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defectivevillain · 3 months

Text

turning pages (for people who don't care)

pairing: Felix Catton/Reader

summary: Felix Catton is well-liked by practically everyone he meets, from teachers to peers and strangers. He catches the gazes of anyone as he enters a space; he’s often the thrumming energy that determines exactly how a night will go. Felix’s name lives everywhere, from the pulsing rhythm of rowdy parties to the quiet whispers across the school courtyard. Anyone who’s anyone knows Felix Catton. As an unassuming student at Oxford with no particular desire for wealth, luxurious parties, or hesitant smiles from across a dimly-lit pub, you’re not sure how to feel about that. However, you soon find your quiet student life thrown into a whirlwind of activity when you have to tutor Felix.

The reader’s pronouns are unspecified, but they are written to wear masculine clothing. (I'm of the opinion that anyone can rock a dress shirt & slacks, but whatever). Otherwise, no physical descriptors are used; the reader's race and gender are ambiguous.

The title of this fic is from Drift Away, the Steven Universe song.

word count: ...7.3k. i don't want to talk about it. 💀

ao3 version

You enjoy being a tutor at Oxford. It doesn’t pay incredibly well, but the work itself is rewarding enough for you to forgive the meager wages. You genuinely look forward to your sessions, to seeing the bright gleam in a student’s eyes as they begin to understand the material in a way they hadn’t before. You muse on the thought as you walk into the library, heading for your usual table and arranging your materials. Your next session is in a few minutes, so you spend your spare time reviewing your notes from your previous class.

Someone pointedly clears their throat and you look up, only to find yourself staring at another student. He has messy brown hair, warm brown eyes, and an easy smile on his face. He looks self-assured, yet there’s a slight sense of apprehension veiled in the way he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Hello,” you decide to say.

“..Hello.” He responds casually.

There’s an awkward beat of silence. Feeling eyes on you, you glance to the side, only to find a few people staring at you from a few tables away. They must be his friends. You shake your head and pretend not to have noticed, instead turning your attention to your laptop. “You must be… Felix?” You ask.

“Yes,” Felix responds, amusement glimmering in his eyes as if he expects you to know exactly who he is.

“Great, have a seat,” you say, not bothering to pay him a second glance. You pull up the email you received from the tutoring center, which shows the coursework he’s bringing in. “You have… a philosophy essay?” Felix nods, taking a seat and going through his backpack. “Awesome. Can you tell me a little about the assignment?”

Within a few minutes, it’s clear that Felix is an extroverted person. Moreover, he seems to be rather popular—several people passing by clap him on the shoulder as they walk past him. Thankfully, the gestures aren’t super distracting. Still, you find yourself a little surprised at the sheer amount of friends this guy appears to have.

But that’s not important, you scold yourself. You revert your attention to his philosophy essay, which is off to a great start. Admittedly, he has a solid foundation—he just seems to need guidance working with transitioning between ideas. His citations could use some work, too, but you’re quick to refer him to the proper resources. Overall, though, his essay is well-crafted. You tell him as much, and his eyes momentarily widen before he averts his gaze, suddenly appearing flustered.

You still can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched, though. It’s not Felix’s friends this time, either. You don’t realize how preoccupied you are with the feeling until Felix draws attention to it.

“Do you know him?” He asks, just as you’re in the middle of reading a sentence. You pause and look up, following Felix’s gaze to somewhere in the distance. Sure enough, Michael is lurking in the corner of two bookshelves, his eyes nearly burning into you.

“Yeah, that’s Michael,” At Felix’s inquiring look, you continue. “I’ve seen him around. Talked to him once or twice.” You admit. We’re not really friends gets caught in your throat. Admittedly, Michael creeps you out a little, but you’d never say that out loud.

Felix raises an eyebrow, twirls his pencil around his finger. He seems to be in his element now, as he sprawls in his chair with all the ease and confidence of someone who has never needed to make an effort for appearances. “He seems to think you’re friends,” Felix remarks lightly.

“He seems to think a lot of things,” you respond before you can stop yourself. Felix chuckles. “Back to your paper.” You say, returning your attention to your peer’s work.

The reminder of the tutoring session is rather uneventful. Felix is skilled at writing, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s struggling simply because he isn’t doing the work. You suppose you have no way of knowing for sure. He’s made small comments here and there about his writing and why he’s here today—apparently his parents issued him an ultimatum and pretty much forced him to show up for tutoring. The session goes rather well, though—even despite the fact that he seemed rather uninterested at the beginning.

“Alright,” you sigh once your time is up, placing a hand over the top of your laptop and shutting it ever so slightly. “Any last questions before we wrap up?” You ask him. Felix blinks for a moment.

“I don’t think so,” he responds with a shake of his head. He begins to pack up his things, before looking at you once more. There’s a newfound conviction in his frame now. Felix slings his bag over his shoulder, pausing for a moment. “You were super helpful.” He admits, looking away as if the admission is difficult to make.

“Good!” You say relievedly. You’re always thrilled to hear that your peers feel as if they’ve gotten something from the tutoring. Your own beliefs can only go so far, after all. Just because you perceive a session to be helpful doesn’t mean it’s helpful to the other student. You shake your head to clear your thoughts. “Glad to hear it. Enjoy your day, and best of luck with your classes.”

Felix returns the sentiment, sending you one last unreadable look before walking over to the group that you had assumed to be his friends. They greet him with enthusiasm, evidently asking him questions about the time he spent working with you. Whatever he responds with must be intriguing, because the group’s gazes pivot back to you once more. You quickly focus on packing your bag, resolutely ignoring the attentive eyes burning into your back as you leave the library.

Felix slips from your mind rather easily after that day, especially when your course load increases and your work schedule grows a bit more intense. You soon find yourself in a rather stringent routine, in which you go to classes, tutor, go to more classes, eat meals in between, and go to sleep. It’s not ideal, but you enjoy tutoring and your schoolwork enough to push through it.

You’re walking to one of your classes when you hear someone call your name. At first, you’re convinced you imagined the remark. It isn’t until there’s suddenly an arm slung around your shoulder that you realize you likely heard correctly. The unexpected physical contact prompts you to look to the side, only to find Felix staring at you with a sheepish smile.

“Hey, there you are,” he remarks. “I’ve been looking for you.” You reflexively stiffen at the thought, but the gesture goes unnoticed. Felix’s grip is relentless, and you soon find yourself being pushed towards the courtyard off the stone path and near a small group of people. These must be Felix’s friends from before.

“Mates, this is the tutor who saved my ass last week,” Felix tells his friends, his arm still around your shoulder. You resist the compelling urge to shove him away. “Say hello.” He says to his friends, before turning to you again. “I owe you a drink sometime.”

“I’m not much of a drinker,” you say with a shake of your head. You don’t have much time for that with your current schedule. A hangover would be nothing but an inconvenience considering how early you’ve had to wake up the past few days. “But thanks anyway.”

“Ciggie?” He offers, his arm finally falling from your shoulders to pull a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. You’re suddenly hit with a strange shiver, a phantom sensation of the weight that rested there only a moment prior. You don’t realize that you haven’t answered the question until a few moments later.

“No thanks,” you remember to respond, ignoring his friends’ gazes burning into your skin again. Do they have nothing better to do than tear you apart with their eyes? “Good to see you.” You’re quick to try to end the conversation, but Felix is quicker.

“Hey, are you free tonight?” He asks. Somehow, he seems immune to his friends’ stares, as they’re all whispering conspiratorially amongst themselves. You resolutely ignore them and instead contemplate his question.

“Um.. no,” you say, after taking a moment to recall your schedule. You need to complete some coursework. “Why? Do you have an assignment?” You frown, trying to think back to the classes he said he’s taking.

“No,” Felix responds with a shake of his head. He gestures to the group. “We were going out to the pub.”

“I have an essay to write,” you remark, trying to sound disappointed. Maybe a small part of you is genuinely saddened at the conflict of plans, but you’re mostly just relieved to have an excuse not to go. You glance over at the clock in the courtyard, heart beginning to race when you notice your next class starts in two minutes. “I have to go to class. See you.” You turn on your heel and walk away, just barely hearing Felix’s goodbye over the nearby conversations.

“Your tutor’s kind of dodgy, eh, mate?” Farleigh says.

“No, not at all,” Felix responds with a shake of his head. The expression on his face is thoughtful, and his eyes are fixed on your turned back.

“If you say so,” Farleigh shrugs, taking another drag.

You hadn’t realized Felix was so popular. Now that you’ve met him, you hear whispers of him all around the school. Everyone seems to have an opinion on him one way or another. You’ve only conversed with him the few times you’ve seen him in tutoring sessions and around campus, but he seems nice enough.

Classes fly by, to your satisfaction. Your last class of the day ends a bit after the regular dinner hour, but you manage to sneak into the dining hall and snag some food before the space closes. After that, you’re content to return to your room. It’s been a long day and you could use some time to yourself to just relax and breathe.

Unfortunately, your suffering doesn’t end when you reach your residence hall. Instead, the moment you enter, you nearly crash into a woman waiting in front of a door. You manage to sidestep her and head up the stairs leading to the next floor.

“Hey, have you seen Felix?” Her voice echoes in the stairway. You freeze and turn to look down at the woman standing on the landing. She has bright red hair and glittering makeup coating her eyes. You feel your brows climb up your forehead as you realize that the door she’s standing in front of must lead to Felix’s room. You didn’t realize he lived in this building too.

“They’re all at the pub,” you answer after a few moments, recalling your conversation earlier. “At least, that’s what he said when I spoke to him earlier.”

She doesn’t seem satisfied with your answer, as she takes a deep breath. “Do you have alcohol?” She then asks.

“No,” you answer honestly. Felix’s friend stares at you for a moment, before huffing and walking away. You can’t find the energy to dissect that conversation, so you instead focus on unlocking the door to your room. You spend the rest of the night purposefully suppressing any thoughts of Felix and his friends.

When you wake the next morning, you feel somewhat rejuvenated and well-rested. Your essay is more than halfway done and you still have a few days before the due date. The sun is out and shining, casting a hazy glow over the courtyard that your room looks out on. You take a deep breath, before changing and brushing your teeth. You head to the dining hall for a small breakfast, before moving to the library for your first tutoring session of the day.

You’re not sure how much time you spend waiting for your peer to show, but you reckon it can’t be that long. It only feels like ten minutes pass before there’s a shadow passing over your vision, indicating that someone is standing over your table. You look up, unable to contain your surprise when you find Felix with a bag slung over his shoulder and a smile on his face.

“Hi,” you remark.

“Hey,” he responds, placing his bag on the ground and sitting down. You take the gifted opportunity to review the information given to you for the tutoring session. It appears Felix has another philosophy essay he wants you to look at. That shouldn’t be too bad. You give him a moment to get his things out, before diving right into his writing.

You’re happy to realize that he has used some of your tips from your first session. You already notice that the flow of his writing has improved, and his use of transition words at the beginning of each paragraph has aided in that regard. He has a few grammar errors—nothing major—and a few small citation mistakes. “Instead of listing all the authors, you can just say ‘Marks et al.’ here,” you point out, gesturing to the sentence that you’re looking at on the screen. Felix nods silently and adjusts the text.

“I heard you spoke with Annabel the other day,” he remarks, apropos of nothing. You’re abruptly thrown off track as your attention turns from the paper to Felix himself. He repeats his statement.

“Really?” You ask. Felix nods. “Sure, we spoke for a bit.” You return to reading his essay, confused by the sudden change in subject.

“What did you talk about?” He presses.

“She asked if I had seen you,” you answer, trying and failing to multitask. You eventually give up on reading for the time being and address his question. “I said no.”

“And?” Felix prompts.

“And that was it,” you finish. Felix still doesn’t seem convinced for some reason. You rack your brain and try to remember your interaction with the woman. It only happened a few days ago, but you’ve been so busy that it feels like a lifetime ago. “Oh, she asked me if I had alcohol. I said no. Then that was it.” You must imagine the momentary look of relief on his face.

“She called you prickly,” Felix continues, a mischievous smile on his face. You’re not sure what there is to smile about.

“I’m sure,” you respond disinterestedly. You’d like to go back to reading his paper, but he keeps diverting your attention and changing the subject. Before you can even attempt to try reading again, there’s suddenly a hand on the edge of your laptop, pushing your screen down ever so slightly. You look up to find Felix watching you rather closely.

“Who are you, exactly?” Felix asks. The library around you seems to fall silent with the remark. Your skin prickles. Why is there such an intent look on his face? Surely learning more about you doesn’t matter that much to him. Felix evidently notices you’re speechless and continues. “I don’t know anything about you. I’ve seen you around campus a few times, but that’s it.”

“I’m your tutor,” you respond, after taking a moment to collect your thoughts. Your heart is hammering away in your chest. “You don’t need to know anything about me.”

“What if I want to?”

“You wouldn’t want to,” you reply instinctively, warily. Alarm bells are ringing in your head. You can’t quite imagine a scenario in which Felix Catton, wealthy heir and avid partygoer, would ever benefit from knowing anything about you. Does he even notice how much attention he’s drawing, just sitting here with you right now? Even his friends are confused by his supposed interest in you. “I’m nothing special.” You try to look at his essay once more.

“That’s not true,” Felix says insistently, getting to his feet and placing his hand on your laptop once more. He’s ripping your eyes away from the screen and towards him. There’s an indignant expression on his face, as if he’s insulted by your claim. You blink up at him in confusion. If everyone in the library wasn’t staring already, then they certainly are now. Felix seems to regain his composure, as he shakes his head and moves to sit down once more.

There’s a palpable tension lingering in the air throughout the rest of your session. Felix seems anchored to his chair, as if he doesn’t want to leave. Eventually, you’re the one to leave first, as you have class in a few minutes. You can feel his eyes on your back as you walk away, imploring you to explain yourself further.

You’re not sure what there is to explain. Despite your prior promises not to pay attention to the rumors and whispers of your peers, you can’t help but acknowledge them. You have to wonder if some of it is true—if Felix doesn’t really do friends , if he is only interested in people for whatever they can offer him. Truthfully, Felix isn’t a person you would’ve interacted with. If not for tutoring, you’re sure you would’ve spent your entire time at Oxford knowing absolutely nothing about him and being unable to explain the strange stirring feeling of dislike in your chest. It’s too late now, though. It seems you can’t go back to the way things once were—not when Felix knows who you are now. You just have to hope that maybe, just maybe, he’ll realize that there’s nothing particularly compelling about you.

For a while, you don’t see Felix Catton and you are fooled into thinking he may have actually lost interest. You feel relieved at the thought. A small, traitorous part of you may long for the company he provides—the soft smiles he sends you, the glitter in his eyes as he speaks to you and only you. It was only for the best that you drifted apart, you think to yourself as you take an armchair in the library. The end of the semester is approaching, and you’ve taken every free moment to study and review course materials. Many other students seem to have the same idea as you, as the library has been a bit busier these past few weeks.

You barely get to start rereading your notes before a familiar voice is speaking to you. “My parents were impressed.” You look up to find Felix standing over you. It takes you several seconds to process his statement.

“With what?” You ask. Admittedly, you’re confused as to why he felt the need to approach you right now of all times. You’re sitting alone at a table in the library, and a few students are throwing you dirty looks as Felix continues to speak to you. You want nothing more than to sink into the ground and disappear forever.

“My philosophy grade, of course,” Felix remarks, taking the chair adjacent to you. You feel like everyone in the library is staring at you. When you look up, you find that a few students actually are—Felix’s friends at another table are among them. Felix seems immune to the attention he provokes. “They really want to meet you.” That surprises you. Why would his parents want to meet you? Because of your tutoring? All these questions must show on your face, because Felix elaborates. “They wanted to thank you.”

That’s surprising. “Are they visiting Oxford soon?” You ask curiously.

“No,” Felix answers. Your brows furrow and he shakes his head. “I meant this summer. You should join us at Saltburn.” He looks at you expectantly. You don’t have the faintest clue what Saltburn is, but you guess it must be a name for their residence. Judging from what you’ve heard of the Cattons, Saltburn is likely a very large, very extravagant mansion.

You blink at Felix once, twice. The expression on his face holds nothing but complete sincerity. You feel a laugh crawl out of your throat. It’s only until you see his face fall that you realize he’s not joking. “Oh, you’re serious,” you comprehend aloud. “Yeah, I could stop by.”

“I’d like you there,” he confesses. You feel your eyes widen as you stare at him in disbelief. “Is that so hard to believe?” Felix asks, looking at you skeptically.

Yes. Yes, it is. “...No.”

“You don’t sound convinced,” Felix says lightly. It almost looks as if he’s forcing a smile.

“You’re right,” you acquiesce, “I’m not convinced.”

Felix huffs in amusement, before pushing himself out of the chair and sending you a wave over his shoulder. You watch him leave, unable to shake the feeling that, somehow, you’re going to be roped into visiting his parents at their residence this summer.

Two months later, as you find yourself staring up at the splendor of Saltburn, you think you shouldn’t be as surprised as you are. Then again, a summons from James and Elspeth Catton isn’t exactly something you can ignore. You tug your suitcase across the rocky driveway, before arriving at the gargantuan wooden doors at the entrance. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence as you stand there. A few moments later, the doors swing open and you’re greeted by a man in a tuxedo—evidently a butler of some sort. He takes you into a beautifully ornate room with sunlight streaming in past ornate golden curtains. Thankfully, you’re not left to your own devices for long, as you hear footsteps echoing through the space.

Felix walks through the doorway, his expression brightening when he sees you. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says. The sincerity of his statement catches you off guard. Felix takes a step closer to break the distance between you and slings an arm around your shoulders, leading you past the butler and towards the edge of the room. You’re hit with whiplash—both because of the surprisingly heartfelt remark and the rapidity of Felix’s actions. Felix proceeds to take you on an informal tour of the residence, before leading you through his bedroom and the adjacent bathroom to your room.

“Hope you don’t mind sharing a bathroom,” he remarks offhandedly, leading you into the space that will be your bedroom. You assure him that you don’t mind and he grins, gesturing at your new room with a flourish. “Here’s your room. I’ll leave you to it.” He freezes in the doorway, pressing a hand to the doorframe and turning around for a brief moment. “We’ll be in the sitting room,” Felix adds, before turning back around and walking away.

You stare at the empty doorway for an immeasurable amount of time, before letting your gaze wander across the room. The room is quite gorgeous, with an elegant four poster bed and detailed paintings adorning the walls. The door leads to the bathroom, which then connects to Felix’s bedroom. You’re grateful that he placed you near him—you’re not sure you’d be comfortable inhabiting a room on the other side of the house, with no one around to guide you. You place your luggage off to the side—after telling the butler that you could carry it on your own—and take a deep breath. Truthfully, you’re not really sure why you’re here. You’re only going to humiliate yourself here. You don’t belong here. Why did you even entertain the thought?

You try to come up with an answer as you pace around the room, before finally deciding that there isn’t a clear-cut answer. You glance over at the clock in the corner, eyes widening when you realize that you spent at least twenty minutes just standing in the room and thinking. You take a few cautious steps into the bathroom, walk through Felix’s bedroom, and go down the hall Felix pointed out earlier. You quickly realize that you’re going in the wrong direction and backpedal, only to find a door left nearly closed, with a small crack letting the sound of conversation slip into the hall. This must be the sitting room.

You take a deep breath, steel your nerves, and knock on the door. Someone remarks that you can enter and you do so, pushing the door open more and stepping into the sitting room. The television is playing, but everyone’s eyes seem to be on you. Felix is sitting in the corner and his friend—Farleigh?—is sitting near the back of the room. You don’t get much time to take in your surroundings, as you’re quickly accosted by who you can only assume to be Felix’s father.

“Ah, you must be the tutor,” he remarks, getting up from his seat. “So wonderful to meet you. I’m James, and this is my wife, Elspeth.” You shake his proffered hand, before lingering awkwardly in the center of the room. Thankfully, Elspeth gets up to greet you, saving you from further embarrassment.

“I suppose you’re the one we owe for our son’s wonderful grades this term!” Elspeth remarks, bringing you in for a hug. Felix huffs and mutters something about not needing the help. You feel somewhat inclined to defend him, for reasons you can’t quite explain.

“Don’t give me too much credit,” you smile. “Felix is a great writer.”

Felix mutters something again, too quiet for you to hear. His mother turns to him and asks him to repeat himself. He averts his eyes and you swear you see him flush for a split second. “Not as great as you.”

“Well, aren’t you the flatterer,” Elspeth says, waving a casual hand at her son. Her gaze then turns back to you. “And you. So humble! I can see why Felix talks about you so much.” Felix freezes like a deer in headlights, before quickly leaving the room, murmuring about talkative mothers. You stare after him helplessly. There goes the only person that finds you even mildly tolerable.

“We are very thankful for your help, truly,” James says, crossing his leg over his knee. “Felix has always been a good student, but this term, he… he’s been different. We’re glad that he’s gotten his affairs back in order. With your assistance, of course! You must show me your writing sometime.”

“Thank you,” you respond sincerely. “I’d love to. And thank you so much for inviting me into your home.”

“So polite!” Elspeth remarks, shooting a dirty look at the other woman in the room. You quickly pretend you didn’t notice that. “Of course, darling.”

You’re left to sit awkwardly in the sitting room for a few moments. Felix’s parents ask you a few questions, but eventually their attention falls back to the program they’re watching. A shadow at the door draws your eye and you see Felix motioning for you to follow after him. You glance at his parents, who both motion for you to join their son. You get to your feet and walk out of the room, ignoring the sensation of a pressured gaze boring holes into your back.

“Sorry about that,” Felix apologizes, once the two of you are turning the corner and walking down the hall.

“About what?” You ask, glancing at him. “Your parents seem nice.”

Felix just sighs and shakes his head. You don’t think you can even begin to truly comprehend the emotions behind that simple gesture, so you decide to simply succumb to the silence that spreads across the air.

You spend the rest of the afternoon reading one of the books in the library. You don’t realize that it’s time for dinner until Felix is entering the space and practically dragging you along behind him to the dining room.

“I hear your birthday is coming up,” Felix’s father, James, remarks at some point throughout the meal. You look up from where you’d been absently poking at your food. There’s an expectant look on his face. You have to wonder how he knows when your birthday is. You don’t remember telling anyone about it—except for Felix, perhaps. “Yes, it is,” you agree.

“Have any grand plans?” Elspeth suggests. Her eyes quickly light up. You’re suddenly filled with trepidation. “Oh, we should have a birthday party! We could invite all your friends!” You freeze on instinct. You’re not the biggest fan of parties, and you know you definitely don’t have enough friends at Oxford to fill a place as big as Saltburn for a party. Felix’s mother glances at you expectantly, immune to your internal crisis.

You’re saved from responding by Felix’s remark. “You’re not really a party person, are you?” He asks. His parents’ gazes focus on you and you nearly sag in relief, feeling the tension seep from your shoulders.

“Oh, nonsense,” Elspeth remarks. Shit, you think. “Everyone loves parties! We’ll have to make it themed…” You resist a groan. It’s too late. Felix’s mother and father are already chattering about the details of the party, the number of people they’ll invite… You don’t want to appear ungrateful, so you stifle your objections and spend the rest of the meal staring at the wall ahead.

When dinner is finished, Felix is the first one to depart. He stares at you pointedly and gestures wordlessly to the exit. You get the idea and practically jump from your seat, grateful for an excuse to leave. You walk behind Felix, pretending not to notice how broad his shoulders are. “Sorry about that,” Felix grimaces, his back turned as he continues walking, “My mother has a bit of a one track mind, sometimes.”

“It’s fine,” you remark. You can survive one party. Besides, it may actually be enjoyable. You tell him as much and he seems to brighten up at that. That night, you recline on your mattress with thoughts flooding your mind, leaving you awake for longer than you’d like. Eventually, the curtain falls and your vision fades to black.

When you open your eyes, you find yourself standing on the balcony of the mansion, overlooking the yard. There are clothes and discarded drinks littering the previously spotless grass. What disturbs you most of all, however, is the franticness with which everyone seems to be conducting themselves. You stare out at the wreckage that must’ve come from the party and take a deep breath.

“What happened?” You ask Farleigh after walking down the steps. The expression on his face is grave and panicked at the same time. He’s wading through the pond and soaking his clothes, but he hardly seems to notice.

“We can’t find Felix,” he responds, his eyes flitting about the area. There’s a horrible tugging feeling in your stomach as you realize that Farleigh’s looking for Felix in the water. Did something happen to him? You swallow hard and walk around the grounds, trying to comprehend how Felix could have gone missing in such a short time.

Out of nowhere, Venetia screams. Feeling a shiver roll down your spine, you race over in the direction of the voice, only to find yourself running through the overgrown walls of the maze. You see Venetia’s blond hair and you quickly run over to her, only to freeze when you see what she screamed about. Felix is lying motionless in the center of the maze. You feel an itching feeling in the back of your throat, a burning sensation behind your eyes. Farleigh arrives and gasps; Venetia starts crying. You don’t know what to do, as you stand helplessly before your peer, your friend. James arrives and takes a shuddering breath, eyes glassy as he stares at the corpse of his son. For a long moment, nothing can be heard except for Farleigh and Venetia’s sobs and your ragged breathing.

“We need to move him,” James announces. You stare at him in disbelief. How is he even functioning right now? He sounds eerily calm despite the gravity of the situation.

Apparently, you don’t react fast enough, because James’s hands are soon on your shoulders and he’s shoving you towards the body. You just barely catch yourself from falling over. The patriarch grabs Felix’s shoulders and prompts for you to grab his ankles. You’re shaking. You can’t move. Tears sliding down your face, you reach down to touch the corpse—only to recoil at how cold the skin is. Suddenly, there’s a harsh sound and Felix’s body is sinking beneath the earth, engulfed by soil and pebbles—

You gasp and open your eyes, only to find yourself in your room once more. You try to breathe, but the effort burns. Sweat coats your skin and your limbs are shaky. With trembling hands, you reach out to the nightstand and take a few sips of water, before wiping the sweat from your brows. The sheets on the bed are a mess—you must’ve been tossing and turning. Your breaths are still laborious, and your chest is beginning to ache. You mechanically get out of bed and make your way to the bathroom, standing in front of the sink. Your reflection in the mirror is grim—dark circles under your eyes and a firm pull to your lips. You reach down and turn on the water, letting the freezing temperature ground you in reality. Eventually, you reach down and douse your face with cold water.

Once you’re finished, you grab a towel and dry off your face. “Hey, are you okay?” You nearly jump out of your body at the sudden voice. You wipe any remaining water droplets away, recognizing the voice as Felix’s. “I heard a scream.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up,” you mumble, rubbing a hand over your face. The water helped, but you still feel jittery and unsettled. You grasp at the edges of the sink and resolutely look down at the counter.

“Are you okay?” Felix asks again. You finally turn around, only for your mouth to go dry as your gaze settles on your friend. Felix is standing in the doorway, healthy and happy and alive. It’s such a harsh contrast from the Felix you had seen in your dreams—a pale, frozen shell of himself. Before you can recognize what you’re doing, you’re surging forward to wrap your arms around Felix. To his credit, he doesn’t flinch or push you away—instead, he pulls you close with a hand on the nape of your neck. You feel self conscious for getting so worked up about a dream, but it just felt so real. You could feel the weight of his dead body in your hands.

“Did you have a nightmare or something?” Felix whispers after a few moments. You nod quietly, not trusting yourself to speak. “I’m sorry.” He’s the one apologizing, after you made too much noise and woke him in the middle of the night with your terror. You just shake your head wordlessly.

You’re not sure how much time you spend standing there, Felix’s arms enveloping you. Eventually, the edges of the nightmare begin to fade away and your friend’s presence is undeniable. Felix is safe, you tell yourself. He is fine.

Breaking away from him feels far more difficult than it should be. You immediately miss his warmth, miss the feeling of being shielded from harm. Felix’s arms fall to his sides, before he braces them on the bathroom counter. Taken in by the inexplicable urge to touch him, you place a hand over his and pretend not to hear his startled inhale of breath.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

“Of course,” Felix responds, a note of something imperceptible in his voice. You smile and briefly squeeze his hand, before letting your grip fall away. You wish him good night and head back to your room, pushing aside any lingering convictions that he’s watching your every step. It is much easier to fall asleep once you remember that Felix is but a few steps away, alive and well.

When you wake up hours later, you’re relieved to realize that you feel far better than you did earlier. You didn’t seem to have another nightmare, thankfully. You prepare for the day and change into some casual clothes, before remembering that the party is today. You try to sneak through Felix’s room, only to find that he’s already awake. After he’s ready, the two of you head down to breakfast together. The meal is incredible, as usual.

After breakfast, you return to your room to find clothes on the bed. They’re clearly not yours—the fabric is incredibly luxurious and looks quite expensive. You glance around the room, but there’s no sign of the person who left this attire for you. Upon closer examination, you realize that it’s your exact sizing. You wonder if Felix’s parents got your sizes from the butler and ordered you something. That would certainly be very nice of them.

Secretly, you’re thankful someone had the forethought to provide you clothes. You probably would’ve stuck out like a sore thumb if you had worn any of the clothing you brought from home. After all, you don’t really belong here. You’re just a temporary guest.

With those thoughts in mind, you decide to unfold the clothes—revealing an elegant dress shirt and fine-pressed pants. The shirt is a fabric you’re unfamiliar with, and it shimmers as it catches the light. The color is quite beautiful—a cross between deep green and dark blue. Whoever purchased this outfit has good taste (or a lot of money to burn, or both). You’re almost too scared to put the outfit on, for fear of ruining the expensive fabric. Eventually, you manage to convince yourself to change clothes. As you turn to look at yourself in the mirror, you realize you barely look like yourself. That may be an exaggeration, but you still feel as if you look like an entirely different person—one who fits in here. You’re not sure how to feel about that. You had maintained that you wouldn’t change yourself to fit in at Saltburn, yet here you are—dressed as if these parties are a common occurrence for you. You take a deep breath and leave your room, deciding to walk around to get rid of some of your nerves. You eventually get roped into helping Venetia choose an outfit to wear, which kills some time.

Before long, the sun is setting in the sky and the party is beginning. You have no idea where to go or what to do—you hardly know anyone here. You haven’t caught so much of a glimpse of Felix, Farleigh, or Venetia since the party started. You do manage to find Felix’s parents, and thank them profusely for the party. It’s probably not that big of a deal to them, but you still feel that expressing your gratitude is somewhat necessary.

After that, you eventually manage to find yourself standing in one of the corners of the sprawling maze outside. You feel somewhat fatigued from the minimal social interaction you’ve had thus far, and you figure your absence won’t be a huge deal breaker for any of the other partygoers. They’re not here for you—they’re here for a party. The party just happens to coincide with your birthday. You’re not naive enough to think otherwise.

“Enjoying the party?” A familiar voice cuts through the night air. You turn around, only to find Felix standing at the edge of the maze. He takes a few steps to break the distance between you. You cross your arms over your chest and try to hide how self-conscious you feel.

“Yeah, thanks,” you remark after a moment. “You?”

Felix just nods silently. He’s staring at you intently, his gaze flitting up and down your form. “You look nice.” He says after a moment of silence. His gaze is intense and you feel flames prickling up your skin.

“Thanks,” you respond. You decide to mimic his scrutinizing gaze. “You too.” Not like that’s anything new, you think to yourself. Felix always looks nice. You’re given a reprieve from questioning that thought by Felix’s next remark.

“Happy birthday,” he says.

“Thank you.” You manage to say moments later, once your tongue no longer feels ironed to the roof of your mouth.

“I’m happy you’re here,” Felix murmurs, almost too quietly for you to hear. The night air seems to still around you.

“Me too,” you eventually admit. “It’s been… fun.” You’ve enjoyed this summer, enjoyed the time you’ve gotten to spend with Felix. You never would’ve expected yourself to enjoy spending time in a place like Saltburn, yet here you are.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Felix admits. He’s looking up to the midnight sky as if it holds all the answers. The black wings on his back seem to gleam in the moonlight. He looks like a fallen angel.

“Why?” You ask.

Felix is staring at you as if the answer to that question is extremely obvious. He then rubs a hand over his face, before turning to face the statue in the courtyard. The wings extending from his turned back create a harsh silhouette on the grass. “Why do you think I brought you here?” He suggests.

“Your parents wanted me here,” you recount.

“No,” Felix sighs, “Yes, but… no. That’s not the main reason.” You wait for him to continue. Somehow, this admission seems to be torturing him. He keeps pacing around restlessly, as if unable to keep still. Eventually, he shakes his head and comes to a stop, meeting your eyes.

“I wanted to get to know you better,” Felix admits. “I hoped that, once I got to know you, everything else would go away.” Everything else? He continues, immune to your confusion and wariness. “It didn’t. You came here, and now, the more I get to know you, the more I want to be around you.”

“Why?” You feel yourself blurting out. The words are spilling from your lips uncontrollably. “I’m just a normal student, an average person.”

“You’re far from it,” Felix argues. “And you should know that by now. You have to know by now.”

“Know… what?” You dare to say.

Felix puts a hand over his face, evidently trying to gather his thoughts. You keep silent, despite your heart drumming quickly in your chest. “I have feelings for you,” he says. “Nearly this entire time, I’ve had feelings for you. All throughout this summer.”

Felix has feelings for you? Surely that can’t be the case. Hell, he could have anyone he wanted. He’s almost constantly showered in attention and praise. Why would he want to be with you of all people? You have virtually nothing to offer him that could be useful: you’re not wealthy, nor are you a regular partygoer with a penchant for trouble. You’re just… you.

“You’re the only person that has ever bothered to try to get to know me for me,” Felix explains, as if sensing your self-deprecating thoughts. “Not as the eldest son of the Cattons. Just as Felix.”

“You don’t buy into any of this bullshit,” he continues, his eyes wandering across the walls of the maze. You immediately know he’s referring to the splendor of Saltburn, the unspoken expectations that nearly suffocate the air around you. Felix inhales slowly. “Not to mention, you’re wicked smart. Compassionate. Attractive.”

He’s taking a step towards you. Then another. You don’t stop him, and he pauses in front of you. You don’t think you’ve seen his eyes sparkle like this before.

“Can I kiss you?” Felix asks, his hand slowly rising to break the air between you and fall to cradle your jaw.

You nod wordlessly. For an awkward moment, neither of you move. Felix looks uncharacteristically hesitant. You huff a laugh and break the distance between you, putting your lips to his.

In a few moments, Farleigh and Venetia will come across the both of you and you will each be teased relentlessly for the rest of the night. Felix’s parents will exchange knowing looks when Felix and you walk into breakfast the next morning hand in hand. And Duncan, the butler, will have a wry curve to his lips—an almost indistinguishable smile—to show his hard-won approval. For now, though, you are left to embrace Felix under the shimmering moonlight, surrounded by a labyrinth of hedges and gilded mansion walls that no longer look nearly as intimidating as they once did.

whewww! i really got carried away there, didn't i? i just adore the idea of Felix being bewildered by someone not falling head over heels for him. like, the irony of him catching feelings for the *one* person who doesn't actually seem to like him... it's just too good.

i *could* write a farleigh/reader fic... so lmk if that's something y'all would want to see. no promises, though. (if i were able to write it, it would probably be much shorter than this fic, bc this one absolutely ran away from me).

anyway, hope you enjoyed this! thanks for reading! <3

taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall

#defectivevillain #saltburn #Felix catton #Felix Catton x reader #Felix x reader #Felix Catton x gn reader #Felix Catton x male reader #Felix x gn reader #Felix x male reader #gn reader #male reader #just covering all the bases #x reader #x male reader #x gn reader #ok that's probs enough

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csuitebitches · 1 year

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How To Make Full Use of Networking Events

Networking events and conferences are great because you get to meet and learn from experts but also connect with peers. I recently attended one and I wanted to share things I wish I had done before and what I learned.

1. Define an Objective

You have to determine why exactly you want to go to the event. Are you looking for a career change? A job? Advice on how to be better at your current job? How to tackle some issues in your start up? Networking? Make a list of the reasons.

2. Research

You need to research the speakers extensively. Go over their Wikipedias, LinkedIns and other social medias. Read their company websites from top to bottom. If they’ve released a book, take a look at the summary and read the reviews. Read some of their published articles.

Take this time to prepare at least 3 questions per speaker. Try to make at unique and interesting as possible, don’t ask the usual generic ones.

3. Business Cards

Definitely carry business cards. Make sure that your email, LinkedIn is mentioned clearly. Even if you work at a different company, that doesn’t matter- show your job title on the business card. Better yet, ask your HR if they can give you business cards as you would be promoting their company through your event. If you’re a student, I’d recommend you make a portfolio website of your internships/ project/ past work/ volunteer work/ hobbies/ interests.

4. Actually Talking

During the event, don’t be shy to ask questions. It doesn’t matter whether the rest of the audience thinks they’re stupid. You have spent your money to come there for your gain. Make full use of it. Ask questions. Meet the speaker after the event. Thank them for the insight, introduce yourself, ask them questions related to your objective of coming to the conference. Exchange business cards.

5. Utilising Coffee Breaks

Coffee and lunch breaks are a great way to talk to people. You may feel shy or awkward to talk to new people, but there’s very high chances that they feel the same way. You can start off by asking someone how they heard about the event, what they thought of the speaker, or pass a remark on the question they asked the speaker. Keep in mind that if the event has multiple speakers, there could be a chance that you’re talking to a speaker, even if you don’t recognise them… so be on your best behaviour.

6. Questions

Ask questions that are beneficial to you. During my conference, we had a women-leaders panel. An audience member asked the speakers how they divided their work between family and work. The speakers looked visibly annoyed at the question - because how generic is that?

Ask questions that could help you grow. If you’re in marketing, ask about their tried and tested marketing strategies. If you’re an early stage founder, ask them how they sourced their VC. If you’re struggling with time management, ask the speakers how they manage. Ask the questions for YOUR own benefit.

You can ask difficult questions but make sure you do it respectfully and tactfully. Best to start with a compliment and then ease into the question.

7. Dressing

Business casual, unless mentioned otherwise. What this means: blazer/ jackets/ trousers/ pencil skirts/ shirt/ co-ord sets/ no sneakers.

It doesn’t matter what other people wear. The way you present yourself is your brand. It also shows the respect you have for the other person - you respect them enough to not come shabbily dressed.

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thedivineden · 6 months

Text

pairing: Hange Zoë x Reader

genre: smut

words: 5k+

notes: thigh riding, strap-on, light stalking, manipulation, overstimulation, college students, oral sex

Hange has been watching you since you transferred to their small university. Your intellect is unparalleled and overlooked — you would always sit in the front quiet and beautiful, hange would watch your glossy lips whisper the answer while the professor is explaining. They would watch you in physics class, the dining hall, and even in the dorm communal bathroom.

The first two weeks they spent learning your schedule so they could cross your path at least once a day. Not too close but not too far. They learned your name, that you major in biochemistry, and that you obtained a full scholarship to this university due to a project you did on structural biology. Everything Hange learns about you, intrigues them even more.

It wasn’t until they were arriving to class early that they spot you disappear through the door. Hange creeps towards the slightly open door to listen in on the conversation. “Professor! I really need an extension this time” your tone is shiny and exaggerated as you hands slam on the instructors desk as your glossy lips form into pout. Hanji could see your game but they just want to see if the instructor could see it too.

Unfortunately, the instructor wasn’t hiding his attraction towards you, he is practically eye-fucking you and keep his attention on your low-cut top. “W-well you are my best student but if you’re having issues, I recommend you talk to your peers! Zoe also seems to be taking a while on this assignment, Maybe you two can help each other out?” He says all of this without looking in your eyes but you didn’t care. The only thing you were concerned with is getting that extension.

“Sooo can I turn it in next Monday?” He nods his head at your question and you thank him gleefully finding a seat directly in front of him to give him a full view of your exposed chest. Hange watches this whole ordeal not realizing the line of students waiting behind them. They open the door letting everyone in praying that no one sits next to you. Once the last person is in, Hanji eyes the open seat next to you quickly passing behind other students mumbling apologies. They look your way slightly and smile and you flash one back at them, Hange swears they could die in this moment and be happy with your sweet smile engrained in their memory. The one thing about you is that you never paid attention to those in your class. You were only concerned with your education and getting out of this small town.

However, this lesson is rather lackluster and you already reviewed the material two weeks ago. The instructor is no longer focused on your seduction so you were officially bored. You look around at your peers and turn to the brown haired individual next to you. There is nothing in particular that makes them stand out but you couldn’t help but notice how close they were to you. Your chair legs are entangled in each other and your legs is touching theirs.

If you couldn’t tease the professor you might as well entertain the stranger with no sense of personal space. Whispering to them “you’re awfully clingy” Hanji looks behind, beside, and even next to you just to make sure you were acknowledging them. You notice the blush spread across their face as they stutter on their words. Hanji couldn’t handle the proximity even if they purposefully positioned their chair close. “I-I can slide over if you want- Of course I’ll scoot over.” You grab one of the closest legs holding their chair in place before they attempt to move away.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind” You say this smooth and low looking at Hange under your long lashes. This sight alone excites them, you were the vision of perfection. You lovely brown skin paired with with your dark aesthetic intrigues and excites them. They lean in to whisper in your ear “I’m Hange but you can call me Zoe if you want..” you watch them side eye the professor who is still facing the board. “I can help you with anything you need like assignments or if you’re bored and want to hang out.” you giggle at the way their voice and leg shake when doing this action.

Hange is nervous and can’t conceal it but convinced themself that they said everything smooth and sultry. “Aaah so you’re the person professor was talking about. I actually could use your help. Are you free this week?” You flash your pearly whites at them putting your hands together to mock a praying motion, Hange shakes their head vigorously up and down.

Hange laughs at your notion and answers with an over-enthusiastic ‘yes’ which rewards a sequel of excitement from you. They didn’t care about the the amount of people grumbling and smacking their teeth at the both of you for disrupting the lecture. So many thoughts about you flick through their subconscious: ‘God they smell so good’ ‘they’re prettier up close’ ‘look how plump their lips are..god what I wouldn’t do-‘ the sound of you ripping a piece of paper snaps Hange out of their trance. They watches as you write a series of numbers on the piece of paper and slid it over to them once you’re done. They look at the series of numbers and practically jumps out their skin when they see your name and written below your number and name is a ‘call me <3’ message.

The rest of the lecture you would rub your leg against Hange and whether it be on purpose or accident they were loving it.

Hange is a mess once their out of class, you made them so nervous their palms were sweaty and their heart is still thumping after you’re gone. Throughout the day Hange kept checking their phone, every chance they got hoping, waiting, for you to text or call them. “Earth to Zoe?” They look up from their device and notice their friends gathering around the dining hall table. “We’ve been trying to get your attention forever, what’s got your attention?” Hanji obsession with you is nothing new but it has been a growing issue among their friends. “Uhh I got their number and I’m just waiting for them to text me back.” Levi is dumbstruck and Erwin is loudly congratulating their friend shooting off a string of questions.

Per usual, Levi being the voice of reason among the three of them “ Remind me why you like them again? As far as I’m concerned they have yet to even acknowledge you exist.” Hanji hates how perceptive and right the young man could be. “They’re really smart..sweet, funny. I feel like we’ll get along well. Answer this, why do you hate them so much?” Levi eyebrows furrow his brows at this question sighing he says “What I said cal out wrong..I just don’t want you getting in trouble. you know what people say about them.”

Hange sucks their teeth feeling frustration rise in them. They knew that Levi didn’t like you but it’s because he hasn’t had a chance to see what they see. He only knows what he hears about you. “They don’t actually do all the thing people say they do. It’s a small town, rumors spread.” Reiner looks between his two friends and notice the uncomfortable tension rising. “Alright!” Erwin exclaims clapping his hands together loudly “Hange, what Levi means to say is to be careful and we both care about you very much and want you to be safe.” He says this in a disgustingly cutesy tone that Levis scoffs at. He continues to eat his lunch in silence while Erwin probes Hange about the interaction.

They were the last to leave to lunch table, between Levis attitude and Erwins persistence the young person is more excited to go back to their dorm and sleep. However, a series of dings from their phone has them fumbling to take it out their pocket dropping it on the floor. Several curses fall out their mouth as they pick up their device and unlocking it. Their heart skips a beat when they read the array of text you sent.

Reader

3:30pm | If you want to get together today around five that would be great!

3:30pm | Oh I’m so rude, hey! I should’ve said that first.

3:31pm | even if you don’t want to get together today that’s also fine!

3:31pm | I should’ve sent that all in one text I’m so sorry

Hange didn’t waste any time with responding to you , telling you it’s okay for you to text them like that and they would love to meet you at five. You respond immediately telling them you’d be in the back of the library. The tiredness that was previously consuming them seems to disappear at the chance of being near you again. Instead on focusing on the lecture Hanges mind is overcome with thoughts of you. Specifically, what you two could possibly study for? You two were the top two students at this university and practically aced everything that came your way. So why had you asked Hange to help you? All of those thoughts disappeared when they arrived to class, setting their items down to pick up a lab coat and safety goggles.

For the next hour and thirty minutes the love struck Hange disappears as they focus on cadaver assigned to them. They don’t even realize their running late to meet you until their professor had turned off the light in the hall which is a usual interaction whenever the absent minded individual is engrossed with their work. Quickly putting up all their materials and storing the body again, Hange makes sure everything is pristine once more before grabbing their phone. The time reads 6:30 and under that is a long stream of text from you and Erwin. They don’t even read your texts and decide to call you. The phone rings for a second before the automated messaging machine starts recite the computerized script.

‘How did I mess it up before it even started’ exiting the class speed walking to the library, they push past the heavy glass doors fingers tapping away on their phone feverishly:

Hange

6:38 pm | Hey! I’m so so sorry! I was in class and I lost track of time. Hopefully you’re still there

It takes approximately 10 minutes to get to the library from the science building. Maybe they should shop you anything text?

Hange

6:40pm | Hey, sorry. Me again! I’m on the way from the science building so it’ll take me 10 minutes. I also called but it went straight to voicemail.

Both texts are read by you at 6:45 pm and you don’t text them back until they’re behind you in the library shooting off apologies and trying to catch their breath. “Uhm. Did you run here?” a puzzled look falls on your face taking note of how Hange white button up is messily untucked from their slacks and their brown hair sticking to the sides their face with sweat. They breath in sharply, ripping the chair beside you from under the table. They take a seat beside you, legs spread in your direction, slowly nodding their head at your statement.

“I’m so sorry! I got caught up in anatomy and did I say I was sorry? I was experimenting with reproductive cloning on a human which I know is unethical and I’ve heard the lecture but I think it’ll be beneficial in the future! I would clone you! Not in a creepy way! Just to-“ Hange didn’t even realize they were rambling until they hear you roar with laughter “God you should see yourself! It’s really no big deal, it’s hot how committed you are and I would want you to clone me.” You hand rest on their leg which only increases the blush already present across their face.

“I would love to hear more about it later but I really have to get going.” a sharp pain pierces their chest..and it’s definitely not because of the running. ‘Are you upset that they were late or do you really have something to do’ the silence from the individual beside you made the situation awkward and that’s the last thing you want. You gather your items and stuff them in your tote — sliding your chair back you place your hand on Hange inner thigh giving them a reassuring smile before planting a small peck on their sweaty cheek. The feeling of your lips touching their cheek makes them go into shock. You flash a small smile at them before getting up and disappearing from their sight.

Hange sighs and wipes the sweat dripping down the forehead. ‘I’m never washing my cheek’ they thought to themselves before getting up and exiting the library and heading towards their dorm. They’re unexpectedly greeted by Erwin and Levi sitting on their floor oddly close drinking beers. Beers from Hanges stash might they add.. “Why are you guys in here and how did you even get in here?” they jump away from each other taking a drink from their beers.

Erwin clears his throat “We want-“ Levi is quick to correct “ERWIN wants to know how your little study session went with the cheater” Hange is quick to snatch the beer from him and furrow their brows. “First, how many of these have you two had? Second, they’re not a cheater. I’ve never even seen them talk to anyone so how could they possibly be cheating? Not to mention they’re top of our class” Erwin finishes his bottle standing up and gripping their friend shoulders. “Don’t listen to him. He’s just mad about his new roommate being a slob, how did it go?”

Hange could hear the young man grumble about the various complaints he’s made because of how filthy he is. “W- I came late and they had to leave..but I did say I would clone them and they said I could!” the grip around their shoulders disappears as their friend gives them a reassuring smile and nod. “Well that’s definitely something..there’s always another time?” Hange knew exactly when they would ask you. Around two-twenty in the morning you go to the communal and at exactly two-nineteen they were coming out of the stall to wash their hands.

A sleepy you in a silk bonnet and shorts pajama set shuffles into the bathroom right on time. They rip a piece of paper towel loudly snapping your attention in their direction. “Oh my!! Zoe! We live in the same dorm?! Since when?” Hange finds it cute that you never noticed them in the bathroom with you. They like that you’re oblivious to their pursuit. Feigning sleepiness they respond “I’ve been here since the fall, yeah I don’t know how we never noticed each other”.

Seeing them put together is one thing but at night is different. They’re standing in front of you with their hair down in an oversized white teeshirt , long blue pajama pants, and dinosaur slippers? You giggle at their choice of footwear “I like you slippers. Very cute.” You smile at them not caring about them slowly closing the gap between you two. They reach for your waist pulling you closer and you immediately laugh pushing them away rushing to a stall.

“Keep it in your pants Zoe now leave so I can pee.” Hange laughs at you leaving the bathroom with a final statement “Have a night darling”.

Now that you are aware of their presence you can’t help but search for them during dorm activities, meetings, and even at two-twenty in the morning when you have to pee. Hange knew better than to keep the same routine they had with you before. However, they made sure to keep you on your toes deciding to no long appear at night anymore. You just weren’t ready for that yet.

For the next two days Hange didn’t hear from you and they aren’t second to you for no reason. They preferred to not have to deal with the responsibility and speech that comes with being valedictorian. Wanting to uphold their salutatorian title for the next two days they were nose deep in school work and projects. The third day you two have class together and they made sure sit in the exact same seat as last time. A gaggle of students stagger in taking their seats eyeing hange satchel is taking the seat to their left.

They didn’t care about the amount of nasty stares they were getting. This seat is for you.

You didn’t show for the first part of lecture and as time went on it didn’t look like you were showing up for the second part either. Hange waited patiently the whole hour and forty-five minute lecture for you to show but you never did. The first thing they did when class is over is text you. Not without thinking of the obvious desperation they would give off but what if something actually is wrong? ‘Something simple will do’

Hange

12:00PM | Hey! Sorry for texting you so early but you didn’t show up for class and I just wanted to make sure everything is okay?

Hange waited a while just to see that little grey bubble pop up and when it did their heart flutters. ‘Clearly they just overslept or something’ they wait and wait for the message to come through only to see the chat bubble disappear. For once, the young individual is irritated with you. How dare you read their message and not respond? What could be so important that you can’t shoot them a text?

Stepping outside of their lecture hall their met with the sight of you. Sitting about 10 feet away from there, adorned in black and pink from head to toe. The sight of you, standing there in a mini skirt almost makes Hanjis nose bleed. Your hair is braided today but instead of your usual you seem to have added a pink braided skunk strip. This makes them want to pounce on you even more. The sound of their phone ding breaks their concentration unlocking their phone they could see your one word response

Reader

12:05PM | Outside!

Hange laughs at the text and calls your name out to get your attention. You whip your head around flashing them a heart stopping smile, standing up meeting them halfway. “Hey! I was trying to make it to class but I was up late doing my hair. Are you free? I was wondering if we could get an afternoon session in” They just shook their head eagerly at your question and before they knew it you were grabbing their hand and dragging them towards your shared dorm building.

During the walk your hands remained intertwined as the two of you swap information and stories about one another. The more you two talk the closer you two got and the closer you two became, the tension kept rising. Hange could feel their palms sweating as the slew of thoughts consume their mind. ‘Are we going to their room?’ ‘Will we go to mine?’ ‘Are we just going to study?’ ‘God they smell so good’ ‘ they’re so pretty’

Scanning your ID at the door and walking past the front counter you could hear Erwin attempt to quietly congratulate hange as you two disappeared behind the double doors to your hall. You suddenly stop at the beginning of the hall and look at hange, “So your room or mine?” the plan is set and you’re laying the bait. “We can go to mine, my roommate practically lives in her girlfriends room.” You laugh at their statement “wait who’s your roommate?” Hange walks you down the hall “Ymir but you probably haven’t met her yet. She’s always traveling with the lacrosse team and when she is here, again, she’s in her girlfriend Krista room” you two finally reach the end of the hall where they pull their ID without letting go of you hand to unlock the door.

“Please don’t be freaked out when we get in” they say pushing the door open letting you in first. “Why would I fre-“ stepping into hange’s room is like stepping into a morgue. There’s a shelf across you adorned with jars filled with mystery parts, a skeleton next to their desk that has plastic eyeballs glued in it, and multiple tapestry that either display different female anatomy. “Oh..this is nicee?” Hange burst out in a fit of laughter “You don’t have to lie! Trust me.” They come up behind you placing a hand on the small of your back to lead you to the jars.

“It’s a prosthetic in gelatin, I’m not a manic. Just a person in enthralled with human anatomy.” The tension between you two is suffocating but you have to stay focused. “I forgot my stuff, can I send you my paper and we do it on your computer?” Hange didn’t even think about asking you to go back to your room to get your things because they want to have you in their space as long as they can. Pulling out their desk chair sitting down they open their computer“Of course, let me give you my email” during this process their eyes were trained on you so you decide to give them what they want.

I can just type mine in for you and without warning you sit in their lap. Hange is baffled by your boldness but the feeling of your plush ass on them makes the shock go away. “Um- I can do it for you-, you don’t have to” You shift around on their lap causing your skirt to rise up and expose your thong. “Don’t worry, we’ll get it done faster this way” you pull down your skirt but continue to slightly shuffle in the hanjis lap. The heat between you two is intensifying gradually feeling their slender fingers trail up both your thighs slowly eventually finding their place on your hips. Moving you to their right slightly puts you on their thigh. A low voice emanates from behind you “since you want to squirm so much, use my thigh to get off”

A spark goes through your body as your start to grind slowly on their lap. Their hands remain on your lap assisting your hip movement even adding their own tempo to tease you. The moment you take your hands off the keyboard the grip on their hips tighten holding you in place. “You need to do you work, I don’t want to be a distraction” you start to whine and try to move your hips “if I do my work will you keep going?” Hange is mesmerized at the way you’re acting, they usually see you in a quiet state but lately you’ve been downright filthy and they were loving it.

“Yeah beautiful, I’ll keep going”

So that’s exactly what you did — sending your paper to their email downloading it and starting to type it out and make your edits. Once you become engrossed in your work is when hanji starts to move your hips. The grip that held you in place is now knead at them slowly. Everything they were doing is pure bliss. You can feel the throbbing between your thighs making it harder for you to concentrate. You desperately whisper out their name accidentally messing up your edit. They lift their thigh up harshly making you hole throb in response and a sweet moan to escape your plump lips. “Valedictorian shouldn’t be messing up their edits.” You sneer at their statement which makes hange snap their thigh up again.

“Don’t get an attitude with me, you were the one grinding on my lap. This is what you wanted right?” You never imagined for them to be so harsh but it is making you want to fuck them even more. “Hange you’re being meannn” you sound winded and your legs are shaking as hange picks up speed and starts bouncing their leg. Your moans start to become rhythmic as you try to quicken your release. Hanji didn’t mind, they like seeing you desperate and sloppy because of them. Conservatism has long left your body and your skirt is on your hips and your top is below your chest. Hange has been bouncing you on their thigh commanding you to keep going as the lick two fingers on each hand grabbing your nipples with their saliva covered fingers.

The slimy sensation perks your nipples allowing hanji to massage and tease your puffy brown nipples as your climax edges closer. A string of curses and repetition of Hanjis name signals them to pull your nipples releasing the tension between your supple thighs. Your legs are shaking beneath you prompting the unholy grip on the mahogany desk in front of you. Hange laughs at your current state “can’t handle it?” Although they are extremely cute you want to crush their cockiness. “Please! you aren’t the first to make me cum, get over yourself”

This made their blood boil. “Fine, let’s try something else” they grab you by your arm leading you to their bed. “Get up there, take your thong off and lay on the edge.” You don’t know why but you obey every command and wait as they move their desk chair to the edge of the bed. “Put your legs over my shoulders babe”your movements were slow but confident, you knew what you wanted but you nervous of the outcome. Now here you were, spread in front of Hange Zoë waiting for them to finish inspecting you in between your thighs. Embarrassment is increasing every passing minute they continue to stare and not say anything. “I can leave, if you’re just going to judge”

A puzzled look spreads across their face, “darling, I was merely appreciating you but since you’re so impatient” you can feel their tongue stride along your throbbing heat the sensation made the wait worth it. The feeling of their mouth devouring you reminds you of a demon trying to take someone’s soul. “Hange~ slow down, please” they only hummed in response swirling their tongue around your aching arousal earning a whiny moan from you. Their pace is patterned — slow then they go deep, picking up the pace before sloppily sucking to the top of your pulsating mound. The air is thick, your braids are sticking to your body, and you can feel your release coming soon.

Hange is abusing your flesh at a relentless pace the tightness below finally snaps ruining the edge of Hange’s sheets and the floor below. They life their head up greeting you with a overzealous grin. “I bet not everyone makes you do this” a tired laugh escapes your lips “For someone who can’t ask me on a date you have a lot of mouth”. Their face becomes red instantly resulting in them scooting the chair away from you and tuning around. “Let’s try something else, think you’re up for it?” Your silence is deafening and Hange knew this is the part where you would leave after getting head. “If it’s with you, I’m up for anything.”

Opening their desk drawer they pull out a medium sized velvet box with a devilish smirk. They turn around and reveal a dildo. “You ever been strapped before?” Hange insist on trying doggy for your first time and promises “to use an adequate amount of lube even though you have been prepared” you roll eyes when they add the last part but they were extremely gentle and sweet throughout the whole process. The feeling of the rubber tip at your entrance snaps you from your trance, hanji teases your slick entrance slightly with one hand on your hip while one slides the head in slowly and working the rest in with it. “Are you okay love?” You moan in response as the shaft slides in slowly jerking back in response.

“Go faster Hanji” Your breathy moan commanding them provokes urgency within Hange. You feel their hand grab a handful of your braids pulling you back forcing an arch. “Don’t forget you asked for it babe” Hange hips start to thrust at lighting speed using your hair as leverage to angle their body to hit your sweet spot. “God! You’re so fucking beautiful like this. I’ve wanted you for so long!” Hange kept spewing different confessions while mercilessly pound into you. “I’ve known about us living near eachother since you moved in! I want-no. NEED to have you”

“HANGE!! Stop tal-king” your voice cracks saying this and hanji see your body go limp as you release on the bed. You didn’t have a chance to process what the young person had said but when you did you were up and putting you clothes on. “He- Wait, Where are you going?” “I have mountains worth of homework to do, you didn’t expect me to have sex with you all day?” You laugh at the thought and take the time to decide whether you were going to put your fishnets back. The lack of underwear makes it difficult — you didn’t even hear hanji shuffle out of bed over to you wrapping their arms around you, moving your hair to the side they burying their head in the crook of you neck and say “If I do your homework..will you stay with me today”

A sly grin spread across your face and disappears as you turn around to face them. “That’s too much! I couldn’t expect you to do that” their eyes light up at the chance of you saying yes. “It would be my pleasure!” you didn’t think it would be this easy to get the salutatorian to do your homework but if all you had to do is have bomb sex who were you to block a blessing?

“Thank you Hange” you say sweetly placing a kiss on their sweaty cheek.

#hange zoe #hanji zoe #attack on titan #hange zoe x reader #hange zoe x you #hange zoe x y/n #💋#hange zoe smut #attack on titan smut #smut #aot x reader #aot smut #hange zoë #hanji zoe x reader #♠️

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makethatelevenrings · 11 months

Text

One Star Review // J. Todd x gn!reader

Requested? Yes!

Warnings: injury, blood, medical talk

Summary: When working a late night shift at the drug store, a certain vigilante comes stumbling in with a stab wound and a bad attitude.

The bell over the door chimed, setting off your Pavlovian response to greet the incoming customer. By the time you raised your head, you found no one standing there. Peeking over the counter, you spied a trail of blood drops on the linoleum tiles and sighed.

Working at a twenty-four hour drugstore in Gotham was a guarantee for stories to bring home to your roommates, but the novelty had worn off by the third robbery. You wished you could say that random people stumbling in with injuries was rare, but you weren’t raised to be a liar.

“Hi, can I help you?” you called. A low curse met your ears and you moved out from behind the bulletproof glass covered desk to peer down the aisles. The trail led you towards the first aid section. Of course.

“Do you need help?” you tried again.

“Fuck off,” was your reply.

You huffed and turned around the end of the aisle to find Red Hood of all people leaning up against the shelves with one hand clasped over his side and the other full of various first aid items. Planting your hands on your hips, you stared at him with an unimpressed look on your face.

“This is my store, bitch boy. Don’t tell me to fuck off,” you snapped. “And sit down before you hurt yourself worse.”

“I’m gonna write a review,” he grumbled. “Terrible service. Employee called me a bitch boy.”

“Tough,” you said. You gestured for him to follow you over to a chair next to the blood pressure cuff. “Now move it.”

He sighed and maneuvered his large frame into the small chair. Red Hood pulled his hand away from his side and you could see the angry, pulsing wound under his destroyed body armor. A hiss of empathetic pain passed through your teeth and you leaned in closer to see it.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” he snapped.

“Do you want to be a dick and bleed out or do you want help? Because you can’t do both.”

That shut him up, thankfully. You poured a glob of hand sanitizer on your hands and scrubbed it in before you pulled on a pair of the latex gloves from the box he grabbed. Gently, you pulled his ruined kevlar away from his skin and examined the wound.

“You got stabbed,” you noted. “Didn’t go too deep, luckily. Must have been a sharp knife to break through this material.”

“Assassins,” he muttered.

“Yeah, that’ll do it.” Grabbing the saline wash and some clean gauze wrappers, you ripped open the gauze and poured saline on it. Without giving him a warning, you pressed it against the wound. Red Hood, to his credit, barely flinched.

“I’m in an EMT class right now,” you explained. “I’ve always been interested in this stuff but shit, it’s expensive. By the way, you better be paying for this stuff.”

“Yeah, yeah. Put it on my tab,” he said through gritted teeth.

The two of you fell into an easy silence as you packed his wound and applied a layer of thick gauze before taping it onto his skin. You tried to ignore the very pronounced dips of his abs, but how could you when they were right there? The second you were done taping down the edges, he was fighting to stand up.

“Woah,” you exclaimed. Your hands landed on his shoulders and you pushed him back into the seat. “You lost a lot of blood so I wouldn’t try to get up too quickly.”

“I need to get back out there,” he argued. “Thanks for the help, but you did your job. Now I need to do mine.”

Your face went deadpan and you stared at him with pursed lips and raised brows. “Okay, fine. But if you go out there and ruin my handiwork, you will have to live with the guilt of knowing that you were a dick to a retail employee.”

Red Hood’s helmet stared off into the distance for a moment before he grumbled out a “fine” and settled back in the chair. A triumphant smirk settled across your face and you started to gather up the trash you had tossed around you when patching him up.

“Let me grab you a juice and some crackers to help with your blood sugar. Any kind you want?”

He sighed. “Apple, please.”

When you returned to the back of the store, the chair was empty except for a single one-hundred dollar bill and a business card. The card was face down, blue ink marking the empty white space of the back.

Call her, it instructed. You flipped it over and read the name printed on the front. Dr. Leslie Thompkins.

“Huh,” you murmured to yourself. You were definitely telling your roommates about this the second you got home.

Tag List: @mcrmarvelloki @gone-batty-fics @someoneimsure @perpetual-fangirl900 @visagebrise @cursedandromedablack @alexxavicry @the-wayward-daughter @raging-trash-of-mind @kat-nee @khaylin27 @igotanidea @princessbl0ss0m

#jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #red hood

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 25 days

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Hidden Treasure 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your quiet life is interrupted by a tempestuous man. (reader is Blair from Follow You Anywhere)

Characters: Thor

Note: I just did it, okay?

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You lay out the hand-sewn coin purses along the left side of the table, completing the array of your hand-made and repurposed goods. It’s a good day to sell, sunny but not too hot, the early days of spring when people are eager to get out. At least it should be. Despite your selection, you’re not the most personable vendor along the square.

The last detail is the hand-painted wood sign. You did it yourself; an antique frame you added a gold hue to and filled with a thin sheet of board. It isn’t much but it tells people what they’re looking at; handmade and renewed goods.

You fold your hands and hover behind your table. You’re a one-person operation. It’s your own table, your own money, your own everything. It brings in enough for you to live. Just you and your cluttered apartment.

The coin purses and the sleepers you sew by hand are the more popular sellers. Anything for children goes first, you notice. Everyone seems to be having them. The older crowd radiate towards the old candlesticks you polished to a shine or the glass-shaded lamps you tediously re-wired. Most try to haggle but your prices are fair enough.

You peer around at the produce stands, the soap and candle makers, and the crocheted stuffies of your fellow sellers. You do a bit of window shopping but never follow through on your wandering eyes. You don’t need to waste the money on the pretty new things, you have lots of lovely old things.

The traffic picks up and you busy yourself with the browsers. A woman with a stroller buys several of the infant dresses and headband, a group of older ladies peruse the aged hardcovers and pick out a few, while a couple comments on the brass-based lamp with the dangling chain. You do your best to smile through the transactions.

The rises higher in the sky towards its apex. The steady flow keeps you busy, with some time in-between to work on fixing the binding of one of the old editions. You like to keep yourself distracted, thinking can be dangerous. With how much time you spend alone, it’s hard to avoid.

As you lock up the cash box and tuck it back under the table, a shadow passes over, large than any other. For a moment, you think a cloud’s passing over the sun. You look up at the sky as a broad figure stands across from you.

You don’t know how you didn’t see the man’s approach. He’s huge. Tall and wide. He doesn’t seem the type to be interested in your selection. Still, he leans in to eye the embroidered coin purses and gives a rumbling hum that sounds like distant thunder.

He picks up one with primroses sewn into it. His thick thumb brushes the threaded design and his large hand makes the coin purse look even smaller. You tap your fingers on the table as his eyes flick up and meet yours.

“Hi, uh, how can I help you?” You whittle out of your tight throat. It’s not often a lone man finds interest in your things. You cater to a more femme audience.

“This is nice,” he remarks, “do you make these?”

“Uh, yes, I do,” you give a tight-lipped smile, “I just embroider old used purses.”

“Just? That’s splendid work,” he brings it closer to his face and looks down his nose at the little flowers and leaves, “my mother would love this... mother’s day is coming, eh?”

“Oh, um, yes, I suppose,” you agree. “It’s five dollars. Cash only.”

“Mm,” he traces his thumb over the metal clasp as he taps his back pocket with his other hand, “don’t think I’ve any on me. Could you hold this for me?” He offers the coin purse, “I’ll find the ATM.”

“Sure, I could do that.”

You take the coin purse, fingers brushing his rough skin, and you set it aside.

“Thank you,” he smiles broadly, blue eyes twinkling as lines creases around them and across his forehead.

He reluctantly trails away and you watch him go. His golden hair is longer than most, twisted into a low bun behind his hand as a few strands dangle freely around his face. He wears a denim jacket over dark red tee and grey jeans, along with a pair of scuffed brown boots. He stands out even in his casual attire.

You shrug off the encounter and turn to your next customers. More baby clothes. The women chat about a baby show and you point them to the newborn sizes, telling them about the fabrics you use for each. They buy a few bibs along with the sleepers and diaper covers.

You back up and sit in the folding chair, drinking deeply from your bottle of water. You don’t know if it’s the interactions or the sun making you dizzy. It’s close to noon. You always start to feel it around this time.

The hours surrounded by strange faces and buzzing voices are clustering in your head and chest. Only a little longer; the market only runs until two. If the world didn’t require money to survive, you might never leave your apartment. Yet your table is the only means you have to keep walls around you.

You sit a bit longer and get up again. You’re okay. You should’ve eaten before you left the apartment. How silly of you to forget the overnight oats you had put in the fridge just the night before. You do forget quite a few things.

The market thrums with the late morning rush and you brace yourself for the final stretch. If you can clear off half the table, you might not have to come back next weekend. You’d be all too content to stay in your own little world, the one beyond is too loud and too bright.

🕰️

You fold your table up and push the hook around the peg to keep it shut. You fold up the chair as well and lean both with your boxes. As the market clears out, you pull up your small two-door and load your wares into the back hatch.

You peer over at the other vendors and their vans and trucks. Crews of half a dozen or more pack away goods and chatter just as loud as the previous crowds. It’s an isolating moment. You don’t mind going unnoticed but sometimes you feel so small.

As you put a box in the back of the car, your keys slip off your finger. You bend and feel around the tire to retrieve them and sense a shadow above you. You clasp your hand around the keyring and stand-up suddenly, turning to face the figure behind you. There’s no one there.

You peer around but find nothing out of the ordinary. You return to your task and pause. You don’t remember putting that box away yet...

You shake your head. You’re just tired and forgetful. Your cardinal vices. Your mind wanders too much to rest, too much to keep order.

You put the last box away and close the hatch. You get in the driver’s seat and turn the engine. It putters softly but it runs well enough. The old car has gotten you through the years just fine. There was a time that tiny thing was your home.

You pull away down the lane parallel to the edge of the market square and pull out into traffic. You drive without seeing, led by habit as you stop at signs along the way, turning around corners mindlessly. You stop and wait to pull into your building’s lot and notice the large storm grey jeep behind you. It strikes you as peculiar; you enter from a back street to avoid the rush.

You steer into the lot and the jeep continues down the street past the building. You forget it as quickly as it rolls beyond the faded brick. You find your spot, parking pass dangling from the mirror, and shut off the engine. You linger and take a breath. You're hungry and tired.

You leave your things in the car and go upstairs. You slow as you pass your neighbour’s door. You saw her yesterday, she was in trouble about something. The police came as she hid from her boyfriend in your apartment. You didn’t even know she had one. You tried not to be nosy but she seemed real upset.

Your cheeks tinge as you stare at the numbers on her door. She’s the only person who’s ever been inside your apartment. You don’t welcome people in, not into your home or your life. You hadn’t meant to let her in but you were so tired and confused, you couldn’t stop her.

You cringe and continue down to your door with one last glance over your shoulder. You put the key in the slot and turn with a grind. You scurry inside and quickly lock the door, afraid she might once more emerge and follow you inside. Or that man, the big one with the beard.

You twist the latch back into place and put your keys in the tray on the cramped shelf. The apartment is dark, the windows shrouded in black fabric, and you flip on the overhead light to guide you down the hallway. The walls are made tighter as their lined with endless shelves and tables, all filled with your collection of curiosities.

You go to the fridge and take out the mason jar of steeped oats. You sit and eat the soft, pasty oats and the berries. You didn’t add enough cinnamon. It doesn’t matter, your stomach greedily mulches it. You put the kettle on and wait for it to steam.

As you pace around, you hear a loud rumble. An engine. You don’t think much of it but you go to the window to peek out around the dark fabric. A woman walks a large dog past a grey jeep parked along the curb. Is it the same one you saw before?

The question doesn’t pique your mind much. That’s the way of the world, you find. It’s a lot smaller than it seems, yet to you, it’s inexorably vast. It’s too fast, too unpredictable. You retreat as the kettle whistles.

Your apartment is small and warm and safe. The world can’t follow you back here. Not if you don’t let it in and you won’t be doing that again.

-🕰️

You decide, against your better instincts, to go to market. The weather is nice and it wouldn’t be so bad add a few extra bucks to your nest egg. You never know what might come up, or what you might find! Too many times you stumbled upon an antique you just couldn’t afford.

You go through your usual ritual. You set up the table and the chair, and arrange your things in the same way around the wooden sign. As you put your boxes to the side, you hear a rattle at the bottom of one. You look into the crate and notice the silver ring. How’d that get in there? You didn’t bring any jewelry.

You put down the box and reach inside. You take out the ring and turn it. You’ve never seen it before. There’s a strange stick symbol on the flat face. Maybe another language or a run of some type. You turn it in your hand and tuck it in your pocket. You’ll have to give a closer look at home.

It’s early and a few stragglers trickle in, but they all walk by your table without pause.

You sit and take out the jar of oats. You remembered today. You’d woken up with a hunger so deep, you almost ate before you left. You know better than to eat too early. Instead, you had your tea and got yourself moving.

You stir the blueberries in and eat slowly, trying to measure your bites so you don’t feel sick after. You watch the other vendors, some still setting up, and lazily swallow down the thick oatmeal. It feels like it might rain after all, there’s a touch of damp in the air.

You finish up and put the jar away. As you wipe your mouth with your sleeve, a woman’s voice trills and pricks your ears. Silver hair with a few wisps of gold peak out from her silk headscarf. The teal fabric matches the pattern of her blouse, tucking into a finely pressed skirt. She’s not alone, she has her arm hooked through another.

Her companion is younger than her. His golden hair is pulled half up at the crown of his head as he towers over her lithe frame. You squint, they might be related. As they approach, you get a whiff of deja vu.

“Yes, it was this one, mother,” the man’s voice is deep.

“How lovely, look at all these treasures,” she slips her arm free as she approaches, “hello, dear, is this all yours?”

“Mhmm, yes,” you stand up, “are you looking for something in particular?”

“I think we’re just browsing,” she smiles brightly, her lips painted a gentle shade of rose.

“A coin purse,” the man says, “with prim rose? Do you recall?”

You look at him. Faces aren’t easy for you but his voice strikes something in your mind, and his size. You haven’t seen a lot of men that big, only the one in your neighbour’s apartment. You think you remember holding something but the customer never came back.

“This one,” you point to the coin purse, set back in the row.

“Yes, that was me,” he chimes, “mother,” he pulls the primrose purse to the top. She takes it and he looks back to you, “I apologise that I didn’t return, there was an emergency and I had to be off.”

“It’s okay,” you shrug, folding your hands together.

The woman is looking at you. There’s something in her gaze that makes you squirm. Her eyes linger just a bit longer before she aims them at the purse, admiring the embroidery as she feels it beneath her thumb.

“Yes, I do like this one,” she says.

“I brought cash this time,” the man booms and reaches into his pocket, “five, I believe you said.”

“Yes,” you accept the bill from him, his skin rough as his fingertips touch yours, “thanks. Erm, did you need a bag?”

“For this? No,” she wiggles the purse playfully and reaches for the man, her son, with other hand. She caresses his knuckles as she faces him, “you were right. Very beautiful.”

He smiles broadly, proudly almost. It’s just a purse. You hide your discomfort as you grip your arm at your elbow.

“Thank you,” the woman chirps back at you, sending another grin in your direction, “you might see us again.”

She hooks her arm once more through her son’s and leads him to the next booth. You peer after them as her attention clings to the purse as she continues to feel it between her fingers. She leans into his arm as she speaks to him quietly. They seem close, it’s sweet. Your own mother had never been so affectionate.

You look away before the scene can pluck in your chest. It doesn’t matter. You’re grown up now. That’s all behind you.

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #thor x reader #fic #dark fic #series #dark!fic #au #marvel #avengers #mcu #hidden treasure

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wasjustred · 1 year

Text

Winter Weather Warning - NSFW Larissa Weems x f!Reader

Summary: A blizzard comes barreling through the area and you find yourself stranded———in Larissa’s quarters.

Pairing(s): Larissa Weems x femprof!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, smut – fingering and cunnilingus (reader receiving); Larissa gets an orgasm

Word Count: ~6.3k (oops)

Author’s Note: Whaaat? A fic? From me? Finally?? I hope this was worth the wait! Thanks to all you lovely folk who’ve been so patient with me; there’s been a lot going on in my life so I’m very appreciative of you all. Feedback, as always, is welcome and encouraged! ♡ ﹠. a special thank you to my beta readers @sapphicsbeloved and @zephyr-is-tired ——— sending you many kisses and finger waggles for your help! 😙🥰 ╱ AO3

You try not to begrudge the snow for falling when and where it will. It’s pretty, you have to admit: soft, and flurried, sweeping over the stone grounds of Nevermore without prejudice. You peer out from your window and watch scattered groups of students chase after each other gleefully, faces turned up toward the sky like small purple sunflowers in their school uniforms, arms outstretched and reaching. The low angle of the sun against the trees suggests dusk will fall soon, just enough light still to cast long, excitable shadows across the ground.

A smile prods at your lips as you turn away from the window and further into your classroom with the intention of setting up for your last class of the day. You’d originally planned to guide them through a review period for an exam next week, but with the state of the sky and the weekend finally here, you decide a film might instead be just what everyone needs; you can afford to push the exam back another day, and really, they’ll be gunning for extra time where they can get it anyway. You know your students well enough.

When the kids begin filing in, you delegate tasks without explanation, the room abuzz as you instruct one student to close the blinds and a few others to adjust the desks just so. You catch a glimpse of the world down below before the windows cover up: Steady flurries still, but nothing that worries you. The kids’ thrill at spending the period in relaxation when you reveal your plan to them is enough to distract from any further thoughts on the weather, anyhow.

The hour passes swiftly as you sit in the back grading papers, every so often glancing up to take stock of the room. Everyone files out just as fast at the sound of the bell and calls out wishes for a good weekend while you’re left to rearrange the room back into its original state. You take care of the desks first, pack your own items up, decide to leave the windows for Monday since it’s dark out by now, no longer any ribbons of light sneaking through the cracks where the blinds don’t quite meet glass. A nice bottle of wine, a fire, maybe a few candles and a good book… the night is promising, and you run through a mental checklist of how many comfort items and practices you can employ as you wander down to the front entrance, bundled up tightly in your coat to brave the cold.

But when you reach the landing of the long staircase, the sight that greets you is not promising in the slightest: the outer floodlights cast a muted glow over what had been a harmless shower of snow, now furious gusts of heavy flakes collecting faster than your brain can entertain. There has to be at least a couple inches out there already, and the realization that you’ll have to navigate through the winding, hilly roads of Vermont in the middle of this elicits a groan. The treeline is hardly visible amidst the dark and the snow, and the roads are likely no better off: the town tends to skirt right around Nevermore when salting the streets. This drive’ll be a perilous one at best.

“Absolutely not.” The sound of Larissa’s disapproval startles you into a sharp and over-dramatic gasp, every muscle of yours tensing at once when her voice comes from just behind you.

“Jesus, you scared me! ‘Absolutely not’ what?” You turn to her with features marred by confusion - once the surprise has melted away - and tilt your head up, taking a small step back to balance yourself when you realize how close she is. She looms over you in a way only she can: regal and overwhelming–––yet cordial all the same, offset by the soft floralness of her perfume. The fact that she’d reached you there without a sound would likely be unsettling if it were anyone else. With her it’s just… attractive, the slyness of it all. The mischievous grin she bares in response to how you jump doesn’t help.

“There is absolutely no chance I’m letting you drive in that.” This elicits an incredulous scoff as you peer up at her, arms lifting at your sides like a pair of very exasperated, very amused wings.

“Letting me? What am I supposed to do? Break my back sleeping on the floor of the library? No thanks.”

“Don’t be silly,” Larissa tsks, pressing her lips together in an all too familiar demonstration of thought. She’s quick with her next words, though, and something tells you there wasn’t much thought to be given at all. “You’ll stay with me.”

The firmness with which she says this, the matter-of-fact tone that has always so easily slid off her tongue, leaves no room for discussion. You gape at her but Larissa’s already swiveling on her heel and walking in the direction of her office as though it’s been decided once and for all, no questions asked. She throws a crooked finger over her shoulder and gestures for you to follow, the sound of her heels now echoing through the mostly-empty halls.

You wonder, frivolously, how in the hell you didn’t hear her the first time around.

You rush after her with quick steps in an effort to keep up; Larissa’s long, unhesitating strides carry her farther and faster than you can move without some effort. The view of her backside, however, is not one that merits complaint. You follow the curve of it up until you come upon a landing you’re not familiar with, nearly knocking into Larissa when she halts abruptly and turns towards you for the first time since this little journey began. She looks almost unsure of herself now, eyes flitting about rather than meeting yours. It’s one thing, you know, to flirt in passing; to brush arms when you’re both chaperoning students in Jericho; to trade amused, knowing glances across faculty meetings. But it’s another to invite you into her sanctuary, a decisive and loaded crossing of one of the last lines between the two of you.

“If you’d prefer, I believe there’s an empty dorm room I can have made up for you. It’d be no problem.” She finally looks down at you long enough for you to read what’s going on behind that mask of hers, typically pristine and perhaps a touch righteous: she’s trying to give you an out, trying to relinquish control for a second before she commandeers your night, and she’s worried she’s already gone too far by bringing you up here in the first place.

But you’re not going to say no to a night at Larissa’s side, especially when the potential for a warm fire and a glass of wine or two is so high.

Especially when it’s her asking.

“No, it’s alright. Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

“Not at all,” she’s quick to blurt out, shaking her head. “I simply wanted to make sure you knew you had the option, that’s all.”

With that, Larissa turns again and begins the ascent to what you assume is her hall–––until you’ve reached another landing with only one door, and she pushes it open to reveal an entire apartment all her own. It’s very her, this place: Warm, shining, elegant. The living room is awash with low, simmering lights, furnished with a mix of dark leather and velour, a towering bookcase taking up the whole of one of the far walls with an accompanying reading nook. She walks you further into the threshold and eases the door closed behind you, hovering silently as you take the space in. There are a few framed art pieces that you promise yourself you’ll review more thoroughly later on, scattered vases of flowers and various, high-hanging mirrors.

What truly draws your attention, however, are the photos strategically lining the walls, clearly taken at various points in Larissa’s life: A small platinum-blonde girl carefully posed before a Christmas tree with two very proper looking hounds on either side of her, all very regal and staged except for the wide, nose-crinkling grin on the girl’s face; a beach trip with the same girl, slightly older now, arm thrown over her face as she squints against the sun and into the camera - and a pair of kids that look to be around her age chase each other in the background; teenage Larissa suited up and on horseback, smiling proudly as a judge strings a blue ribbon around the horse’s halter; graduation photos from Nevermore; a trip to the Scottish Highlands, it looks like, a twenty-something Larissa soaked to the bone but grinning out at the miles and miles of luscious greens like she couldn’t be bothered less by the weather. It’s the most you’ve ever seen of her.

Eventually Larissa brushes behind you, laying a hand at your waist in passing as she toes off her heels and begins the process of lighting the fireplace.

Her touch leaves an emphatic tingle in its wake.

“I didn’t think my wall was that particularly exciting,” she muses, glancing over her shoulder at you. You duck your head and turn from the wall, following her lead as you slip out of your shoes and place them next to her own.

“I always like to see what people were like before I knew them. It’s intimate.” Larissa’s gaze softens almost imperceptibly before she returns her attention to the fire, adjusting the logs one last time and replacing the latch on the brass screen.

“What do they tell you, those pictures?” She wipes her hands and comes to rest against the edge of a couch, gazing at you as you shift on your feet and consider her question. Her eyes remain soft, but there’s something else lurking there behind the blue now: Curiosity? Interest? Desire, even? You can’t read it for sure, so you clear your throat and move back to the photographs on her wall, crossing your arms over yourself.

“Well, .. this one,” you start, gesturing towards the Christmas tree, “screams rich.” Larissa snorts loudly and tilts her head in a way that says you’re not wrong. “Probably an only child - at least at the time, otherwise there’d be other kids with you.” Her smile gives nothing away this time, but you charge ahead, brushing your fingers against the frame that holds the beach between its borders.

“This isn’t an American beach, that much I know.” You choose not to elaborate, allowing your ‘Americanness’ to speak for itself. “But I can’t tell if you grew up going there or if it was a special vacation, maybe visiting family… ?” you trail off as your gaze drifts over to her questioningly. She just shrugs, and you click your teeth in mock disapproval before moving on.

“You look happy here,” you observe, allowing your hand to drift over the photo of Larissa in her English riding gear. “Unforced. You enjoyed competing, maybe preferred your horse to people.” This one might be an unfair deduction, supplemented by your understanding of how cruel kids can be–––especially to an outcast, especially to a 6’3” girl.

“The Duke,” Larissa pitches in, pushing up off the couch’s back to join just behind your shoulder, gazing over at the photo in question. “My mother hated the name, but I insisted. He was a gift for my fifteenth birthday,” she reminisces, breath coursing over the tip of your ear. You peer up at her as she smiles, something sad and regretful there before she sucks in a deep breath and points out a new photo to you, more recent by the looks of it: Larissa stands with a large group of students in their Nevermore uniforms, mid-laugh as one of the kids waves his hands wildly and another has their mouth agape in what looks to be protest. Her eyes are crinkled - genuine - and one of her hands seems to be in the process of making its way up to cover her mouth, the other mindlessly resting at her midsection. You know that laugh. It’s her most uninhibited, her most authentic, which only comes out when she’s caught completely off-guard. Your favorite, if you’re honest.

“My first class of students as principal of Nevermore,” Larissa offers, scrunching her nose happily at the memory.

“What’d he say? That student?” You’re part genuine curiosity and part selfishness: eager to know what made her laugh like that, and how you can take hold of that kid’s humor and use it for yourself, elicit a look like that, a laugh like that, which so rarely comes about during school hours.

“I wish I could remember,” she murmurs, taking one last look before clasping her hands together and shocking you out of the reverie. “But nevermind all that. Have you eaten dinner yet?”

You nod sheepishly, nearly apologetic knowing she likely hasn’t and is looking to be a good hostess. But she merely nods, looking relieved: “Oh good, I can’t be bothered to cook tonight,” Larissa admits, a teasing grin stretching from ear to ear.

“Let me show you where everything is, then.” She guides you down the hall and nudges one of the doors open, gesturing with an open palm. “Here’s the bathroom. Extra amenities are in the second drawer there, towels in the closet.” The suite is nicer than any bathroom you’ve ever had, really the stuff of luxury hotels: white marble floors, a deep soaking tub, gold knobs and handles on almost every appliance. You’ve no choice but to forcefully shoo away the startling, indecent imaginings that break through your reserves of Larissa sinking deep into the lush bubbles of the tub, skin glistening, chest bare––––

“Heated floors, too. I never go cold in the winters.” Ever humble, Larissa pulls at your shoulder gently and switches the light off, directing you to another door just diagonal of the bathroom. When she swings the door open, you’re embarrassingly aware of the way your jaw drops.

“Bedroom’s this way,” she says, stepping into the space. It’s gorgeous, swooping drapes of dark ruby and gold, satin bedding that pools over the mattress and onto the floor, puddles of fabric against a thick persian rug. There’s another fireplace opposite the bed, an area farther off with another scaling bookcase and two large, well-worn armchairs, a small number of intricately designed table and floor lamps, a matching vanity and armoire, the former of which is careful, lived-in chaos with its scattered tubes of lipstick and skin care tinctures.

It’s Larissa.

“Wow,” you breathe, meeting her amused gaze. “You never mentioned you live like this. I would’ve taken you up on a sleepover much sooner if I’d known.” Larissa flushes and coughs out a coy laugh, smoothing a hand over her hair as she looks out across the room.

“Yes, well. You’re here now.” She reaches out and lifts your handbag from you, pulling at your coat lapel next to signal you should take it off. Once you do, Larissa hangs it along one of the walls and places your bag on her vanity. Busy work. “I have clothes you can borrow of course, though they may be a bit big. I’ll set them out, although,” she pauses, glancing at her bedside clock, “it’s early still… Up for a movie? Glass of wine?”

You’re almost - almost - embarrassed by the unrestrained nodding of your head, but hell, it’s been a long week, and relaxing with a bottle of wine sounds like the perfect reward for making it through without breaking down [in front of your students]. The fact that it’s Larissa’s personal wine, in her personal quarters, in her personal hands does nothing to lessen the appeal.

The question of where Larissa will sleep, if showing you the bedroom was her way of offering it to you, hangs in your head, but you decide the answer can wait until the time for sleep comes around. By no means are you going to allow Larissa to banish herself to the couch in her own home. You’d sooner take the floor–––even if you’d jokingly complained about that very same concept earlier in the hour.

“Do you have a preferred genre?” She asks as you both return to the living room, you perching on the sofa as she disappears into what you assume is the kitchen to fetch the wine. It’s not normally a loaded question, nor one worth considering too deeply, but you realize you have an opportunity here… and if Larissa’s occasional blushes, her soft gaze, mean what you hope they do, perhaps there’s a strategy to be employed. You shift further into the cushions, absentmindedly running a hand over your clavicle in thought.

“Don’t laugh… but I’m a sucker for romance when the weather’s like this,” you call out. Larissa peeks her head out from around the corner, brows furrowed in funny disbelief.

“Really?”

“Wha–– why is that so hard to believe?!”

“It’s not, I just.. wasn’t expecting it, I suppose. You seem more of the action or thriller type.” She shrugs and disappears again without further explanation, leaving you to half-pout half-ponder at her words. Before you can make an argument in your defense, however, she’s returning with two full glasses, bottle tucked under her arm, and dimming the lights, a practiced look of concentration slanted across her features as she makes her way over to the couch and lowers one of the glasses into your waiting hand. The red sloshes up just near the edge when Larissa hands it off, and you half-jokingly prod at her as your brows shoot up in amusement.

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Principal Weems?” She tuts with faux indignation, but the growing flush of her cheeks betrays her.

“I wouldn’t dare.” She settles next to you - still a respectable distance for colleagues, but closer than mere acquaintances - and places the uncorked bottle on the table ahead of you, grinning.

“Romance it is, but I pick.” You ‘d be surprised by her demand if you didn’t know Larissa’s need to be in control at all times. In fact, if anything surprises you, it’s her calmness in the face of this turbulent weather–––perhaps the most uncontrollable variable there is. Even the most headstrong people can be manipulated, but not the sky.

The film she chooses isn’t one you’ve seen before, which excites you, and you both sink into the couch with a comfortable silence. You share little notes back and forth on the revolving plots and chuckle at the occasional joke, however cliché, as the movie rolls, finding an easy rhythm you’ve never before been able to appreciate amidst the chaos of classes and faculty meetings.

It’s about an hour in, having finished your first glass and poured another for yourself and Larissa, that you make the mistake of peering over at her from the corner of your eye. A particularly sappy scene is playing out before you. The TV’s light flickers softly against her face, which is content and dare you say tender as the two protagonists share a moment together. The stumble before the fall. Her forehead creases and you have the sudden urge to kiss the lines away, warmed by the wine and her beauty.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she whispers hoarsely, though her eyes never leave the screen.

Your heart jolts when she catches you out, running hot with guilt. Your legs shift beneath you as you move to scoot a few inches away - to give her space from your leering gaze - but you freeze when you feel her hand on your knee, holding you in place. You watch her for any sign that’ll tell you what’s going through her head but she doesn’t budge further, only loosening her hold on you a fraction when you relax against the cushions again. Your heart is beating hard at the door of your ribs as you tilt your head back towards the movie, far too distracted to actually process anything that’s happening. The air is so thick now your lungs can hardly keep up; it’s a dizzying thing, electric, and your thoughts jumble haphazardly as you wonder whether or not Larissa’s feeling it, too.

You risk a peek at her again–––but Larissa is already looking at you.

Her chest is heaving, albeit subtly, and her eyes are dark. A steep wave of arousal pulses through you when her tongue slips out along her upper lip, her gaze flicking down to your mouth and back up again: a question. The second you nod her mouth is on yours, both of you sighing into the touch. You cup the back of her neck, pulling her closer still as your other hand fists around the fabric of her dress. An insistent tug at your waist brings one of your legs between her own, hips rolling against each other as she gropes at you mindlessly, squeezing the thigh slotted over her heat.

“Is this okay?” she asks breathlessly, dragging your bottom lip between her teeth before she pulls away to look at you. Her cheeks are flushed a heavy pink and her lipstick is smudged. You giggle at the realization that there must be bright crimson streaks along your chin and lips.

“Yes,” you assure her between steadying pants, stroking a hand from her shoulder to her wrist and entwining your fingers, giving them a gentle pinch. “You alright?”

A smile briefly turns her lips, soft and loose. “Very much so.”

The next few moments are sweeter, slower as you take your time savoring her taste, tracing the swell of her lips, the delicate scar at the top there, following the line of her jaw up into her hair with your fingertips. She presses into you as gentle as ever, drawing shivers up to the surface of your skin as her hand snakes up the length of your spine. Barely there still is the sound of the fire lingering in its box and the distinct roar of wintry gusts at the window, mere suggestions at the back of your brain. The wine’s been long forgotten on the table.

You shudder when Larissa’s fingers tease at the lower hem of your blouse and brush against a bare sliver of skin, resting there before you arch into her and take hold of her wrist, guiding her hand higher. Her lips quirk to one side at your earnestness, especially as she reaches the clasp of your bra. She hesitates again, more teasing than searching, and slides her tongue into your willing mouth, exhaling sharply when you meet her move for move. Nimble fingers unclasp the bra without issue before they drift around to your front, putting distance between your bodies as Larissa palms your breasts, takes a nipple between her fingertips and pulls and twists with wicked dexterity.

A whimper escapes you when she sinks her teeth into your lip for a second time, much harsher this go around before she suddenly parts from you and begins pressing open-mouth kisses along your jaw and down your neck, nipping and soothing in time with the hapless rocking of your hips. She adjusts to unbutton your top, never once pausing in her assault on your neck as she does so.

“Wait,” you pant out suddenly, and all at once her body leaves you, drawing back to give you space. The look on Larissa’s face is a concerned one, but gentle still, and you know she’ll follow where you need. It’s everything you can do not to keep her waiting in exchange for the chance to look at her, swollen lips and mussed hair, dress askew.

She’s never been more beautiful to you.

“Take me to bed.”

Her concern is washed away and replaced with relief - and then more prominent, want.

Larissa rises up from the couch and reaches a hand out to you, catching you off-guard when instead of walking you to the bedroom once you stand, she bends at the knee and scoops you up, your legs coming to wrap around her waist as you laugh in surprise.

“Who am I to say no,” she teases, placing a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips before making the careful trek over to the bedroom.

The question of where she’ll sleep is hardly that anymore.

You’re both already naked and rocking against each other beneath her blankets when the power goes out. Neither of you truly take notice until the temperature in the room’s significantly plummeted.

“Oh–––one moment, darling.” You push yourself up on your elbows and whine as Larissa slips out of bed, hissing against the cold. Goosebumps raise along her skin, the peaks of her nipples hardening further as she rushes to kneel before the fireplace, sparking a flame in record time. Her skin nearly glows in the moonlight that trickles in from the windows, reflective amidst the snow. She looks like a ghost before you - ethereal, hauntingly so - and you tilt your head, gaze tracking from the deep slope of her calves to the fine curve of her ass, the faint divots of her spine, the wisps of hair that have come loose from their hold and fallen to her shoulders.

“You’re staring,” Larissa chides as she slides back under the covers, shivering.

“I’m admiring,” you correct lamely, a pitiful pout coming to rest upon your lips as you open your arms and draw her closer to warm her now-frigid skin. She hums as if to say ‘yeah, okay,’ burrows into you and drapes an arm across your middle as she pushes her leg between yours. Your hips instinctively buck when her thigh slides against the wetness of your cunt, and you’re both abruptly reminded of what had you so distracted in the first place.

Larissa tentatively nods towards you again and runs the tip of her tongue along your pulse point, your hips beginning to rock together once more, panting heavily and in unison while the storm surges on outside, unabated. The heat pooling in your stomach is in stark contrast to the drifting chill in the room, rearing a confused, overwhelming sensation of hot-cold along your skin. Larissa’s breath, warm on your neck, only further urges the feeling along until you feel as though you might snap if she doesn’t take you fully.

“Please,” you whimper, dragging your nails up over her back with little reserve. Larissa nips at your chin and yanks your leg further across her, taut against your clit.

“Please what?” Her voice is raked over with a carnal desire the likes of which you’ve never seen on her before, deep and airy. It only serves to pull the coil tighter. Your breath hitches as she pushes herself up on her hands and knees, hovering over you now, and she leans down, down until her face is level with yours, an intense wave of adoration flooding through you as she caresses one of your cheeks. She whispers, “I want you to beg, sweetheart,” and it’s all over, never a chance, the air all but torn from you, slick heat gone straight to your cunt.

Beg for her. Beg for Her. No matter how many times the thought bounces around within that empty little head of yours, you’re frozen in place both by lust and surprise. You’ve had your share of fun, of course, but the type that usually involves you calling the shots, taking charge. You thought you liked it that way.

You might’ve been wrong.

You’re only finally jostled from your thoughts when Larissa pulls back and draws a brow up at your silence. A shadow of concern passes over her face but you’re quick to pull her back in, nodding.

“Please fuck me,” you all but whisper, desperate to be filled, to be warmed, to be taken care of while the elements ravage the earth beyond these four walls. Larissa grins smugly at your feebleness, pressing her full weight upon you before she winds a hand down between your bodies, cupping your slickness in her palm. You’re dripping all over yourself, you know: a cool, nearly chafing wetness coating the inside of your thighs, so easily spread when Larissa dips her fingers in between your folds. She sinks a single digit into you just halfway, draws it out, sinks in again and curls it against that soft spot, yes, right there––

She easily adds another and hums at the way your body translates its own neediness, busying her mouth with the soft line of your jaw.

“You feel so good..” she murmurs as her fingers bury themselves into you knuckle-deep, so long and soft and better than you’d ever imagined (and you’d certainly spent time imagining it). Her hips press into yours from above, throwing weight behind her hand as she rolls against you, a slow and steady fucking that excites the fire already roaring within you. You gaze up at her in awe as her eyelids flutter in time with the movement of her hips, realizing she’s found just the right friction against the back of her own hand that each time she thrusts into you, a firm, rippling pressure rubs up against her own clit.

Your hands search frantically now until they’re planted at the slope of Larissa’s waist and you watch, carefully, as you pull her harder into each drive of her hips, rejoicing when she gasps and shudders into the pattern, breaking it for a fraction of a second before driving into you with a far greater desperation.

“Oohf, yes, th-that’s it, darling,” she pants out before capturing your lips in a sloppy, bruising kiss. Suddenly your own orgasm is incidental as you revel in the picture of her coming undone above you, chest flushed, cheeks pink, her hair falling further from its updo as she works her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Look at me, I want to see you,” you clamor with a novel burst of confidence, hands drifting up from her waist to cup her face in your palms. You want to look her in the eye when she cums. You want the memory of her sounds, her face, so deeply imbedded in your mind that it’ll keep you warm when you’ve returned to your own quarters. You want, you want, you want, and she whimpers - a heavenly sound - and obliges, gaze unfocused for a moment before she looks down at you, tongue darting out as she attempts to maintain some degree of focus.

“Right there, right there.. I can feel how close you are,” you huffily encourage, shifting so that both of your legs wrap tight around her and wrench her deeper, harder into you, smiling when her breath hitches at the change of pace and pressure against her sex. You watch her closely, in awe: Larissa’s brows are furrowed, her mouth fallen open and the pink of her tongue closely matched to that of her cheeks, the slight swell of her tits lurching which each thrust. The knowledge that each plunge into your cunt brings her closer is surreal––that she’s so obviously getting off on fucking you, that the frantic snap of her hips is building both of you up, simultaneously.

Her hips begin to stutter into you, airy whimpers falling from her as she teeters on the edge, fingers curling haphazardly in an attempt to continue fucking you through the oncoming rush of her orgasm. The mattress rocks and dips momentarily as Larissa gasps, sharp, and suddenly bows over you with the force of her climax, breath hot on your neck, forehead pressed into your temple, chest heaving against yours as she mindlessly ruts. Her fingers remain buried in your heat, pulsing slowly in time with her come-down.

Larissa’s body shudders as you run your palm over her in light, gentle sweeps, one hand carefully traveling to cup the back of her neck.

“You’re alright.. I know.. ‘s good, hm?” You feel a weak nod at your side, Larissa eventually stilling atop you. The pad of her thumb draws slow, lazy circles around your clit as her breathing slows, nosing the crook between your shoulder and neck.

“Christ,” she mumbles against your skin, and you chuckle as her lips draw a line from your ear to your chin.

“Yeah?” She hums and - slowly, determined - begins to wriggle down your body until her face is level with your cunt, glancing up at you with a blissed-out smirk before she presses an open-mouthed kiss to your slickness. The wet warmth of her tongue slides easily against you, dipping between your folds, lapping up the puddle that’s collected at your center, working in tandem with the pressure of her thumb at your clit, a feeling dumbly akin to religious devotion: a reverent prayer at your sex, holy flames licking up the walls of her bedroom, the weighted creases of her sheets stretched where she kneels before you.

A strong gust of wind wracks the shutters of her windows. They bang haphazardly against the glass, knocking in time with the surges of the storm.

Your fingers clench around the bed covers as Larissa rolls over your entrance once more, teasing, then pushing into your dripping hole with an embarrassing ease. She fucks you slow and as deep as she’s able, fingernails digging into the flesh of your hips. Not even the devil themself could stop you from rolling your pussy against her face in search of some greater friction, whining as the sounds of her tongue wading through your arousal mixes with the crackling of the fireplace, the moan of the storm outside.

“Ohfuckyes,” you pant as your legs spread further on their own accord, knees drawing up to alter the angle at which your pleasure floods through you. She moves with delicious ability, and you watch the stark blondeness of her hair bob with every fervent lap of her tongue, overwhelmed with the sudden realness of the moment: Larissa’s scent on the pillows, her lipstick smudged across your lips, her sweat on your skin. Her thumb abandons your clit, and a desperate cry waits at the threshold of your mouth until her finger is replaced with the pointed flicking of her tongue, quick and full and firm against you. The coil pulls tight within your core.

She murmurs something brusque but you’re too consumed with the sensation of her fingertips at your inner thigh to process, but she repeats herself as you release a heavy sigh, her fingers sinking deep into your cunt.

“That’s a good girl..." Your back arches at the same time Larissa takes your clit into her mouth, sucking and slurping as if to drink from that little bundle of nerves drawn straight to your core, as if to quench an otherworldly thirst. She pulls your orgasm from you quick and unforgivingly, never stumbling in her ministrations when your thighs begin to close in around her, or when your hands wind into her hair and pull, hard. She continues to devour you as if she doesn’t notice the snapping of that coil, the sounds that melt into the satiny sheets of her bed as you cry out for her–––the curling into yourself as your clit throbs towards unbearable tenderness.

“Fff––please, please, I’m––” Sapphire eyes bore into yours as her lips stretch into a devious smile, slowly but surely unlatching. A mercy, if you’ve ever seen one. You tremble in relief.

“You can’t take it?” she coos, superficial concern floating by your quivering sex. You don’t know whether to pull her closer or push her away when Larissa glances down towards your soaking cunt again––––

but the choice is made for you when she draws herself up and grabs hold of your chin, pushing her tongue into the waiting cavern of your mouth. The sure expanse of her thigh slides between your legs as she does so, eliciting a startled twitch as she brushes against your clit. She swallows your gasp.

“So sweet.” Larissa nips at your chin, presses her thigh against you more firmly and rubs her thumb back and forth along your cheek. Your hips buck of their own volition, acting solely on the most primal of instincts despite the sensitive twinge between your legs. There’s only Larissa’s softness, her warmth, her gentle affection circling your head, coloring the air around you. The world’s ending outside and it’s just her.

“Please kiss me,” you whisper, suddenly overcome with the need to absorb her, to touch her anywhere and everywhere all at once as if you could meld together somehow amidst the tousled satin.

She stills, hovering over you with a smile so soft you’re almost certain this has all been a very long, very desperate webbing of dreams until she obliges, brushing her lips against yours with the utmost of care.

“Are you alright?” Her voice is hushed, eyes searching.

“Better than alright,” you assure her, brushing a stray hair from in front of her face. “Kind of just wanted to be close to you…” You shrug sheepishly and turn your attention to the far wall, suddenly very interested in the twisting shadows of trees cast against the space there. The abrupt rush of vulnerability reddens your cheeks, lips pursing as the regret at such an intimate admission prickles up with equal swiftness. It’s quickly brushed away, however, when Larissa clicks her tongue and tilts your face towards her with a palm against your cheek, brow arched amusedly.

“Then be close,” she says, pressing a small kiss to the tip of your nose before she pulls you flush against her and buries her face into your neck. The fire’s dwindling, informed by the dying light of the room, the falling temperature beyond the bed, but neither of you notice as you wrap yourselves up in the arms of the other, tending to a warmth all your own.

#i’ve been super stressed trying to live up to ‘easy does it’ tbh so i hope this is at least decent 😅#don’t think i’ll ever beat the sugar mommy fic lol #ah well!#i love exploring/constructing the parts of larissa we never saw (like her childhood) ﹠. i hope you guys do too!#my girl’s def a rider #i’ll stand by that till the day i die #accompanied by expensive purebred well-trained dogs throughout childhood #but is more of a cat person now – relaxed and easy #guilty pleasure romcom is ‘the proposal’#and not just bc that’s also MY guilty pleasure romcom 😇#n e ways hope you all enjoy :)#lmk your thoughts! 🫶🏼#larissa weems x reader #larissa weems x female reader #larissa weems x f!reader #larissa weems x y/n #larissa weems x you #larissa weems imagine #larissa weems reader insert #larissa weems smut #principal weems x reader #principal weems imagine #wasjustred

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downbad4yoongi · 1 year

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Namjoon x reader

First Responder AU

Word count: 7156

Friends to lovers

Warnings: mature, smut 🔞(choking, vaginal sex, blowjob, fingering, edging), fluff

Summary: Namjoon's clumsiness proves to be your saving grace.

Thank you, @colormepurplex2 for the banner and the cheerleading.

The blue curtain partitioning off this emergency room bay from the others pulls back, the metal hooks jangling against each other as you lift the tablet in your hand to greet the newest patient to come into the ER. With a few swipes, you access the patient information causing you to stop short and snap your head up.

“Really, Namjoon! Again?” You look down at his lounging form, dressed in black joggers and a cream shirt, on the hospital bed cradling a heavily bandaged hand to his chest. At least he has the decency to look ashamed. You rest back on your hip, the tablet braced against your waist, “You couldn’t have made it five more days before ending up here again?”

Before he can respond, a fellow nurse walks up and silently holds their hand out. With an eyeroll and sigh, you reach into the pocket on the front of your scrub top and pull out three neatly folded bills and slap them into their hand. They smirk at the two of you before spinning with a loud laugh and heading back to the nurses’ station.

The chastised look on Namjoon’s face has morphed into a small frown, “What was that about?”

“That was about you not being able to go another week before ending up in my ER again.” You draw the curtain closed and move to his side, looking down at the tablet to review the information provided by EMS. You blink a few times at the screen before lifting your head to peer at him, “Nearly sliced your thumb off… how?”

You’ve known Namjoon two-thirds of your life seeing as he is your older brother’s closest friend. Ever since they were thrown together for a science project in middle school, they have been thick as thieves. In all that time, you don’t think you have ever seen Namjoon turn as red as he is turning right now.

Eyes cast downward and mumbles, “I was tryi-”

“Speak up for the class. I can’t hear you.”

With a roll of his eyes, his head flops back on the pillow, “I was trying to cook dinner, and turns squash is more difficult than I thought to cut through.”

Your lips purse, cheeks inflating in an effort not to laugh. The urge is a terrible pressure building in your chest; you turn, giving him your back, hand smacking across your mouth to muffle the laughs that do manage to escape. Tears prick your eyes in your effort to exercise restraint. Several beats pass with you taking in deep lungfuls of air before you spin back around to face him. “So, terribly sorry. That was unprofessional of me.”

“Quite. Don’t think I won’t tell Teddy about how poorly his sister treated me when I was in need.”

“Whatever. It’s not like he’d expect anything else.” You set the tablet down on the rolling tray and wrap your fingers around his right forearm and pull it towards you to get a better look at the hastily done bandage wrap. You can already see that blood has started to seep through the final layers of the gauze. “I’ll be right back. I need to gather the necessary supplies to clean the area before the doctor comes to stitch you up. If you’re lucky, you won’t need surgery.”

You walk out of his medical bay, leaving his curtain open, and head toward the locked supply cabinet. Using the key on your lanyard, you open the doors and pull the needed items out before relocking it, and making a stop by the nurse's station to ask them to page the on-call doctor. Leaning against the desk, you giggle at a joke your coworker makes as she reaches for the phone to page the doctor. Before she can complete the action though, you feel the body heat of someone next to you, standing way too close to be appropriate. Your shoulders stiffen as the newcomer leans on the desk next to you, his left hand moving to lightly cup your waist.

“What’s so funny?” he asks.

Straightening abruptly you step away, jaw tight as your eyes fill with anxiety. “You would have had to be here to understand. I’m going to finish prepping the patient, and then he’ll be ready for you.” You turn abruptly and make your way back to Namjoon. Your breath leaves you shakily as the items in your arms clatter onto the metal tray.

“What was that?” he asks, his chin tilting to gesture toward the desk, concern laced in his voice.

Shaking your head sharply, “Nothing.” You slip your small hands into the nitrile gloves as you angle to face him, “Now, let’s get you prepped.”

His frown deepens, but he holds out the injured hand out to you. Bracing his arm with one hand, you slowly start to unwind the gauze wrapping his injury. After a few minutes, light is finally cast upon the damage. The note about severing his thumb was a little extreme, but was a close description. You hold his hand closer to you, looking at it from all angles; a few more centimeters, Namjoon would be getting scheduled for surgery right now and you tell him as much.

“Stop being ridiculous,” he scoffs.

“I’m not being ridiculous, Joon. A few more centimeters and you would have severe nerve and muscle damage that could only be repaired by surgery and a lot of occupational therapy. So next time, buy the pre-cut squash, ‘kay?”

Your eyes flick up and catch his wide eyes, his face a bit ashen as he takes your words to heart and nods.

The corner of your mouth turns upward as you start cleaning the wound and treating it with a numbing agent in preparation of the doctor. Light chatter is traded between you both as you work. The banter comes to an abrupt stop as you feel a heavy palm against your back.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by Namjoon that your shoulders tighten and jaw perceptibly clenches as you are joined by the ER doctor on call. You avoid looking at Namjoon as the doctor introduces himself to Namjoon.

“Hello, um, Namjoon Kim. I’ll be the doctor attending to you this evening. I’m Dr. Brogan Rothport. Looks like you are here because of a severe laceration?”

You can feel Namjoon’s eyes flick between you and the doctor, who’s hand is still resting on your back. You hurry through the remaining cleansing and slide out of the way as soon as you can possibly manage.

Dr. Rothport moves into the vacated space looking down at the supplies you already have ready for him. He hums under his breath, “Sweetheart, can you grab me a pair of gloves?” He turns to you with an overly– unwanted– smile. “Then we can get started.”

You yank two gloves out of the box on the wall and drop them unceremoniously on the tray, “Not your sweetheart.” You shift out of reach of the doctor, moving to the other side of Namjoon’s bed.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You know I don’t mean anything by it, you’re just my favorite nurse,” he quips nonchalantly.

Before you can respond, Namjoon intercedes his free hand snaking around your waist, pulling you closer. “I don’t think she’s being ridiculous at all. After all she’s only one person’s sweetheart, isn’t that right, jagiya?”

You fight every instinct in you that wants to react and push Joon away from you. Instead you lean into his hold, your own hand gently sifting through the black strands of his hair, “You’d be correct in that, aegi.” You look down at him, and force yourself to smile at him and pray that it looks like a smile one would give to their significant other.

A sharp clearing of a throat breaks your gazes. “Oh, I wasn’t aware you had a boyfriend. I assumed you were single.”

You force a tight smile, the hand at the base of Namjoon’s head flexing a little, “Well, you know what they say about assuming.”

The doctor’s eyes narrow as he glares at you, “Why didn’t you tell me you were with someone?”

“Well, I tend to not talk about my personal life at work, and I am sure I’ve mentioned my love to you before. You’re just so busy that it’s probable it slipped your mind.”

You watch the doctor force a smile of his own as he gloves up, “This is wonderful news, regardless.” He threads the needle and glances at Namjoon, “Well, you should definitely come to the holiday party I’m throwing for everyone this weekend. I’d love to have you.”

A smile naturally spreads across Namjoon’s full lips as he meets the doctor’s gaze, “Of course I’m coming. I was so excited when she told me it was happening. We’re just quibbling over what to bring; we hate showing up empty handed.”

You ease to a stop in front of Namjoon’s apartment building and shift your car into park. Since you were at the end of your shift when he showed up, you agreed to drop him off at his place rather than him calling your brother to pick him up. The entire twenty minute ride was a stifling silence with a soundtrack of throwback hits. You shift in the driver’s seat, clearing your throat, “So how are we going to play this?”

Namjoon stills before shifting back to face you. “Play what?

“This fake relationship we are suddenly in.”

“We don’t have to play anything. Just tell you coworkers we broke up or I got sick or something.”

A sardonic laugh filters into the silence as you shake your head. “Yeah, no. You started us down this path, so you need to commit to this path with me.”

His brow furrows, “I don’t see why we would need to do that. No one is going to really care.”

“Joon, what do you think will happen when I show up to that party alone and Brogan realizes I am alone?” You shift your body to face him head on. “Ever since Brogan transferred to this hospital he has been invading my personal space, asking me out, and calling me ‘sweetheart.’ For six months, I have been dealing with this and I am at my breaking point.”

With wide eyes, “Wait, six months? Have you reported this to anyone? Does Teddy know about this?”

“I cannot have my brother storming into my workplace and assaulting an attending. I don’t need his good intentions to inappropriately escalate things. I reported the behavior to human resources a few weeks ago, but nothing came of it. Everyone at that damn hospital falls for his charisma.”

You watch Namjoon struggle to control his emotions, his jaw tense and his tongue stabbing a sharp dent in his cheek. You remain silent, letting him process. You glance back at him as his hand reaches over and cups your own. “Well, nae sarang, what are we bringing to his party?”

After a brief argument in the car about who would carry in the spiced cider, an argument you won after asking if he was trying to end up back in the ER if he ruptures his stitches, you step out of the warmth of your car into the chill winter air. You wait for Namjoon to join you on the walkway, your eyes tracing over the obnoxiously large house with a huge expanse of manicured grounds idyllically decorated with snow.

“Good lord, his house is as garish as his personality.” You start up the cleared walkway and approach the black front door with an ostentatious gold knocker and wait for it to open after Namjoon knocks. With a deep breath, you both slip into your roles as the door swings open.

Namjoon’s arm curls around your waist, you easily lean into his hold and paint a smile on your face as Brogan greets you and invites you inside. Namjoon’s hand slides to the small of your back ushering you inside before him. Brogan smiles at you, barely acknowledging Namjoon’s presence beside you, as he shuts the door. “So glad you could make it. You’re looking beautiful as always.” His eyes trace along the collar of your off-the-shoulder green sweater. “Really love your sweater… It's so festive.”

You suppress the shudder that begs to be let out. “Well, we are happy to be here. She talks so much about her coworkers, I can’t wait to finally meet them all!” You watch as Brogan finally looks away from you and nods his head in greeting at Namjoon.

“We are looking forward to meeting her elusive partner.” Brogan turns back to you. “Can I take that for you?” He motions at the spiced cider you’re holding.

You quickly give it up, eager for him to be away from you. Your shoulders relax as Brogan turns away from you, Namjoon’s hand rubbing soothingly against your back. “Let me take your coat for you.”

“Thanks, Joon,” you accept dropping your arms to your sides for him to slide your coat off. You straighten your dark green knitted sweater, waiting to the side for him to hang your coats up.

“You ready?” You can see the worry in his face that he is failing to mask.

Your fingers lace with his, “Let’s do this.”

You pull him behind you as you move from the foyer into the gathering area. This time a real smile dawns your face as you start greeting your colleagues. Namjoon easily falls into step beside you and plays his role to perfection. He knows exactly when to be an active participant in the various conversations and when to let you shine, interjecting cute anecdotes, witty remarks, or thoughtful observations.

He is currently in the middle of telling an embarrassing story about you from a few years ago, when a set of arms circles around your waist from behind. You know exactly who it is without evening needing to look. A soft smile chases away the blush that was heating your face as you lean into the hold. “Hey, when did you get here?” you ask over your shoulder.

Hoseok rests his chin on your shoulder, “We just got here. Someone,” his eyes cut to the side pointedly at Jimin, “wanted to swing by the hospital. He insisted he needed to check in on his patients in the NICU.”

You giggle, “Did he? Let me guess, that side adventure took an hour.” Jimin pouts, crossing his arms, telling you all you need to know. Jimin has always gone above and beyond as a nurse in the NICU of your hospital. In fact, that is how he met his husband, Hoseok, who is a nurse two floors down in pediatrics. Your giggles grow louder, accompanied by Hoseok and Namjoon’s laugh, drawing attention from folks not even in your small circle.

Your laughter fades because one of those people is Brogan. You stifle a sigh as you are pulled out of your comfort bubble. In your excitement to have your very close friends here, you didn’t notice the odd, surreptitious glances others have been giving you as you remain in Hoseok’s hold. You straighten and step out of Hoseok’s back hug and closer to Namjoon.

“What’s with the vibe change?” Hoseok’s eyes bounce around the circle.

Brogan clears his throat, “You seem awfully handsy with someone who has a partner. Last I checked, Namjoon doesn’t like that.”

“Also, she told us that this was the first time her coworkers were meeting Namjoon,” someone else throws out.

Hoseok and Jimin turn as a unit to look at you and Namjoon. You can feel their eyes take notice of the way his hand rests on your hip. In sync, they both slowly blink at you before turning back to the group. “Well, this may be your first introduction to Joonie here, but Hobi and I have been friends with both of them for years.” Jimin delivers with his signature smile.

Some of the tension bleeds from your shoulders as relief washes over you. You were worried for a second that Hobi or Jimin would inadvertently blow your cover. You lean into Namjoon’s side, his hand idly rubbing your hip, and smile because you should have never doubted that your close friends wouldn’t go along with your plan.

“Still Namjoon, you seem completely fine with Hoseok being all over your woman,” Brogan brashly throws out, staring Namjoon down.

Namjoon smirks, rising to the challenge, “One, she is her own person; not an object to own. Two, who she does and does not let into her personal space is her own choice. Three, why is this any of your business?”

You turn into him slightly, a huge smile on your face, “And this is why I keep you around.”

Namjoon’s head tilts towards you as he gives a conspiratorial wink, and you can’t explain what comes next. It almost feels like an out-of-body experience as your hand reaches up to cup his jaw, you go up on your tiptoes, and kiss him. You feel his fingers flex on your hip where they rest, before he relaxes into it and kisses you back. His hand slides to the small of your back, pulling you closer as his lips move against yours. Holy shit, you are kissing your brother’s best friend!

A clearing of a throat breaks you two apart, your eyes slowly open taking in Namjoon’s own bewildered gaze. You settle back on your feet with flushed cheeks and a soft smile, your fingers brushing against your lips in a daze. A hint of pink dusts Namjoon’s cheeks, your head turns back to the group and Namjoon leans close to whisper in your ear, “That was pleasantly unexpected.”

You capture your lip between your teeth as heat creeps up your neck. Not even Brogan’s piercing gaze can steal that moment from you. You catch out of the corner of your eye, Jimin discreetly throwing you a look of surprise. You give a tiny shake of your head and mouth a ‘later.’

Brogan claps his hands, his face stony, “Well while that was riveting, shall we move on to the gift exchange?” With hums of acknowledgement, everyone starts moving to grab the presents they brought.

Namjoon turns to you with a question in his eyes. You pat his chest, “Don’t worry about it. This was a staff exchange only.”

“Hm, that’s good seeing as I didn’t bring anything and was going to piggyback off your gift.”

You roll your eyes, “I would expect nothing less, Joon.” You head back to where you left your tote and pull out a gold gift bag with a sparkly red ribbon tied around the handles. “Since I am so gracious, this can be from both of us.” His chuckle resonates from his chest as he takes your hand again and leads you to the last open seat, plush chair next to the hearth. Namjoon takes the seat and pulls you onto his lap. You can’t help the small gasp of air that escapes you as he pulls you down with no resistance; rolling your lip between your teeth as his hand naturally comes to rest on your hip to hold you in place.

Across the grouping of chairs, Hoseok wiggles his eyebrows at you. You shake your head diverting your eyes so as not to encourage him. Unfortunately, your gaze lands on Brogan and you catch him staring at you with narrowed eyes, jaw tense. His glare makes your skin crawl. You shift on Namjoon’s lap resting against him more, his hand soothingly rubbing your side as he catches your gaze. “Are you alright?” he whispers.

You gently knock your forehead against his, “Yes, because of you.”

The edges of his lips tilt upward. “Glad to be of service.” His eyes flick down to your lips and back to yours. You remain still as he leans in and brings your lips together, your eyes shuttering as your lips move with his. Quicker than you probably wanted, you pull back and brush your thumb along the edge of his thick bottom lip.

The eagerness of Jimin’s voice brings you out of your private bubble. “Gift time! I want to go first.” He reaches down to the side and picks up a lovely wrapped present and holds it in his lap. “I am sure you are all hoping that I was your Secret Santa because who wouldn’t. Lucky for me, though, I was given someone who I already was shopping for. Yeobo, Merry Christmas!” Jimin turns to Hoseok and slides the present from his lap and onto Hobi’s.

Hoseok’s whole face lights up with a brilliant smile. “What! How did you keep this from me?”

“One doesn’t reveal their secrets.” Jimin leans in and pecks Hoseok’s cheek. “Hurry up now and show everyone my amazing present.”

Hoseok resembles a little kid on Christmas morning with the way he attacks the wrapping paper. In seconds, a white box is revealed and from across the way you see the Louis Vuitton insignia embossed on the lid. Hoseok is practically bouncing in his seat as he pulls open the lid and lets it slide to the floor. Reverently, he reaches in, eyes wide, and pulls out a black on black crossbody sling bag.

Hoseok tears his eyes away from the gift to look lovingly at Jimin, “Sweets… I don’t even know what to say.”

Jimin smiles fondly at him, “A thank you and kiss would suffice.”

Hoseok laughs and leans in kissing Jimin softly, pulling back he presses their foreheads together, “Thank you.”

“That kind of feels unfair that you got your husband as your person, but whatever,” another pediatric nurse quips. That has everyone chuckling as the gift exchange continues. It’s not long after the plush rug is littered with paper and empty gift bags as it gets down to the last few people who need to hand out their gift.

You bounce a little on Namjoon’s lap, “I want to go next!” You give the bag on your lap a little shake, “I was really excited to get this person as I have been wanting to buy this for them ever since I saw it in the store.” You slip off Namjoon’s lap and cross over to Jimin. “Merry Christmas, Chim!”

You can’t miss the way his eyes light before making your way back to Namjoon. By the time you have settled back down, Jimin has already pulled the gift out. His hands gently stroke over the cream cashmere scarf in his hands. “Oh, this is beautiful.” He sends you a fond smile and wraps the scarf around his neck, “I love it. Thank you!”

“Only the best for my bestie,” you shoot back cheesily.

“While it has been a joy to watch all of this, it is my turn to give my gift.” Brogan stands up and picks up the flat silver-wrapped box at his feet. You figured out after the halfway point that Brogan was probably your Secret Santa, and you have been dreading it ever since. You sink back into Namjoon as Brogan approaches, he offers the present to you with an uncomfortable amount of eye contact.

You gingerly accept the box, setting it across your lap. Namjoon strokes your hip attempting to ease the tension running through you. He props his chin on your shoulder and watches you take apart the wrapping paper to reveal a white box embossed with the name La Perla . Your back stiffens and you can already feel the heat crawling up your neck; Namjoon’s hand tightens on your hip as he watches you lift the lid off. Your lips purse tightly as you reveal the black lace corset lingerie nestled in tissue paper. Your hands grip the box edges, your body vibrating with a riot of emotions leaving you unable to speak.

Namjoon, sensing your turmoil turns his steely gaze on Brogan and gives him an overly-saccharine grin, “Didn’t know you were so thoughtful, Brogan. While I am perfectly capable of purchasing my love lingerie, we will definitely put this to good use.”

Finally getting a semi-handle on your emotions, you look up in time to see Brogan’s face tighten in anger, his cheeks tinting red. You lean back into Namjoon, head resting back on his shoulder as he reaches in to pick up the lace lingerie to show it to the group. “Yes thank you, Brogan. Despite it being very inappropriate to buy a colleague lingerie. I’ll make sure to wear it for my love; hopefully, it’ll make it through in one piece, Namjoon can get a little wild sometimes.”

“Lovely,” Brogan turns on his heel and walks out of the den. It feels like everyone releases the tension they were holding during that exchange and looks over at you, a mix of emotions displayed on their faces.

You cover your face with your hands, “What the fuck.”

“Mm, very quality.” You slide your hands down to peek at Jimin who’s gingerly holding the corset up and appraising it. “Don’t give me that look. He is a creep, but he does have relatively good taste.”

You snatch the garment from him and stuff it back into the box, slapping on the lid. “That is so beside the point.” You stand up and turn to look at Namjoon, “I’m ready to go. Are you?”

He nods and stands up taking the box from you as you quickly hug Jimin and Hoseok good-bye. Namjoon does the bro hug thing with them and then you’re in the foyer putting back on your layers. With one last wave, Namjoon opens the front door and jumps back, shouting in shock as a pile of snow rushes in through the open door.

Other guests start trailing in to see what the commotion is about as you look out the door and see piles and piles of snow have accumulated over the last few hours. Something that no one had realized because Brogan had drawn all the drapes to hold out the cold. “You’ve got to be shitting me,” you huff.

After an hour of arguing in circles, praying to a higher power, an almost brawl, and checking the weather reports, it's determined that you are all stuck for at least the night. You’re currently settled in one of several lounges in this overly large house with Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jimin.

“Did I do something terrible in a past life?” You throw the question out as you lay on your back across one of the sofas, your legs draped over Namjoon’s lap.

“Mmmm, probably. I always thought you did something devious in your past life. Maybe something like an interrogator or an assassin. Sometimes your looks can kill.” Jimin laughs as he catches the throw pillow you toss at his face.

“That was a rhetorical question.”

Hoseok clears his throat, “So are we not going to talk about the elephant in the room?”

Namjoon’s hand rubs soothingly up and down your calf, “Like what a massive asshole Brogan is?”

“Yes, and that apparently you’re dating your best friend’s little sister.” Hoseok eyes the both of you.

Namjoon catches your eye and shrugs one shoulder at you, leaving the choice up to you. With a sigh, you shift to a sitting position but leave your legs on Namjoon’s lap. “I would have told you if I was really with Namjoon. He is helping me keep Brogan at bay.”

Jimin straightens up, “What did he do?”

You divert your eyes, worrying your lower lip. Namjoon gently squeezes your calf and answers, “I was at the ER–”

“Again?!” Jimin interjects.

Namjoon ignores the comment and continues, “I had cut my hand pretty badly and she was assigned as my ER nurse. I witnessed Brogan inappropriately try to flirt with her and invade her space.” He looks over at you, “She was clearly upset and uncomfortable, and so I acted on instinct and pretended to be her boyfriend to get him to back off.”

“It threw me for a moment, but I went along with it and grabbed that life preserver with both hands.” You look at Namjoon, your expression relaying how grateful you are for his intervention.

Hoseok snaps, “Can’t believe that prick still works at our hospital.”

“Money talks and Daddy’s money talks even louder,” Jimin quips sardonically.

The three of you nod solemnly. Hoseok softly claps his hands, “Let’s stop wasting our time thinking about that asshole. I’d rather discuss how your fake relationship somehow includes very real kissing.”

You duck your head, cheeks heating, “Um, I don’t really have an explanation for that.” You glance at Namjoon, “It just felt right.”

“Twice?”

Namjoon’s dimples appear as he laughs softly and nods. His fingers crawl up your leg to snag your fingers in his. “Pissed Brogan off didn’t it?” Namjoon says as his eyes fill with a contradicting message.

Your hands grip the cold edge of the marble countertop in the bathroom and take a few deep breaths. Your mind is a mess and can’t seem to settle on any one thought. You’ve really managed to stick your foot in it this time and now you have to sleep in the same bed.

Was he just playing along?

Did he actually want to kiss you?

Will he be expecting more after those kisses? You‘re not ashamed to admit you like what you’ve experienced thus far.

Do I want more? You lift your head and stare at your reflection. Worrying at your lip, you think about the consequences if you do what you want to versus what you should probably do. You release the pull you have on your lip having made your decision.

Namjoon is idly scrolling on his phone as he lounges on the mound of pillows on the king-size bed when you open the bathroom door and casually lean against the doorframe. The light from behind you perfectly framing every dip and curve of your body in the expensive lingerie that was gifted to you. You know you look amazing; the corset is perfectly cinched at your waist providing just the right lift to your breasts, the lace briefs highlighting everything it needs to.

Namjoon’s eyes flick over and then back to his phone but quickly snapback, his phone slipping from his hands, as he fully takes you in. You can’t suppress the smirk that lifts your lips as his eyes trail down your body.

He slowly sits up, “Um, what are you doing?”

“What feels good.”

He blinks slowly at you, his mouth still gaping.

“It would be a shame to waste all of this, no?” Your hand trails down your side from just under your chest to your hip.

Namjoon stands up and stalks toward you, the intensity of his gaze ensnaring yours. He comes to a stop, leaving just a breath of space between you. He lightly runs his finger along the thin strap of the corset, it’s more like a whisper of a touch actually. “It would be a crime to not take advantage of the generosity provided to us.”

Your breath shudders as that whisper of a touch teases along the top of the corset, teasing you. “Absolutely,” you whisper.

Namjoon’s lips crash against yours as he yanks you against him. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, arching into him as his tongue sweeps into your mouth. You slide one hand into the hair at his nape, the other gripping the back of his shirt as you meet him with equal vigor. He slides his hands down your waist to your hips before sliding around to grip your ass and lifting you into the air. You don’t hesitate to wrap your legs around his waist, your tongues dueling with each other.

A grunt forced from your mouth into his as your back collides with the wall, his hips pinning you to the hard surface as his hands navigate back to your waist. You nip and pull at his thick bottom lip as his fingers dig into your ribs. He dives down to your neck, his tongue leaving behind a wet trail before settling on a spot and sucking.

Namjoon presses his forehead to yours, his breath gusting against your face, as he pauses the frenzy. He gently squeezes your waist, “Are you really sure? If we cross this line, there’s no going back.”

Your tongue traces over your lips and you nod. “I am very sure. Ever since that first kiss, I haven’t stopped thinking of the possibilities.”

As the last words leave your lips, his hips kick forward grinding your lower back hard against the wall as his hands wedge between to start popping open the fastenings on your corset. Your head falls back against the wall, his mouth leaving a string of purple bruises down the column of your neck. A surprised gasp is pulled from you at the sudden pressure of his teeth biting down on the skin of your collar bone. You arch into it, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

You feel the deep timbre of his laugh more than hear it, “Mmm, you liked that huh?” He unhooks the last fastener, your chest spilling free as the tension of lace falls away. You hold eye contact, your teeth digging into your own lip, as his large palm cups you and slowly starts to squeeze. The rhythm of your breathing falters with the slow increase in pressure around your tender breast, drawing a whimper from you. His eyes dart to the mottled skin around his fingers as he maintains the harsh grip he has on you. “There something you want to tell me?”

He releases his grip, the pressure from his hold leaving behind a dark reddish-purple ring around your breast. You buck your hips as much as you can as blood rushes back into the area. “Take my mind off tonight. Make me forget everything. I won’t break…but it never hurts to try.”

You can see the sparks ignite in his eyes as his lips collide with yours, this kiss punishing and intense. Before your body can fully react to it, your grip on gravity is yanked away as you sail through the air and land with a bounce on the plush bed. You lay there for a beat, heart racing before leveraging up onto your elbows. Fortunately just in the nick of time because you get a front row seat to Namjoon stripping off his clothes as he stalks toward the bed after you. The last piece of clothing, his boxer briefs, join the rest of the clothes strewn across the floor; your eyes can’t settle on any one thing to look at.

Namjoon is a fucking adonis. Your eyes run from his broad shoulders to the taper of his waist down to follow his v-line straight to the thick cock framed by even thicker thighs. A startled sound escapes you as he grabs one of your ankles and yanks you to the edge of the mattress, stepping in between your spread legs. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing along your jaw before tilting your head back and meeting your eyes. His fingers slip back to cup the back of your hair, your body tensing in anticipation. Suddenly his grip on your hair tightens, yanking your head back sharply, “Tap out if it’s too much.”

You’re barely able to nod your head before being pulled forward and having your lips spread open by his cock. You roll your eyes up to watch him watch you as his hips continue their slow press forward only stopping when his tip is nestled at the back of your throat. He stills for a moment just taking the view in, but it’s not long before you become impatient. You flutter your lashes at him and that turns out to be the perfect thing to set him off.

His hips draw back and snap forward, his hand holding you in place as he starts fucking your mouth. Your fingers curl and hold onto the blankets under you as he uses your mouth. You can’t help but moan around him with the way his cock is perfectly stretching your jaw wide and coating your tongue with the taste of him. Your deep moan has his hips kicking forward even harder, his cock sliding down your throat. Your eyes sting with the pricking of tears as his pace intensifies, your body flushed with need as he takes what he wants from you.

“Fuck, your mouth. It’s so perfect,” he moans, head falling back on his shoulders before rolling to look down at you. “Just look at you taking my cock so well.” His pace slows until with one last deep push he buries his cock deep in your throat, your nose almost touching his pelvis. He keeps you there for a moment, your throat spasming as you choke on the meat of him.

Your seconds from needing to tap out when he pulls you off him, a thick trail of your saliva tethers you together before snapping when he releases his hold on your hair letting you collapse back on the bed. Your throat burns as you suck down air while simultaneously giving in to the urge to cough and clear your throat. Namjoon stands over you watching you patiently. It’s not too long before your body calms and you look up at him, face wet with tears and slick with your spit.

“Okay?”

You give a raspy laugh, “Never better.”

“Who knew you were hiding this side of you? How much more can you take?”

You bite your lip and lift one of your legs to slide your foot up along the hard planes of his abdomen. “I contain multitudes.” You slide your foot down until your toes are lightly ghosting down his length, “All of it.”

A visible tremor runs through you as Namjoon gives you a devious smile and glides his hands down your legs to the lace edges of your lingerie. He balls his fist in the front panel and yanks, ripping them from your body. Your hips are jerked off the bed with the force of it. A deep pulse throbbing within you at the aggression.

You can feel the weight of his gaze between your legs, you watch as he bites his own lip before sliding a finger through your swollen, wet lips. His finger dips in teasing you before he plunges two fingers into you. You arch off the bed with a gasp, your body clasping tight around him.

His fingers quickly work you into a frenzy, a deep heat coiling in your belly that has you yanking on the bedding around you. You're ready for the explosion of pleasure that is about to happen when his fingers yank free of you. Your eyes snap open, “What the fuck?”

He straightens and shrugs, “I don’t think you earned it just yet.”

If looks could kill, daggers would be piercing his chest right now. As is, he just chuckles at your frustration, grabbing you by the hips. He flips you over onto your front, your hips curved right over the edge of the bed. A ringing sound echoes through the room as a sharp sting blooms along your ass. His hand soothingly rubs the sting away before he grips both your hips and tilts you just right.

Your breath shudders from you as you feel his heat glide between your aching lips and teases your tight bundle of nerves. He repeats the motion again and again until you’re a mewling mess in front of him. Tears prick your eyes in frustration, your body desperate for more when the heat of his body leaves you for a brief moment before connecting back with you. His pelvis slams against your ass as he buries his cock inside you.

You don’t even bother to smother the scream that escapes you as he splits you open on his thick cock. You’re writhing on the bed, unsure if you are trying to get away or get closer to him. He waits patiently until you’ve calmed and have relaxed back into the mattress before moving again.

The slow drag of him leaving you pulls moans from both of you, your walls clinging to every inch of him. It’s only the tightening of his grip on you that gives you a warning as he snaps his hips forward again. The pace he sets is brutal as he fucks you into the mattress. Your hands desperately grapple at the bedding needing to hold on as he fucks you into another universe. The skin of your ass burning with the intensity of his thrusts driving you higher and higher.

You cry out as his fist wraps in your hair and yanks you backward, pressing your back to his chest. The tip of his cock hitting you at just the right angle has you clawing at his arms, your eyes rolling back in your head. One hand remains on your hip as he keeps pace, the other sliding to curl around the front of your neck pushing your head back to rest on his shoulder.

The cries you were letting out are swiftly cut off as his hand squeezes down around your throat. Your walls tighten around him as he slowly increases the pressure from just restricting your vocal chords to cutting off your air flow completely. The speed of his thrusts slows as your pussy clamps down tighter on his cock. A few more deep thrusts has your nails biting hard into his arms, leaving deep red crescents. He releases his grip on your throat and the rush of oxygen back into your lungs along with the waves of pleasure crashing through you has you seeing stars.

You’re almost completely out of it as Namjoon rams deep one more time and spills into your depths. You both fall forward onto the bed, Namjoon just manages to catch himself on his left arm so he doesn’t crush you. You’re unsure of how long you remain like that as you come back to earth, but soon he is pulling out of you and disappearing into the bathroom as you lay there eyes closed.

You jolt back to awareness when the warm softness of a cloth strokes between your legs. You squirm as he brushes against your sensitive pussy before settling back down when he tosses the cloth toward the bathroom door and helps you shift to lay fully on the bed. He shuffles in next to you and pulls the duvet over you both.

You curl against him, resting your head on his shoulder as you loosely wrap an arm and a leg around him. You nuzzle at the skin of his bare chest, “Mmm, so how are we going to break this to Teddy?”

#bangtanwhq #bangtanboys #namjoon smut #namjoon fanfic #friends to lovers #bts smut #bts namjoon #side jihope #jihope #bts fanfction #gift exchange #thanks for reading #first responder au #accident prone namjoon #bts ff #bts fanfic

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beebotea · 4 months

Text

hey, are you listening — part 15

pairing : college au!xiao x f!reader . summary : in which uni students decipher vague tweets and emotions... + ie: second-year students y/n and xiao are forced to work through their term project (and feelings) as their friends attempt to meddle with their love lives ‘for the greater good’ . cw : swearing, slut-shaming, suggestive, reader she/her pronouns .

[prev] [masterlist] [next]

15. working

act 1, scene 1

With an hour left before the end of class, Professor Lisa announced that she planned for the remaining tome to be used on the group project work. As there were only a few days left until the first submission checkpoint, it would be wise for all students to coordinate with their partners accordingly.

Y/N watched as her classmates started to shift around to find their partners. Her own friends leaving soon after, but not without checking in on their suspiciously quiet friend.

“Y/N?” Yanfei spoke up from beside her.

“Hmm?”

“Everything alright? You seem a bit down?”

“Yeah… just thinking i guess. I don’t really wanna talk about it right now but Lumine is free to tell you guys whatever. I don’t mind. I just don’t wanna talk about it all over again… Maybe aftewards.”

“No worries. We can talk anytime you need.” Yanfei gave you a gentle smile before leaving to look for her project partner Aether, waving to Heizou as she passed.

Y/N felt a hand on her head, ruffling her hair and she looked up to see HuTao grinning down at her. “You’ll be okay.” The brunette encouragingly patted her friend on the back (although it was more like a shove) before following suit to find her own partner.

Not long after, she heard the chair beside her being pulled out.

“Can I sit here?”

Y/N met eyes with Xiao, who waited patiently for her response despite feeling all kinds of emotions on the inside.

“Go ahead. We’re project partners after all.” There were so many things to be said, but so few words came to her mind as he took his spot beside her.

Moments passed and no further words were exchanged. It was as if the air was denser, harder to breathe in and harder to communicate through.

“So… are you feeling alright.” Xiao finally said, deciding to break the silence between them.

“Mhm.” Y/N responded.

“Are you sure? You seem… different.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” She gave him a curt smile. “I’ve just been… stressed so you don’t need to worry about me.”

It was hard for her to read the expression on his face. A little hesitant and a lot concerned, perhaps.

“Don’t push yourself too hard. It’s not good for your health.”

“Yeah I guess it would be pretty bad if I got sick since we’re working together on this project, huh.”

“Whether you’re my partner or not I’d prefer that you’re always happy and healthy.”

“I’ll be okay. Let’s just start working alright? We’ve already finished the first draft so I guess we could use this time to peer review each other’s work.”

“Alright.”

—

act 2, scene 1

—

act 2, scene 2

Scaramouche looked up from his phone to glare at the boy wearing teal braids in front of him.

“The fuck you mean you nominate me?” He whispered loud enough for the other band members around them to hear.

“Well you’re probably the most acquainted to both of them out of the five of us. And you don’t have shit to do in this class either!” Venti argued.

“Fine.” Scaramouche said as he roughly pulled his Venti’s beanie down to his eyes, before treading off to find a seat near Y/N and Xiao.

“I think we can probably get the submission draft done by tonight if we keep working on it.” Y/N said, looking up from her screen as she reached the half-way point of Xiao’s part of the report.

“Yeah, probably. I’m down to push through and get it all over with tonight.” Xiao agreed, thinking it would be the best decision as it would lessen the workload on Y/N's shoulders.

“You guys don’t have any plans tonight?”

“I don’t think so.” He felt as if he was missing something...

“I thought you guys had band practices Tuesday evenings.”

Oh right. That's what he forgot. “Oh shit." He said, mentally facepalming. "We do…”

"It's alright then, Xiao, no biggie." Y/N reassured him that it would be alright for them to finish the day after until she was cut off by a familiar voice.

"Or, you can just come to band practice with us and work before and after we practice." As if appearing like the Cheshire cat, Xiao's indigo-haired cousin spoke up from the seat directly behind the partners.

"Scara?"

"Oh so you've finally noticed. Venti's here too." He smiled at her.

"Are you guys stupid? This is a 9am class! Why are you even here?"

"Tch. It's always why Scara but never how's Scara, huh." Scaramouche rolled his eyes at her for unknowingly sounding too similar to Aether. "But like I said. Come with us to band. We won't mind an audience. Right Xiao?"

"Yeah. I'll walk you home after too." His cousin agreed. "It's better that we finish this submission sooner rather than later for you. It'll take some stress off of your shoulders, Y/N."

Despite her constant inner turmoil, Xiao never failed to make her heart skip a beat and almost forget all of her worries. He always remained attentive and caring, making her feel safe and special regardless of what was happening around them.

"Pfft-stress? From what? Colouring in your business analysis charts with crayon?" Scaramouche cackled from behind her. "You're in business... what could be so stressful about your course load? I've seen Childe submit a picture of a marketing poster he made out of Crayola marker and get an 85%. It wasn't even scanned to be submitted as a PDF. Straight up PNG to the submission folder."

"Lay off it, Kuni. They're in different programs." Xiao rolled his eyes at his cousin.

"Yeah! Shut up, nerd. Don't you have problem sets to finish or something?" Y/N stuck her tongue out at the Inazuman in retaliation.

"Whatever. So you coming to practice or what?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll go."

—

a/n: verrryy overdue bc i have this course called collaborative exercise where we need to p much complete an arch project in like four days (i.e. i wake up at 6:30 am to get to uni at 9am and i get home at 7pm allll week). i think next chapter will also be p reading intensive too so theres ya heads up :DDD hopefully i can get the chapter out in time but if not, my apologies. hope you enjoyed <33

—

taglist —

@ashhh-14 @sanghyuksgasolinestationscream @yuminako @bananasquash @scaramoo @lovely028 @apinu @yukii-1 @ttalgi @yelleloww @bobaducky @sukunasrealgf @yukiesora @kissingkzuha @neigesprincess @aether-darling @shinsukeee

—

#[smau — hey are you listening?]#genshin impact x reader #genshin xiao #xiao x reader #genshin college au #genshin #genshin smau #xiao #genshin x reader #xiao smau

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widthofmytongue · 1 year

Text

The other night, ahead of Purim, I had some drinks with colleagues. Later in the evening, a conversation with one of them turned to politics. Obviously. I asked her why she’s not a member of a union, and she said pretty bluntly ‘well, I’m a lot more right wing than you’. In the spirit of the mitzvah to drink until unable to distinguish between Mordechai and Haman, friend and foe, I decided to hold back my impulse to hiss, and simply asked her ‘in what ways?’

In truth, she and I agreed on most basic political points. The Tories are abusive, selfish pricks; Labour is wet and stands for nothing; privatisation has all but destroyed Britain; everyone deserves basic necessities like food, housing, even education; we have more in common with each other and with the homeless than we ever will with either Charles III or our bosses. She was also very supportive (far more so than most Brits I meet) of my experiences of antisemitism and transphobia.

Here’s where her right leanings shone through:

1) She obviously believes in meritocracy; those who are best suited to specific tasks deserve recognition. But then this is hardly an alien sentiment on the left, is it?

2) She believes hierarchies are necessary for systems to function; certain people are required to take responsibility for the group, and they supposedly must therefore be above the others. This directly contradicted something she said earlier, that we should all take more responsibility for our shared situation, with which I agreed, but she considered a right wing view. I also gave peer-review as an example of a fully functional non-hierarchical system, which she essentially ignored. An odd response given we work at a university.

3) She believes ‘socialism has never worked’. When I responded to this by saying ‘it’s working right now’ and pointed out that Cuba is thriving and has passed the most progressive LGBT and family rights legislation to date, and that China is the most populace country on earth with the highest GPD and a sitting communist party, she said she’s not informed enough about either of those, ‘but Nordic countries...’ which I interrupted, and we agreed that Nordic countries are not socialist, nor especially good examples of capitalism. We also agreed that capitalism isn’t very viable in the long term, and I made the point that any criticisms of socialism can be made tenfold of capitalism, plus dozens more condemnable. So I think this is just about a fundamental misunderstanding of what ‘socialism’ even refers to, resultant of hegemonic propaganda?

4) She believes issues like transphobia and antisemitism (etc.) are problems on ‘both sides’. Now, I agree with this, but what I said was, the difference is that such prejudice or hate is a betrayal of leftist principles, whereas the same prejudice and hate actually props up many - if not all - right wing values.

One of our main talking points was my assertion that things like the NHS or Right To Buy council housing or tuition fees or whatever are really a question of priorities. I said that there are some things everyone deserves: healthcare, housing, food, power, education, transport, and we should prioritise them, especially as it’s entirely within our (or the state’s) capacity to provide these things. She agreed. However, she seemed stuck on the idea that the government should be expected to provide food. I am entirely unclear on why, but when I mentioned that supermarkets throw away enormous quantities of food she agreed it was despicable. I suggested that such food waste could be legislated against and/or wasted food could be claimed by local authorities to redistribute to those in need, but she seemed dubious. She did agree that local food programmes would be possible, though, yet she called this ‘traditional conservatism’, relating it to some imagined precept of charity. Now I don’t know what kind of topsy-turvy Bizarro world conservatism invests in practical charitable measures (rather than e.g. laundering the money of the rich), but I did assert: ‘when the Black Panthers were doing it, I don’t think anyone called it conservative’.

Anyway, my point about priorities was that strengthening the NHS or ensuring people are housed and fed are simply more important to me than the military, for example, so I suggested we could defund the military in order to re-allocate funding to more important services. Her response to this was, I kid you not, ‘well we can’t just tax the rich and assume that will solve all our problems’. I replied ‘well we could actually, and it would certainly go toward solving some problems, but my suggestion was to defund the military, not tax the rich.’

Now what can we learn from all this? As I said, I actually agree that we should all take more responsibility for our shared plight. The crucial difference, in my mind, is that the reason for doing that is so that we can all lessen one another’s loads, make things easier and more comfortable and even enjoyable for one another. C'est assez, languir en tutelle; l'égalité veut d'autres lois! But the conservative psyche has no desire to make things easier. Perhaps this is obvious from the constant overcomplication of adding obstacles in the form of strawmen. ‘Socialism has never worked!’ It has and it does, but who mentioned socialism? ‘We can’t just tax the rich!’ Yes we can, but who mentioned taxing the rich? ‘The money necessary to keep the NHS going is more than we have available!’ How much is being spent on the Coronation, and where is that money coming from? (spoiler: not ‘the rich’) ‘Helping the needy is a conservative value!’ Okay seriously WTF dude, but also, why then do conservatives stop leftists from doing it every time we try?

These aren’t just rehearsed talking points. These are symptoms of targeted hegemonic misinformation. No one is born conservative, one is made conservative, perhaps even by force. But to be conservative is also at odds with the fundamental experience of social beings; caring for one another, empathy. Part of right wing psychology is the desire to impose one’s own trauma on others, because after all one’s own experience, however brutal, must be the natural order.

Of course, dialectical materialism illuminates precisely the opposite. My experience and hers and indeed yours are not the same, and yet they are all true, even if they are at odds. The difference is that where the right wing practices an ongoing separation into ever smaller in-groups, our immortal science teaches us to understand, to reach out, to gather together and to unite. The revolutionary personality is driven by love, a desire to confront injustice, to heal the world. This is the final struggle, so let each stand in our place...

And tomorrow the International union shall be the human race!

#politics #c'est la chai #chag Purim sameach

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tiressian · 10 months

Text

a day in the life: glasses

notes: satoshoko, rated G, pre-relationship, vignette

read on Ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48623347

...

Autumn, 2007

The department store was moderately busy, which was a relief for Satoru, because it meant he could hunt for his replacement sunglasses in peace.

Well, relative peace, if the scrunched-up expression on Shoko’s face every time he tried a pair was anything to go by. Satoru returned the Ray-Bans that didn’t pass peer review back onto the shelf and turned to her.

“Seriously.”

“What?” Shoko was wearing a similar pair of aviators of a cheaper brand, which actually looked good on her, which necessitated Satoru’s removal from her face so he could scowl at her unhindered and undistracted. “Jerk! I was trying that!”

“You’re hovering.” Satoru held the aviators out of reach when she jumped for them.

“Am not.”

"Are too."

Shoko grunted as Satoru thwarted another swipe. Satoru grunted, taking a hit to the gut. There wasn’t as much force behind it as he’d become accustomed to and he tried not to think about the implications of that.

“You are. I’m fine; I’m not gonna go ape, but I swear if ya keep hangin’ around I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Shoko cut, unfazed at all by the height difference as he loomed over her. It was a stark departure from the girl who always vanished at the slightest inkling of conflict and knowing this triggered an innate sense that anything he said now would be thrown back in his face. There existed certain people who couldn’t be baited, and people who knew every detail of yourself you deemed insignificant were top of the list.

Although…

Rumour had it the higher-ups had already shoulder-tapped her to helm the Infirmary when the current head stepped down. If that was true, then that was one less person on his side and one more on the side of the dumbasses fighting to maintain the broken status quo.

A screaming match might help him get his mojo back, but he couldn’t gamble on their friendship surviving the aftermath. If he wanted to beat the higher-ups and build a less shitty world, he needed to take a leaf out of their books and plant deeper roots. He needed to not make enemies of the friends he still had.

Satoru inhaled deeply and exhaled. Letgoletgoletgoletgo—gone.

“You’ll what?” Shoko said again, still ever so steady.

“I’ll nothing,” Satoru said, “because I’m fine as I keep tellin’ ya. Here.”

He slid the aviators back onto her face, Shoko holding still as she accepted the peace offering with a tiny blush that spread across her cheeks when his fingers grazed her temples. This did not go unnoticed by Satoru, who fought the temptation to tease.

“Come on dude,” he said. “You’re wasting your one day off. Just go shopping and then rendezvous after.”

“Stupid. It’s not a waste.”

Satoru’s eyebrows rose. “Ohh?” The first time had been a freebie, Satoru decided. Now it was fair game. “Care to explain?”

"Oh shut up. I didn't mean it like that."

She probably didn’t, because god only knew what went on in the head of a person who explained Reversed Cursed Technique with ‘vibes’ and sounds, but Satoru pounced anyway.

“Nawww, you missed my company that much?” He said, poking her arm and dodging when she tried to swat him. He fluffed up his collar and ran a hand through his hair with a snicker. “I guess I could check my schedule and try to slot you in same time next week, but don’t cry if I can’t; I’m real popular with girls and women between the ages of—oomph!” he went as Shoko shoved him aside.

She analysed her reflection, tilting her head down and then side to side. “Stop being so full of yourself. I’m shopping too in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Also noticed ya givin’ me the stink-eye for no reason.” Satoru made as if to try on a pair of hexagon-shaped frames and Shoko’s eye twitched. He pointed. “Aha! There! See?”

Shoko swatted his finger out of her face. “I thought that was obvious. You’re getting sucked in by brands, and not whether they suit your face shape.”

“Face shape? Who the hell cares about—hold on, hold on, hold on.” Satoru cackled. He took a step towards her. “Whaddya mean ‘face shape’? Sounds like someone’s got a c–”

Shoko thrust a pair of rectangle frames in his face. “These ones. Try. See? Much better and at a quarter of the price, moneybags.”

“Really?” Satoru said, now grinning at his reflection, turning his head this way and that. “Huh…I do look good in these, don’t I?” He deepened his voice. “Tell me, Mr. Andersssonnn...”

We’re going to be okay.

For the first time in weeks, Shoko’s smile did not take effort.

While he was so preoccupied with reciting the rest of Hugo Weaving's monologue with utter aplomb, Shoko ruminated. The old Satoru was still there but with a newfound maturity she hadn’t expected. She’d been prepared for virtually every conceivable comeback from that smart-ass but a diplomatic retreat? Not in all the time she’d known and observed him. It definitely spelt mischief of a more subtle nature further down the line.

As long as they stuck together and checked up on each other, they’d make it out of this. Obviously, she’d see the higher-ups about loosening her schedule first. If Satoru could leverage his status as the Six Eyes, then maybe she could leverage her status as one of the few who could perform reversed cursed healing.

At least, it wouldn’t hurt to try.

Shoko heard soft giggling coming from somewhere behind her. She turned.

A trio of women were smiling in her and Satoru’s direction like they were in on a secret, and Shoko’s face went from warm to overheated in an instant. One of the women pointed. Shoko followed her finger and found herself running lest Satoru shelled out for a pair of Oliver Peoples that did nothing for his cheekbones.

#satoshoko #satosho #my fic #/posting this now because i wont have time to over the weekend

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luccettis · 3 months

Text

chapter three - april

The New Year and spring came fast. Wayne got his cast taken off another month after the conversation with Terrence about what his plan would be. They settled on Wayne getting a Greyhound ticket to Boston, since Brockton is about 30 minutes away. Terrence even promised Wayne to give him a 200$ Visa gift card so he could get food, clothes and pay the taxi fare to get to Brockton. He told him he was a good kid and just needed to be set on a good path. Their therapy sessions often were sitting in silence or meaningless small talk. Stuff about Wayne’s dad, or his brother before he left. His mom. Del. He gave Torrence a very abridged version of what happened that summer. To Torrence, it was progress. To Wayne, it was wasting time.

With his cast off, Wayne tried to be careful. He still did ‘weight training’ which was more about him getting to balance out his strength than the actual weight training. Initially, he dropped everything he picked up. It was frustrating and annoying. The keyword was tried – within that few weeks of the cast being off, he caused fights every couple of days. It drove the staff and officers crazy, that this one boy could cause riots. But the strangest thing happened after a while of all the fights, bruises, bleeds - weeks, weeks of prying people away from one another, and no one being able to piss without being babysat - everything was suddenly peaceful. Despite Wayne being the harbinger of violence, it was like everyone sang a song of harmony.

It was so out of place. Even new boys to cell block D behaved. It wasn’t like they all clamored around Wayne, but no one picked on each other anymore. The adults were bewildered. As each month passed, a plan bigger than all the juvenile hall’s staff could imagine. They were planning on a jailbreak. Things had gone missing over the course of time - July / August to now April. Pillow cases, socks, cutlery. But not missing in large increments. Nothing to trigger alarm bells. Wayne wasn’t necessarily the facilitator but he was a participant. He paid attention to times and shifts of rotations for the officers. His hearing went well - Torrence speaking highly of Wayne. But still, the severity of what he did, he was supposed to stay in until July. That did not work for Wayne. Being here this long already was Hell. Not a day went by where he didn’t think about Del Luccetti.

The plan was April 15th, it would be jailbreak day. Boys who preferred juvie over going back out to the real world would be the ones to incite one big riot. Someone would steal a set of keys from their counselor, and paperclips to make lock picks for the fire alarms. All hands would be on deck, and left a skeleton crew to watch the rest of the boys. Wayne had pillowcases to help him climb over the fence, and not get cut up by the barbed wire while he scaled it in his jumpsuit. He wasn’t going to get the 200$ Visa card to help him through, or the bus ticket to Boston. But nothing was going to stop him. He was just looking for a final sign to go forth in jumping in the jail break.

⛓𓌹*♰*𓌺⛓

The day before. April 14th. His routine. Up. Bed. Breakfast. Up to therapy with Torrence.

“No fights, collaboration with your peers…you’re doing fantastic, Wayne.” Terrence looks over his notes. Wayne is busy otherwise, looking for things to take. Truthfully, he would feel guilty stealing from him. This man had been nothing but patient. He said such nice things at the review hearing. He fiddles with the small envelope in his hand. He wrote it during individual time - a thank you. Thank you for saying such nice things about me, for me. He was looking for a reason, some final flag to tell him to stay or go.

“Thank you.”

“So do your peers. We’re all really impressed with how everyone is doing and getting along.”

“Yeah.”

“Really, Wayne. You’ve really turned things around. I’m proud of you. Even though we don’t always talk fully during these visits, I am fond of them. That being said…I recommended to the court that you’re done early. Later this year is too long for us to keep you.”

Wayne’s eyes darted from a picture on the wall to Terrence. “What?”

“I recommend you to be released by the end of May at the most.”

The end of May. Still too late to not see Del.

“Really?”

“Yes. I figured our sessions coming up could be us doing maintenance and preparing for transition. You have so much potential, and this won’t be the be all, end all for you, Mr. McCullough.” He felt bad. All of this work. He still needed a sign. “You have a strong sense of justice. You have it within you to do what’s right. And that’s very admirable, Wayne.”

Wayne picks his head up. “What’d ya mean?”

Terrence gave him a warm smile. “You have a very justice forward personality. You protect people who need your help. When you leave here Wayne, do what’s right. I know you will.”

That was it. That was his sign. Wayne juts his hand out with the letter.

“Here.”

“What’s this?” His counselor tilts his head and takes the envelope. It’s addressed to Mr. Brown. “Thank you Wayne.”

“Wait uh. To read it.”

“Why?”

“It’s important.” The best thing was that Terrence respected his clients and their wishes.

“How long would you like me to wait - rather, what day should I read it?” He tilts his head.

“I dunno. Friday. Not today.” Then, Wayne would be gone. He would understand. He told Wayne to do what was right.

“Till Friday, then.” He leans back in his chair, and places it so it leans against a framed wedding photo. “It’s your hour. What would you like to do?”

“Listen to music.”

So, that’s what they did. Terrence and Wayne sat in silence as they blasted Wayne’s preferred music artist out of the shitty desk speakers on his desk. One worked on stuff at his desk, typing up notes and filing papers while the other bobbed his head almost violently to the tracks. Tomorrow was the day he would get out, and get straight to Del.

⛓𓌹*♰*𓌺⛓

The morning of April 15th was the same as the day before, and every other morning. The first half of the day was the same, but group activity. Group activity is when the fun started. Through breakfast and lunch, everyone exchanged knowing glances and acknowledgement of commitment to the plan. Ten minutes after lunch ended, 6 of the 20 boys in cell block D started a fight. Although inflicting physical pain on one another, they promise their concentrated blows on their torsos and backs. It was more painful for the officers to manhandle them in trying to get them to stop. Another 3 pulled 3 different fire alarms with one of the keys they stole, and bent up paper clips that they made work for lock picks.

The alarms blaring, combined with the kicking, screaming and yelling was Hell on Earth for everyone’s ears. For the remaining 13 boys - they bum rushed whatever skeleton crew was left to manage them. They wrapped their arms in sheets and pillowcases, tucking fabric around their necks and faces to scale the barbed wire fence with ease. As Wayne sprinted his way out, approaching it, a gut pang hit him the minute his fingers wrapped around the metal links. He was scared somehow he would break his arm again. In awe of his own feats, he pulled himself up the barrier and climbed over, the worry of his arm still being weak subsiding. The other boys - Christian and Jesus included - hooted and hollered as they ran as fast as they could. Wayne attempted to follow, but had more of a plan than the others did.

Every time he was outside, he looked for hiding spots. Bushes, leafy trees. Of course officers would look under cars, or catch them jay running across the street for their freedom. Sirens rang as people were discharged. Ocala police sped up and down the street, and a loud sound like a tornado siren came from the juvenile hall, signaling lockdown. Some of his peers didn’t get very far - tackled on the hot Florida asphalt in the middle of traffic. Wayne hauled ass behind buildings and alleyways for about five blocks, nonstop. It stung when he rapidly inhaled and exhaled to bring oxygen to his lungs. The closest, ambiguous hiding spot was flinging himself behind a shitty wedding chapel. He jumps inside of the green dumpster, and the top closes as he collapses on top of some stained wedding dresses. Panting, he tries to catch his breath and closes his eyes.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins, pumping his blood through his body what felt like twice as fast. He felt lightheaded as he collapses back against the metal behind him. It smelled sickeningly sweet inside of this dumpster. Like someone poured champagne and cake in the garbage - rotting icing and sour booze. He scrunched his nose. He looks down at the shredded pillowcases stained with droplets of blood. They were in tatters. He touched around his face, thin cuts with little blood. He sighs. His lungs hurt, and he runs a hand through his hair - his scalp moist with sweat. He doesn’t really know how long he had fallen asleep for - when he wakes up again, he’s sweaty and scrambles to push open the plastic swinging top. It was still light out, but he wanted to kick himself. Walking out of the alleyway, he looked for the time. He looks all around for something to signify what time it was - anything. He passes by an antique store, and looks through the window. A large display of clocks, all in sync.

4:15 P.M. On 4/15. Next to it was a bus stop - with little shelter and a small metal stool. He looks at the route map that’s contained behind a large piece of plexiglass. He scours it for the bus stop, or a Greyhound stop. Identifying it and streets, he begins to walk. Eyes frantically analyzing each sign - he walks, and walks, and walks. The adrenaline high has crashed, and he can’t feel his feet. He rotates between walking and running, but it doesn’t feel like he’s making progress. The sun says goodbye, and the moon rises. The air is cooler. He unbuttons the top of the jumpsuit and ties it around his waist. Underneath was a white t-shirt now soaked with sweat. The bus station came into view. It was well lit, and busy with departing and arriving buses. He snuck his way in, and shuffled to a security desk.

“Where’s lost and found?”

The barely conscious security guard sits up - inhaling mid-snore, answering on command, as if he already had the answer loaded in. “Behind here, lad.” His overwhelming Irish accent catches Wayne off guard. He moves around the desk and the man, and gets on his knees to dig through the cubbies.

“What’re ya lookin for?” The man asks, not bothering to look behind him.

“Uh, stuff. M-My stuff.” Wayne blurts. Godamn beacon of truth. Wayne sifts through the lost belongings for a pair of worn Vans that looked like they were supposed to be beige, a pair of torn jeans his size if not a size bigger, and a t-shirt with some forest on it and a grey hoodie. He wonders where his clothes will go back at the juvie. He missed his green overcoat. He listens to the man behind him drift into sleep again. Wayne’s eyes darted around for the time again. It was already 7. He groaned, and dug towards the bottom of the cubbies for wallets. No one carries cash anymore. He found about 50$, which was fine. He slinks away from the desk and to the bathroom.

He discarded the awful, suffocating jumpsuit. He stuffs it into the garbage bin, and takes soap and paper towels and soaks it with water. He washes up under his arms and around his neck. He looks at himself in the mirror. The scar on his nose. The scabs from the most recent cuts. He looked down at his feet - since he didn’t put the shoes on yet. He lifted his legs, and let the water run over his feet in the sink basin. Some men walked in and out of the bathroom, looking at him for a minute but didn’t pay any mind. He pulled on the socks, and the shoes. He shuffles out, and looks for the desk to buy a bus ticket.

He approaches the desk.

“How can I help you, young man?”

He taps his fingers nervously, setting the money on the counter.

“I need a ticket to Boston.”

The woman looks down, and she looks displeased.

“Baby, you need 250$ dollars to get to Boston.”

Wayne’s face went pale.

“What?”

“It’s 250$ dollars.”

Wayne grimaces. “Why’s it cost so much?”

Her earrings jingled as she looked at her computer. “They’re FlixBuses.”

“I don’t know what that is?”

“They play movies while you drive.”

“I don’t want no movies. I wanna get to Boston.”

“I don’t have any other buses until next Tuesday, honey.”

Her demeanor was kind, but almost pitiful. Wayne looked like a sad dog left in the rain. He looks down at the cash. “I’m sorry, baby. I’d make a miracle if I could.” She looks and scans through her computer. There really weren’t any cheaper rates. Wayne sniffles, and takes the cash back. She looks around and leans over the counter. Her hair was streaked with grey, and her tight ringlets frame her face, and her little glasses holders swing as she looks at him.

“There ain’t no other way?” He rests his fists against the counter.

“At 9 o’clock, Jedidiah will be drivin’ out to Boston.” She looks back at her computer. “He close to retirin’.” Her voice has a southern drawl to it. He wonders where she’s from. “He don’t care who get on that bus. He’ll be in row.. 9, spot 3. Get on that bus and go, okay baby boy?”

He looks around, like it’s a joke.

“I mean it. For real.” She holds a hand out and rests it on Wayne’s fist, gently squeezing it. “Get to where you need to be. You look like you on a mission to go somewhere.”

“Thank you.” He mumbles, and she lets him go and waves him off.

“Next!”

He sits down on a wooden bench, surrounded by all kinds of people. People in suits and nice clothes, or lounge clothes. Homeless people, clutching their jackets tight as they watched the red LED clock. It was 8:30 now. He had another half hour before he could leave. How long did a bus to Boston even take? Were they gonna stop places? He hugs his knees, and waits.

When 9 rolls around, he jumps as fast as he can to get into the parking lot. He snatches a used bus ticket out of the trash to at least look believable. He runs out to the parking lot, and runs up the steps of the bus identified by the nice woman he spoke to earlier. The man looked tired, annoyed. He looked close to retirement. He groans in welcoming everyone on board, and doesn’t bother checking their tickets. He holds onto the one he had anyway.

Boston to Ocala. What a coincidence.

He sits down, and jumps - pin stuck in his leg. He lifts his left leg and pulls out the sharp object, and a rubber backing. It was a green four leaf clover pin. He cradles it in his hand, and looks out the dark window - the lights of the city trying to sleep shone through. He looks around the bus. Everyone was so vastly different, going to Boston - or maybe would get off on those stops along the way. A man in a suit sits down next to Wayne.

“D’you know how long this bus ride is?”

The man with his combed over blonde hair looks at Wayne, then to his own ticket.

“Doesn’t it say?” He nods to the paper in Wayne’s hands. Wayne covers up the reversed departure and arrival locations.

48 hours. Two days.

“I believe we have 3 stops along the way, if I’m not mistaken.” The man holds up his own ticket. “Yeah, a few cities. They’ll be brief. It must be your first time.”

“Yeah.”

“It’ll be fine. Get up and stretch during those stops. Sitting here for hours is bad for your legs.”

“Thanks.” Wayne nods, and rests his head against the window. The man nods, and goes back to reading some papers he settled in with a briefcase. The bus groaned as the man pulled the gear into drive and exited the Greyhound parking lot. Goodbye Ocala, Florida. Behind Wayne was the pain of saying goodbye to a mom who he knew now was better without him, and the last thing his dad could leave him. Behind him was the life before, and now things would be different. Things would be different when he got to Boston and reuinited with Del.

#wayne #wayne yt #wayne amazon #wayne mccullough #del luccetti #husband #wayne show #ough

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bvannn · 2 months

Text

Weekly update February 23, 2024

I know I just woke up so this is early, but I don’t anticipate having time to write this later. I’ve had a ton of homework this week and been feeling really bad. I don’t know how much of it is more lingering sickness from surgery, if I caught something going around campus, how much of it is my congenial illness, or if there’s something else, but I assume it’s a mix. That coupled with homework means I didn’t really get much of anything done this week. I don’t know how next week will be. My congenial condition is probably the worst, because it prevents me from being able to get up out of bed when it’s flaring up, so I’m going a lot longer without food. That coupled with surgery sickness making me anxious and trying to justify not eating, has me a bit worried but not worried enough to force myself to eat. I feel gross when I eat. My stomach hurts every time, most of the food I have isn’t healthy anyway, it’s smarter just to not. That’s probably why I got more drunk off of less alcohol last night, honestly, although I did force myself to have lunch and dinner so I wouldn’t put myself in danger.I play it overly safe with alcohol, since I know how much it takes to almost kill me, and alcohol is really the only reliable way to take an anxious edge off before bed right now. I have leftover oxycodone from surgery but I want to save that for when I need the painkilling effects, and I have a couple friends begging and pleading me to try weed again, but I’ve never really had a desire to, and I haven’t really known why until I really thought about it this morning: weed puts a focus on your body, it doesn’t numb your nerves like alcohol or oxy do. Which means it brings focus to my condition, which is distressing. It’s like meditation, it only works if you’re already healthy. I wish I could have put that together sooner, it probably would have made turning it down a lot easier, since they would understand. I know they aren’t trying to be malicious, they just don’t understand because I had no way of communicating it to them. Now that I know what’s wrong, I can put it off for a while, until my congenial condition is cleared up, in a few years. Anyway enough Health rambling, art stuff

The main thing I did in the way of art this week was fiddling with vocaloid. Still not sure which banks to get, but it doesn’t matter too much since I won’t have the money for them for a good while anyway. Right now is to throw together the actual vpr files with the default banks, and then pass them to friends on discord who already have the banks, so they an render the MP3 and pass it back to me. Extra steps, sure, but it’ll work. I’m hoping to find a way to copy and paste the phonetic lyrics too, so I can see how the Japanese banks handle English, but no dice so far. If I need to write them out manually, I can, too.

As for instrumental music: I keep trying to throw together small beats late at night and they always sound like shit. I posted the one the other day and the next morning it was terrible, but I used a drum machine of course it was going to sound awful. I do essentially have the ambient instrumental one done, still running it past test audiences, which is a bit harder since people are less likely to spend the time test listening to a song vs giving a drawing a once over. I’m tempted to make my own discord server to try and garner a little community where people can test listen to stuff and post art, but I don’t know if I’d have a way of moderating it, I’ve seen some awful people on public discords. I might give it a few listens over myself and maybe just send it anyway, but I don’t trust my ears, I maybe don’t hear the instruments at the volume they actually are. I’m not sure, which is why I want to play it safe by passing it through peer review. Peer review is important, it’s the reason hazbin hotel was good while helluva boss wasn’t.

I haven’t been doing drawings, due to time and energy. Today is the due date for the worst of my homework, so I’ll try to get stuff done this weekend. I want to animate but have been having art block in that department. Honestly a fair amount of art block all around. Energy is also a component but last night I slept well, so I’ll try to get more sleep in the next few days, see how it helps. Unfortunately that’ll mean no staying up late to do drawings but that’s fine probably.

I also haven’t been getting comic progress done the way I want, but it’ll be fine, I can pick up again soon. I’m at 20 pages thumbnailed, moving into ‘act 3’, then I’ll go over and add in whatever I need to reach count and to fix any unnatural scenes. I’ll try to get back to ‘one a day’ starting tomorrow. Block is a bit hard on thumbnailing because it makes me just want to slap the panels on the page, but that’s lazy, I can have more fun with it than that.

I think next week the plan is going to be eat less food, spend more time with friends, go to bed earlier, back to one a day thumbnails, and whatever else I make I make. I’ll try to get art to go with that finished song done, and I’ll try to figure out how to sound balance it. Hopefully I can get that done in time to post it before the next update.

#weekly update

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darklydeliciousdesires · 2 years

Text

Not One of Many - Chapter Fifteen.

Are you ready for this, guys? Because I don’t think you’re ready... ;) and thank you all for your lovely comments and continued interest. I have so much love for my devoted audience!!��

Previous chapters - Prologue One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 3,590

Warnings - 18+ content, adult audience only. Minors DNI!

“Well, your face don’t half match the weather,” Magda began, she and Oliver viewing their friend where she sat across the table from them next to Kinga, looking up from her phone a little dazed.

“Hmm?”

“I’d say you were away with the fairies, but such magical little creatures so full of zest and cheer could never be responsible for a face like that, darling,” Oliver observed. “I don’t understand it either! You’re the talk of town with your article, you wrote an absolute bloody hit! Like Mags correctly identifies, your face exactly matches this bloody rain currently blighting our lovely day out!”

It had been two and a half weeks since she’d last seen the subject of her article, the piece published four days previous to then, earning Beth rave reviews from her peers, new work offers flooding in and the kind of publicity she usually wouldn’t have sniffed at whatsoever. None of it mattered without him.

“Hung up, ain’t she? I fucking told you, didn’t I?” Her reminder that she’d indeed told her so was delivered in her usual blunt fashion, but Magda softened then, sensing Beth’s need for it. “I’m so bloody proud of you, though, for not forsaking your morals, your pride. You did the right thing in walking away from him, sugar plum. You always said, you ain’t one of many, and you proved it. Hold your head up high for that, my precious. If he can’t see it, ain’t your problem.”

“Exactly this, because there aren’t many women who wouldn’t have had that strength, to realise their feelings and still walk away with their worth intact,” Oliver chimed, stroking her arm kindly. “You’re so strong, and I know it hurts, lovely, I know how much it must be weighing on you, but Mags is absolutely correct. You did the right thing.”

Kinga sighed then, sweeping a hand through her hair. “I feel responsible. I was nothing but on board and cheerleading your decision to go and sleep with him, and now look at you. Downcast and forlorn, when you should be celebrating your success.”

“I’m not forlorn,” Beth began. “And it isn’t your fault either. You didn’t drive me there and kick me through the doors of The Pendulum against my will. I tried to hide how I felt for the sake of hot sex, and I was wrong to think that I could. I’m nearly thirty, I’m a big girl now, capable enough of making her own decisions and mistakes. I’ll be fine, honestly. I just need a little bit of time to pass, especially in the wake of the article being published. I’m so sorry for being glum, I’m such a bloody wet blanket.”

“No, you ain’t at all!”

“Oh, baby, don’t say that!”

“Darling, don’t be silly!”

They all separately chorused the above, reaching for her again, Oliver and Magda taking a hand each while Kinga wrapped her in a hug. She felt a little teary, excusing herself to go to the ladies, her friends all watching her walk away before they huddled in a little.

“I want to go smack him in the mouth, truth be told, but I can’t cus’ it ain’t even the bloke's fault! He’s been honest with her, told her how it is and all, and I get it. He’s into polygamy and she ain’t. Isn’t anyone’s fault, although quietly I think he’s a bit mental, not seeing that wonderful girl is enough for any man all on her own.”

“I’m too sissy to hit people, but I could certainly go in for a bit of toe stomping and pushing him in stinging nettles!” Oliver chimed, Kinga laughing softly before she added her two pence worth.

“I hope he comes around. I hope he’s realising just how miserable life is without that vibrant, wonderful girl of ours. Then again, I always wish for the fairy tale.”

“And if it don’t happen, then we just have to keep her spirits up until she’s over it,” Magda sighed, picking up her cigarettes. “Back in a bit.”

Being there for her was the main aim of their day out, starting with breakfast before hitting the shops and heading to a spa for some pampering treatment and lunch, before dinner and then onto a bar for drinks. It was the first day in weeks all four of them didn’t have other plans or work commitments, their catch up and luxuriate day rebranded a little bit as a cheer Beth up day.

In the ladies' room, the lady herself dried her eyes, making sure her false eyelashes were still well-adhered, quickly lining her eyes again and taking a few deep breaths. Magda was right, it was his loss. But that didn’t stop it being hers as well. He’d never look at her again like he did when he’d perched her upon the sink, deep inside of her but still, staring at her in a way that made her insides catch fire. Never again, and she hated her principles for it as well, but she would not budge.

She hated herself for that even more.

“Come on, Beth. You’re made of tougher stuff than this. Time to pull yourself together, you’ve had your two weeks to be sad now.” Straightening her high waisted trousers a little, she smoothed the silk of the grey (which she guessed she did suit, finally relenting to Magda’s insistence) camisole she wore, fixed her smile in place and walked back out to her friends.

“There’s that lovely smile I feared we wouldn’t see any time soon,” Oliver chimed happily as she sat, her breakfast waiting for her at the table.

“I can but try, at least.” Kinga made a little fuss of her, rubbing her arm sweetly before she tucked into her turkey bacon and scrambled eggs, Magda arriving back with them.

For the rest of the day, she immersed herself in the warmth of her friends, from parading outfits for Oliver, who critiqued or praised (as per his career as a fashion critic) to spending far too much money as a result of that due to her persisting emotional instability. What is a girl to do when she finds Agent Provocateur underwear for a third off, or a pair of Ralph Lauren jeans that weren’t, but she just had to have? With work coming her way left and right, a little splurge was in order. She definitely reminded herself of this after spending nine hundred and eighty-five pounds on a Balmain bag, and over two hundred pounds on a bottle of bath oil, candle and matching perfume. Jo Malone was a dangerous experience for her every time she entered the shop.

An hour on and they were all lying in a line in the massage suite of the spa, being kneaded thoroughly by talented hands, the man pummelling Beth’s back working out a series of clicks that made her feel much better for the release of pressure. Now, perhaps next for that emotional release of tension. A cocktail out in the gardens, swathed in a fluffy robe afterwards saw to it somewhat, but beneath her cheer, the little tender spot still prickled.

One swim, a facial and a manicure later and she was feeling fully restored, ready to head back into central London where they had reservations at their favourite bar and grill in Soho, seated at a window table, looking out at the sky.

“It’s going to bloody shit it down again soon, look at them clouds!” Magda exclaimed, the sky dark and foreboding, the break in rain giving way to the kind of heat that usually did stir up the sort of summer storm the four were anticipating as they gave the waiter their drinks orders, all deciding on the share grill platter pretty quickly.

“Please keep the pork products separate from the rest, though. My friend here is Jewish,” Oliver asked the waiter, Beth smiling. She never had to speak such herself, her friends were always so quick to do so for her.

“Oh, same as. You’re just the kind of girl my mother would be delighted if I brought home, too,” the waiter spoke with a little flourish of flirt, Beth smiling shyly. She just wasn’t ready to entertain anything of such a nature, though. “I’ll be right back with your drinks, guys.”

They thanked him, Beth quickly checking her phone, smiling when she saw that the article she had written for The Times last week while in the depths of Alfie-related despair had actually been accepted, her prose being why women felt so pressured to have it all, and inevitably felt as if they’d fallen short, should they lack one out of the lovely home, good job and loving partner triangular goal.

Her friends congratulated her warmly, Magda asking a passing waiter to bring them a bottle of Moet, Beth attempting to protest.

“I won’t hear of it, duchess. This is The Times; it calls for a celebration!”

Duchess. He’d often called her that.

With champagne proffered speedily, a cork popped, flutes filled and a toast to her success raised, she stuffed back down the little glimmering shard of remembrance of her lost love, sipping back a mouthful of pure indulgent bubbles and fixing her smile once more.

“So, my wonderful lot. It’s the ELLE summer style party in three weeks on Saturday and I of course have guest privileges. Can I put you all down as attending?” Magda asked a time later as they all helped themselves to the scrumptious looking food before them, being met by three very enthusiastic nods. “Perfect! You’ll have to get your own clobber together, though, naturally. If my editor sees you in anything from our wardrobe, it’ll be my head on the bleedin’ chopping block!”

Beth was just thinking on what on earth she had in her summer wardrobe to wear when her phone began to ring, looking over at the display to see a number she recognised immediately. She’d deleted it after vowing to move on, but the fact Alfie’s mobile ended in three twos and three fives was instantly recognisable.

She nearly brought back up her mouthful of chicken, staring at the screen a little wide eyed before cancelling the call. Ten minutes later, and he tried again.

“Who keeps calling you, darling?” Kinga asked, grappling with a butter swathed segment of corn on the cob, trying her best to eat it somewhat neatly in an effort not to completely ruin her makeup.

“Alfie.” Three pairs of eyes landed on her in stares of disbelief. “I’m not answering it.”

“Aren’t you even a teeny little bit curious over what he could be calling for?” Kinga asked lightly, Magda snorting.

“Unless it’s to say he’s chucked his girlfriends and finally come to his senses that our girl is the best bloody thing that’s ever happened to him, then it ain’t worth answering!”

“But she wouldn’t know that, unless she did answer,” Kinga reasoned, Oliver chiming in.

“This is very true. Beth might be a brilliant wordsmith, but a psychic, she is not.”

“I’m still not answering,” she vowed, her phone ringing again, Beth refusing the call once more. A few minutes passed, her chicken breast finished as she moved onto the coleslaw, before a message notification came through. Everyone bar her stared at her phone. “What? I’m finishing my meal, freshening up, enjoying a few more sips of my wine and then I shall see what the bloody hell he wants.”

“Spoilsport.” Magda muttered, bobbing her tongue out playfully, making her laugh softly. She made a point of not rushing the itinerary of what she’d pledged would come before reading the message, although the anticipation absolutely killed her. By the time she did open it to read, her heart was hammering, her mouth dry.

‘I need to talk to you, Beth. Where are you? I came by your flat, but you obviously ain’t home.’

“So, what did he say?” Oliver asked, eyes wide.

“He says he needs to talk and asks where I am. Apparently he went to my flat.”

“What are you going to tell him?” Kinga questioned, excited.

“Guys, give her breathing room, Christ on water skis!” Magda then exclaimed, holding out her hands.

“Give me a minute.” Picking up her phone, she left the table, heading outside, the distant rolls of thunder soft in the sky, the heat beginning to die down. Except within Beth Drake, who felt like she needed to go and stand in a meat fridge. There was only one way to discover what it was he wished to talk to her about.

Holding the phone to her ear after pressing call, she felt her heart at the back of her throat, her hands tingling as she heard the phone ring out.

“Hello, darlin’. Thanks for calling back.” Her stomach tingled and her heart did a little backflip, hearing his voice again.

“What do you want, Alfie?” she asked coolly, chewing her lip with nerves.

“As I said in my message, I need to talk to you. Where are you?”

“Alfie, I said I was cutting ties with you,” she began, being swiftly interrupted.

“It’s about why you had to do that, that I have to talk to you. Where are you?”

She felt her throat tightening, trying to hold back the words that flew from her mouth before she’d had a chance to process. “Sophie’s in Soho.” Shit.

“Gimme half hour and I’ll be there. This is important, I can’t do it over the phone. See ya in a bit.”

He hung up before Beth had time to answer, turning and heading back inside, striding to the bar.

“Can I get two shots of gold Patron, please?” she asked the server, the girl nodding before placing the shot glasses on the table and dutifully filling them. One Apple Pay transaction later, two tequila shots were sunk, and Beth was only marginally calmer.

“Well?” Magda asked as soon as she sat down.

“He’s on his way over, said he’ll be half an hour.”

“What?” all three chorused.

“He said he needed to talk to me, I told him that I said I was cutting ties with him and was about to continue with how I wanted for him to respect my wishes there, but before I got chance to, he said it was about why I did that, that he needed to see me,” she explained, her heart still hammering madly.

“Well, if this is...” Kinga began.

“Nope! No! Nobody speak a word about it, nope! I need radio silence while I sit here and work myself into a panic while attempting to drown it in Soave.” Lifting her wine glass, she sank it, Oliver quick to top it up again.

“Okay, change of subject. Did we all see that utter hatchet piece Alex Martin-Smith wrote on the AW 2022 Versace collection last week?” Magda offered, all four of them falling into conversation over how unfair they’d found it, such a blazing critique of Donatella’s work, of which they were all huge admirers. Even though the topic had changed, Beth felt sick with nerves within, continuing to drain her wine with such gusto, another bottle was ordered for the table.

The minutes crept by, with her keeping one eye on the street, until she picked him out, her heart somersaulting. “He’s almost here. I’m going outside.”

“Good luck, darling. We love you.” Kinga offered, kissing her arm, Oliver and Magda squeezing her hands.

“No compromises unless he’s offering you all, baby,” Oliver reminded her.

“Any bullshit and tell him your feisty bestie will knock him out.” Magda vouched, giving her the little chuckle she needed as she walked away from the table, heading outside and waiting for him, spots of rain in the air. Looking down the street, she saw him look up and smile. Her heart did a somersault, her skin feeling hot and prickly as her temperature rose, mixing with the summer heat.

A tempest of nerves whirled within her, her pulse flipping madly, summing up composure from her depths, her head an absolute mess as anticipation claimed her. Still, she would be cool and calm in the face of seeing him again, reminding herself of that when he finally stopped before her.

“Hello, duchess.” Her knees felt weak, hearing him say that, his scent flooding her nose, her mind being transported back to when she’d first smelled him, how intoxicating she’d found it. “Look, I know I’m the last person you likely want to see, but I had to see ya, right? I need to talk.”

“About what?”

Seeing a group of people coming up behind her, he touched a hand to her arm to move her over, the spot tingling beneath his touch. “About us.”

She shook her head, her heart panging with sadness. “There is no us, Alfie. Not while you’re living the lifestyle you do. Like I said, I don’t expect you not to either, you just can’t have me, too.”

“Well, that’s the thing, darlin’,” he began, taking a breath, actually looking a little nervous. “I’m not living that lifestyle any longer. I’m single.”

She felt as if a firework had gone off in her chest at hearing those words, her hands shaking, her mouth going dry. “You... you finished with them?” she whispered, bewildered. It couldn’t be, could it? Was she about to get what she’d coveted so very much?

“Half and half. Mimi broke up with me, because she knew she wasn’t the one who made me truly happy any longer, and off the back of that, I ended my relationship with Amira.”

“Why?” she blurted, feeling like an idiot instantly, Alfie chuckling, taking her face in his hands.

“Because I’ve gone and fuckin’ fallen in fuckin’ love with you, ain’t I? Can’t fuckin’ bear to live another fuckin’ minute without you either!”

“Could you have crammed more F words in there?”

He looked thoughtful, tickled by her witty retort. “Probably. So, what do you think? Think this foolish man who took way too long to admit to himself there was only one woman for him is worth it?”

There he was, Alfie Solomons, the man famed for his multiple girlfriends and unapologetic stance over dating them, single, having taken the steps he needed, all for her. Because he was in love with her.

“Of course, you bloody are.” He beamed, leaning down to kiss her, the shrieking cheers of her friends from inside making her laugh a little into their kiss, before it deepened, her heart blooming. It never happened like this for her, it always went wrong somehow, until now. Until it went right.

At that exact moment, overhead, a boom of thunder shook the sky, people all around beginning to exclaim as the rain duly pelted down.

“Alfie, it’s raining,” she breathed, his thumbs stroking her cheeks.

“Well, we’re getting wet then, ain’t we?” he kissed her again, a kiss unbreakable, unstoppable by even the raging storm that rendered London a wash from the furious cascade. It was a moment so perfect, right there, they were every romantic cliché in the world, the rain soaking them through, but their care over such non-existent as their love bloomed. As if it couldn’t get more complete, the opening bars to a song that made all the hairs on the back of Alfie’s neck stand up began to filter out from the bar.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell!” he exclaimed, laughing, kissing her again. “She Sells Sancturary. How bloody apt. Because you do.”

“I like to think I give it freely rather than for a monetary exchange.”

“I’ll put me Amex away then, ay?”

She giggled, stroking his face, never witnessing him smile like he was right then, right at her. “I think we should go in, eventually. Besides, we have an expectant audience.” Turning, they saw Magda, Oliver and Kinga all at the window, applauding with huge grins.

“Eventually.” He confirmed. They continued to kiss, not a care in the world, Ian Astbury’s lyrics reigning so true for Alfie as he lost himself fully to his heart’s desire.

The fire in your eyes keeps me alive And the fire in your eyes keeps me alive I'm sure in her you'll find sanctuary I'm sure in her you'll find sanctuary

At last. He’d found it, after looking in all the wrong places for so many years, he’d found his sanctuary, right there in her.

“I love you,” she breathed, nuzzling her nose against his.

“Good! Because I am lovable when I’m not being a stupid tosser. So, you gonna take me in to meet your friends after I’ve gone and rung me shirt out?”

“Yeah, come on.” Taking his hand, she led him out of the rain, Alfie heading to the toilets while Beth ran to the table, hugging her friends in triumph, giving them a very quick explanation before raiding her shopping bags for the lovely, black maxi dress she’d bought, figuring she needed to change. One long stay under the hand dryer later to dry her hair, and she was back at the table, a considerably dryer, but still damp Alfie joining them after a few minutes.

“So, you’re the silly sod who took your bloody time with this one then, ay?” Magda asked, arching an eyebrow as he sat down, pulling Beth onto his lap.

He took her hand, kissing it as he smiled at her, so in love, he felt like he was about to burst. “Guilty as charged.”

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cupcakesandtv · 2 years

Text

Five to Seven Years Early or Two Weeks Late part 7

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 on ao3

I know this has taken forever and it might be hard to believe but the entire abortion argument was actually in draft 3 when the Supreme Court decided people who can get pregnant don't need to have access to safe and easy ways to unpregnant themselves. It just so happens that I could give it another pass and make it more scathing to take out some of my stress over...well...everything. Anyway, enjoy!

14 weeks

Devi walked out of her sociology class slower than usual. Her leg cramped up during class and then she had a sharp pain in her hip joint. Pregnancy did weird things to a person’s body. But other than those minor issues, she was actually feeling much better than she had in weeks. All the bruising from the car accident was healed and she didn’t flinch when she heard an ambulance siren.

“Excuse me!” a girl from her class was waving her over to the building exit. “Devi?”

The girl was definitely a freshman. That’s what Devi got for putting off some of these useless filler classes until her senior year. She got stuck in class with a lot of kids.

“Hi, uh,” she racked her brain to try to remember the girl’s name but came up empty. “Hey you.”

“Do you mind sharing your notes from class on Monday? I slept late and since I shared mine with you a couple weeks ago when you were skipping…” The girl trailed off and looked at Devi expectantly.

“I wasn’t skipping,” Devi answered, offended by the implication. “I was in the hospital.”

“Right,” the girl said, nodding as if they were sharing a little secret.

“No, I was literally in the hospital. Someone wrecked my car. It was awful. I panicked because-” The girl, oh, Kelsey, her name was Kelsey, she looked at Devi unphased and Devi gave up trying to explain. “Yeah, I’ll email you my notes from Monday.”

“Thanks!” Kelsey kept walking with her to the parking lot and Devi tried to think of something kind to say. Anything. Just to make this less awkward.

“Damn,” Kelsey let out, slow, like she was in a trance. “Who is that? I’ve never seen him around.”

Devi looked up to see Paxton leaning on the hood of the Jeep waiting for her. She smiled and he smiled back.

“Ma’am, I’ve been hanging out on campus this morning and I think I’m ready to state with finality, through my extensive, peer reviewed research, that you are the hottest woman at Princeton.”

Kelsey put her hand on her chest like she might faint. Did she think he was talking to her?

“You saw the pool, your research is an incredibly small sample size,” Devi said, shaking her head and handing Paxton her book bag. “This feels a little like high school right now. I’m having some dejavu.” Paxton leaned down and kissed her on the lips. “High school was a good time for me. Especially when this girl I loved agreed to date me.”

“I don’t remember it happening like that,” Devi countered, rolling her eyes.

“Oh my god, that’s your boyfriend,” Kelsey exclaimed.

Paxton didn’t miss a beat, he turned to Kelsey, smiled and waved. “Her husband, actually. I am married to the hottest woman at Princeton.”

Devi felt her face warm but then Kelsey turned up her nose.

“That’s so sad. You could do so much better,” she said before turning on her heel.

Devi shook her head and reached for the door handle. She wanted to get in the car and leave and never come back to the class she shared with that bitch, Kelsey. But Paxton shouted after Kelsey.

“Hey!” When Kelsey turned back to him he put on his fake smile and Devi worried what he was about to do. “What’s your name?”

“Me? I’m Kelsey,” she said, her voice had a flirty lilt that Devi didn’t care for.

“Kelsey?” Paxton asked, fake smile still intact.

“Yes?”

“Fuck off,” he said, his fake smile falling. He glared hard when she flipped him off and turned around to go.

“How am I supposed to sit next to that girl in class now?” Devi asked, exasperated but grateful. “Move across the room?” Paxton offered before he shut her door. Devi appreciated the way he stood up for her but this also felt like high school, someone suggesting the two of them didn’t belong together. She didn’t like feeling less than because of some freshman but it did sting.

When Paxton got into the Jeep he turned and kissed her. Deeper this time. One hand tangling in her hair, the other holding her cheek. His hand lingered on her chin as he pulled back. That felt a little like high school, too. “You’re beautiful and I love you and if anything, you’re getting hotter, while I definitely peaked in high school.”

She gave him a soft smile and felt her heart tug at the way he was looking at her. “You did not peak in high school.” “You won’t be saying that when I lose my hair.” He laughed and put the Jeep in drive. “Will you still love me when I lose my hair?”

Devi thought for a moment and then shook her head. “No, because I’m shallower than you are. But by then we’ll be staying together for the kids so I’ll be stuck.”

Paxton laughed again, louder this time. “Oh good, I’m safe then.”

—

As they headed to the airport security line, Devi turned to Paxton suddenly. “Did you remember to go to Sephora and get the travel size stuff?” She took her shoes off and put them in a bin as he lifted the one suitcase they were sharing for the trip onto the conveyor belt.

“Yes,” he answered, taking his own shoes off.

“Aw, your boyfriend went to Sephora for you?” one of the TSA agents asked Devi, hearts in her eyes.

“He’s my husband and he went for himself. He’s the one with the seven step skincare routine,” Devi said, shaking her head. The agent, a middle aged woman with red hair, laughed.

Paxton gestured for Devi to go ahead and walk through the metal detector then turned to the agent. “She only has a three step skincare routine. But she’s getting hotter with age. I’m only going to get worse so the least I can do is moisturize and use a couple serums, ya know?”

Devi stepped into the scanner and lifted her arms.

“Wait!” Paxton stopped them. “Is this safe for pregnant people?”

The red headed TSA agent looked at him like he was crazy. “Of course it is.”

“He’s just panicked because I was in a car accident a few weeks ago and we had a little scare with the baby so now he’s like this.” Devi gestured to him. He looked so anxious. “He’s overprotective to a fault.”

The agent looked at Paxton, then over at their bag going through the X-ray machine, then at Devi. She noticeably glanced at Devi’s barely showing belly (especially with the chunky sweater she was wearing) and then looked over Devi’s shoulder at Paxton.

“Alright, but you, Mr. Skincare, have to walk through the scanner.” She tipped her head to direct Devi to walk through the other archway that was the less invasive metal detector.

Paxton sighed, relieved, and eagerly walked through the scanner. Devi grabbed her shoes out of the bin on the other side of the machine and thanked the woman.

“I’d say he’s a keeper but you look exasperated so you do whatever makes you happy, sweetie. Keep him, toss him, follow your bliss.”

Devi laughed. “About an hour ago a college freshman said he could do better than me so thank you.”

“God, what do 18 year olds know? And did they not see you? You’re gorgeous, sweetie, he's right, you’re only getting better.” The woman was so sincere, Devi felt tears well in her eyes. “I remember with my second baby I always felt so ugly but I look back at pictures and I was beautiful, just didn’t feel it on account of feeling like I’d swallowed a basketball and oh my god, I had the worst acne! Worse during pregnancy than when I was a teenager! But you just forget that feeling. You’re making a person and that’s hard work. That freshman can take a long walk off a short pier.”

Devi felt tears fall down her cheek. She wiped quickly at her face to try and hide it but the agent smiled again. “You’re gonna be okay. Mr. Skincare, go get this woman some french fries before you get on that plane.” Paxton nodded as he finished putting his shoes back on. He took the suitcase and put his arm around Devi and guided her out. “It’s not pregnancy hormones,” Devi squeaked out, trying to get herself under control.

“I know, you just cry a lot,” Paxton said.

Thankfully, Devi wanted to catch up on The Bachelorette while they were in the air and Paxton was thrilled to do it. The chances of her crying during The Bachelorette were low. (But never zero so he was a little concerned it could still happen.) To Paxton, the second trimester was less puking and more outbursts of tears. Plus this very small pudge on Devi’s stomach. It was cute. And surreal.

“Hurry up!” Trent shouted from across the terminal, waving his arms. “Your flight was delayed ten minutes in the air and now we’re gonna be late!”

In general, Trent was not worried about being punctual to anything, ever, so Paxton knew something was up. When he got in the passenger seat of Trent’s car he barely had time to buckle his seatbelt before Trent was pulling out and speeding towards the airport exit.

“What the hell, Trent?” Devi asked before even Paxton could. “It’s just dinner with Eleanor. She doesn’t care if we’re a few minutes late.”

“Did she text you?” Trent looked back at Devi in the backseat before averting his eyes to the front so he could drive. “Is she already there?”

“I’ll text her right now but I swear she’s gonna be chill with us being late.” Devi threw Paxton a look and he nodded.

Paxton waited for Trent to say something, anything to explain this behavior but it took a solid minute before Trent started talking.

“I haven’t seen Eleanor in two weeks,” Trent blurted out, equal parts annoyed and concerned.

“In two weeks?” Paxton and Devi both asked shocked.

“Yes. Do you see why I’m trying to get there?”

“She’s alive. I texted her like, all yesterday. But she didn’t say that she hadn’t seen you in two weeks.” Devi looked worried now.

“She missed Eggs and Edibles?” Paxton asked. “Twice?”

Eggs and Edibles was the name that Eleanor made up for her and Trent’s typical Sunday brunch hangout. It started back in high school when he would bring her a breakfast sandwich when she had rehearsal before the school play but they kept it up as their thing since then. Whether they were or weren’t dating. Everyone knew that Trent and Eleanor hung out on Sunday, midmorning. And got high.

“Yes,” Trent muttered.

Paxton wanted to ask follow up questions but he couldn’t think of one that wouldn’t hurt Trent’s delicate feelings. (He was very sensitive. Always had been. He was the king of dishing it and not being able to take it.)

Devi handled it though. “Did you piss her off? Or is she just seeing someone new?” “I hope I pissed her off,” Trent said, glancing at Paxton and shaking his head.

When they made it to the restaurant, Eleanor was indeed inside already but she didn’t mind that they were late. She was having a brightly colored drink and laughing at...the dude sitting next to her at the table. “Hi!” Eleanor jumped up to hug Devi and Paxton and stopped right before Trent and sat down before even looking at him. “This is Todd.” She gestured to him like she was Vanna White. Todd offered his hand to shake.

“Phew. Meeting the best friends,” Todd said, taking Paxton’s hand, then Devi’s. “That’s more important than the parents, right?” He reached out to Trent and Eleanor looked at him finally, demanding with her eyes that Trent behave and just shake the guy’s hand. Trent did so and Eleanor gave him a tight smile.

“I think you can take it down a few notches, Todd,” Devi said, sitting down in the chair across from him while Paxton sat across from Eleanor. “This is a Chili’s.”

Paxton stifled a laugh behind a cough and picked up the menu. Trent sat on the end of the table stiffly.

“So, how are you feeling, Devi?” Eleanor asked and then turned to Todd. “She’s pregnant. She found out at Christmas and then Paxton went back to Jersey with her and they got married a couple weeks ago out of nowhere. I mean, it’s not out of nowhere, you two have been an off and on thing forever.” Eleanor finished her rambling and turned back to Devi to signal she could answer the question now but Todd laughed.

“Man, I would be freaking the fuck out if I accidentally knocked somebody up.” He nodded at Paxton and Trent as if they should agree with him but Paxton bristled.

“We’re happy about this, thanks,” he said.

“Yeah, if they’d wanted to get her an abortion, they would have done that, like Eleanor got last year.” Trent said it so casually and then was looking around for the server. “I need a beer, stat,” he muttered.

Todd looked at Eleanor surprised though. “You had an abortion?”

“Yeah,” she said with a shrug. She kicked Paxton under the table, hitting his shin. Paxton assumed she was aiming for Trent so he kept his yelp of pain as quiet as he could but he definitely made a face. Paxton cleared his throat and looked at Devi who was trying not to laugh.

“I don’t believe in abortion,” Todd crowed proudly like a goddamn Republican pastor who believed in conversion therapy.

Trent, Eleanor, Paxton, and Devi all stared at Todd in horrified shock.

“You just said you’d be freaking the fuck out if you got someone accidentally pregnant,” Trent jumped in first.

“I had a great reason to have an abortion, Todd, I didn’t want to be pregnant,” Eleanor said.

“What the fuck, dude?” Paxton managed while he felt Devi quietly seethe next to him.

“Hi, welcome to Chili’s, can I get you some drinks and apps to start?” their server, a girl in a sunshine yellow shirt with hoop earrings and a full face of makeup, interrupted.

They gave their drink orders and by the time she left, the tension had dissipated mostly, but Devi was still tense next to him. He put his hand on her knee and squeezed, giving her a smile.

“Did you find out if your role on the CSI reboot is gonna stay in the episode?” Devi asked Eleanor. He could see her jaw was tense but when Eleanor answered excitedly in the positive, Devi seemed to exhale.

“Yes!” Eleanor shifted into her bubbly, vibrant self again. Buzzing with excitement. “I am going to be on TV next week as Dead Girl Number 1! Wanna see some pics from the set?” She was already pulling out her phone to show them. “Yeah, we wanna see pics from the set!” Devi said with more than necessary excitement, until Paxton noticed Todd rolled his eyes.

“It’s not even a named character,” Todd threw to Trent…as if that wasn’t the worst possible thing he could do.

Trent’s hands balled into fists and he took a breath, ready to defend Eleanor but Devi cut in, “Dead Girl Number 1 is huge!”

Todd snorted but Eleanor perked up.

“Did your flashback scene make it in the episode, too?” she asked.

Eleanor clasped her hands and smiled wide. “Obviously, there’s no way to know for sure until it airs, but one of the PAs said I had two scenes in so hopefully it’s the dead body reveal and the flashback. Dead Girl Number 2, a role I’ve played many times before, was completely cut. Not even a sheet pull back on her, poor thing. It’s rough out there.”

“You were the best Dead Girl Number 2 in that episode of Law and Order . Totally hot.” Trent glared at Todd.

The server came back with drinks and spinach dip and the conversation halted for a minute. Eleanor dipped her straw in and out of her water cup since she’d finished her bright drink from the bar.

“Do you guys know if it’s a boy or a girl yet?” Eleanor asked.

“We could know,” Devi answered with a look at Paxton. He rolled his eyes.

“I’m not saying we should wait until the baby is born, I’m just saying we should examine why knowing the baby’s gender assigned at birth is so important?” Paxton took a pull of the IPA he’d ordered and then waved at Trent. “Trent’s cousin, Arrow, is nonbinary, maybe that’s what our kid will be. Why should we limit things to pink and blue?”

Devi blew a raspberry at him. “I don’t even like pink or blue! I think yellow and green are bomb colors for a baby! And if you think me, of all people, would treat a girl or a boy differently based on nonsensical standards of performative gender, I continue to be offended by the assumption.”

“Why not just wait a little longer? What does it hurt?”

Devi’s face softened and she turned back to the others. “This is actually because he wants a girl and doesn’t want to think he’s wrong. I think it’s a boy and all this talk of patriarchy and sexism in parenting is more about his 50/50 chance he’s wrong and I’m right.”

Trent nodded, a knowing smile on his face. Todd’s face was screwed up in disgust.

“Biology says otherwise,” Todd said as if he’d won the non existent argument.

“What biology classes are-” Devi started but Eleanor cut her off. “Oh my god, shut up, you’re embarrassing me.”

“You’re cute when you’re angry,” Todd said, leaning in to kiss her but she pulled back. Paxton saw Trent clench his fist like he was saying “yes!” to himself.

“So you guys are going back to Jersey on Monday?” Eleanor pretended not to notice Todd’s irritation at being shut down.

“Yeah, I’m not looking forward to going back to my intro to art class with Kelsey, the freshman who Paxton bullied earlier today.” Devi was trying to joke but Paxton knew she was hurt by what her younger classmate said.

“Maybe she’ll drop the class out of embarrassment,” Paxton said.

“If my guy bullied some girl, she probably deserved it,” Trent said as though he too noticed Devi’s joke frosted unease.

“She said I could do better,” Paxton explained. “Better than Devi? The girl I’ve been lowkey in love with since I was 16?”

“You’ve never been lowkey about it,” Eleanor laughed. “Devi’s boy crazy levels have always been off the chart though. She was ping ponging from one crush to the next back then.”

“Was not!” Devi put a hand on her chest, over exaggerating.

“Sounds like you were kind of slutty,” Todd muttered but everyone at the table heard.

Paxton felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. His skin was hot and he could have flipped the table they were all sitting at if Devi hadn’t acted quicker, knocking her water over so it spilled all over Todd.

There was a time when she was younger when she would have punched poor Todd for his bad taste and rude comments. Her temper was barely restrained back then. So he marveled at how she’d learned to use her temper as a slick weapon, a sniper rifle, that could be silenced and she could claim ignorance.

“I’m so sorry,” she deadpanned as Todd jumped up, water all over his lap. Eleanor stood up too, but she handed Todd the cloth napkin her silverware was wrapped in and the fork and spoon and steak knife clattered to the floor, causing Todd to jump again.

“I think you should go home,” Eleanor said firmly. “And probably lose my number.”

His face was dour as he wiped at his pants, as if that would dry the water all over him. “You’re a bitch.”

Paxton stood up now, knowing he’d need to hold Trent back but before he could reach for him, Todd spoke again, “And a terrible actress.”

And before Paxton could do anything, Trent was swinging. His first swing missed, Todd showed a shocking amount of awareness to duck as Trent swung and then pushed Trent back. People screamed and shouted and Paxton moved around Devi to try and break up the two men wrestling on the floor. He could make out Eleanor screaming Trent’s name. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard Devi say to a bystander, “The guy had it coming.”

—

Devi pushed open the door for Eleanor. The cool air of Sherman Oaks’ “winter” evaporated any sweat Devi felt on her face immediately.

“I can’t believe I let that guy tie me up during sex, I could have been murdered!” Eleanor shouldn’t have said it so loud.

They approached Paxton and Trent, Trent with an ice pack to his cheek and Paxton doing some little game with his feet and the curb. Devi and Eleanor stayed behind after Paxton broke up the fight to pay the bill and beg the Chili’s manager not to call the cops. The manager recognized Eleanor from a local car dealership ad and took pity on them when she explained how bad of a date the whole event turned into.

“You let that guy tie you up?” Trent whined. “What the hell, E?”

“Look, it’s not that you’re supremely skilled or anything, it’s just that you know how to give me la petite mort!”

“And other people have not been able to make you cum in French?”

Eleanor blushed and Devi knew she should be embarrassed to hear this conversation but she was enjoying it thoroughly. She loved drama when she wasn’t the center of it.

“They tie me up and it usually gets the job done but-”

Devi saw Paxton cringe and then his eyes turned to hers, pleading to get out of the area but she shook her head.

“But I get it done without any mildly kinky shit,” Trent said, lowering the ice pack and giving Eleanor what were definitely bedroom eyes.

“Yes, but that’s just because we’ve been having sex for years. You were my first, for fuck’s sake. It’s not like…an accomplishment. It’s just something you know how to do!” Eleanor waved her arms big but Trent mirrored her movement so he could pull her arms down to her sides. He dropped the ice and held her hands, looking at her with what Devi knew for sure was love. He’d been looking at Eleanor like that since high school and at this moment she was a little jealous at how easy it was for them. They dated steadily through, no break ups. No back and forths like she and Paxton did in school. No ping ponging from crush to crush for Trent or Eleanor.

Of course, what did she have to be jealous of, now? She could just enjoy this little scene unfolding, watching her friends come back to each other. Devi looked over at Paxton and smiled, wide, her tongue hitting her teeth. He smiled back and Devi felt weak in the knees.

#never have i ever #devi x paxton #Five to Seven Years Early fic #daxton #daxton fic #nhie fic #paxton x devi #i swear it will not be a year between updates again :/

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