too long for him to learn something, you just said what songs you liked, then showed him some playlists and laughed when you had songs in common, mentioning little moments you remember while listening to them, like not being able to remember your lines in a school play when they suddenly put Beat It as background music, or playing The Way You Make Me Feel in the speaker when one of your friends wanted to confess to a girl (she rejected them so it’s banned from every shared playlist). You shake your head with a smile, not looking at him when one of his hands gets closer to you, resting behind you on the couch.

Oh, you say in your head. You don’t know how close you’ll let him get, but it feels so right.

You haven’t talked (kind of flirted, but you don’t want to get ahead of yourself) with a boy that long in years. You kind of remember Anton from your Art, Music & Movement course with whom you went on a couple (unofficial) dates until he took an exchange program and had to leave for a whole year. Then you remember talking to Seunghan, a guy who gave you his spot in the queue for the bathroom at a concert and with whom you exchanged numbers after he bought you a really overpriced burrito, but he lived two hours away, and you had no energy or time to really be something. And then, then you got no one else.

The room is quiet, you notice. He’s not talking, and neither are you, so you fall into a comfortable silence. You hope he’s not tired yet, you’re not, but maybe your social battery has just died, so you lean into his side a bit more, letting your body relax and your head touches his arm behind you.

He looks at you with a small smile, and you start to inspect his face like you feel he’s doing with yours. He has dark eyelashes, thin, but they’re enough to mark his eyes, and they go well with his black hair. You also notice that his hair is shorter on the back and longer on the front, letting some locks fall around, creating little shadows over his face and covering the end of his eyes. He looks really good with the haircut, but you’ve seen him in pictures with Sungchan before, and he honestly always looks good.

Your eyes fall to his chest because you don’t want to make the moment awkward.

What he’s wearing is simple, a black shirt without sleeves that shows his well-toned arms, skin smooth, almost too perfect, and you can’t help but remind yourself how you’re not as perfect as him.

You doubt he has any flaw like yours, and you don’t mean a weird-looking mole or a scar that anyone could have from childhood, yours is different, too noticeable, impossible to ignore. His whole body was an uninterrupted harmony you couldn’t relate to.

Wait, you stop yourself from thinking too far away. What’s that?

You notice that there, in his chest, under the fabric of his tank top, there’s a bulge you haven’t noticed before, and it’s not his nipples, you’re completely sure of that.

Boys will be boys, and the words of your friend start to echo in your head.

You always hated that phrase. How could they all be so brute and inconsiderate of everyone else that weren’t themselves? The lack of respect to stare at your chest without a care of you disgusted you just hours ago.

And now, you start to ponder if, perhaps, in the end, you’re as brute as the man you met on the bus.

Poor Wonbin is finally filing the silence with something about how he had found a new band not long ago, giving you the exact same charming smile he’s had the whole afternoon, flirty but respectful, making you feel almost guilty from not being able to concentrate on the conversation, too busy trying to not stare at his chest.

You blink twice, trying to look at his eyes again.

It doesn’t work. You can’t ignore it.

It was impossible. They were there, standing under his shirt, calling for you to look at them.

Coughing, you move from the touch of his hand behind you, almost as if it burned you, and drink the almost pure water from the ice that melted in your cup.

You scold yourself. I’m not better than a man, you say in your mind before finishing the opaque result of water, rum and coke in your hand in one go, and then, not having anything else to distract yourself with, you bite the inside of your cheek to distract yourself with the pain.

‘’Sorry, am I boring you?’’ he says not much later, feeling the change in your behaviour.

‘’Eh?’’ you say, turning your body in his direction again.

You notice that his cheeks have a pretty reddish flush, and he stays still, letting you stare, waiting for you to talk. Without a doubt, he was one of the prettiest boys you’ve ever met, and in that moment, you were too dazed into him and his stupid pierced nipples to talk to him as easily as you’d been doing when you didn’t know about their existence.

‘’No’’ you finally say. ‘’I’m sorry, that was rude of me, I had other things on my mind.’’

‘’Like what?’’

You don’t expect him to lean even more into your space and show more interest in what you’ve been thinking about, making you more nervous for not being able to concentrate on another thing that wasn’t him and his pierced nipples so close.

It’s stupid, you can’t help but think. You’re treating him differently. You’ve changed after finding out he has pierced nipples, and it’s exactly what you don’t want to happen to you when people find out about your scar.

‘’Your cheek’’ his hand moves to your face, startling you since he hadn’t touched you that directly the whole night, and with his thumb he caressed the cheek you were obviously biting from the inside. ‘’Doesn’t it hurt?’’ he asks.

You gulp. ‘’Not really.’’

He hums, smiling even more when you move your eyes from his face to his chest, and then, after awkwardly blinking a couple times, looking down to your lap.

A strand of your hair falls out of the lame excuse of a hairstyle you tried to do (not daring to use a ponytail to a party and loose hair with the hot weather) over your face when you look down, and his hand moves on its own to accommodate it behind your ear, the pad of his finger slowly brushing a spot you didn’t know you like, making you melt with his touch like a popsicle in the street at 2PM.

‘’It doesn’t hurt either’’ he says. ‘’If you were curious.’’

Not understanding what he’s referring to, you give him a confused look.

‘’What doesn’t hurt?’’ you ask him.

‘’The piercings’’ he answers, laughing when your cheeks get red, and you shake your head to say no.

‘’I-‘’ I wasn’t looking at them, you want to say. It was just untrue, and denying something you’ve clearly been doing since you noticed them would make you look even more pathetic. So, deciding to be different from the shameless man who never apologized to you, you prefer to be honest. ‘’I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have looked at them like that’’.

‘’Why?’’ he asks, and you feel a sense of deja vu.

‘’It’s rude, to stare at your chest’’ you clarify. ’’At least, uninvited.’’

He looks as if he’s enjoying seeing you that embarrassed, almost as pleased as when you bravely talked to him at the bar, when you remember applauding your mind for creating fresh answers. At that moment, your brain seems to have suffered from all the rum you’ve had since you arrived, so it can’t change the subject or give you a quick joke to make the moment less humiliating.

‘’It’s okay, I don’t mind’’ he denies with a breathy laugh, hand moving down from near your face to your arm, sliding until he finds yours, interlocking fingers when he does. ‘’I invite you to do it, then.’’

‘’What?’’ your eyes become bigger and everything around you, mute.

You see his mouth moving and saying something like, I can show them to you, if you want, before he, not waiting for an answer, makes you stand with him. You can’t see what he says after that when he looks back to the crystal door separating you two from the others outside, and then without doubt he makes you follow him.

It wasn’t his place, yet he moved with enough confidence as if it was, dragging you by the hand to the second floor, a place you had never seen even with your constant visits to the place of your friend’s boyfriend. You always stuck to the first floor, not wanting to cross any boundaries with Sungchan, so you feel as if you’re seeing something you shouldn’t when on the second floor, after walking upstairs, you’re received with tons of family portraits showing you his childhood.

You don’t say anything, you let him move you until you both enter a bathroom you’ve never been to. Closing the door, suddenly you can hear again when you recognize the faint sound of music coming from downstairs and some people laughing.

‘’We have to be quick’’ you hear him say after he presses the secure of the door.

The bathroom is smaller than the one on the first floor, almost tiny. There’s only a sink and a WC besides, with a towel hanger under the light and a mirror over the sink. You can hear the vents working when he turns on the light, but you’re too distracted with his whole body trapping you between him and the sink, not giving you opportunity to put any space between you two, to care.

When he shows you a cheeky grin after you lean more into the sink to put a centimetre more between you, nervous of being there with him, close, and obviously about to do something you’re not used to do with people you’ve just met, you don’t care anymore.

His lips are pink and glowing after he licks them, and he’s too pretty for you to say no.

He moves your left hand to his covered chest, and you have to contain the surprised whimper your throat almost lets out when you feel the little thing that has caught your interest since you recognized it.

One of your hands is gripping the marble of the sink with force to maintain you sane, and it works, until he sighs when you flick it.

His face still has that cheekiness that you had understood, from your time talking, characterized him, but it was now mixed with desire, leaving behind the whole courtesy, making him look even better in front of your eyes.

You become needier, if he looks that good with just a flick, you can’t imagine how would he look if you two did more.

‘’Take it off’’ you urge him, not caring that the tone of your voice makes it seem almost an order.

The hand previously glued to the cold surface moves to the border of his shirt, feeling like a punch the warmness of his skin, pushing it up so he does what you asked faster.

‘’Shit’’ he grins, lifting his arms and allowing you to take it off for him. ‘’What happened to the timid girl from before?’’

‘’I’m not usually like this, I swear’’ you say. You want to tell him that no one had made you that eager before, even less with just a look, but again, you had never met anyone, especially a man, with pierced nipples, so he should understand your curiosity when you admire his naked chest and lick your lips before you look at his eyes again.

Growing up as a woman, you have seen firsthand how a good pair of tits could make the smartest and most respectful man a complete asshole. Even the most respectful men that you had gladly called your friends, have been caught by your always wary eyes looking at other women’s chests.

You don’t wear cleavage, so it doesn’t happen to you that much, but just that day a man did it on the bus, like a primitive caveman, a beast, and it’s so embarrassing that you’re acting like one of them in that moment.

Surely, Darwin would be especially disappointed with your regression as a human, but, in your favour, everyone becomes monkeys with the quantity of alcohol you’ve had that afternoon. Also, the weather has a lot to do too, because if it wasn’t that hot, Wonbin wouldn’t have been wearing a tank top, therefore, he wouldn’t have left his ample chest on your eyesight, and that has nothing to do with you. It was all climate change, so perhaps even Darwin would’ve forgiven you for wanting to lick some man’s nipples.

The rum in your system makes your mind babble nonsense and you have to shut your mind for a second. But you want to lick them so bad. You never thought you could fall that low, but there you are, in a bathroom only used to shit at, trying to not moan just from the sight of those pink nipples with little silver beams pointing at you.

‘’I believe you’’ he sighs with a smile, moving further to the wall behind him so you could see his chest better.

You can’t believe your eyes.

You can see the metallic object break through the pink flesh, two tiny spheres on each end of it to not let it move from its place, and you can officially say you have never seen anything that hot in your life.

Hypnotized by the way the object sparkles with the warm light above you two, you timidly move your index fingers to flick them again, making him breathe through his nose and bite his lip to contain himself.

‘’Do they feel good?’’ your curiosity, instead of getting satiated, is growing, and you have tons of questions appearing in your mind.

‘’Per se… sometimes, when I get conscious of them’’ he admits. ‘’But I usually have to touch them if I want to feel something’’.

You flick them again, to then grip them with your index and middle finger and, slightly, almost with fear, twirl them. ‘’Is this okay?’’ you ask, gulping the saliva accumulating in your mouth.

‘’Yeah, that feels good’’ he assures you, both of his hands going to your hips to maintain you in place while his head falls to the wall behind, and he closes his eyes.

You keep doing the same motion, loving the sighs that he leaves out and how a frown of pleasure starts to install on his face. At some point, his own chest is moving with how hard his breath has become, doing the work for you of tugging them while you hold them still.

His eyes are closed and his tongue salutes you when he wets his lips, pressing his hips against you. His boner is appearing there, pressing the mount of your abdomen, but you’re so concentrated on the image in front of you that you can’t care less about him using you to stimulate that area every time his hips push softly into you.

He looks so good like that. You can’t stop yourself from asking when, after twirling them harder, a particular moan leaves his mouth, making you wet. You’re not being touched at all apart from his hands marking your hips with his strength, but your sex was clenching with the pleasure you were giving him, as if those touches were gifted to you too.

‘’Can-Can I lick them?’’ you ask nervously.

‘’Fuck, don’t do that to me’’ his eyelids flutter and you stop all your movements, afraid you’re asking for too much. Shit, perhaps even he thinks I’m crazy, you tell yourself.

‘’Can’t I?’’ you ask, sad of him denying your question, or at least, what you understood as a denial.

‘’Don’t fucking stop’’ he says, one leg going between your thighs and bending it to touch you more. ‘’Do whatever you want honey, I know you’ll do it with care’’.

You don’t need anymore, and moving down your face to his chest, you look up at him with deer eyes, afraid of him stopping you again.

He nods at you, giving you the certainty you want to start doing it.

You’ve never licked another person’s nipples before, so you were unsure of exactly what to do, and remembering what your couple of partners have done before to make you feel good, you press the tip of your tongue over one of them, damping the pink tip and tasting the combination of the flavour of his skin and the metallic object.

Your pussy feels even better with the sensation of it in your mouth, stealing a moan from you.

‘’Shit, you like them that much?’’ he asked, obtaining a nod from you as a response. God, what would your friend say if she found you in that position? You feel sick for a second, but you quickly ignore that thought with the shake of his laugh inside his chest making you look at him instead.

‘’They’re really pretty’’ you say between laps, maintaining eye contact.

‘’Not as pretty as you baby’’, he praises you back.

You moan again with his words, and your eyebrows frown when you feel his knee pressing your cunt, feeling yourself dripping inside your shorts.

‘’You’re doing good baby, keep going’’ he smiles, making you happy with the idea of doing a good job for him.

It’s all so weird. The last thing you expected that day was Wonbin to have pierced nipples, even less, that you would be licking them in a bathroom. However, there you are, moaning while humping his knee and playing with one of the piercings while your mouth continues tasting the other.

Wonbin tastes and smells so good, you’re getting dizzy, as if his whole body was made from the sugar you needed to get completely drunk.

It’s all a bunch of frantic moves, you’re humping his leg while his hands push to the sink behind you, biting his lips hard at the sensation of your mouth drinking his chest.

‘’Fuck- that’s so good’’ his voice sounds in pain, and you bite the little mound in your mouth as you do with your cheek, controlling yourself to not hurt him, to what he shudders before his mouth falls open and a choked sound escapes his swollen lips. ‘’That’s enough, stop’’ he pushes you away, gaining a whine from you because you don’t want to stop, you want to continue, to see his gorgeous face break apart.

‘’Why?’’ you complain. His knee digs into you harder, and you move your hips more to the front as a response. He’s trying to control his breath, and you like how he’s looking at you, as if he was as bad for you as you are for him.

‘’I was about to cum’’ he reveals, and you can’t believe he just told you that, because the idea sounds so good you clench around nothing.

‘’Please, please’’ you beg.

Just minutes before you thought you were crazy for wanting to lick his nipples, but now you realize that you’re insane for wanting to see him cum like that. For needing to see it. You’re sure his cock is fucking pretty as well, and you want to see it spurring with cum so bad you don’t even ask before your hand starts to pull his belt open. He lets you, going to the hem of your shirt, and there’s when your whole euphoric state stops, and panic arises.

‘’No, wait, stop’’ you push his hand away and he lets you go immediately.

‘’What’s wrong? I thought-‘’ he doesn’t finish the sentence, clarity coming back to him too. ‘’Did I read things wrong?’’

He didn’t read anything wrong. You wanted to get even more intimate, but you’re scared. The light is on, and you can see him, which means, he can see you too.

‘’No, it’s just…’’ how could you say, please don’t get scared, or disgusted, I have a huge mark that goes from my shoulder to my chest that will never leave me alone, without sounding odd. You don’t think he’s ever heard or seen anything about surgery scars, from what you can see, he’s perfect in more ways than you can even explain. He’s handsome, yes, but his pierced nipples had added a touch of surprise to him, making him insufferably hot. He wouldn’t understand.

‘’What?’’ he asks, shaking you out of your mind vomiting sentences that make your insides stir with anxiety.

The moment is already awkward, the emotion and lust overpowered by your discomfort.

‘’I shouldn’t’’ you say, your words not making any sense since you can’t force yourself to tell him.

‘’You don’t want to continue?’’ he asks confused. ‘’I mean, you can change your mind, but I don’t get it, did I do something wrong?’’

‘’No, of course not’’ you say. ‘’It’s not you, it’s me.’’

Perfect, now you sound as if you were breaking up with him.

You can’t find the correct words. You’re sure what you’re feeling is perfectible understandable with how your parents had taught you that you shouldn’t just show it around, making you ashamed of it until you reached your vast age. But, you were a grown-up now, and you were about to be a teacher, how could you let your life be controlled by something you couldn’t change, even more, by something as banal as your physique.

You would be in charge of so many little lives in just a couple years, and you would never want one of them to feel ashamed of who they are solely because of their bodies.

You know what your mother did that day was wrong, but you know even more that you should start to change how you feel about it.

Also, you’ve talked the whole night, and if you were about to (probably) fuck him, you should at least make sure he wasn’t an asshole that found you disgusting by a mark.

Looking at him with pleading eyes, he stays silent, letting you take as much time as you need. You grab the hem of your shirt, and you want to sprint out as soon as your head starts playing the exact words you’ve heard every time you’ve gone shopping and tried on something that showed your skin. You shouldn’t.

To be fair, you correct that same voice, you’ve done a lot of things you shouldn’t, like entering a tattoo shop when your whole family and career were conservative as hell, or accepting a burrito from a complete stranger in the middle of the night in a concert, and you’re still alive.

His shoulders become smaller, and one of his hands goes to his shoulder, covering himself while his biceps show more.

‘’If it’s the piercings, I assure you I don’t have one down there, I’m not that brave’’ he laughs.

‘’What?’’ now you’re even more confused.

‘’Well, I know many don’t like them, I thought you did, but I could be wrong’’ he blinks like you do when you’re nervous, and you have to shake your head before you talk again.

‘’Wonbin, I was moaning while licking them just a second ago, I think that’s enough proof of how much I do like them’’ you say suddenly surprised with the way the confident guy you’ve been talking to the whole party has changed to a shy version of himself. You can’t seem to let him feel the problem is him, so you take all the courage you have, pull up your shirt and toss it to the floor, just like Wonbin did.

You’re wearing the top of a swimsuit, because even if you weren’t going to swim, you didn’t want to stay out of the theme. The thin straps don’t hide anything from you, and you leave the insecurity of your life on full display.

He looks at you and blinks.

‘’So, you want to continue?’’ he asks.

You blink, not believing that he’s not making any question about it. Your first boyfriend asked you desperately what had happened to you, expecting a sad story with tears, and you didn’t feel like receiving that pity look again, so you never fucked him, or anyone, in daylight ever again.

You also broke up with him after fucking two times.

‘’I mean, I want to, but don’t you have any question?’’ you ask unconvinced. Was he ignoring the elephant in the room or were you to pretentious to think everything was about your mark and everyone would focus on it your whole life?

‘’About what?’’

You start to feel stupid (which was probably right).

‘’Is my scar… okay to you?’’ you ask then.

‘’Why would it not be? I’ve seen it before’’ he says.

You lift your hand to stop him. You have to stop everything from moving forward in that exact same second.

‘’What do you mean you’ve seen it before?’’ you can’t believe it. You’ve hidden it so well some of your friends have never seen it in years of friendship. You’ve hidden it so well that you have family that has never heard of your fall when you were a dumb child who obliged their parents to take off the training wheels before they learned how to fully drive a bicycle.

‘’I’m a tattoo artist at The Ink. The admin sent me a picture of it to check if I could do the nude tattoo. I told you that I saw you there. I wanted to talk to you to convince you to a coloured one, but you had left when my other appointment ended.’’

He says it with such calm you can’t help but feel calm too, even if incredibly dumb at the same time. He didn’t look like usual tattoo artists, he had his arms empty, like blank canvases waiting to be painted, and you had to be honest, you imagined them all to have no empty space in their bodies.

Where was the tweety you imagined them all to have?

You nod, understanding. You’re such an asshole, you’ve done to him everything you didn’t want people to do to you. You’ve judged his appearance, his career, everything out of the stupid traditionality of your ideas.

‘’I see’’ you say, and he smiles.

‘’Did you think I would push you away the second I saw it? As if it was a scarlet letter?’’ he says with a breathy laugh, as if he found funny how dumb you were for thinking it was a problem.

‘’First, I didn’t know you read. Second, well yes, don’t laugh at me, I’m all vulnerable and almost tits on air’’ you say, looking at his chest to distract yourself from the shame. At least, you think, it’s not because of your body anymore.

He laughs louder, getting closer to your body and leaving his head on the space of your neck and putting his hands over yours, which were gripping the surface of the sink. It feels like a hug, but you doubt it could be described as that when he wasn’t wrapping you with his arms. He was just there, close, chest to chest, pressing his hard piercings against your flimsy bikini top.

‘’I have something to admit though’’ he says after a second.

Of course, there was something, everything was too good to be true. You sighed, nodding and giving him permission to say it.

It’s weird. Looks a bit ugly. It’s hard to digest.

‘’I think it’s really pretty, especially the color, it reminds me of cherry blossoms.’’

You swear, Wonbin can’t stop surprising you.

‘’Shut up’’ you smile shyly. He moves apart and when he sees you becoming all timid again, he cups your chin and makes you lift your eyes to him.

‘’I have a scar too, although not as pretty as yours’’ he says, moving the locks of hair covering his left eyebrow and showing you the nude line there.

You press your finger there. He’s a bad liar, not because he sounds unconvincing, but because what he said is blatantly not true. His scar is prettier, so much that it looks as if it had been done in purpose to make him look more handsome.

‘’Dumbass’’ you smile, pressing the pad of your thumb over his almost perfect eyebrow. If you’re honest, it looks perfect to you.

He uses your distraction and gives you a quick peck on the lips. You can’t react to it when he’s already away.

‘’What was that?’’ you laugh loudly, finding him adorable.

‘’A kiss, I hope’’ he answers, smiling so wide you see his bunny teeth.

Fuck, I like him, you think.

You kiss him again, this time for longer, so it’s a real kiss.

His hands go play with the straps of your top and you move your hands to your back to undo the knot holding it in place.

When you let it fall, he admires you like you did to him before. His hands, bigger than yours, go to your chest, playing with your nipples, to then go higher and follow the trail of your scar.

‘’I would die to draw flowers over them’’ he comments, index drawing the line. ‘’It would be a good branch’’ he notices. ‘’The flowers would be blossoming, at their best point, full of colour’’ he sighs, eyes dropping as if he was getting hot with the mere idea of tattooing your skin. His middle finger touches the little lines that move outward, like they’re born from the thick, uneven line. ‘’It would be a perfect tree’’ he finishes.

You’re getting wet with the image he plants in your imagination. It blooms in your sex, which is getting more wet with every second that passes. In your ears, he’s singing the hottest song you’ve heard in your life, watering the seed he had buried in your mind.

‘’I want to be a teacher. I’d get fired if they saw it’’ you lament.

‘’Don’t think so, every student would think you’re the coolest person around’’ he whispers. One of his hands goes down your abdomen, cupping you over your denim shorts and pulling a soft whimper from you. ‘’Just like I do right now.’’

‘’Welcome to the fan club,’’ you shake your head, opening your legs a little more, unnoticeable, and then punching his chest. ‘’You’re such a simp.’’

He grabs your hand and maintains it over his chest, cupping you harder to feel how wet you’re getting. He’s not touching you directly, but he knows you’re wet under all the clothes, and he smirks proudly. ‘’What can I say baby, you rocked my world.’’

You can’t believe he’s using one of your favourite songs to turn you on. He didn’t need to. You’re so wet you’re sure your bikini bottoms are drenched and it’s probably reaching the hard fabric of your shorts.

‘’Shut up’’ you order, touching his clothed erection and unfastening his belt. The metallic sound of it echoes inside the small room, covering the sound of the vents and your throat gulping the saliva accumulated.

‘’So, you do enjoy being in charge’’ he clicks his tongue, smirking. ‘’Now I just wonder how many hours you can boss me around.’’

‘’You said we have to be quick’’ you remind him, pulling down his zipper and smirking too.

‘’You’re right, sadly we’re not alone’’ he agrees, doing the same action with you. ‘’We’ll take out time the next time.’’

His fingers finally touch you directly, sliding a finger between your lips, gathering the wetness that pools there. You almost roll your eyes, feeling the quick touch over your clit electrifying. Still, you must have the last word. ‘’Bold of you to assume there’ll be a next time’’ you say like you can, hand going inside his trousers too.

He groans when you touch his cock. It jumps inside your grip, making you smile until he talks. ‘’With how wet you are, I’m sure it’ll be soon.’’

You want to say something even more cocky, but you can’t answer when his fingers press your clit again. You’re sure you’re making a mess inside your shorts and that you’ll be fucking uncomfortable downstairs, but if you’re going to go around with your clothes all dirty, he should do it too.

Playing with the head of his cock, you have to contain yourself from pulling down his underwear to catch the sight of it naked. The skin feels soft in your hand, and he’s so hard that, when you press it, you feel what he’s made. You’re sure he has a pink tip, just like his nipples, and that seems to drive you a bit more insane. The picture you create in your head is nearly orgasmic. His hard coke, with its thickness and bloody colour, angrily pointed at you for being the cause of its pain.

This is really something you shouldn’t be doing. You shouldn’t be giving a boy you just talked to that day a handjob. It’s so nasty and improper, much more than your scar or any tattoo you could get done.

When you use those adjectives, you notice, that you’re mostly referring to yourself. Could you see Wonbin as nasty and improper? He has pierced nipples, but you thought they were incredibly hot, not to be described as those words, or to be categorized with you.

‘’Your pussy is dripping so much. I want to lick it until I drown in it’’ he sighs, fingers smearing your juices and making a wet sound. ‘’You’d come in my mouth so good, I’m sure I’d be able to taste you the whole night.’’

Oh no, he is nasty and improper, just like you.

Your hand is a bit dry. The only thing helping you touch him good is the little pre-cum you’re using as lube to slide your hand. You spit in your hand while maintaining eye contact, and his grin gets wider, as if he’s glad he has found someone as sick and perverted as him.

You’re not, you try to convince yourself, but you know there’s no use. You were licking his nipples as if your life depended on it moments ago, and you’re sure you’d do it all over again.

Remembering they’re there, at your whole disposition, your free hand moves to touch one. You play with the beams, flicking it up and down, to then pull them. He groans harder when you do it, and you feel his cock get somehow thicker, but instead of loosening your grip, you tighten it and jerk him faster, touching the tip and the base so fast he hisses.

His hips move when you suddenly stop your hand, and you smile, liking how desperate he looks. He notices it, so to erase that smudgy grin, he plugs two fingers inside you, obliging you to part your lips with the sensation of him filing you and the sound of your pussy squelching. His fingers are long enough to shock you, and the pain of pleasure building is starting to hit you as much as him.

‘’Let it free, please’’ he asks nicely. He’s so polite and looks in so much pain you want to do it, but you’re sure that, if you asked the same, he wouldn’t comply your begs.

A dark spot is appearing in his black underwear. You can see it with the orange light on. He’s also sweating so bad with the temperature of the room that you see a drip fall from his damp hair to his neck and die on the bone of his clavicle.

You want to lick that place too.

‘’Don’t want to’’ you say, doing the fast motion again, making him grunt.

His fingers move faster too, pushing a bit down your shorts so he can finger you better. It sounds almost like a dessert, and you moan when he curls his fingers. Fucking tattoo artist with talented hands.

‘’Don’t be mean or I’ll be even worse’’ he warns you.

You twist his nipple harder, and he whimpers.

His hands are ferociously fucking you, two fingers deep inside you and his palm brushing your clit, making you wish you had the liberty of cumming without consequences.

You do it too, you keep his pace, moving your hand up and down, not thinking much about it, just following him. You’re the one touching him, you’re the one being mean while jerking him off inside his trousers, yet it feels as if he was the one commanding you to do so.

He starts thrusting the hold you have on him, simulating the force and speed he’s using to fuck you with his fingers.

‘’You’re so bad, the next time I’ll make you beg for me to use my tongue on you’’ he painfully says.

You’re getting closer, you feel it coming. Your pussy is already dripping what you feel as your close orgasm, and so is he with the twitching of his cock, you just know it. You frown, mouth open, and you don’t analyze your question when you do it.

‘’Why would I beg?’’ you innocently ask.

He doesn’t have to say anything. He opens his mouth, flashing you the silver ball in his rosy tongue, and you lose yourself, cumming with a silent moan and shaking legs. He does the same. Feeling your orgasm splashing his hand, he shoots his cum, marking with the marbles more than one spot in his underwear.

You finally pull down his underwear when you feel he has finished cumming, and you see, even if not as hard anymore, the prettiest cock you could’ve imagined. To fuck with him, you spread his cum along his softening shaft, and he does the same with you, sliding his fingers a couple more times before he takes his hand out. Watching it glossy and drops sliding down to his wrist, he looks at you and licks them before they get to his forearm.

You’re both a couple of nasty, improper, sick and pervert people.

Not much later, when you’re both getting decent again, he talks. ‘’Come to the studio, I’ll give you the tattoo’’ he says with a drunk voice. You’ve cleaned as much as you could with toilet paper, and you meet his eyes in the mirror. He’s behind you, knotting your bikini top for you, and looking extremely placid for doing it, as if he was still in the haze of the moment. ‘’Of course, after that, we should go on a date too’’ he says more firmly than his previous offer.

He’s perfect and imperfect in so many senses: he has rosy delicate lips, yet he has uttered the nastiest words you’ve ever heard, he has shaped eyebrows, yet a scar interrupts the harmony of them, and he has the beauty to attract anyone with all his odds, yet he chooses you.

No, he is perfect for you, just the way he is.

You’re still in the blissful state of your post-orgasm, kind of there and at the same time far away, so you don’t even think twice before you nod at his proposal.

‘’We should.’’

When you both eat the remaining cold pizza, he rests one of his hands on your shoulder, pulling you closer to his side, nodding when you tell him that cherry blossoms do sound good.

#riize smut #riize x reader #wonbin x reader #wonbin smut #riize fluff

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loveinhawkins · 1 year

Text

It’s a long summer’s day—August 1985, to be precise—and all Eddie Munson wants to do is leave a broken down fridge in the junkyard.

“I don’t know if you can dump those here, actually,” comes a voice from somewhere above.

Eddie looks up and seriously contemplates the possibility that he’s contracted heatstroke while straining to remove the fridge from the back of his van.

Because surely that’s not Steve Harrington sitting up on the roof of an old school bus like it’s a perfectly normal thing to do.

“And what are you, Harrington? The junkyard inspector?”

Eddie pushes the fridge with the sole of his shoe until it topples over with a satisfying clunk into the dry grass.

Steve cups his hands around his mouth, cheering like a sports commentator. “What a shot!”

Okay. Maybe Eddie’s not the one suffering from heatstroke after all.

Or maybe this is just what happens to some people after graduation: you lose the social hierarchy of high school, and then before you know it, you’re surveying the Hawkins junkyard like it’s gym class.

Poor guy.

Eddie should really just leave him be. But… well. He’s intrigued.

“And where’s the stuff you were dumping, Harrington?” He puts on a mock grave expression, folds his hands as if in prayer. “Your car die on you?”

“Uh, no. Just.” Steve shrugs. “Just hanging out.”

“Mm-hmm, yeah, you sure picked a nice place for it. Wait, this isn’t one of your tryst locations, is it?”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “Ew, no. Tryst? Can’t you just say make-out spots like a normal person?”

“Nope. Honestly, where’s the fun in that, Harrington?”

Eddie gets a bit closer to the bus, squinting against the sun. There’s a brief moment of shadow thanks to a passing cloud, and he can suddenly see evidence of what must’ve been a huge bruise healing across Steve’s face.

Steve heaves a great sigh; Eddie gets the impression that if he wasn’t here, Steve would’ve flopped backwards, using the roof like a sun-lounger.

“Hey, uh. Are you…?”

Steve makes a face. “Just ignore me. It’s the heat, man. I get… antsy.”

Eddie does not point out the fact that Steve definitely has a massive, air-conditioned house in which to escape from the sun.

“Uh-huh,” he says slowly and hopes it sounds enough like, “Meaning…?” without being too obnoxious about it.

Steve looks down at him, and for a moment it’s almost like he’s sizing him up—not in, like, a gym-class-intimidation kind of way, more…

Eddie’s not sure.

But a flicker of something definitely crosses Steve’s face—something almost vulnerable, maybe—and then it’s gone.

He mimes aiming an imaginary gun at Eddie, one eye closed, and drawls in a ridiculously bad Russian accent, “I would tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”

Eddie’s surprised into laughter. Where was this personality at school? In hiding?

“Fine. Keep your secrets, Steve Harrington.” He raps on the body of the bus, as if they’ve just met in a parking lot instead. Something normal. “Enjoy your, uh… lookout spot.”

Steve smiles, raises a hand. “See you, Munson. Hey, what was the shit you used to say?” And it must be a trick of the light, the sun in Eddie’s eyes, because for a moment it looks like Steve actually winks at him. “Here be dragons.”

#i’m falling in love with multiple scenarios of them meeting Before Everything but like just little glimpses u know?#pre steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #anyway hopefully new chapter of u know what next! ❤️

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faetreides · 12 days

Note

you nailed how i imagined modern!feyd to be (batshit crazy) but you think he‘d let cute hello kitty reader put like stickers and bows on his motorcycle and stuff lmao? would he be an ass and be mean about it or would he allow it because reader is all sad and mopey otherwise 😔🎀 (maybe brat reader? like how would mans handle that in the modern au because in the canon verse pissing him off is a bit too scary) and alsoooo i laughed my ass off when you wrote he would debone coryo like a fish because yuh that twink (he could do bad things to me) wouldn’t stand a chance fr

he would actually make coryo so concerned, like they’re both from well off families (feyd just does underground fighting bc for the #love of the game) but coryo will be like “these poor people are CRAZY.” coryo gives off the vibes of he’d tell someone to kill for him (especially when he gets older, or he wouldn’t get his hands dirty if he does it himself & he’s methodical), feyd is tearing out throats with his teeth. he’d tackle his uncle and start stabbing, he’d gnaw his own arm off just for fun like you can’t compete where you don’t compare tbh. (coryo’s still my bf tho <3)

anyway,

cw: 18+ mdni, typical feyd warnings, spanking/pain play type stuff

modern!feyd would only let you put stickers on his bike if they’re the ones that are like hello kitty holding a gun or something. it’s not like he’s afraid that the softer ones will undermine his masculinity or anything, feyd’s ripping into other men with no real regard for keeping their bodies intact, it’s just that the cutesy stickers go on his helmet. he’ll let you tie a ribbon around his bicep and film videos of him flexing and making it pop off. he would wear matching pjs with you, but he doesn’t want to get blood on them so he sticks to his trusty sweats. he’s the kind of person to wear black in the hot summer sun because he’s spiteful enough to not give a fuck about heatstroke, like it’s something he could fight lmao. gets a matching dear daniel x hello kitty tattoo with you i fear, or a my melody x kuromi one since that’s more your dynamic.

brat!reader with canon era feyd does scare me to death, but with modern!feyd it’s fun to think about…. to a degree. like if you keep it up, he’s pausing the match and dragging you inside the ring to spank you in front of everyone. open palm strikes with half of his strength, if he used all of it your ass might fall off. his rings add even more sting. you learn quickly to know when to pack it up and throw in the towel, because he will NEVER be the one to test out your devious little ideas and macinations out on. he’ll shove a vibrator up your pussy and take you for a long ride on his bike, ignoring the way you try to hump him as he points out the sights he thinks you’d be interest in. weirdly punishes you by fucking nice and slow when you want your shit rocked, he doesn’t even edge you or anything, he just gives it you so soft and sweet and holds your hips down so you can’t try to buck them.

in some ways, you being at his matches has helped his abilities. (you do have to come to his fights btw, if you’re not there expect the rumble of his engine to be heard outside of wherever you’re at. feyd will get his unlce to cancle the match if you’re not there, he’s ultimately a certain kind of performer and if the key audience member isn’t there??? what’s the point.) he has to keep an eye on you, which helps him multitask. he’ll be punching some fuckin’ loser into an unrecognizable pulp while, out of the corner of his eye, making sure that no one’s trying to drag you into any wagers or into their cars. he’s curious if you could cum just from watching one of his fights, from hearing the agonized whimpers of his opponent as feyd effortlessly conquers them. something about you must be sick, because the more ruthless he is in a fight, the higher you’re jumping on him and the more marks you’re sucking into his neck.

you’re so clumsy with it, always putting too much teeth into your hickeys. but that’s just the way he likes it, because you know he’s actively holding back from biting you so hard that’s nearly cannibalizing you. (side note: loves gorey horror, nothing too funny or artsy, he likes shit that cares more about the pure carnage than quips or wide camera shots. hannibal is too “fancy” for him, he always asks you to explain what the fuck they’re talking about.) definition of mauling you like a bear, fucking him is like meeting God if they were an eldritch horror and you were on the brink of death. it is NOT for the weak, his thick arms holding you in a headlock as he pistons his gigantic cock into your cervix. he makes you cum until pass out, then he makes you do it again to wake you up. really good at resetting your brain if you need him too.

modern!feyd who gives you the ultimate scary guard dog priviledge. you’re going about your business in a store and he’s practically vibrating behind you, foaming at the mouth and waiting for some mf to try it with you so he can berserk. but no one ever takes the bait, just one look at his deranged ass and they’re swiftly turning on their heels and high tailing it out of the apple store (you’re taking too long to pick what color imac you want.) copies whatever pictures you saw on pinterest, acting as your little prop. wrapping a tattooed hand around your throat, mirror selfies where he’s holding you over his shoulder by your ass, gross close ups of his long tongue wrapped around yours, insta stories directed at paul specficially bc he won’t stay out of your dms. asks his opponents for date ideas while he’s beating their ass 💀, made his uncle organize a remartch (even though feyd won) with the guy who limped over to your adorably clad in pink form and asked you to get boba (because he noticed feyd giving you your favorite before his fights).

pierced dick, would sharpen his teeth and make his tongue forked. face tattoos + whatever piercing’s more painful. big in body mods overalls like he sees himself as an extension of his motorcycle that he’s always illeggaly modding, fast and furious type specs that no court of law would deem road safe. but he always devotes part of his brain to making sure you’re safe when you ride along with him, reaching behind him and his black painted nails rubbing comforting little circles into your plush thighs. ambidextrous by choice and practice, for sure has a cauliflower ear. whenever you’re sad and pouting, he’s grabbing your chin in between his thumb an pointer finger and lifting your head up so he lovingly teases you about being a crybaby and so he can lick your tears away. (and he doesn’t even do it with sexual intent, feyd’s genuinely just trying to consume your sadness directly since word’s aren’t his strong suit.) could fall asleep in an ice bath, has done it before, dad type snoring like you wouldn’t believe.

loves it when you ride him in any kind of water, you have to pack extra strength sun screen if you’re going to be out in the sun though bc he WILL burn more often than not. still has your pussy gorilla glue gripping his length though, there’s no pain on earth that would put him out of comission & that’s a promise.

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stareaterau · 9 months

Text

Chapter 1 episode 1

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Index

---

Let's start with a familiar face, shall we!

CW: violence And the mention of blood and injury

Read below↓

Or AO3

The heat is unbearable. Scar wakes, wheezing out a hot breath that circles in his sealed helmet, fogged by the last of his moisture. A building headache pulses behind his eyes. He reaches up to rub the soreness out, but his gloves clank uselessly against the visor. He blinks, squinting through the harsh light. His first instinct is to rip the helmet off for the relief of fresh air, but as his eyes adjust, he doubts it’ll make a difference.

He’s in a desert. The dusty and cracked ground stretches all the way to the horizon. Nothing about this place feels familiar, in fact, the bright orange gradients in the sand look alien. He has no way of telling if the air here is breathable, and though it’s tempting, testing it isn’t worth the risk. The sheer lack of life in the landscape certainly doesn’t bode well in that regard.

He tries to think back to how he got here, but there’s nothing. He doesn’t remember falling asleep outside. Definitely not here, and definitely not with his helmet still on.

Reflexively, he reaches for his communicator, but it’s not there. With rising anxiety, he pats down the rest of his person. His gun, enderchest and communicator are all gone. The only useful thing he still has left on him is the helmet on his head.

That’s concerning. He keeps those things on him at all times. It’s mandatory. As much as Scar would push the rules, he can’t deny the sense in keeping his gun, enderchest and communicator at all times. Even with his reputation, he wouldn’t just wander into the wilderness with none of his gear. He’s more competent than that at least, right?

There are no constructed landmarks nearby to use to figure out where he is, and he won’t be able to figure out the star system he’s in until the sun has set. At least whoever left him here had the decency to leave him with his helmet on. He can panic about being stranded, while puffing recycled air.

He thinks for a moment that maybe if he stays put the Vindicators will come looking for him, but that idea is quickly squashed by the realization that he’ll probably die of heatstroke before they realize he’s gone. His best bet is to walk until he finds some sign of intelligent life… or run out of oxygen in the process.

Not the most optimistic reality, but nevertheless Scar picks himself up, bushes the desert dust off his clothes, and scans the horizon for the most promising direction. Hoping, desperately, that he's not about to get himself even more lost than he already is.

With a sigh, he squints at the horizon with his hands on his hips. He finds cracks and grooves in the sand that open up beneath him to form long ravines. The gouges in front of him seem to open up into larger trenches that follow a relatively straight path, a much better scenario than splitting into maze-like passages. He nods approvingly. It’s his best bet to make his way down into the ravine. It’s depth is about double his height, which should still provide some shade from that glaring sun.

He spots a relatively safe way to get down— a sandy slope built up against the otherwise harsh stone. He walks tentatively towards it, but stops at the sound of a beep. Looking around for the cause of the noise, he sees a collection of rocks protruding from the sand, but no movement. He checks the soles of his boots too, in case he stepped on some kind of device hidden in the sand, or maybe a small creature, but he sees nothing there, either.

He’s probably just imagined it. Continuing on, he hurries down towards the slope, desperate to escape the heat. The sound of sand scrapes against his leg braces as he slides, and he keeps a hand pressed into the sand behind him to stay steady. He manages to avoid slipping as the sand shifts below his feet, but only barely.

The shade cuts the temperature in half, and Scar sags with relief. The ravine is just as lifeless and empty as the surface, albeit far more claustrophobic. The curving, orange walls hide the vastness of their expanse from view. Scar’s footfalls echo down the chasm. He’s not sure if he prefers the company of the extra sound or if it just makes him feel more exposed. Everything is so empty and open, and an almost perfect mirror to the clear sky. The entire atmosphere radiates with a yellow glow, as if the sun takes up the whole sky. Maybe it does. Out of the corner of his eye, Scar finally detects movement— a shadow across the dusty scenery, but he reacts too late, and looks up to see the shadow is gone, and the sun’s still bright.

He walks for at least five minutes before another beep is heard again, except this time it doesn’t stop there. Quickening, it takes about thirty seconds untill the next one, forcing Scar to accept he hadn’t imagined it.

He listens, face wrinkled with concentration. The beep isn’t coming from anywhere around him. It feels like it’s in the back of his head. Whatever it’s trying to tell him, he can’t figure it out.

He turns to his left, kicks a few stones, tests if the sound reacts. Maybe it’s something hidden in his jacket pocket. He rifles around in them, remembering they’re all empty, and goes back to struggling to understand the pattern of the beeps. It keeps slowing and quickening— even when Scar is walking in a straight direction, so it can’t possibly be leading him to a fixed place, and he tried waiting a few minutes after each beep, just for nothing to happen, so it can’t be warning him about anything.

Frustrated, Scar tunes it out eventually, and focuses instead on making his way through the desert. He'll be glad to find anything other than rocks, sand and the sourceless beeping at this point. At one point he sees movement again, another shadow darting across the ground. It looks almost like a bird, but Scar can’t be sure, the shape vanishing almost as soon as he notices it. It’s like it’s evading his view, like it’s trying to make him second guess himself.

Scar groans. It’s been a long trek through the winding canyon. The sweat drippin into his eyes taunts him— he wishes more than anything to be able to wipe it from his brow, but alas, Scar’s not quite desperate enough to risk removing the helmet.

Almost on autopilot, he trudges on, trying to think through the heat about what it could mean. He racks his melting brain for more things that might cause beeping in your head, or what it means. Scar’s so caught up in his thoughts that he almost misses the beeps getting faster, faster than they had gotten before. When he finally notices, he stops in his tracks, snapping to attention as it continues to speed up.

He doesn’t notice the winged figure swoop down until the impact pushes him to the ground.

Scar screams, head ringing as his visor smacks into the earth. He struggles, trying to roll over to face his assailant, but he’s immediately pinned to the ground by long, dark talons. The figure stares at him through their own helmet, like his except for the visor, which is split into two deep, dark, void-like eyes. They make no sound as their wings spread out, blocking out the sun with their feathers. A glowing blue knife held above their head.

"No wait- wait!"

The figure ignores his pleas, bringing the weapon down. Scar barely manages to deflect the stranger's aim, the knife sinking into his shoulder instead of his heart. Choking back a yell and instinctively shutting his eyes to the pain, he didn’t feel the blade being pulled out, nor see the figure grabbing their own shoulder in confusion.

"What?“ Head swiveling wildly, they balk. “Where?"

Scar shifts on reflex under the weight of the stranger, but this only brings the attacker’s attention back to him, their grip tightening. Without anything to defend himself with, his gun missing and this stanger holding a clear advantage, Scar scrambles for leverage.

He wasn't given time to collect himself as the stranger brings down the hilt of their weapon into his visor, shattering the thick glass.

Scar flinches back as the glass slashes into his cheek, but by some miracle misses his eye.

He pants, unable to catch his breath,helplessly expecting another hit— but the stranger stops. Scar is finally given a moment to reign in his panicking senses, and focuses on the vacant eyes of the stranger’s helmet. Thoughts swim in his slightly concussed mind, and he fishes one up at random.

"...Are we done fighting now?" Scar asks with a nervous laugh, trying to keep eye contact despite one eye now being exposed to the desert sun.

The stranger doesn’t answer.

They’re no longer putting all their weight on him, and eventually slides backwards to a stand, gaze still locked on Scar.

Grateful for the temporary relief, but still cautious, he shuffles slightly to check how the stranger will react. Once he’s sure he isn’t about to be whacked again, he shakily folds his legs under himself to stand, only slightly wobbly, wincing from his injured shoulder.

"So…” Scar tries again, “I think it’s fair to say the air is breathable here."

Scar coughs as he pulls off his helmet, doing his best to avoid the broken glass. The stranger, eerily quiet, considers Scar for a moment, then reaches to take off their own helmet, revealing eyes as deep and dark as their visor, with the same soulless look.

The person in front of Scar is painfully familiar, but he doesn’t skip formalities.

"Well, hello there!" He puts his hand out, but the stranger does not shake it. Their eyes remain locked onto his own, like they’re studying them.

Scar meets the gaze for a while, then his eyes wander to the blood on their face.

"Oh, your cheek-" he gasps, pointing towards it.

They do not move to check their face, pointing to Scar instead.

"Well, same." the stranger mumbles, their voice strained.

"Oh!- " Scar reaches for where the visor had cut him. He'd almost forgotten.

He looks back up at the stranger, to find him pulling a very uncomfortable face. And it clicks.

"Wait- I recognise you."

#stareater au #life series au #gtwscar #grian #cw violence #desert duo #cw blood #trafficblr

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obsessive-valentine · 4 months

Text

Dark-Yandere!Farmer x GN!Reader

Wishing it was summer so bad so have this.

Being used to your captor being crude and rough towards you to keep you in line and obedient, today came as a shock when he seems to be empathetic and soften for you when you get sick during a heatwave. TW- kidnapped reader, non-con touching and hint of farmers past anger issues traumatising reader making them paranoid.

Its stifling hot, all the windows and doors are open for circulation and lace curtains drawn to try keep the house cool, but it does little. He had left the house earlier than usual to start his morning chores before the heat got unbearable, he had kissed your head and left hours before sunrise. You hadn’t seen him since. You probably could walk a few steps outside and see him in the distance somewhere but you barely had the energy to drag yourself from the bed to the sofa- infront of the fan.

You wished you hadn’t wasted energy on finding a cooler spot because the fan was only pushing around the hot air. With a exasperated sight you excepted your fate, waiting to succumb to heat stroke and begin vomiting. Laying flat on your stomach with only a vest top and underwear on, thinking about how good a glass of water would be right about now.

Until the dreaded sound of heavy boots stomp onto the deck, and into the house. “Fuckin’ hell” he huffed wiping sweat from his face with the shirt he instead slung over his shoulder when the sun had risen. You almost jumped a mile when the next time you opened your eyes from a slow blink he was standing right infront of you.

You braced yourself for whatever might come, used to being exposed to emotional whiplash. You could never read his face until it was to late, you tried to calm yourself from overacting by reasoning that you haven’t done anything wrong recently.

He leaned down without a word, the back of his dirty calloused hand pressed against your cheek and then the other one “you’ve been drinking water?” He questions suspiciously straightening up and towering over your form. You stayed laying down wishing to sink into the sofa, how do you tell him you couldn’t be bothered? You mumble a pathetic ‘no’ staring lifelessly at his dusty beaten up boots.

Expecting a scolding or to be told to ‘toughen up’, you flinched when instead you were met with his rough hand rubbing your back out of pity “hang tight for a moment”. It could have been just a minute or hour from when he left the room and returned with a glass of ice and water, you were to disorientated to get a grasp of the time or if you’d blinked or napped.

Slowly he pulled you up into a sitting position by your wrist, you groaned as a pulsating ache in your skull began “I know, hurts hu?” He steadies you with a firm hand in your shoulder before giving you the glass of water and made sure you drink it all. You feel the cold salvation trickle down your throat leaving your mouth cold for a moment, savouring the way the ice kissed your lips.

“Stupid of me, shoulda checked up on you. Think it’s heatstroke” he takes the cup off you once it’s all gone and places it on the table before bending down to pick you up “Can’t I trust you to look after yourself for just a few hours? This is why you need me sweetheart” he rather softly lectures you as he carries you down the hall, to the bathroom, turning on the cold tap to the bath.

He helped you out of what’s left of your clothes and steadied you as you stepped into the slow rising water. You felt to nauseous and uncomfortable to mind being naked or the fact he was also stripping down and slipping in the small bath behind you.

To tired to fight when he pulled you to rest your head back onto his shoulder or when his hands wandered when washing you with a cold cloth. You just closed your eyes and welcomed the cold goosebumps that spread up your legs and arms. You both stayed there for maybe half an hour, laying back in the cold with his hands mindlessly gliding up and down your body.

...

“Come on, I got work to finish” he huffed out pulling away his hands, watching you stir awake from you half conscious sate before getting out and wrapping a towel around himself. You grabbed ahold of his hands as he helped you out and handed you a towel. He wordlessly left but returned with one of his shirts walking past you to wet it under the cold tap “put this on, it will keep away heat rash and cool you down” his eyes wandered as you pulled it over yourself but you were none the wiser, struggling to pull the wet shirt over you as it clung to your skin.

Pulling on his clothes and boots he then lead you outside onto the shady front porch, sitting you on the old rocking chair with a book and glass of water. “Holler if you need anything, sweetheart” you felt a lot better but still exhausted, and for a moment relaxed and unafraid of the unusually caring man. That is until he turned around for a breif moment as he walked away “don’t you go wandering”

He was half smiling and it sounded light hearted but you knew it was anything but. It was a clear threat. A wave of sickness reintroduced it’s self, but now for a different reason.

You didn’t read the book but rather watch him work in a nearby field with sleepy eyes. How he would lovingly interact with the animals, how scarily strong he was lifting and dragging feed and muck around, how he’d carefully and proudly inspect his vegetables when watering them.

One of the livestock-guard-dogs came up onto the deck to keep you company, laying at your feet, and the cool breeze against the wet shirt sent waves of relief over you body.

...

At some point you had fallen asleep and when you woke up it was late afternoon and your shirt was dry, the chair rocked forward a bit then arms snaked around your waist and under you butt. You almost flew into fight or flight mode until you remembered where you are and who with, even though yet another headache you knew it was useless.

To your surprise he scooped you up and sat back down In the chair with you in his lap “welcome back to the land of the living” he joked, he didn’t even have to look at you to know he’d woken you up, to busy digging around in his pocket for a cigarette. You didn’t answer still getting to grips of what time it is after being rudely pulled from a heat coma.

“How you feeling? Want me to wet the shirt again?” He lit the cigarette before pressing the back of his hand to your cheek seemingly satisfied with how much your temperature has come down “no thank you” you glanced at him but adverting you eyes quickly remembering how unusually soft he treated you this morning when you were dazed and confused. Wondering when he’d become crude and rough again.

He hummed in a response resting against the back of the chair dragging you down with him, he takes a long drag of the cigarette “How about we watch a movie tonight? Got some old DVDs in the attic” he offers looking out contently at his farm and his free hand runs through your hair. “I’d like that” you said sounding more like a question, unsure if there was a catch but there was nothing.

Just a short nod and some peaceful quiet with the chirps of birds and one of the horses whinny’ing in the nearby field. There was no lingering dread or fear, just peace. And maybe if you closed your eyes and imagined hard enough you could trick yourself into thinking you are on a summer country vacation with the man you dreamed of as a teenager.

For the first time since you got kidnapped, you aren’t plotting an escape, trying to stay quiet and unseen, or fearful of facing the mans wrath or worried about spending the night in the shed. Your heads empty and feel rested.

...

Tomorrow you’d lash out again, remembering today and how you seem to be slowly accepting your situation -accepting your kidnapper. With a clear-head in the morning you will grow afraid of the reality that your stuck here for life. But as for today, you have a moment of peace - free from worry and perhaps a bit of contentment even if just for the night. As he finally has the chance to lovingly hold you close -watching the movie he let you pick.

#yandere oc #yandere #x reader #yandere farmer

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angel-kyo · 3 months

Text

Pay it no mind

Part XIV

In which reader confesses their feelings to Gojo, but it seems these are not returned (maybe?).

Warnings: reader is on the receiving end of rejection (kinda), and the fact that I'm obsessed with unrequited love is a warning itself. There is a mention of reader being injured, and I guess everyone is ooc here, but thank you for bearing with me.

Previous: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII

----------------------

A week. Seven full days of silence. When was the last time you had gone this long without any contact with Satoru?

No calls. No messages. Not even a glimpse of him. You had learned from Ijichi that he had been sent on a mission to a distant part of the country just a couple days ago. In other words, there was nowhere to see him.

Initially, it had been a relief. After he left on that fateful night, and you allowed your feelings out. It was only then that it hit you: you had never cried over his rejection. It had hurt, and you had grieved in some way, but maybe by immediately pretending it had never happened, you had prevented yourself from accepting heartbreak.

The truth was just too scary to accept, so you had told Satoru the same lies you had been telling yourself for the past months. ‘It was just a crush’, ‘It has passed’, ‘I’m over it’.

“Liar,” you muttered to your own reflection on the bathroom mirror. Dark bags were starting to form under the eyes that returned your gaze.

Your back was sore and your sleep had not been the best during the last few days.

At first, you had been upset with Satoru, and then upset with yourself for not being able to just dodge the hit and play it cool.

Satoru must have known how much of an unpleasant memory it was for you. Why did he have to bring up the rejection again?

He was not that dense, and neither were you. Your friendship had often felt as both of you stepping right on the line between friends and lovers. Sometimes one of you would lose balance and almost fall on either side of it. Even if both of you denied it, none of you had a similar relationship with anyone else. Still, you believed he had given you the definitive push the day he rejected you.

If he could not feel the same, you could respect that. In fact, you had vowed to just forget it. But why did he have to kiss you while being aware of the hold he had on you?

It’s probably nothing to him, that’s why.

You remembered what Shoko had told you once.

“He is a bit selfish when it comes to you,” Shoko said softly, putting her head on your shoulder.

It must have been summer with how hot it was, and you could see droplets of sweat forming on Shoko’s forehead. You and she were sitting on a bench, outside of a convenience store. She had sent Geto and Gojo for drinks inside.

Satoru had initially said that Shoko and Suguru should go, but Ieiri had refused, saying she was getting a heatstroke and needed to sit down, with you to keep her company. Gojo rolled his eyes but let Suguru pulled him into the store anyway.

“Are you really feeling unwell?”

She only smiled.

At the beginning of your friendship with Suguru and Shoko, Satoru had wanted for all of you to get along, but he was not particularly appreciative of you spending too much time with either of them without him. He had loosened up quickly, though, but Shoko and Suguru were an exception. If he could keep you by his side, he would.

He could not take it back. All he had said and done; all the ways he made it look like there was more to it when there was not.

He can’t take any of it back, and neither can I. Paying it no mind is not going to solve it either.

You looked at your phone. You had sent Satoru a message earlier, just to make sure he was okay. Not that you should worry; he was strong, and if the world had not yet collapsed under curses, he was probably still alive. However, it was not like him to stay away from you this long with nothing but radio silence in between.

I guess I did kick him out, so I can’t blame him.

You washed your face and went to bed, not bothering to take your phone back to the bedroom. You needed to sleep, and the only person you cared to chat with at the moment had not even read your message.

***

“Okay, this one is it. Just try it out.” Satoru patted the mattress of the queen size bed he had found at the department store you were currently at.

You sat down. “It’s… It’s okay,” you said.

To Satoru, you did not sound impressed at all. “Just okay?”

You nodded. “Comfortable.”

“Is that how you try out a mattress? Do you sleep sitting up, [name]?” he asked smiling as he laid down on the sample bed.

You looked around. None of the other clients were really looking at you, too focused on their own shopping to care, but still…

“It’s kind of embarrassing.” You directed your eyes back to Satoru.

“It’s not, and it’s the only right way to do it,” Satoru said smiling and patting the mattress again so you would lay down too, which you finally did.

“And?” he asked.

The ceiling lights of the store were a little too bright, but if you focused only on how the mattress felt, it was indeed comfortable.

You had just signed the lease for your first apartment and getting some furniture was the next thing on your to-do list to become an independent person. Among the basics, having something to sleep on would be nice. That is how Satoru had accompanied you shopping for your first mattress.

“It’s more than okay,” you admitted.

“You should get it then.”

“How much is it, though?” Your eyes widened a bit after looking at the price, and you got up from the spot immediately. "Forget it. It's one zero too much."

I wouldn’t be surprised if they charged for just trying it.

Satoru, on the other hand, could not have looked more unbothered even if he tried. This was why going shopping with him and a budget in mind was useless.

“If this is the one you like, I would not mind…”

You shook your head. “No way. I have a budget, I just need to stick to it,” you reassured him. “Besides, this one would not even fit in my bedroom.”

Of course, he would not mind lending you money. He might not even ever ask you to pay back, but this was your quest for independence. You would rather not to lean on his resources. It was the same reason you had declined Yaga’s offer to crash at the school dorms, even though now that you were starting your teaching career there, it might have been convenient. It was going to be nice to have your own space, plus, now that all your former classmates had left, the dorms were too empty and too full of memories at the same time.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” A store clerk had spotted you and landed next to you. The woman was quick to compliment the model ‘you two’ had chosen.

Satoru had sat up and was now looking at her. When she looked at him more closely, her words halted, and a light blush appeared on her cheeks.

Right, that’s the effect he has on people.

You mentally thanked Satoru for being so good-looking that people would become speechless on his presence and allow you to speak instead.

“Actually,” you started, “this is not quite what I’m looking for.”

“Oh, well…” She seemed to have recovered from the momentary shock of first meeting Satoru’s face, “We have some other options that are preferred by couples. I will be glad to show you…”

You and Satoru shared a small smile. Another one, huh?

“We are not…” he said.

“We are friends,” you stated.

“Oh, sorry.” Her smile looked sincere, “Then is there anything you are looking for in particular?”

“Are there any… smaller options?” you asked hopeful. Maybe she had some cheaper ones too.

She nodded politely and asked you to follow her to another area of the store.

“Smaller?” Satoru had stood up to follow you. “How will we both sleep in it?” He was smirking.

You elbowed him, and he was kind enough to pretend it had hurt.

“Don’t say anything else that will confuse the lady,” you hissed and he chuckled.

That day, Satoru pretty much ended up picking your bed. It was not as big as he had wanted it, but it was comfortable enough and, to your delight, within budget. The only downside to Satoru was that it would require a bit of effort for both of you to fit in.

***

“Fancy seeing you here.” Satoru sat across from Shoko at her table in the school cafeteria.

She had decided to take a break from reviewing files at the infirmary and usually, she would not go to the cafeteria, but you had pulled her there so many times that her feet had carried her there almost automatically.

She looked at Gojo’s face. “You are back.”

“Got back last night.” He took out his phone and Shoko saw him check something on the screen and put it down on the table. Was it her imagination or he seemed tired? Tough to say without seeing his eyes, but he did have a duller aura around him right now.

Shoko raised her cup of tea to her lips and eyed Satoru’s phone.

“New phone?” she asked.

Satoru had leaned back on his chair and a adopted a more carefree expression. Even if he was a grown man, Shoko would have said he looked just the same as when they were highschoolers.

“Yeah…” It was impossible to tell, but Ieiri also thought his eyes were looking around the cafeteria, and she had a hunch on what he was searching for, or rather, who. “The other one broke down. It’s the same number, though.”

His phone had broken down three days ago, it slipped and the screen turned pitch black. It had not shut down immediately, though, and it still rang when Ijichi called him, but if he could not see the screen, it was no use keeping it.

Satoru had not really cared at first, only getting a cheap phone to communicate through the end of his mission. Ijichi had gotten a more suitable replacement ready for him when he got back, and it was only after setting it up and retrieving his backup data, that Satoru realized you had actually messaged him days ago.

Unlucky.

He had not replied yet, figuring he would see you at the school anyway and could maybe set things straight between you two. However, he had not encountered you across campus, and when he peeked at your class, your students were being looked after by a first-grade sorcerer he had seen around a few times, filling in the substitute teacher position.

He wanted to ask Shoko. “Say, Sho-”

“[name] took a couple days off,” she interrupted him while placing her cup back on the table and encircling it with both hands.

Can she read minds?

Shoko could not, but knowing Gojo, it was taking him long enough to ask about you.

"Oh."

She looked at him. “They...”

Shoko wanted to tell Satoru you had paid her a visit after one of your missions that week, but she was not sure you would have wanted Gojo to know.

Ieiri had been surprised at first when she saw you that day. A lot of blood always made it difficult to perceive at first glance how big a wound really was. After a closer inspection, she realized the injuries on your torso were not too concerning, not for someone with her abilities at least.

But if they were a regular person and I was a regular doctor, they would have probably been bed-ridden for a while, she thought.

She had had you in walking condition after a couple days, but it still bothered her. Getting injured during missions was the norm for sorcerers, especially younger ones, however, she knew you were experienced in battle. A scratch here and there was expected, but she had seen you returning more beaten up lately.

They are taking on more difficult missions, that was what she wanted to tell Gojo. She was not sure whether you were trying to get promoted or if for some reason they were actively assigning you missions above your rank.

The cup Shoko was holding was warming her hands.

A thought assaulted her mind: There is no predicting the higher-ups.

If you had upset one and now had a target on your back, Satoru could help you out, could he not?

“What is it?” Gojo tilted his head looking straight at Ieiri, or at least she felt this time he was looking at her.

“Nothing. I think they will be back tomorrow.”

Satoru had thought about visiting you, but seeing how that turned out last time, he decided to wait.

Giving you space was the right call in his experience. Usually, no matter what the problem was, you could talk it through when you both had had some time to mull it over.

But, in this case, how much time did you need?

The whole situation was like nothing you and him had faced before. Fighting over snacks or over a joke that went a step too far was one thing. The look you had given him that night and the way you called him selfish, that was completely different, and it had haunted him since he left your apartment.

Satoru grabbed his phone and finally replied to your message. He hit 'send' and offered an attempt of a smile to Shoko.

“If I asked for advice, would you give me some?”

----------------------

Note: I almost forgot my iconic note (even though I'm the only one who thinks it's iconic). And the note is... there is no note, just my love. <3

Thank you for reading!

Next: Part XV

@mavs-stuff @witchbybirth @crookedlyaddictedone-blog @tqd4455 @maybe-a-bi-witch @mo0nforme @maliakealoha @zacatecanaaaa @blushhpeachh @astriarose @missesgojosatoru @ba-ks @sukunasleftkneecap @songbirdlully @cole-silas @heijihattorisgf @chokesonspit @hersheyzzz @smolbeanzzz @luciledreamz @avidreadee123 @moonmalice @ratscandaler @sadmonke @allie-jay @username23345 @spin-garden @ashehateaccount @kayzens @blehtotheblehtothebleh

#gojo satoru #jjk #gojo x reader #jjk drabbles #jjk fanfic #gojo x you #jjk gojo #gojo x y/n #gojo fanfic #satoru gojō x reader #satoru x reader #pay it no mind #jujutsu kaisen

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thegoblinboy · 1 year

Text

Never Say Die [3]

Part one | part two | you are here | part four

Steve wobbles into the room, as expected its just as bare as the rest of the house. There weren’t even curtains on the window yet. The bed was barely put together, Steve’s guess was Hopper quickly put the bed frame together the night before just so him and Joyce could sleep on a proper bed. He wobbles next to the adult a bit as he faintly hears everyone’s voices from the living room. Not a shocker there. They were all bound to start talking about how or where he came from sooner or later. His hair is deflated, he catches a glimpse of his reflection from a fully body mirror that was only propped up against the corner. Not properly nailed into the wall. He can’t help but imagine Joyce using it to get ready for dinner dates.

Hopper pretty much carry’s him the rest of the way. Squatting down a bit to help him lay down. “You good kid?” He asks. His voice is gruff, and Steve could tell that within the six months he’s been gone Jim Hopper was one of the numerous things that changed. He seemed light, like he wasn’t carrying the world as heavily as he used to on his shoulders. There were worry marks permanently etched into his forehead, but that was like a birth mark for the man. The guy was a worrier. And he had every right to be.

Steve nods his head with a pained grunt. Flopping himself back carefully into the pillows that were placed purposely on the bed. He huffs a bit more as he gets his body situated. Barely able to keep his eyes open all of a sudden. “Yeah- sorry I think the jet lag is hitting. I haven’t slept longer then two hours since-“ he pauses. Not finishing his sentence. Hesitating in a sense. He frowns, changing the subject with ease. “Are you sure you’re okay with me sleeping in your guys bed?” He didn’t want to be a bother.

Before Hopper can answer Joyce is walking in with fresh clothes. The ones Steve were wearing have been on his back for a few days now. To concerned to get back home to go clothes shopping. “Robins going to go and get you some fresh clothes. Figured she could bring them over tomorrow after she heads home for the night.” Joyce rambles a bit. “Though you’re fine. You just came back from a war that none of us even knew existed. You deserve rest.” She smiles sweetly.

Steve still feels guilty but nods anyway. Putting on his best smile as he runs a hand through his hair. Feeling disgusting, he was definitely going to beg them to allow him to take a shower later. “Ok- but where will you guys sleep?” He asks defeated.

“Out in the living room, not like we haven’t slept on a floor before.” Joyce laughs gently. “Or Hopper will get the recliner in and he can sleep there while I sleep on the couch.” She hums gently.

“Absolutely not, we have a blow up mattress. I’ll get it situated once the kids are gone.” Hopper grumbles, Joyce looks smug as if she knew that already. As if she was messing with the other man. Steve laughs softly, unable to help himself. Moving and curling up ready to pass out. Dozing off within seconds, the slight migraine he had earlier kicked his ass.

When he wakes up, he doesn’t even realize he fell asleep. Quickly sitting up in the bed with heavy breathes. Unsure where he was. Pulling his shirt off from his sweaty body was the first sign of business. He felt like if he left it on any longer he was going to die from heatstroke. Turning his head, he glances out the window. Panic dissolving as he remembers where he was. He was at Joyce’s place, with not one single Russian in sight. He was safe. He moves rolling out of the bed. Rubbing his face as he glances to the side seeing that it was nearly three in the afternoon. If there was a word for over over sleeping that would be exactly what he just did. Groaning he turns around rubbing his face, leaving his back to the door for a second.

He hears the door creak open and he’s stiffening up as he quickly turns on his heels. But apparently not fast enough, as Robin stands in the door way holding a pile of clothes. Mouth wide open. He quickly moves tossing a shirt back over his body. Hiding the numerous scars, bruises, and the one tattoo that he got tied down to receive. His heart races as he awkwardly folds his arms around his chest. Unable to look at the other, not wanting to see the glossy look in her eyes. “What did they do to you?” Her voice is shaky. She’s frozen in her spot.

Steve takes a deep breathe as he walks forward. Moving his hands out to hold hers, that we’re currently holding a old pair of clothes. He meets her eye, “Robin - you don’t want to know.” He says. Seconds after he says the last word, she’s hugging him tightly. Crying all over again.

“I’m so sorry Steve. I should have been more help,” she’s fully sobbing again. Steve winces a bit taking a mental note to never get shirtless in front of the group ever again. He moves a hand gently to rub her back. Kissing her head.

“No- Robbie. You did everything you could’ve. You’re fine. Nothing you could have done could’ve prevented this from happening.” He says softly. Carefully rocking her back and forth. Before he hums, “now. I know you want to hug me but I’m sure that I smell like literal shit right now:” he laughs.

Robin sniffles a bit more, “you kind of do. But you now also have snot all over your shirt it that makes you feel any better:” her laughs are a bit muffled and god did Steve miss this. He hums gently as he plays with her hair a bit.

“Ewww.” Steve pretend to gag before he smiles softly down at her when she pulls back to look up at him. “You’re fine. Now I’m going to go shower, and when I come out I expect you to catch me up on everything.” He grins as he takes the clothes from her hands. Moving to go shower. Grabbing soap from Joyce before hand.

******

Steve expected for everyone to get over the shock value of him being back a lot sooner. It had been agreed upon that he would be hiding out in Joyces and Hoppers home until they figured out what the cover story was for Steve being alive. After all the entire town believed he had died in the star court mall fire. Though, every time someone came over it was like more tears were greeting him then words. Especially from Robin who has definitely been the more emotional one. Clinging to him for dear life.

Dustin on the other hand, seemed a bit more skeptical. Before he was moving and gripping onto Steve for dear life. Right before trading him a new pile of comics. All of the new releases that he had missed since he had been gone. Steve had moved from Joyce and Hoppers room. Refusing to stay in there any longer, and found himself sleeping in a guest room. What was awkward, was living under the same roof with your ex girlfriends boyfriend. Sure. Steve had quickly come to terms with what happened at the prison. But it still stung a bit.

He didn’t have feelings for Nancy any more. Quickly recognized and came to terms with that when he realized that it was Robin’s and Dustin’s faces that pulled him through the every torturous day at the prison. What had once been Nancy’s face pulling him through traumatizing times was now replaced with those who he’s loved way more then he has ever loved Nancy. It was a platonic love, one that he recognized that he was willing to die for if it meant keeping Dustin and Robin safe. Which he literally did.

Near death experiences and a lot of time alone in a cell, Steve learned that there was a lot more important things then a high-school sweetheart who probably never loved him back. He wasn’t sure. What he did know was that Robin Buckley and Dustin Henderson were the two keys to his heart. And both equally the most hugest dumbasses he’s ever met.

“Wait? You’re telling me you went on top of a fucking trailer and had a whole concert to distract the bats? And you- you went into the loony bin with a psychotic murderer to do a interview?” Steve asks. Trying to wrap his brain around the story Dustin and Robin were telling him. Next to Dustin was Eddie. Who had driven him here, and Steve wasn’t the jealous type but it seemed like the guy kind of took his place when he was gone. Though rationally, he knew he was being dramatic. He definitely owed the guy a thank you for saving the little shits life.

Eddies clapping his hands, a wide grin on his face. “You’ve finally got caught up. After that Vecna was killed and well- this little shit broke his ankle in the process of saving my ass.” He laughs. Moving and looking down at Dustin with a tight smile. A pained one. One that Steve recognized all to well.

“Well-” Steve says with a chuckle. Shaking his head. “I definitely need a drink after that.” He jokes. Moving to stand up and head to the kitchen. Relieved when Dustin and Robin don’t automatically hop up to chase his heels. He’s sure if they kept at it he was going to have to surgically remove them both from his ass.

He moves to the fridge. Pouring himself a cup of lemonade. Carefully sipping on it. No alcohol was in the house, or else he might have done a shot to recover from what ever the fuck he just heard. He leans on the counter, looking down. He really should have been here. His brain is going a mile per minute, and he’s overwhelmed again. Moving to his ear he shuts the aid off, needing a moment to not listen. Focused on his breathing. It was growing more difficult for him to talk about the upside down with them and hold his secrets about what had happened to him.

But it was better none of them knew. That’s what he was convinced of. If he couldn’t protect them from the horrors they had faced here, he would protect them from the horrors that surrounded him.

One tap on his shoulder and his body is moving faster then his brain can think. Body slamming whoever touched him against the counter. His eyes grow wide when he realizes what he had just done. Seeing Eddie wincing, hand moving to hold the back of his head from where it caught on one of the shelves. Steve steps back, quickly turning his ear back on.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. It’s just- I’m just- fuck. I had my hearing aid off and I kind of freaked.” He rambles apologies out. Hands shaking as Eddie watches him carefully.

“You know, that’s exactly how I had been when I was on the run. Always jumpy, scared, ready to to do anything to survive.” Eddie says gently.

Steve looks confused, trying to see what the other was getting out. “What I’m trying to say is, you’re brain is still on survival mode. It’s okay. I understand.” Eddie laughs. Hesitantly patting the others shoulder. “If you met me when I was on the run, I’m sure I would have body slammed you at least once as well.” Eddie admits before he smiles reassuringly. Seemingly a little awkward as well.

“Um- I’m going to just.” He says awkwardly. Moving and leaving Steve alone in the kitchen once more.

And shit. Steve really feels like a whole new level of fucked up compared to what were also very messed up kids.

Ngl I just came up with a idea for the next part 😭 I’m really enjoying writing these, and having them a bit smaller then what I normally write. (Which I hope you guys don’t mind. Normally I write longer parts but with my week being stressful lmao but if you guys do mind I can make a attempt at making them longer) that and I have a busy day tomorrow I figured why not post this a bit early. I’ll try getting the next part up tomorrow but I’m unsure.

Tag list; (let me know if you want to be added, I added everyone who wanted to be tagged :) if you don’t want to be on the list let me know I’m knew to making them)

@totallynotagoraphobic @flustratedcas @shunna @spookednsaucy @steddie-as-they-go @estrellami-1 @xxbottlecapx @gregre369 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thing-a-ling @radioactiveartz @bestwifehaver @idkwwhatimmdoiing @goodolefashionedloverboi @bringmethelow @thescribblerdragon @starman-jpg @lilaclilyroses @resident-gay-bitch @wolfscreations @adhdsummer @victor-thee-corvid @happymediummm @decadentworld @sidebarre @foundintheshallows @jamieweasley13 @yellowdevilkitten @catlovesfandoms @gryffindorsareidiots @thephantomhood @vampireinthesun @awkwardgravity1 @itsall-taken @gezell-igg @chaoskiro @daeb820 @liketheocean @croatoan-like-its-hot @malicia62 @thebrazilianatheist @anaibis @evix-syne666 @an-deeznutz @yikes-a-bee @0o-queendean-o0 @alyelf @starlight-archer @weirdandabsurd42 @zerokrox-blog @lolawonsstuff @mightbeasleep @michael-the-angelo

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steve harrington #bxb #steveharrington #steveddie #eddie stranger things #steve and eddie #hoh steve harrington #Steve harrington body slams eddie a bit #reverse roles #I love it #I’m having a lot of fun writing this

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