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waratah-vroom · 1 year

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Silly Season (ln4)

Liked by alex_albon, landonorris and 700,284 others yourusername: Oh Canada, you have my heart

lilymhe: Of course you'd post food over race content 😂

“And here we have former F2 champion and the first Williams' driver to win a race since Pastor Maldonado-” you heard Ted call your name as the camera man shoved his lens in your face. “Have a second to talk?”

“Always for you, Ted,” you put on your sparkliest smile for the camera and leant against the railing outside the hospitality building you had been seconds away from entering.

“You and Alex did well in qualifying, did that send some well needed morale throughout the team?”

“P6 and P10. Not too bad, eh? Of course doing well in quali is always a mood boost.”

“While I have you I have to ask about Lewis' contract negotiations.”

You groaned, “you were doing so well, Ted!”

This particular topic had followed you since you’d joined the Mercedes Junior team alongside George in 2017. You became their test driver in 2019 with all eyes watching as you became the first female driver to win the F2 championship. George had been promised an eventual Mercedes seat first and you were happy to wait your turn at Williams.

George hadn’t exactly been thrilled as he watched you accomplish more with the midfield team than he had ever been able to; scoring five podiums and one win since you’d joined the team three seasons ago.

“I know, I know, but the rumour around the paddock is that you’re next in line for the Mercedes seat when Lewis retires.”

“If Lewis retires. And I don’t think he will.” Toto had come to you as soon as they had started contract negotiations. He’d told you flat out that they wanted to keep the former world champion on the team.

“So there’s no plans for you to reunite with your former team mate?”

“Not that I’m aware, no. Alex and I work well together and I’m quite happy with how things are going. We won a race last year, had a few podiums-”

“And the season’s been looking good this year. You’ve gotten points in every race so far.”

“I know! In a Williams!”

“In a Williams!” Suddenly, Ted did what you’d hope he wouldn’t and noticed where you were standing. “I know we’ve been talking about a move to Mercedes, but how about a move to McLaren?”

The cameraman zoomed out to show you leaning against the railing outside McLaren hospitality.

“Would you believe it if I told you they’re the only team that has the name brand Wagon Wheels?”

It didn’t seem like he believed you. “You’ve come all the way to McLaren for biscuits?”

“Not just biscuits, Ted. Wagon Wheels. Plus I need to rub my three hundredths of a second lead in Lando’s face.”

“A true quality of a good sportswoman.” He could sense you were getting fidgety as you kept checking your watch, so like a professional he began to wrap it up. “Lovely talking to you as always, I’ll leave you to your Wagon Wheels.”

“If I see you later I’ll sneak you one,” you grinned as you finally slipped away to enter the building.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“What took you so long? I saw you outside ten minutes ago.” He’d tossed his phone on the couch beside him as soon as you’d stepped foot into his room, shrugging off your spray jacket. He held his arms out wide, a silent signal for you to move into his reach, which you happily did as his hands found rest on your waist.

“Got caught talking to Ted about my move to Mercedes,” your words were mumbled through a mouthful of biscuit and marshmallow. You hadn’t been lying about the Wagon Wheels.

He pulled you forward until your knees hit the couch, forcing you onto his lap. “When did that happen?”

Licking chocolate off your lips you smirked, “It didn’t. Hi baby,” you slung your arms over his shoulders and his cold hands slipped beneath your tee-shirt.

“I missed you today.”

“You saw me in the pit lane an hour ago.”

“I know, but it’s not the same. I missed this,” he squeezed the flesh on your hips, his lips catching the underside of your jaw when you moved your head back. “You coming to my room tonight?”

“I dunno,” you fiddled with the drawstrings on his hoodie, twisting them around you finger. “Got a big race to prepare for tomorrow. Gotta keep my lead.”

You knew you should sleep alone before the race and get the full eight hours your coach was always talking about, but this man had his fingers wrapped around your heart and you knew it wouldn’t take much of his pleading or puppy dog eyes to end up in the same bed.

“Baby,” his little whine was always the same when he wasn’t getting his way, and you hated to admit it was adorable. And hard to turn down.

“We’re not having sex.”

He nodded, “just cuddling. I’ll even come to your room.”

“You say that but we’ll get in bed and you’ll try something,” you knew from experience. It’d happened before and all the thoughts about sleep and rest went out of your head the second he had his head between your thighs.

“I won’t, I swear. I’ll shower before I come over, I still have those pictures-”

“Lando,” you didn’t need to be reminded of the photos hidden away behind a passcode on Snapchat.

“Pretty please? I won’t even say anything if you want to watch that show you like.”

“You wanna watch Never Have I Ever?”

“No,” he drew out the syllable and you could feel him fidget beneath you. “But I’ll sit next to you and play on my phone while you watch it.”

“What did I ever do to deserve you,” it came out sarcastically but he just grinned, pressing his lips against your own.

“Do you think we have time for a-”

“Do not even think of finishing that question," you glared at him as he had the audacity to pout, his tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip as his fingers crept up to tug on the hook of your bra. "You have ten minutes."

part 2 | read more of my writing here.

Made to order for a sweet anon for my perfume collection xx

ﾟ｡ ⋆ mags' radio: Pls join me in my fantasy of williams being a midfield team. I really love the idea of George being jealous that reader has been able to achieve more in a Williams than he ever was. Anyway, I said that I had a bigger backstory for driver!reader and lando, so if you like this let me know and I might write the beginning of there relationship/ them revealing it to the grid. Going to do a part 2/soft launch insta series for them next! ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

taglist: @fulla02reads @lazybot @flowerchild-96 @camillalarke @cool-ultra-nerd @azxulaa @hrlzy @ghosttwit @inejghafawife @booksobsess @formulakay @1655-1485 @chonkybonky @peachiicherries @toalltheboyswhowastedmytime @lilacsimps @diaa-20 @love4lando @imsorare @lunnnix @ctrlyomomma

(if you're not highlighted I couldn't tag you. If you'd like to be removed from the tag list please send me a message.)

#waratah-vroom perfumes #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x you #f1 imagine #f1 fic recs #f1 fanfic #f1 #lando norris imagine #lando norris drabble

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fanauthorworkshop · 10 months

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Applications for the Fall 2023 session are now open!

The Fanauthor Workshop is a biannual Zoom course for writers of fanfiction. My goal is to create a supportive space for fanauthors to receive constructive feedback on fanfiction, original fiction, or creative nonfiction. If desired, I also provide guidance on moving outside of fan spheres to traditional publishing or other creative writing programs such as MFAs.

Participants of the workshop receive:

Attendance in a 5-7 week course during which you’ll provide feedback to your peers and workshop one piece of your own work, up to 6,000 words.

Access to the Fanauthor Workshop Discord server, where you’ll be able to chat with other workshop members, plus a private channel for your group specifically.

A one-hour consultation with me to go over your workshop feedback, come up with a plan for revision and/or publication, or anything else you’d like to discuss regarding your writing.

Applications close October 1. The workshop will take place weekly, beginning on Friday, November 3.

Note that usually the workshop starts in the third week of October, but I'll be traveling until November. We will be skipping over the day after Thanksgiving, November 24, and resume the Friday after.

The number of weeks the workshop will run (5-7) is dependent on the number of participants. Each workshop will have between 8 and 12 participants.

Group A: 12 to 2pm EST

Group B: 6 to 8pm EST

Additional information, my qualifications, and how to apply are under the cut.

How to apply

Eligibility

Anyone over the age of 18 who considers themselves a participant of fandom and who is familiar with fanfiction may apply.

Cost

The cost is "pay what you think the experience is worth,” with the recommended amount of $250.

There's no catch here. I just don't want money to be a deterrent for anyone.

Application requirements

To apply, you will need:

A brief cover letter discussing your fan history and goals as a (fan)writer (more specific instructions on Submittable).

Maximum 2,000 words of your writing, either original fiction or fanfiction. This may be previously published/posted work.

There is no fee for applying.

Testimonials

If you're interested in what other participants have gotten out of the workshop, check out the recent testimonials.

My qualifications

Hello! I'm @bettsfic.

I have an MFA in creative writing pedagogy and coursework toward a PhD in creative writing.

I've taught English composition and creative writing at the university level for 7 years.

I've been a writing coach and freelance editor for 3 years. Here are some client testimonials.

I'm a published author and I've won several awards (see website for more info).

I've written and posted over two million words of fanfiction, with a total of over 1.7 million hits and 140k kudos.

To learn more about me and what I'm about, here's my lowkey writing-related newsletter. You can also check out my writing advice tag where I've been answering craft-related asks for 9 years.

If the information you're looking for isn't listed here, check out the FAQ or send me an ask.

Or if you're ready, you can apply here.

#fanauthor workshop #applications open

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afterhoursgame · 1 year

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A Night With...

Undine.

You hear the loud buzzing of Saturn's wings before you actually see her enter the living room. She zips into the room with dizzying speed, shouting a quick “Hello, Hello” to you, before yelling to her sister to hurry in. Saturn twirls and spins above you, keeping herself moving as she talks.

“She has something to ask you, yes yes. Something to ask, something to ask.” She repeats.

“I’m not goin in there.” You hear Undine from the doorway.

“In, in! Come in, sister! In!” Saturn zooms over to her sister, and a small battle ensues.

You watch curiously as she tries to pull Undine into the room, and try to make out what they’re saying to each other through hushed arguing.

“Is everything alright?” You ask.

“It’s fine, it’s fine! Undine has something to ask, yes, yes. We talked about this! In, in!”

Saturn rushes out as she is finally able to haul her older sibling into the room.

Undine looks panicked and coughs loudly and fakely, straightening her a new satin dress you hadn’t seen her in before. Gone was her usual white coat, replaced with a thin, lace robe that hung just so off her shoulder. A new set of taller heels complimented the new look, making her already long legs look that much longer. You tried not to notice how high up the slit of her dress went up her left leg, choosing to instead avert your attention to lock eyes with her.

Seeing the two of you looking at each other finally, Saturn pops behind Undine, and gives her a shove, and wishes her good luck before she dives behind the couch.

Undine smooths down her hair, making her way over to you anxiously.

“Evenin’.” She clears her voice rather loudly when her voice starts cracking on your name.

“Um. So. I just. How are ya?”

You stare at her quizzically. “I’m fine. You have something to ask me?”

Her cheeks get a shade darker as she blushes, face scrunching up. “Ummm, yea, I suppose.”

She fiddles with her glasses, looking up to the ceiling. “So. Just know ya don’t have to say yes, or anything. I mean I would like if ya did, it’s just not mandatory. To say yes I mean, not that it’s mandatory I liked it. That… Okay.”

She takes an extended deep breath. “Do ya… want to maybe go to an event with me? It doesn’t have to be a date. I mean it’s for doctors and their partners, but we aren’t partners yet.”

Saturn giggles from her spot behind the couch, and Undine's face contorts even more as her own words register to her in the moment after.

“My god, not not yet.Partners does mean like… romantic partners in this case, but it can be work partners too! I mean maybe one day we could be partners, but right now I just want to know if you want to go with me?”

You both stare at each other for what feels like a century as you each process what she spewed out to you. She drops her face into her hands.

“My god, what a fuckin mess.” she groans.

“I completely understand if you don’t want to go after that. I mentioned the event to my sister and that I can bring a plus one, and how maybe you’d enjoy it? I didn’t mean to make a fool of myself.”

You think to yourself for a moment, looking over the woman you’ve been trying to get to know more personally. It might very well be a fun event, and a good way to spend some time with her, alone you think idly.

“When would it be?” You ask her, needing at least some time to prepare before you agree.

Her head snaps but from her hands. “What?”

“When is the event?”

"Oh! Um. It… it’s in a few hours?”

Your eyes travel to your half eaten lunch, and try to work through what your schedule would be after you’re done. With classes, more classes, and then more classes, spending the evening with Undine arguably sounds much better than that. So, so much better…

“I’ll go. What should I wear?”

Saturn shoots up from behind the couch, wings buzzing wildly “I can help with that yes, yes! Pretty outfits! Make you pretty, prettier! Make Undine nervous when you look nice! Come come! Bring food with you! So fun, fun!”

Saturn all but snatches you and your plate away from your seat, pulling you excitedly to her room for a makeover.

She flies in and out while you finish your food, pulling items from her own closet and yours, until she dresses you to both of your approval.

Your eyes roam over yourself, and you nod at your final look.

"Do you think she'll like it too?"

Saturn's grin overtakes her features "Yes, yes! She'll love! Let's show, let's show!"

You're dragged once more to the living room, but you feel the buzz of excitement start prickling at your skin, curious to know how Undine is going to feel about your look. The pair of you enter the room to Undine pacing and mumbling to herself incoherently. Saturn releases your hand to spin around her sister wildly.

"Look look! Dressed nice for you, so nice!”

Undine freezes in place, and you swear you can hear her gasp when the two of you lock eyes. Her face darkens in a blush, and an awkward, nervous smile tries to form on her lips.

“Wow… Don’t ya look… ya look lovely, eh? Heh, wow. Um.”

She looks to the floor as she approaches, and holds out a hand. You lay yours atop hers, and as her eyes close, she presses the lightest, gentlest of kisses to your knuckles. Your own face starts to heat up at the breaths that dust own your hand. Her head rises once more, an unsure yet gentle smile on her lips.

"Ready?"

You nod at her and follow as she guides you out, to the thrill of her young sister, who buzzes happily, legs kicking in the air.

Undine leads you outside to an automatic cab, holding to door up for each of you to slide in. She keeps your hand wrapped in hers, the thumb of her even numbered rubbing the top of yours. Undine sets the destination, and drops her eyes to your joined hands as the cab takes off.

"Is… is it okay? That I hold ya hand a little, I mean?" She asks quietly before looking at you.

You feel your face grow warm once again. "Yea, you can hold my hand."

She laughs breathily as she toys with the tips of your fingers. "Aren't ya sweet.. I'm not sure what to do ya know… when someone so pretty…"

"When someone so pretty… what?"

"Looks at me… when you..." She looks up to meet your eyes. "When you look at me. Looking as gorgeous as ever especially.. makes my mouth dry…"

You snort a little at that. "It makes your mouth dry when I look nice?"

"That… sounds incredibly dumb. I um.. I tried to think of something that might sound romantic. But I didn't want it to sound rehearsed, so I just said what came to mind. I'm thinking I probably should have cause this is getting worse by the minute the more I talk."

She clears her throat before continuing.

"So… do ya know how to dance at all? Not the best myself but I think we can we can make something work. Dont ya think?"

You smile at her, squeezing her hand a little tighter.

"I think we can"

#drabble #RO:Undine #after hours if #<3 #ahif #is this cute?#i think its fuckin cute #hope you all enjoy!#lmk your thoughts 💗💗

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justtluffythings · 1 year

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HOME: Book 2 - CHAPTER ONE

MASTERLIST

Charlie was fast asleep, sprawled out on the bench across from Veronica in their compartment on the Hogwarts Express. Bill had gone to see his friends not long ago, and Charlie had laid down for a quick nap. Veronica had taken advantage of a very rare moment to herself and pulled out a book. She had been meaning to read “Quidditch Through the Ages” since Charlie got it for her for her birthday, but she hadn’t gotten around to it as she was kept very busy this summer. She had barely had enough time to read through her second-year textbooks; she had to stay up late into the night reading them because the Weasleys kept her busy throughout the day. Plus, despite constant reassurance from Charlie, she really wasn’t sure she would enjoy it. There had never been a book she didn’t enjoy, but she wasn’t a fan of Quidditch, and while Charlie thought this book would change that, she wasn’t so easily convinced. However, she wanted to give it a chance for him, and she especially didn’t want him to have wasted his money. So, reluctantly, she began to read.

When Charlie awoke an hour later, he found her flipping to the last page with a bright-eyed gaze. Charlie knew better than to interrupt her when she was reading, so he patiently waited for her to finish. The look on her face as she closed the book excited him, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up, choosing instead to simply wait for her to say something.

A few minutes of silence passed between them before Veronica looked up at him. “Wow” was all she managed to say before he bombarded her with questions, no longer able to contain himself.

“So, how was it? Did you like it? What do you think? It’s an interesting book, isn’t it? I bet you learned a lot that you didn’t know, huh? Do you have more of an appreciation for Quidditch now? Are you more interested in it now? Would you want to play? Don’t you think you would be a wicked Seeker?”

Veronica couldn’t help but chuckle at his barrage of questions, but one in particular had stuck out to her. ‘Don’t you think you would be a wicked Seeker?’ Charlie had mentioned many times that Veronica should be a Seeker. He had said that her fast, cat-like reflexes and perfect eyesight would make her perfect for the position. ‘You’re also tiny and light, which would help you zoom across the pitch easily. Not to mention you’re the best flier I’ve ever known. You’re better than anyone in our year, and most of us have been flying from before we could even walk. You’re better than me, and that’s saying something!’ Now that she knew more about each position, she understood why he thought she would be a great Seeker.

“Why would you want me to be a Seeker? They’re the most likely to get hurt and players always try to get them out of the game first. What kind of friend are you?”

Charlie gaped at her in amazement. This was the first time she had ever given an opinion or really ever spoken about Quidditch. This gift was the best idea he had ever had. “I know, but they also get the most glory! Besides, you’d be able to avoid anything that comes your way, you’re wicked on a broom.”

“Charlie! You know how many fouls there are in this bloody game, I could get really hurt! Besides, I don’t want to be a Seeker.”

Were Charlie’s ears deceiving him or was Veronica actually considering playing Quidditch, a sport that she had despised an hour ago? “Okay, then what do you want to be?”

“A Beater…”

Charlie was surprised. That was honestly the last thing he expected her to say, although now that she mentioned it, he could see her being a great Beater. It was just surprising that she had chosen the most violent and rough position, especially after she had complained numerous times that she didn’t like how dangerous of a sport it was. Although it could definitely help her get out some of that pent up anger and frustration that she had. “A Beater? Really? Why?”

“Honestly, it’s probably not a great reason, but Kennilworthy Whisp mentioned in the Beater section of chapter six that because it needs a lot of physical strength, Beaters have usually been played by guys…”

Charlie smiled slyly and nodded, realization hitting him immediately. “Of course! And my best friend, being the feminist she is, could not stand that. You want to show everyone that girls can play Beater just as well, if not better, than any guys can, don’t you?”

Veronica’s cheeks turned the color of Charlie’s hair as she averted her eyes, nodding imperceptibly as she glanced out the window.

“Hey, come on Ronnie, I’m only teasing,” he said softly as he gently nudged her foot with his to get her to look at him. When she did, he beamed at her. “I think you would be a bloody fantastic Beater. You’re already pretty strong, but with all that Beater training you’ll be doing, you’ll be unstoppable! Besides, Beater’s also have to be great fliers, flying with one hand or even no hands sometimes. You’ll be great, Ron. I’m just so happy that you’re even considering playing Quidditch. I was starting to lose all hope.”

Veronica chuckled as she covered her face with her hands. “I know, me too. But getting to see how quidditch has evolved over the centuries since it was first created and the steps taken to make it as safe as possible… it has shone a whole new light on it and it actually seems like it’d be fun to play.”

Charlie squealed as he sprung up and jumped on her, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug. “I’m so excited!”

Veronica tried to catch her breath, but she couldn’t stop laughing long enough. Both their heads jerked towards the compartment door when they heard someone clear their throat. Veronica didn’t need to look to know who it was, which was good because she couldn’t see through the tears anyway. Charlie let her go and moved back to his seat, and Veronica used the sleeve of her sweater to wipe her eyes as Bill sat next to his brother.

“What are you two laughing so hard about?”

“Veronica wants to play Beater for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team!”

“What!?! No way, since when!?!”

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thedivinefish · 1 year

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TGIWednesday... Just a trim

TGIWednesday News

I’ve been seeing the same hair stylist for awhile now and after decades I believe I know what works for me and what doesn’t. How many of us have described to a stylist what we want in color or cut or style in glorious detail and while they seem to be enthralled with what we’re saying, they’re probably thinking, “Yeah ok, now I’ll cut it the way I want to”. Needless to say, we wound up way too short and she said at the end, “I’ll see you in 5 weeks!” More like Spring I thought to myself through a struggling smile. I am fishing for you and I to both to be clear and succinct in our communications. I also see us infusing more positive into our believe, think, know and feel concepts about everything. Wishing you and yours the very best of this holiday season and beyond. Feeling "extra crispy" from holiday stress? Schedule a 15 minute tune-up or a 30-minute transformative session today! www.jimmymackhealingshop.com

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The Certificate of Mastery Program includes 2 best-selling ebooks and 2 clearing audios plus written & video instructions, AND one-on-one time with Jimmy ALL for about the cost of a single 1-hr session! This online course is for anyone who is familiar with OR new to "fishing" and is ready to dive into the deep end & get results that are beyond the ordinary! It includes The Tackle Box & The Dowser's Handbook ebooks PLUS 2 MP3s "Clearing Dark Energies" & "Increasing Your Intuition" to help clear, strengthen and prepare your energy field for optimal “fishing” results. This is a work-at-your-own-pace curriculum that will TEACH & CLEAR you at the same time! In under 2wks you will be finished with the program and ready to fish on your own with greater results! Level II offers Practitioner Certification for those who qualify.

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Module 1 has about 3 hours of core material and Module 2 contains about 8 hours. Most people go through the course and take the test within a month but can be as fast as a week depending on how quickly you work through the pdfs, audios, videos, and testing. There is also many hours of OPTIONAL reference material.

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divinefishingtips · 1 year

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TGIWednesday... Just a trim

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365dailyaffirmations · 1 year

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TGIWednesday... Just a trim

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I’ve been seeing the same hair stylist for awhile now and after decades I believe I know what works for me and what doesn’t. How many of us have described to a stylist what we want in color or cut or style in glorious detail and while they seem to be enthralled with what we’re saying, they��re probably thinking, “Yeah ok, now I’ll cut it the way I want to”. Needless to say, we wound up way too short and she said at the end, “I’ll see you in 5 weeks!” More like Spring I thought to myself through a struggling smile. I am fishing for you and I to both to be clear and succinct in our communications. I also see us infusing more positive into our believe, think, know and feel concepts about everything. Wishing you and yours the very best of this holiday season and beyond. Feeling "extra crispy" from holiday stress? Schedule a 15 minute tune-up or a 30-minute transformative session today! www.jimmymackhealingshop.com

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advancedthetapractitioner · 1 year

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TGIWednesday... Just a trim

TGIWednesday News

TGIWednesday Download

*NEW* The Fish Market

Healing and grounding Mats for all occasions. Yes even Lily my cat uses the pet one! >>>> View Grounding Mats here Enter code: MyLiquidFishfs at Checkout for Free Shipping

Buy GCs here!

The 5 Anchors Process

The Purple Rain Process

The Magical Golden Key

View Full Zoom Replay Collection

FREE Live Appearances

Watch and listen to hundreds of Radio Show replays for FREE here in the archives from the Jimmy Mack Healing Radio show.

https://thejimmymackhealingshow.com/

Fish Food

The Daily Bread To Feed The Fish

Tell the Fish - 365 Daily Inspirations and Affirmations - by Jimmy Mack Own this e-book so that you can read inspiration every day!

From the Fish Box

**Can't See The Full Email? Click Here to View Online**

Come See Me in the Tampa Office

SWANN HOLISTIC HEALTH SOLUTIONS

Receive 24/7 Prayers from Jimmy

You can add yourself and those living in your immediate household and yes you can include pets! Merely include everyone’s names and Jimmy will add them to his daily prayers.

Use PayPal for subscription Click here Use Stripe for subscription Click here.

30-Days of Prayer - $99

Self-paced Online Courses Available Anchors Away Masterclass & Mastery/Practitioner Certification

MEMBERS LOGIN HERE

I recorded a video to tell you more about how you can get access to my brand new Anchors Away Masterclass so you can learn how to protect and clear the 5 Anchors & more.

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MLF MASTERY LEVEL 1 is open to ANYONE at anytime!

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alluringjae · 3 years

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queen of hearts - sjn

summary: for the first time, one of your star students hasn’t been fetched right after class. but when she finally does, you weren’t expecting such a fine man to be her father.

pairing: johnny x female reader

word count: 5.5k

genre: fluff, romance, comedy | ceo and single dad!johnny + ballerina!reader + modern day!au

warnings: mentions of an absent parent, johnny being an overthinker, sexual innuendos (ten saying dilf hehe), slight explicit language, technical terms of ballet, a mini reference to mean girls

author’s note: sooo i came in touch with my former dance life, which led me to write this. there are links for the variations i used; their names are underlined when they’re mentioned. i am going to get technical with ballet terms here (even when my ballet knowledge decreased), so to any dancers reading, i really did my best, so please don’t come for me or do correct me for any mistakes.

although one character and her dance background, plus the name of the setting, are real, everything else about it is still a work of fiction.

i miss dancing, no cap.

leave me some feedback, constructive criticism or hellos!

Ballet student and teacher by day, a soloist of the Korean National Ballet at night.

This was your daily routine, and it wasn’t the typical 8-5. But it’s debatable whether or not it was worse, because you’re always going overtime. That’s the thing when you’re an overachiever. Nonetheless, you loved what you do. It’s the lifestyle you gradually built since your preschool days.

Mornings on the weekdays were mostly vacant since all the kids were still in school. You’d start at 10 am for a warm-up class for the company. Before you delved into teaching and assisting, you’d train right after your lunch break. Partnering class, en pointe class, 1-on-1 sessions with choreographers, self-practice, then the company night class, that’s the organization of your week.

Now adding the teacher title, you mostly handled kindergartners to 5th graders in the academy aspect of the company. Your first teaching class would start at 1 pm. It’s when the younger students who finished their morning classes zoom into your assigned dance studio. One class would last an hour and a half, then you have a 30-minute break in between another class with the older kids. Their lesson repertoire was more strenuous due to the added across-the-floor lessons and jumps. Water was always your best friend, water refilling stations located everywhere in the company building.

You wouldn’t say you’re a strict teacher, but you weren’t shy to correct anyone from wherever you stood. You’d lightly align their arms or back properly so your students were working on the correct body parts. Compared to the other teachers, a lot of students enjoyed your kind yet frank approaches. Your former students, who’ve already gone to the higher levels, missed your lively presence and wished repeatedly that they want you back as their teacher.

“Teacher (Y/N), I miss you so much! Teacher Ten is so intense. I get the jitters especially when we’re en pointe on the floor.”

“Teacher (Y/N), Teacher Sicheng and Teacher Seulgi scare the heck out of me during partnering class. Especially when I tried to lift my partner, I keep losing focus because of Teacher Sicheng’s never-ending comments!”

Not to be sadistic, but you’d simply laugh at their minuscule complaints. Even if they’re struggling in the academy, those comments were directed to fix their techniques if they wanted to breakthrough.

“Kids, you’re going to be fine! They wouldn’t say or do those things just because they wanted to. They’re here to push you to the next level, like how I used to do with you. It’s a cut-throat industry after all.”

This was always your reply, bittersweet and truthful. Not everyone makes it, unfortunately, so if you’re really striving, you’d do whatever it takes. Throughout your career, you’re relatively impressed with how far you’ve come.

Trainee at 17, Corps de Ballet at 18, Demi-Soloist at 21, and Soloist at 23.

You’ve been a soloist for 4 years. The final stage, which was to become a principal dancer, is your running goal. Becoming a soloist was praiseworthy enough because you’ve seen so many give up in the Corps, but claiming a spot as a principal dancer has been the ultimate dream. Since you’ve watched Swan Lake for the first time at 4 years old with your parents, that’s where you found a passion for dancing and the stage. Here you are years later, practicing numerous variations daily, performing in opera houses, and mentoring all these gifted kids.

Your last class with elementary kids, which began around 5 pm, reached its end once all the students curtsied in front of you and scurried to their mothers or their nannies. The remaining plan on your agenda today was the company class at 7:30 pm, which exceeds the average hour and a half. It’s worse during show season. There have been times everyone went beyond midnight to polish every scene from head to toe.

Currently, there’s no upcoming show for the public, though the annual summer recital for the students was around the corner. Selected members of the company were chosen to perform individually in it, which was both exciting and intense. It’s also because it’s an evaluation on whether you’d get promoted in status or staying put. You’ve partaken in 3 recitals in the past, two of which elevated you from the corps and demi-soloist ranks. The recent one, however, didn’t change your soloist ranking.

It was a major first in your career in ballet, and after finding out the result of the latter, it emotionally pained you. Recalling how much soul you put into that piece, the rejection from your artistic director clenched your heart. Though in time, you moved on from it and viewed it as a stepping stone. Also, Sicheng and Ten personally stormed your apartment to pull yourself together with wine and pizza after going on a short leave.

Since you were trainees, Sicheng and Ten were your best friends in and outside the company. Working daily to occasional barhopping, that’s your youth summed up. It wasn’t because you didn’t like the girls you’ve worked with (though a lot of them were fake and bitchy), but these two were frank and humorous as hell. Together, you’d help each other with your goals rather than be competitive. Over time, Ten leveled up to a principal dancer for 2 years running while you and Sicheng were still soloists. The way you’d watch Ten take all the big roles, that’s where you want to be one day.

Back in your last teaching class, the entire dance room was vacant. Since it’s mainly used for ballet classes, you’d either run through anything you’ve practiced from the company classes and polish it or warm up a little bit more.

Except for today, this was the only free time to sew a new pair of pointe shoes because your current ones were dead. Dead in a sense that the hard shell turned soft, which won’t be able to support you when you’re up on your toes. You’re not taking any risks of minor injuries especially when you’re in the current lineup of company members performing for this upcoming recital again. You have to prove to everyone that you deserve a position as a principal dancer.

As your legs sprawled in a half middle split, your sewing equipment laid in front of you like you’re about to perform surgery, a tiny girl stood by the ajar studio doors. In her neat bun and holding on to her small duffel bag, you’re convinced everyone has gone home already since it’s quite late.

You may have your priorities as a company member, but she was still your student.

“Minji!” You shouted her name, speedily waving your hand. You’re not one to have favorites, though you couldn’t help wonder how extraordinary she was. She’s always taking charge in demonstrating the lessons to everyone and improving every session in the 3 years she’s joined the academy. “Come in! Come in!”

At age 7, she’s gotten taller through the years, above the average from how you see it. She must have amazing genetics. Her legs sauntered in seconds to you. Sitting down across you, she marveled at your setup. Specifically, at the fresh pointe shoes.

“Are those yours, Teacher (Y/N)?” She perked up, caressing its soft fabric and playing with the mini bows of the drawstrings.

“Yes, it is, Minji!” You answered while trying to insert the thin thread through the small eye of the needle. “Why are you still here? Is your nanny stuck in traffic or something?”

“My nanny went on sudden leave, so my dad’s the one fetching me. But I think he’s running late from his job.”

Oh, this was a first to know about her father. In all the years she’s been your student, you rarely caught sight of him, even in recitals. Maybe he sat in an unknown section, but you’re pretty much acquainted with all the parents of your students. Even if some were snobbier than the rest because they wanted their child to have more stage time, you still got to know them out of respect. Quite odd, if you said so yourself.

After deep concentration, the thread triumphantly passed through the eye so you tied the two ends of the thread in a double knot. Seeing as Minji attentively watched you, you tasked her to cut the ribbons of your shoes according to the trail of pencil marks. This was so she wouldn’t cut it too short or too long. While she did that, you hammered your shoes against the floor to soften the hard front, bending the shank back and forth so the arch of your feet could move without difficulty later.

Minji wasn’t expecting such loud sounds, her entire body shaken awake. Her facial expression was priceless, explaining to her, “Once you get your first pointe shoes in a few years, this is one of the basic things you need to do so your feet won’t hurt too much while dancing.”

“Will you be there to teach me how to make my pointe shoes?”

“Absolutely! Come to me first then I’ll mentor you all that I know.”

The process of sewing and breaking new pointe shoes engraved your mind since your adolescent years, with changes along the way. Inspired by some tricks from your former teachers, but there were some differing rituals you followed. There’s no definite process of it, just as long you’re comfortable to dance after.

With your feet, you stepped on the hard boxes of the shoes to soften it more, creating a popping sound. Followed by sewing your elastic bands in. For your ribbons, you liked to burn the edges with a lighter so the thread of it won’t run. Kindly asking your cute assistant for the lighter beside her, you scanned the edges back and forth the flame. In seconds, the edges had a distinct mark, fully closed. From there, you slid your feet to your shoes to make final sewing adjustments. Sewing your ribbons took you another few minutes, plus adding superglue inside the shoe so the shoe won’t collapse when it unstiffens and scratching the shank with a cutter so you won’t slip later while dancing.

Voila, the final product is done! Hopefully, it can last you a week at least.

“Wow, Teacher (Y/N), it looks pretty!” Minji applauded, collecting the mess you’ve both made to dispose of later. You, on the other hand, gave her your thanks once you applied some bandages on your big toes and put on your toe pads. Slipping inside the shoes and tying them, you rose up back to your feet and headed to the bar to break them in. From plies-relevésto forced arches, the shoes gave you the sensation that they were an extension of your feet. The ease flowed through, meaning you were ready to practice your variations.

While you stepped your shoes in rosin for friction, your curious student moved to the front where the mirror lied to watch what you’ve prepared.

“What variation are you dancing to?”

“This is the Gamzatti variation from La Bayadere.” You replied, tapping the play button on your phone and racing to your position on the side. Talking a short ballet walk, you strongly prepared your arms before the music of the orchestra takes off.

This variation consisted of a lot of jumps and turns. Grand jetés, attitude turns, chaîné turns, you needed a lot of core control and proper spotting so you won’t get dizzy. The thrilling music lessened your nerves because you enjoyed learning this piece from one of the principal dancers, smiling and letting the music guide your legs. Once you nailed 3 consecutive grand jetés, the variation ended with a sus-sous and the wrists of your hands flicking upwards.

Holding it for 5 more seconds, you landed back on your feet with heavy breathing and a need for water. But before you could, small claps and cheers from Minji in front erupted. Momentarily, you’ve forgotten her presence because dancing solo puts you in your own space. You’d never let anyone take you away from it.

“Teacher (Y/N), that was wonderful! Are you performing that in the summer recital?”

Yikes, she’s right but she wasn’t meant to see it yet. Solo performances from the company members for the recital were top secret, only unveiled during the production rehearsal. Well, you didn’t think this through, but you didn’t mind.

“Can you keep a secret?”

Time ticked a lot faster today, only 10 minutes left until the company class on the ground floor whereas you were in the second. Just a few steps down the stairs away, yet Minji was still here. You only presumed that within your hour break, her father could’ve made it already. But maybe he’s stuck in traffic or at work.

“Minji, my class starts soon. Have you contacted your father?”

“I already texted him earlier, but he hasn’t responded. This happens often, he’s a busy man.” She bowed in front of you suddenly. “I’m sorry, Teacher (Y/N) for the hassle.”

“Oh no, please!” You shook your hands so she’d stop. Because this situation was relatively new, you were unsure of how to handle it. Or that was until you remembered what Ten texted you earlier. “Minji, the blinds of the main studio are going to be lifted so anyone from the outside can view us practicing. Would you like to watch until your dad gets here?”

With her insistent nodding, she situated herself in one of the seats in the front row. When you entered the main studio, your two close companions already carried a metal barre to the center and leaned towards it while observing you walking to them in your flat shoes.

“I see we have a bit of an audience here.” Ten glimpsed at the young girl, astonished by the many dancers prepping and chatting away with their cliques from the glass barrier.

“Her dad isn’t here yet, and you did say the blinds were up today. Might as well give her a show while she waits, you know.” You lifted your right leg to the top barre, stretching it with your arms.

“Hmmm, shouldn’t her dad be more cautious though? It’s getting late and it’s a Thursday. Doesn’t she have school or something?” Sicheng pointed out, discarding his muscle tee to straighten out his leotard.

“That’s not my business though. She’s just my student, and since she’s still here, I have to entertain her while she waits.”

Before your friends said anything back, the artistic director of the ballet company strutted her way to the center of the room. It’s a common rule here that once she entered, everyone must be silent to listen and race to any free spot in the numerous barres spread out if they haven’t.

“Alright, everyone. We’ll do the typical barre, then before doing across the floor exercises, I’ll be requesting those performing solos already in the recital to dance any variation tonight as another evaluation on who deserves to perform twice.” She eyed the pianist directly beside her. “Proceed first with two demi-pliés then one grand plié. Don’t forget to do the port de bras of each position.”

As the live piano music played, your focus was divided. Partly properly executing the exercise while your artistic director roamed each barre area, partly thinking about what variation to perform. This was a first for the company, and everyone was just stunned to hear the breaking news. It’d be nice to get an extra opportunity to showcase to people your potential.

30-40 minutes flew by quickly. As the guys carried the bars to the side to clear out the floor and the girls changed to their pointe shoes, the artistic director ordered all the performers of the recitals to stand in a line in front of her. Everyone else was seated around the room, so the interested eyes of everyone were on you. There were 10 performers, half are from the corps and the other half are either demi-soloists or soloists. You and Sicheng stood beside each other, internally shaking with nerves under the intimidating eyes of the artistic director. She used to be a principal dancer for the Stuttgart Ballet in Germany before moving back to Seoul, making her undeniably capable of leading all of you.

“Okay,” From her seated position observing the 10 performers, her finger pointed at you directly. “Ms. (Y/L/N) (Y/N), you perform first.”

Your nerves intensified and more sweat streamed out your upper body. Even if going first felt more relieving, no one was ever brave enough to perform individually in front of the esteemed artistic director. Principal dancers aside from Ten that you’re close with were intimidated when they have 1-on-1 or partnering sessions with her. But anyhow, in less than 2 minutes, you’d be done. This wasn’t the first time she’s had your full attention either, so you’ll treat it like the other individual performances you’ve had.

You smiled to yourself when the other soloists left you alone, while you gave the name of the variation you’re dancing to the pianist. Running to the side to put on a practice tutu, the artistic director asked, “What will you be dancing for us tonight, (Y/N)?”

“I’ll be dancing Queen of the Dryads from Don Quixote.”

The last time you did this variation was 3 years ago during the recital that didn’t change your position as a soloist. Even if this variation hurt to think about for a while, it was still one of your favorites to watch and do. Moving on, you could only muse how powerful and beautiful you felt at that time. This isn’t an easy piece to perform in your opinion. Yet according to the members of the company, this was their favorite solo of yours.

As the starting notes unfolded, you took a deep breath and elegantly walked into the frame. You only wished you wore your fake crown again for this. Minimal smiling and light arms, you imagined yourself as an actual queen who captured the eyes of many. In this case, your fellow seniors and juniors held their breaths at the captivating sight of you.

Off you go into a series of glissade jeté developpé on relevé at elevating heights, then a fouetté arabesque and another arabesque on relevé before ballet walking again to the side to dance across the stage. Sissonne to the front, right developpé to the front on relevé, pique to prepare for a single pirouette, you gracefully did a chassé to the front twice and stood on your toes with a sus-sous.

Doing it a few more times, the climax of the entire variation was nearing. Returning to the center, you took another deep breath and lifted your left leg for the Italian fouettés. Spotting to the front and back while maintaining your balance, the variation approached its end with lame duck turns, posing with your arms were positioned at a 45-degree angle, your back slightly arched and your left leg doing a tendu derriére. Your eyes reflected at the mirror in front, surveying your alignment. Once your 5-second hold was finished, you properly put your arms down and closed your back leg into 5th position.

The applause from everyone in the room roared, Ten and Sicheng wolf-whistling even for more support. It’s a usual thing every time any of you perform individually, and no one minded it. The artistic director grinned, giving a quiet clap from the front before calling out the next performer, who was from the corps. Bowing to everyone hastily, you paid more attention to spot your student by the window. She was smiling ear to ear, waving both hands at you.

“You did amazing, Teacher!” She mouthed. Hearing words of praise from members was one thing, but hearing them from students was another. You’re so used to watching them and giving them your compliments that you often forget that you’re a dancer first before a teacher. Seeing them all delighted, saying that it motivates them more, showed that you’re doing a great job teaching them. You’re a reflection of what you pass down, and all you want was for them to be the best they could be.

From her jolly expression, a tall masculine silhouette hovered a part of the window. Her instinct of giving a brighter smile when the hand of said silhouette patted her head then carried her duffel bag again, that could only mean one thing. Excusing yourself to the artistic director, you stepped out to bid your goodbye and maybe meet her father. Minji and the tall man were about to leave the building if it weren’t for your breathy voice calling them out.

“Seo Minji and Mr. Seo?”

They stopped their tracks. Minji was fast to react, familiar with your voice and racing towards you for a sweaty hug. Meanwhile, your focus shifted once the masculine silhouette came into full view. You finally understood why Minji’s growth spurt spiked up, noticing that he was taller than Sicheng.

The top buttons of his shirt were off, yet he kept his formal blazer on. His hair was a bit tousled, some strands falling in front of his forehead. He must’ve run here. Peeking through were some roots of his scruff growing. His eyebags were almost as dark as his brown hair. Yet by the way his Rolex remained spotless, you blatantly assumed that he was more than well-off. Especially when the ballet academy was one of the most prestigious ones in Seoul.

Out of all the parents you’ve met, none of them appeared youthful like him.

“Teacher (Y/N)?” Thanks to Minji, you moved your staring eyes away from him. This was another first, since meeting only the fathers of your students wasn’t your norm. Meeting young-looking fathers, to be specific.

“O-Oh,” You ate your words, suddenly blanking out. “You’re leaving me without saying goodbye, Minji? Not polite of you.”

“My father was rushing right after watching your performance, and I don’t know why.” She responded, her finger scratching the top of her head in confusion. Speaking of said father, his strong presence appeared right in front of you. The wrinkles of his forehead creased while his eyes barely looked at yours.

“Uhm,” His fingers toyed with his Rolex. “I apologize for my tardiness. I got caught up in work and all, plus her nanny le-”

“Mr. Seo.” You halted his rambling, already aware of the situation. Like father, like daughter. “It’s fine. Minji loved watching us practice while waiting, and she wasn’t a bother either. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Phew.” He swiped an imaginative bead of sweat from his forehead, displaying his relief with his playful nature.

At age 23, Johnny Seo started his own company in the fashion scene and it grew internationally in the coming years. Then when Minji unexpectedly joined the picture, he’s been multi-tasking to make ends meet. Lately, as a CEO, he has had meetings and conferences on a daily. So, his position as a single father was always tested. It worsened when he rarely has proper time to spend any time with Minji unless it’s the weekend or late in the evening. Breaking it down, it wasn’t because he didn’t want to meet you. It was more like he couldn’t when his schedules were packed from head to toe.

Having the guilt of taking your precious time, “Seriously though, I am sorry for being late. Her nanny resigned suddenly, and I have no time to find her replacement.”

“Mr. Seo, again, don’t worry about it. As her teacher and a company member, I am practically here 24/7 so it won’t be a nuisance at all if this happens again.”

“Thank you so much, Teacher (Y/N). That is your name, right?” He planted his palm on his forehead, stressed. “Being a single parent is hard. I am always forgetting things.”

A part of you couldn’t restrain from feeling sorry for his struggle. Taking care of a child should be the work of both the mother and father, not one of them being absent. You’ve feared this would harm Minji, but she’s a strong girl.

“The fact you didn’t forget to fetch Minji despite the late time is still something to be happy over. I’m not a parent or anything, but parenting, in general, is a challenge.” You added an insight, patting the head of the young girl beside you. “Cut yourself some slack, Mr. Seo. I’m sure Minji still loves you, right?”

Minji shouted a big yes, now clinging to the leg of her father. “It’s okay, dad. Really.”

Over the years, Johnny has been doubtful of his parenting skills. He was an only child, and he struggled to ask for guidance from his own parents due to the shame of having a kid at a young age. So, he’d ask for help from his other friends and co-workers. No matter how many times they’ve reassured him that he’s doing well, he’s an overthinker who always reflected on the bad scenarios. There’s also that pressure to find someone who can fill that absent position not just for Minji, but for himself too. No matter how many girls he’s asked out or been set up with, he failed in the love department badly.

It’s the soothing way you voiced out your truth that made all these negative thoughts running through his head freeze briefly. Over the past 3 years since Minji started ballet, she always had a great story about you to share. One of them was how ballet made her a lot happier because of your influence. If he had at least an hour of his day to meet any of his daughter’s mentors, it would’ve been you.

“Do feel free to call me Johnny instead.” He casually introduced himself, taking his hand out for you to shake. “Mr. Seo makes me feel like I’m at work right now.”

Despite his informal approach, you understood his intentions and returned the action with a promising smile. “Pleasure to finally meet you, Johnny.”

“Pleasure is all mine, Teacher (Y/N).”

Earlier, the nerves from performing in front of the artistic director died down fast. But for some reason, they rose back up when you’ve spoken to this man in a matter of minutes. As someone whose feelings don’t flourish in a single glance, why did this man specifically deliver you such a strong effect?

If it weren’t for Ten calling for your name by the door, you would’ve held on to Johnny’s hand longer, which would’ve been inappropriate. Letting go first, this was your cue to return to your class.

“I must head back inside, Johnny. Don’t sweat on fetching your daughter late, though she is still a student with school the following day. Right, Minji?”

Minji nodded as Johnny kept that mind, knowing where he has to improve next. “Yes, Teacher (Y/N). Thank you again, sincerely. I’ll definitely see you again in the coming days until Minji has a new nanny.”

“That’s no problem with me at all, Johnny.”

Soon as Johnny held his daughter’s hand to exit the studio and you were re-entering the studio with an impatient Ten, he swerved swiftly as if he forgot something.

“Oh by the way Teacher (Y/N), I saw your whole performance awhile ago. I was blown away, you deserved the applause.”

Although you could only distinguish his silhouette, you didn’t suppose he watched you from head to toe. Most parents or nannies would’ve dragged their kids out of the studio once they find them like they were on a tight schedule, so this was novel to experience. That performance showed your prime too.

“Thank you, Johnny. See you again soon.”

Giving a final nod, you led yourself back to the studio, not bothering to acknowledge the erupting heat on your cheeks and entire body. Not to sound narcissistic, but compliments weren’t foreign to you. You’re conscious of the hard work that you put in your talent and if they pointed out your greatness, why would you deny it? However, receiving one from Johnny was like gearing your engine with new fuel.

Before you could try to reject these harboring feelings, Ten was fast to pick up on it. You cannot hide anything from this man at all because body language was like another language he’s fluent in (aside from the other 5). Unlucky for you, the saga continued.

“You’re so into dilfs, (Y/N)!” He shrieked in your ear, nudging your shoulder repetitively. He placed things in his own way, yet they always shocked you because it was so inappropriate. Typical Ten for you.

“Shut up, Ten!” You objected, watching the other performers. You’ve improved in ignoring his remarks over time. That was until Sicheng sat down beside you after his solo and got up in your business. That placed you in the middle of boys from the water sign clan of astrology. They just loved getting down to your love life, going raunchy and whatnot.

“Who’s into dilfs, Ten?”

“A Miss (Y/N) beside you, who met Minji’s dad awhile ago, was basically eye-fucking him.” Ten elaborated, planting his elbows on your leg and gave you a sneaky glare. “Minji’s dad is fine as fuck, guys! I’m telling you, like a literal god! I’m surprised this is the first time he showed up here after 2-3 years?”

“How come (Y/N) is always getting students with good-looking parents? Especially the single moms.” Sicheng slumped his shoulders, attempting to get your attention too. “Is he that hot, (Y/N)?”

“Yah.” Sighing with annoyance, you’ve given up trying to appreciate one of the corps dancers with her rendition of Dulcinea from Don Quixote. “Don’t speak of Johnny like that. You barely know the man, yet you talk about him so unprofessionally."

“Oh, Johnny is his name, huh?” Sicheng sing-songed, bobbing his head. He’s certainly going to stalk him later on social media, you felt it in your chest. Like it was ESPN or something.

“Talking about being unprofessional, yet you’re here referring him as Johnny, not Mr. Seo.” Ten barked back, his lips pursed and one eyebrow lifted.

Just as soon as you could retaliate, the artistic director’s velvety voice boomed the room.

“Alright, thank you to the performers. I will deliberate with the staff and principal dancers over the weekend, and let you know the results on Monday. Now please, let’s proceed to the center.”

Everyone began to spread out on the wide floor, snatching a good position so they could monitor themselves in the mirror. Maybe you’ll defend yourself later after class because now, you needed to beat everyone else and have a crystal-clear view of yourself doing these following exercises.

In the meantime, Johnny was in the middle of driving Minji home. He had a designated chauffeur, but he gave him the night off because he wanted to spend time with Minji. Around this time, she’d be sleeping soundly, but instead, she’s boosting with so much life. She hasn’t even eaten dinner yet, which was the first thing on Johnny’s agenda now.

Playing Coldplay in the car, Minji belted some lyrics from her favorite songs while Johnny smiled to himself while listening to her attentively. Taking a breath, her thoughts reverted to her fantastic ballet teacher and shared them with her father.

“Dad! Don’t you just think Teacher (Y/N) is so cool? Ugh, I want to be just like her when I grow up.”

“Oh, to become a ballerina like her, you have to work hard every day and memorize lessons fast. Are you up for it, Minji?”

“Absolutely, dad! I want to pull off perfect jumps and turns like her one day!”

In the other after-school activities Johnny enrolled Minji in the past, none of them compared to the passion she had for ballet. Her work ethic was alike to Johnny’s: if they want something, they’ll do whatever it takes to make it possible.

Aside from being a star student in her school, she’s aiming to be a star ballerina. Being the supportive father he is, Johnny was on board to do what it takes to make it happen. Unlike his parents trying to mold him into the next heir of their company, he’s all ears to the dreams of his daughter. His only dream for her was to be live long and happy, not to merely pass on anything.

Johnny lost so much in his young life, so he doesn’t want to lose Minji in any way. As much as he loves his profession, he wanted to be an active father as much as time allowed it. He mostly received complaints from others that he’s not prioritizing his time well, but after hearing your kind words, this heavy weight on his shoulders decreased. All this doubt started to vanish after meeting you for the first time.

“Dad! Isn’t Teacher (Y/N) so beautiful?” Minji honored whilst gazing at the twinkling night sky. “She loves what she does and shines at it.”

Johnny was accustomed to his female co-workers throwing themselves at him due to his attractiveness, more than flattered even to have them feeling weak for him. Yes, there were times he used it to his advantage, some he frankly turned down.

However, the radiance you carried whether you’re dancing or not was something Johnny couldn’t cease wondering about. Unknown to him, he’s the one getting weak. Behold, an unlocked first for the confident CEO.

“Yes, Minji. I do think Teacher (Y/N) is absolutely beautiful.”

471 notes · View notes

realcube · 3 years

Text

trying to be nice to their crush hcs

navi | masterlist | taglist

thank you to 🍦anon for this cute request!

characters: tsukishima, kyōtani, sakusa & suna

content warning: swearing & sexual references

kei tsukishima

♡ this is all yamaguchi’s fault （︶^︶）

♡ he found out tsukki had a crush on you bc he mentioned you a lot in conversation so yamaguchi interrogated him for answers then lo and behold, the beanpole had a lil thing for you

♡ you sit in front of tsukishima in homeroom while yamaguchi sits beside him so when you leaned back and asked him if you could borrow a pencil and he spat back a snarky remark about you being too irresponsible to care for your own pencils, yamaguchi hastily offered you one of his own before scolding tsukishima

♡ he explained to his clueless friend that being nasty to people isn’t a good way to get them to like you

♡ so perhaps he should be nicer :)

♡ honestly, tsukishima would’ve just looked yamaguchi straight in the eyes and went ‘no’, if it wasn’t for the fact you shot tadashi the sweetest smile anD PLAYFULLY BLEW HIM A KISS AFTER HE JUST GAVE YOU A DAMN PENCIL LIKE WTF

♡ after that, he decided to give up his current personality and pick up a new one

♡ jk jk

♡ but he had to binge a whole bunch of those youtube psychology videos that are like ‘psychological tricks to make people like you’ and ‘THESE 5 MIND TRICKS WILL MAKE YOU THE MOST POPULAR PERSON *EVER*’!!

♡ spoiler alert: he wasn’t the most popular person but perhaps that was bc he only went to the effort of using those tricks on you

♡ god bless him; he tries hard, he really does. (not his best, just hard)

♡ but you don’t have to be extremely observant to realise that he’s began acting different around you and of course, it confused you seeing tsukishima being nice

♡ what irritated you was how dismissive he was being of your questions though, as he was clearly trying to lead you to believe that you were crazy and he’s just always been a nice guy

♡ but as soon as he figures out that he angered you, he’ll instantly switch back to him normal self - draining his mind of the hours of phycology studying he did last night to just pretend like it never happened

♡ and if he’s feeling flirty, he might be extra mean to you （￣︶￣）

♡ also he makes a mental note to never take yamaguchi’s romance advice ever again 🙄

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥

you sighed, removing your hand from your bag after desperately rummaging through it in search of a pencil once again - deja vu. once you accepted that a pencil wasn’t going to materialise out of thin air, you peered over your shoulder and tapped the corner of yamaguchi’s desk, who wore a suspicious grin which you decided against questioning.

“yamaguchi, do you think i could borrow a pencil again? sorry, this is the last time, i swear. i’ll be sure to get some on my way home after school tod--”

yamaguchi dropped the line him and tsukishima had rehearsed many times beforehand, while clutching his pencilcase dear to his chest, “woah, (y/n). you’re so irresponsible. sorry, i can’t lend one of my pristine pencils to someone who is too forgetful to remember to buy some; what if you forget to return it to me?”

tsukishima cringed at how forced it sounded but he couldn’t help but admire yamaguchi's dedication to his role. this allowed tsukishima to swoop in, pencil in hand, “here.” that wasn’t in the script but he panicked! okay, now, eye contact.

you just sat there and stared at both of them with the most dumbfounded look plastered on your face. what just happened? why were they both acting like they were in drama class? and why are they both so bad at acting? they’re both passing performing arts for fucks’ sake!

kentarō kyōtani

♡ sorry but i firmly believe kyōtani is the sorta guy to be extra mean to ppl he fancies smh

♡ the rest of them just act (somewhat) like themselves around their crush but kyōtani is himself2 (himself^2)

♡ like one time yahaba found you trembling in your locker bc you had gotten mud on mad dog’s white shoes so he chased you through the hallways of the school, threatening to trek mud on your forehead

♡ yahaba took it upon himself to investigate as to why kyōtani was so rude to you and he got his answer as soon as he mentioned your name to mad dog and the boy’s face immediately flushed red

♡ so after practise, yahaba schools mad dog on how to get chicks (⌐■_■)

♡ in short, his advice was ‘good guys get laid’ and for kyōtani’s understanding, ‘good’ and ‘kind’ were interchangeable

♡ mad dog wasn’t completely oblivious to how he treated you and he was aware that he was far from ‘kind’

♡ although he usually doesn’t listen to people in general, yahaba seemed to know what he was talking about so he figured there was no harm in trying to be nice

♡ but ngl, he just spent the rest of the day wondering...what is kind?

♡ after a few messages back and forth with yahaba, he figured that the best place to start was by apologising for - y’know - chasing you around the whole school

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥

“oi!” kyōtani bellowed through hallway, paying no mind to the students that cast him dirty looks as his sights were locked on you. standing unsuspecting by your locker, stuffing your textbooks into your bag until you heard his deep voice echo through the hall, to which you visibly perked up and began frantically looking around.

he marched towards you, hands in pockets and when you noticed him out of the corner of your eye, you were more than ready to drop all your shit and bolt away. but he didn’t let you as before you were able to take off on your heels, he grabbed your shoulder and spun you around to face him - then he noticed your hands raised in defence by your face and your head hung low.

his heart sank and his grip on your shoulder immediately softened, “i’m not gonna punch you, idiot.” he spat, rolling his eyes and gritting his teeth, trying to appear angry in hopes you’d mistake his light blush for pure rage.

“i just wanted to say that i felt bad for chasing you through the halls yesterday - you didn’t stand a chance so i guess it was a bit unfair.” he said, frowning as you replied with silence so the duty fell on him to fill it, “and i got the stain out, anyway so.”

more silence. lovely.

suddenly, he puffed his cheeks out as his eyes snapped to meet yours and he roared, “ARE YOU GONNA FUCKING SAY SOMETHING OR ARE YOU TOO BRAINDE-”

“are you wearing eyeliner?”

and that was the true story behind why you missed last period, because you and kyōtani had a 30 minute conversation about eyeliner and make-up, then he convinced you to skip the rest of class with him so he could buy you ramen as an apology gift.

so yeah, he figured that perhaps he should try being nice more often.

kiyoomi sakusa

♡ he didn’t need someone to tell him to be nicer, he’s just predisposed to attempt to show kindness to someone he is fond of

♡ in his mind, showing kindness, respect and stripping himself of all his personality = the only way to be desirable

♡ (ofc this takes place before he meets atsumu tho lol)

♡ so it’s not the realisation that’s the problem for him, it’s the execution

♡ like how is he supposed to be nice without either sounding creepy or condescending?

♡ *cut to sakusa practising in the bathroom mirror* ‘your hand looks- no-’ he scoffs, flicking cold water onto his face, ‘your hair looks cool- pretty- nice?’

♡ *camera pans to sakusa laying in bed, staring intently at the ceiling while imagining vivid and scarily detailed scenarios about ways he could mess up while talking to you*

♡ *camera zooms in on sakusa’s face as he manifests a nicer version of himself*

♡ he might - depending on how insecure he is - watch one of those psychology videos or read a wikihow for help

♡ but other than that, he independently tries to alter his personality in order to gain your favour bc..true love ?

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥

you smiled as a basketball rolled up to your feet during gym class, followed by the sound of someone approaching you and upon raising your gaze, your eyes met sakusa’s unmistakable black ones. his face hovered only a few inches away from yours due to the fact you had both reached down to pick up the ball at the same time.

he quickly pulled himself away, tucking the basketball under his elbow as he adjusted his mask so it properly covered his face to ensure that you didn’t see the light blush slowly spreading across his cheeks. he then proceeded to blurt out what he had been rehearsing for the past few nights, “oh, thank you, (y/n). your hair looks lovely today, by the way.”

you giggled, holding your hands firmly by your side to avoid fidgeting and making it obvious that his sudden comment flustered you, “thanks, sakusa. and, if we’re handing out compliments today, i didn’t know you were good at any sport other than volleyball but you’re doing surprisingly well at basketball.” you joked, your lips slowly curling into a cocky smirk, “though, i don’t think you’d stand a chance against my team.”

god, you’re such a tease. you make it so hard for him to be nice to you. so, of course, your comment returned his ability to utter almost every sarcastic comment that comes to mind - screw being likeable. “you think so?” he quirked a brow, tossing the ball onto your lap then pacing backwards, “go on, then.”

rintarō suna

♡ it was probably those tips on social media that told him he has to be nicer

♡ and plus he saw terushima get all the chicks and he was just sitting there like ‘where are my bitches at? 🥺’

♡ anyway, all the guys on social media that had girls lining up outside their door always had one thing in common: misogyny obnoxious personalities !!

♡ and his whole personality was a sacrifice suna was willing and ready to make for just a crumb of cooch 🤲

♡ though you weren’t exactly his crush yet, suna thought you were the best person to carry out this experiment with bc he heard through the grapevine that you had a crush on him so perhaps this would make you happy

♡ he didn’t prepare much beforehand though which he immediately regretted as soon as he approached you bc admittedly, his game plan of ‘be self-assured but friendly’ was a bit vague

♡ so he basically just had to bullshit through a whole, awkward conversation with you while wearing a forced ‘bold’ smirk which, in reality, looked as though he had just seen tiddies for the first time

♡ hardly self-assured or friendly

♡ also, the fact you thought he was playing a prank on you must’ve drastically altered the results of his experiment

♡ at one point he says something extremely stupid you’d just quit playing along and just blurt out ‘wtf is wrong with you today’

♡ to which he’d be like ‘ahaha, nuthin much bbg, how bout you?’

♡ THE EXPERIEMNT ISN’T OVER UNTIL HE SAYS IT’S OVER OKAy?!

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥

you rubbed your temples in order to soothe the throbbing headache suna gave you simply by existing. like yes, you had a crush on him 10 minutes ago - but that was before he came up to you and started acting like terushima on dodgy medication. “oh and your skin is glowing bab--”

“jesus christ, rintarō, shut up!” you cried, gripping the edge of your skirt to prevent your self from delivering a swift punch right to his stupid face. he’s seriously gotten on all your nerves at this point; firstly, by spamming your phone in the middle of the night asking for homework answers (accompanied by cursed memes) as he actually managed to wake you up. secondly, by acting so oblivious to the fact you clearly had a crush on him and now, this!

heat rose to his cheeks in embarrassment as his creepy smile instantly fell right back into his resting bitch face, “this isn’t working, is it?”

“what’s not working?”

suna scoffed, rolling his eyes - his façade having evidently disappeared. “this.” he sighed, looking around as if someone was going to save him before his eyes finally settled on you and he was reminded of what he wanted in the first place, his sparkle was rekindled for just a moment which caused him to blurt out, “just fuck me already, i’m not asking for much.”

672 notes · View notes

warmau · 3 years

Text

"i don't even like bugs."

jaemin shrugs as he shows his intern pass to the security of the front gates of the botanical garden

he mentions that you're accompanying him today as a visitor and you smile at the guard who pays you two half a gaze

"well i mean - they're butterflies not like cockroaches or anything so have some optimism?"

you don't argue, among your group of friends jaemin is kind of the symbol of optimism. sometimes it's misguided - like now - but you don't want to put a damper on his mood

after all, he's actually here to do a job

you are here on a summer assignment you have to complete for a photography elective you added to your uni program for the next semester

"nature photography" was the highlight of the project, everyone had been emailed a subject to take pictures of while off from school

you had expected maybe the beach, or flowers, or even tourists walking around in floppy hats

when you'd opened the professor's email and saw "butterflies" you had not been thrilled

but you were lucky enough to know that jaemin had scored his current internship at the botanical gardens, and while he was working with his weirdly favorite thing in the world - fungi

he could also get you access to the butterfly garden, a large indoor space for the various breeds of butterflies from around the world, before it officially opened to the public

"the pavilion is over there, i think renjun will be able to let you in."

jaemin says, pointing down a hill lined by pretty bushes that leads to a glass structure at the bottom

you turn to ask if he wants to meet for lunch, but he's already jogging in the opposite direction

you sigh, fishing your camera out of your bag - which is something you've borrowed from your parents because 'iphone photos are not allowed'

they're just butterflies like jaemin said, they're like...cute bugs.

you tell yourself as you get closer, turning the camera on and then coming to a pause in front of the glass doors that have a clear padlock on them

you loop around and try to find 'renjun' - but no one is in sight

secretly a little relieved that you don't have to go inside right away, you try to find a part of the glass structure where you can possibly get a nice shot of some of the butterflies from outside

a lot of the vines and flowers get in the way, so you struggle until finally, you find a spot that's open and peers right into the middle of the enclosed garden

you can see the butterflies, little splashes of colors that fly past you - magnificent oranges, reds, and blues

you admit they're pretty

but they're even prettier because they're not near you

and then something - no someone - comes into your frame

his narrow shoulders are engulfed by an oversized plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up by the elbows.

over the shirt is a gardening apron and on his hands are a pair of worn-out gloves

his profile is hidden by the dark hair that falls in a curtain and ends in a tickle at his jawline.

one, bright streak of bleach blonde runs through the black.

he reaches out to touch a half-bloomed flower and you watch as the butterflies float on by him

you nearly drop the camera when he turns and locks his gaze with your own

is that renjun? if so im going to kill jaemin! he didn't tell me he was so infuriatingly pretty!

without knowing how to talk to him through the glass, and because the words disintegrate in your mouth, you point to the camera

"jaemin's friend?"

oh, you can hear through the glass

"ye-yeah!"

"one second."

the sound of a click and some scuttling turns your attention toward where the door to the garden opens for a swift second, just enough for renjun to step through, before it closes again

probably to make sure none of the butterflies get out

you grip your camera and when renjun doesn't move, you make the small trip over to him

"jaemin said you're here for a project."

renjun speaks and his voice is softer when it isn't muffled through glass

"for my photography class in the fall, my subject is butterflies."

"what kind?"

your eyes get a little wider with confusion

"what kind?" you parrot

renjun's neutral expression doesn't change

"what kind of butterflies? there are over seventeen thousand species of butterflies - we might not have the species you are looking for."

"i-" you stammer, wondering for a split second if renjun is joking around, "there isn't a specific species it's just....all of them?"

renjun tilts his head as if that notion doesn't really make sense to him, but shrugs and turns toward the door again

"im going to open it quickly so just follow me."

you make a sound of agreement, but when renjun pulls the handle and steps inside.....and you can't move.

the door closes behind him with a sound that makes you jump and renjun turns to stare at you through the glass with a furrowed brow

"what are you doing?"

he doesn't bother opening the door again and you shake your head as a shiver runs through your shoulders

"a-actually is it ok if i stay out here?"

"i thought you needed to take photos?"

"i can take them from here - this lens is r-really good."

renjun doesn't seem to be buying your excuse, but he checks his watch and nods, before disappearing back into the middle of the indoor garden

you take a second to try and figure out what happened - am i scared of going inside? is it the butterflies or is it renjun?

you decide it's the butterflies.

renjun's just a boy - you aren't scared of that, but the thought of being somewhere covered with bugs

pretty bugs or not

is kind of ..... scary.

you pick your camera back up and circle back to your original spot

although renjun is nowhere in the focus, you are delighted to see some butterflies have come to nestle among the plants in view

you bring up the camera and take some shots

one butterfly is sitting directly on the leaves - big grayish, blue wings spread open and engulfed in the sunlight that shines through the glass

you zoom in on it, capturing the full expanse of the wings that stand out on the green

you get so invested you hardly notice the door open up again and then a voice speaks from behind your shoulder

"it's a pseudozizeeria maha."

you don't turn around and just stare at the butterfly still

"a wha- what?"

"a pale grass blue. they're native to south asia but are really common here too. they were first discovered by vincenz kollar, an austrian entomologist."

the sentence nearly makes you dizzy, but you thank renjun for the information

not seeing the small shy smile that casts over his lips when you do

you want to turn and show him the shot you took, but he's already stepping past you to the other side of the pavilion

the time sort of slips away from you before you can check it again and you only leave when jaemin comes jogging down from the greenery to whisk you off for lunch

"should we invite ren-"

you start, but jaemin is already twinkling eyes and nonstop talking about all the fun fungi he's spent his day with.

when you're back home you start to look through the photos you took

most of them aren't super great and the shine of the sun reflects on the glass

you know the only way you're going to get a perfect shot (or at least an acceptable one for this dumb summer project) is if you go inside the actual butterfly garden

sighing, you click to the last shot and are surprised to see that in the far left corner you see renjun's hand - gloved and in the palm of it is a small butterfly that has landed just in time for your shutter to go off

the rest of renjun is out of focus so you can't even see his, very pretty, face

isn't it weird, that he can be around them so easily and im so scared?

you zoom in a bit and wonder how nice it would have been to get a clear photo of the moment. that would be something you could definitely submit to your professor.

before any more thoughts of renjun can float through your mind, your phone pings and you look to see jaemin's contact name

did you get your shot? you can come with me on my next shift if you want to take more photos

you type back a reply before you can even think of it in your head

really? then I'll tag along :) want to take some more photos

jaemin confirms and then sends another paragraph talking about mushrooms and leaves and plants

and you giggle because he's funny and passionate, and also

guess i might see renjun again?

it's hotter than you can put into words the next time you show up at the butterfly garden

you're standing outside in the absolute sweltering heat and maybe the thought of possible colder temperatures inside the pavilion are tempting

plus - renjun is in there - he had waved at you when he saw you standing outside again

this time his apron thrown over a short sleeve shirt and some long jeans

he had motioned toward the door but you had just played off that you were ok outside. burning alive or whatever.

you found the same spot as before, wiping the sweat from your forehead before lifting the camera up in hopes of catching a good picture

but all you see through the lens was renjun, who'd taken the time to roll up the sleeves of his shirt and had seemingly abandoned the heavy apron somewhere inside

his longer hair had been clipped back and he was reaching down to heave a bag of soil up and over his shoulder

oh my god. oh my god. oh my god.

you are caught between taking a photo and just aiming your lens somewhere else out of embarrassment

either way, renjun doesn't seem to notice and continues working, saving you from the horror that would be seeing him turn and stare back at you

but this somehow goes on for the entire time you're there

you go to snap a photo, but renjun is somewhere in the frame

it must just be bad luck and timing

but by the time you're sitting at the garden's cafe with jaemin after his shift and you're going through your photos

all of them have renjun in them somehow

"woah i thought your project was butterflies not huang renjun's?"

jaemin jokes, sipping his iced coffee with an overly excited wiggle of his eyebrows

"shuttup - i just....it's because i am taking them from the outside, i need to figure out a way to get inside and just take the photo and be done with it!"

jaemin outstretches his hand

"gimmie your camera, ill go take one"

you snatch the camera off the table and vehemently shake your head

"no. the last time i trusted you with something expensive, you broke it in the first five minutes."

"hey! i thought ipads were waterproof nowadays like technology really hasn't come that far?"

you roll your eyes in response, to which jaemin sticks out his tongue and then claps his hands together in revelation

"why not ask renjun to take the photo?"

"because i don't know him that we-"

with a dismissive wave of his hand jaemin cuts you off

"he's not a stranger - i know him! if i know him, you know him. plus renjun is super careful and responsible - he's my age and ive already heard some of the directors talking about how they'd hire him as more than an intern if he wasn't still in university!"

wow, i mean i always got the impression he was mature, but...

"c'mon, i bet he'll say yes too! he's really nice!"

finally agreeing and promising jaemin you'll ask renjun when you come back to the garden again

you pretend the nervous feeling in your stomach is just because you don't know renjun that well

not because you also happen to think he's breathtaking to look at - and that it's going to be hell trying to explain to someone who knows so much about insects that you're too scared to go inside and take a measly little photo of them

you find yourself at home, with your laptop open, googling species of butterflies because you think you should at least pick one and ask renjun if he can possibly take a photo of that one

maybe your effort will make the conversation easier

maybe he'll like that i know the latin name for a - what was it? gonepteryx cleopatra?

of course, the next time jaemin brings you along - and abandons you with a thumbs up for his mushrooms and fungi - you are frozen still at the entrance of the butterfly garden

like a broken machine - you just re-read the sign over and over again - announcing that the garden will be finally open to the public in a week

and you nearly short circuit when someone clears their throat behind you

turning around, it's of course renjun, and he's giving you a weird look that is already making this whole situation bad

"h-hey renjun-"

"do you want to go inside with me today?"

you swallow and think you should really just suck it up and go inside. the butterflies aren't going to sting, bite, or eat you - but

"a-actually i wanted to ask you does the garden have any.....any um....gonep- um whats the word gonepetry? gonepetri? um-"

without a beat renjun finishes the sentence for you

"gonepteryx cleopatra's? no, those butterflies favor the mediterranean so getting them here is hard."

"right...well actually i was wondering"

renjun blinks

"oh and you can call them cleopatra's if you want. but unfortunately no, i don't have any in the garden."

god ok, how do i pivot this conversation...

"oh that's cute, um actually i also have a question-"

he waits expectingly and for some odd reason as the second's tick by he gets cuter and you get quieter and it is just a huge mess

and you think you should just book it and let renjun think you're a weirdo

when you finally lift up your camera and take a breath

"do you think you could take the photo of a butterfly for me?"

his brown eyes widen

"oh - like the photo for your project?"

"y-yeah. it's just......im really scared to go in there...bugs are not my thing. i know it's pathetic and they're just butterflies but-"

you look down and the sun and renjun's gaze are getting too heavy to handle

"but i just don't know if i can even focus when there are so many flying around....does that make sense?"

the beat of silence that follows is almost miserable but renjun just points behind him and says

"follow me."

the next thing you know you are trying to keep up with him as he walks past the butterfly garden and down a path hugged by greenery

it's way past where you've ever been and you ask renjun where he's going

only for him to insist you hurry up a little bit

before you know it you are both standing in front of a large, open iron gate, and behind it are rows and rows and rows of rose bushes

they range in color and size and the smell that permeates the air is so lovely you suddenly feel like you're in a fairytale

renjun leans closely to inspect a couple and then stops in front of a bush adorned in the brightest pink roses you must have ever seen in your life

"butterflies are attracted to roses, the colors are vibrant and they pollinate them."

"b-butterflies pollinate? like bees?"

renjun laughs, the sound adds to the almost dreamy vibe - with the way it sounds like the lightest piano keys

"yes and look - i can understand that you'd be scared of being inside a place full of butterflies, but here in the rose garden there are only a couple here and there."

he squats down and cups the petals of a flower with such a gentleness

you follow and are surprised to see a butterfly, with bright blue wings, nestled in the center of the rose

renjun flicks his eyes to your camera bag and you immediately understand why he's brought you here

without making too much noise you get your camera out and steady the lens - just one butterfly does not intimidate you like being in a glass, enclosed pavillion full of hundreds

so you can take the photo easily - though just as you click the shutter makes a noise and the butterfly takes off

you pout and look up to see if renjun is startled by the sudden escape of the focus of your photograph

when you gasp and see that another butterfly, this one a bright orange has settled on the tip of renjun's nose

without missing the moment - you raise the camera

and snap another photo, not taking the time to adjust the zoom or anything

just wanting to capture the little miracle

the butterfly seems to recognize renjun's pretty face is not a flower, not that you fault the butterfly for thinking that it was

as it flaps its wings and goes in search of another rose

you brighten up when you look at the preview on your camera

no blur or sun glare! it's a perfect shot!

and you lean close to renjun to show him and he leans in too

and the centimeter distance only dawns on the two of you when you look up and renjun has already turned his attention on you two

a heat spreads up your face, as it does renjun's and you both pull back from the scalding feeling

"i-"

"sorry-"

shooting back up to your feet you kind of wobble in this moment of awkwardness and then renjun asks

"will you use that photo for your project?"

"oh - if you don't want me to i won't, i think i can use the other-"

"you can use it."

he rubs his arm and then locks his gaze back on you

"but does this mean you won't come back to the gardens anymore?"

i guess since my project is done, he's right. i don't have any excuse to come and bother him by loitering around anymore.

you pull your bottom lip between your teeth and give a little shrug

"probably, jaemin's internship ends soon too so-"

"then would you be ok with seeing me- well-"

renjun flusters

which is somehow a shocking different from his usual blank expression of utter handsomeness. the stark difference is loveable and you almost have to stop yourself from falling over.

"well what i mean is would you want to maybe see me - outside of the garden.....like not here but somewhere else?"

"to hangout?"

you grip your camera and renjun half nods, but then you can see he's trying to think of the right word

"yes to hangout and like....but different, like a different kind of hangout."

confusion settles on your face and you are about to ask what he means exactly when someone burst between you two

"there you two are! sorry, was i interrupting renjun asking you on a date?"

jaemin's voice manages to echo even though you're all outside

and you push him playfully as renjun rids himself of jaemin's body weight and huffs

"aren't you supposed to be looking at toadstools are something jaemin?"

"first of all, toadstools are unscientific and not the correct term for a class of mushrooms. so mind your manners, and second - why would i want to miss the exciting moment where you too finally agree to go out!"

you catch renjun's gaze and it's as big and as wide as yours

"w-was that what you were asking, if i would go on a date with you?"

the words shock you ask they spill from your mouth

renjun nods, slowly, and then casts a look at jaemin

"yes. before this one interrupted."

jaemin looks between you two as if he is guilty of nothing

for a second you forget about him and then nod back

"y-yes id love to!"

renjun's face softens and he's about to ask for your number when jaemin claps his hands and the sound probably rattles the earth underneath you three

"amazing! this is truly a moment to remember!"

you and renjun both lurch at him and he laughs as you two tell him to go back to his mushrooms

and yet somehow, you three are all smiles when the day comes to an end because you and renjun have set up a date and jaemin is taking most of the credit for it

that summer, after you send the photo of the butterfly nestled perfectly on the tip of renjun's nose to your professor, is one that stays with you forever

you spend most of it with renjun, whenever he isn't busy with his butterflies, learning more and more about him

the little things like he doesn't like cilantro, he frequently doodles and draws in his free time, and he breaks everything he does down into a meticulous step by step process

you watch in fascination as he organizes his side dishes by the order he eats them, tabs the important dates in his planner, and pins your candid photos in a perfectly straight line above his desk

you know some of his friends call him a stickler, but it's really just another thing you grow to like about him

after all - your birthday gets a special, green tab in his planner. green means extra, extra, extra important

as for the butterfly garden .... you try a couple of times to go in. each time, renjun lists off a million reasons why butterflies are great and docile and not dangerous or scary

but every time you kind of apologize and say you can't do it - which renjun doesn't hark on you for

he just takes your hand and kisses the back of it, asks if you want to go visit jaemin or see the roses again

and as much as you love your friend, there's been too many instances of renjun leaning in to tuck your hair from your face and kiss you, all while jaemin pops up between you two like he's at the movies

and you two have to turn around and shoo him off as he insists he just wants to bear witness to the romance of the century

you and renjun sprawl across his bed, looking up at the ceiling as he finds comfort in counting the stripes on your shirt in silence and you mumble about how the summer is almost over and you won't be able to just be lazy like this with him anymore

the days of doing absolutely nothing

renjun props himself on his elbow and looks at you seriously

"spending time with someone you love isn't doing nothing. it's the act of growing closer."

you almost blurt out that that's the most romantic thing you've ever heard and you are going to cry

but instead, circle your hands around his neck and flip him over to be under you

poor renjun tells his directors he got bit by a species from the culicidae family (mosquito) to try and hide the blotch on his collarbone

and while the directors are impressed with renjun's knowledge of insects, jaemin just gives him the good old finger guns of 'yeah. sure'.

your photograph gets great marks from your professor, who replies to the image with praise about the lightening and angle

and the way you managed to capture both your boyfriend and the butterfly

you read the email to renjun over the phone and can almost hear the blush on him when you say boyfriend

you wonder if the future is going to be as sweet as this summer, can someone like you who is so terrified of the creatures renjun has structured his whole life around, really be the right choice for him

and when you ask renjun this, on the day before your classes officially start in the fall

he says that you don't have to be just like him for him to love you

it's the fact that you're so very you that he feels stronger about this relationship than he has about any other

and who cares that you don't like bugs. it just means that if you live together in the future he can be the one to get the spider under the cup and let it free while you lock yourself in the bathroom out of fear

you giggle at this, your heart beating against your ribs at the thought of a future so domestic with the boy smiling down at you

and the best thing is that future comes to fruition

when a decade later you're waiting for renjun outside of the botanical garden, where he strolls out with his co-worker jaemin whose holding a funny looking pot of yellow-topped mushrooms

"date night for the newlyweds?"

he wiggles his eyebrows the same way he did when you two were in college

you shoo him off with the hand that has your wedding ring on it and you tuck your hand through renjun's

"date night for you and some fungi, jaemin?"

he makes a face at your comment and bounds off in the direction of his car

you look up at renjun who chuckles to himself and pecks your lips in a greeting

"how are the butterflies this year?"

you ask as you two turn to walk down the street

"beautiful - do you think this might be the year you finally visit the garden?"

you scrunch up your nose and mumble that maybe, you'll have to see if after ten years your fear really hasn't gotten any better

he smiles and says you can take your time - ten, twenty, thirty

he'll be by your side when you decide it is time

you stop to look at him - seeing for a moment the flash of the boy with the butterfly on his nose - and smile

"and ill be by your side for anything and everyhing too."

he picks your hand up with his own - your matching rings gleam in the setting sun

"i know, that's why i married you."

#me and the website for people who butterfly watch became besties for this au #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct au #renjun scenarios #renjun imagines #renjun au #renjun #nct dream #nct dream au #member: renjun #sfw #butterflies/#insects/#nct dream scenarios #renjun x reader #nostalgia au

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kythed · 3 years

Text

an age of miracles

synopsis: why do the most beautiful people always seem to get the short end of the stick?

tagged: atsumu miya x reader, mentions of illness, mentions of god.

commitment level: 3,617 words.

hospitals are liminal spaces. transitional, gateways between birth and death and the whole mess in between. (life.) they’re sites of both tragedy and miraculous recovery, and you’re not yet too old to stop praying for the latter.

his name is atsumu. you skim the documents pinned to his door — atsumu miya. age 21. cirrhosis.

cirrhosis is late stage liver scarring. nasty stuff. evidently, atsumu miya is in his third stage — portal hypertension. abdominal swelling. jaundice.

for a bedridden guy with a serious illness, he’s not as justifiably depressed as one might assume.

“hey, doc,” he says when you come in. he’s facing the window, letting the sunlight cast a saintly halo across his cheeks. blonde hair, an angular sort of face that’s been hollowed by illness. in another life, he might’ve been handsome.

you clear your throat, and he glances back, surprised. “ah. you’re not my doctor.”

“nope. nursing student.” you sit at the foot of his bed. “i’ll be monitoring you the next month or so as part of my studies.”

“monitoring,” he repeats drily. “you make it sound like i’m a lab specimen in a test tube.”

“means you’re special.”

“sure. ‘specially fucked up.” he’s younger than you are, but there’s an aged weariness in his gaze.

“aren’t we all, mr. miya?”

he cracks a grin. “touche. call me atsumu, though. mr. miya’s my dad.”

“as you wish, mr. miya,” you say, biting back a smile. (there are those who say sarcasm has no place in hospitals. you do not fall into this category.)

atsumu likes to play chess. the second day of your clinical, he’s got a travel sized chess board set up on his bedside table. “been dying from boredom the past few hours. think you could take a break from ‘monitoring’ me to play a game?”

you set your clipboard down. “i could. i’d advise against it, though. i’m a pretty good player.”

atsumu grins. “not better than me.”

he’s right. he beats you three games in a row before you finally snag a checkmate. (and you suspect this is only due to pity.)

“what’d i tell you, baby?” he crows, and you shake your head, raising your arms in surrender.

“it was an off day. if i’d been on my game i could’ve swept the floor with you.”

“prove it,” atsumu says, leaning forward. he’s pale from a lack of sunshine, but you notice a faint pink glow in his cheeks now. “come back tomorrow.”

tomorrow’s a saturday, and you don’t have clinical. “of course i will.”

you’re not one to back down from a challenge, no matter how trivial. plus, atsumu is fun. (and kind of cute.)

“hi. brought you something.” you set a tupperware of cubed fruit on atsumu’s lap before pulling up a chair next to the bed.

“did you make this?” he says, eyes wide.

“i just chopped up a few apples and stuff,” you say, plucking a blueberry from the container and popping it into your mouth.

atsumu shakes his head before biting into a chunk of pineapple. “you’d think it’d be hard to mess up fruit salad, but somehow this damn hospital can make a strawberry taste like cough medicine. everything they serve here tastes like cough medicine, actually.”

“delicious.”

“disgusting.” atsumu sets up the chess board. “so, like, thanks. for the fruit. can i keep the tupperware?”

you laugh. “why do you wanna keep the tupperware?”

“it’s a reminder of normality.” atsumu shrugs. “i only ever eat off chipped hospital dishes here.”

your chest throbs. “oh, atsumu.”

“don’t you ‘oh, atsumu’ me,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“sorry. yeah, you can keep it.”

(he wins at chess again.)

you’re only required to come in to the hospital three times a week, but you get into the habit of visiting atsumu every day. the first time you visit after class, you’re wearing a sweater and jeans. atsumu wolf whistles.

“damn. you look good when you’re not in scrubs.”

“are you saying i don’t rock scrubs?” you press a hand to your chest in mock offense.

“nobody looks good in scrubs,” atsumu says. “except for me, probably. i look good in anything.”

you laugh. “i believe it.”

“you’d better.” atsumu has a nice smile, you notice, wide and shiny.

you plop yourself down beside him on the bed. “hey, you wanna see a picture i took on the way here? i found a stray cat near the convenience store.”

“i’m a dog person,” atsumu says, but he nonetheless leans forward to get a look at your phone. “oh, cute.”

“isn’t he?” you say, zooming in on the little orange cat. “i think i’m gonna name him after you.”

“what?” atsumu huffs. “why?”

“because he’s good at chess,” you say.

atsumu furrows his brow. “you played chess with a cat?”

“no, i just have a feeling,” you hum, and atsumu rolls his eyes with a small smile.

“you’re stupid.”

you slip your phone back into your pocket. “in a cute way, though.”

“if you say so,” atsumu says, and you flick his shoulder. “ouch. way to bully a sick man.”

“you deserved it,” you laugh, and he joins in.

“yeah, i did.”

the next time you visit, atsumu’s family is there. his parents have kind, tired faces.

“nice to meet you,” his mom says, grasping your hand warmly. “i’m glad atsumu has a friend here.”

“mom,” complains atsumu. “i have friends.”

“none as cool as me, though,” you tease, and he smiles.

“you’re right,” he says, and his dad rumples his hair before turning to shake your hand.

“it’s great to meet you, mr. miya,” you say, returning the shake.

“the pleasure’s mine,” he says. he looks nearly identical to atsumu, just a little grayer. right next to him, there’s a boy who really does look exactly identical to atsumu, though his hair’s dyed dark and he’s a little more filled out. he has an air of begrudging maturity about him, the telltale sign of a young man who’s been forced to carry burdens that aren’t his.

“i’m osamu,” he says. he’s sitting on the chair near atsumu’s bed. “this little asshole’s brother.”

“i don’t know why you keep calling me little,” atsumu says, lightly punching osamu’s forearm. “i’m the older twin.”

“yeah, but you act like a baby.” osamu grins and leans out of reach when atsumu tries to swat at him. you chuckle behind a hand, leaning back against the wall as mr. and mrs. miya question you about your studies and hobbies.

on your way out of the hospital a half hour later, you run into osamu at the lobby coffee shop.

“so,” he says, sipping from a steaming cup. “you’re a nursing student?”

“mm,” you say, handing a fiver to the cashier to pay for your sandwich. “i’m in my fourth year at hyogo university. are you in college, too?”

“nah,” says osamu. “i play volleyball. professionally, i mean.”

“oh!” you notice the lettering on his sports jacket for the first time. msby black jackals. “that’s really cool.”

osamu shrugs. “sometimes it is. tsumu’s wanted to be a pro player since we were kids — but he won’t ever be able to do that now, of course. so that’s why i play. better to have one miya in the pro circuit than none at all.”

your heart sinks. “you’re a great brother, osamu.”

osamu shakes his head. “i’m really not. it should’ve been me in that hospital bed.”

“osamu…” you trail off as osamu just shakes his head, giving you a sad smile.

“it was nice meeting you,” he says before tossing his cup and heading back towards the elevators.

“no,” atsumu says staunchly, crossing his arms. “definitely not. i don’t read.”

“come on,” you wheedle, dangling the book in front of his face. “it’s one of my favorites, and i thought it might stave off some of that stifling boredom you always complain about.”

“i’m bored, but not that bored,” atsumu says, squinting at the book. “what is that about, anyways? the little prince? sounds lame.”

“it’s not lame,” you promise, bouncing slightly on the bed. atsumu sniffs. “okay, what if i read it to you? you don’t have to do anything but listen.”

“i’m not a child.”

“you’re acting like one.”

atsumu throws his hands up in defeat. “alright, fine. you win. we can read the little prince.”

“excellent.” you beam. “scoot over?”

“what?” atsumu says, but he scoots to the side of his bed as you kick your shoes off and curl up next to him. you feel his breath hitch as he lightly lets his arm curve around your waist.

you sigh, content, and flip to read the first page. “once when I was six years old I saw a magnificent picture in a book…”

it takes three visits to finish the entire story. atsumu sniffles when you read the last line, rubbing his eyes furiously.

“did he die?”

you trace a light circle on atsumu’s palm, smiling slightly. “i don’t know. i think it’s up to the reader to decide. he left his body, but is that really death? or is it just… moving on?”

“i think he just moved on,” insists atsumu. “he moved on and returned to the stars. he was just a kid. he was too young to have died.”

“look at you,” you tease, and atsumu flushes. “waxing on poetic.”

“it was good,” atsumu says gruffly. “thank you.”

“you’re welcome,” you breathe, and when atsumu buries his face in your neck, you realize he’s crying.

he kisses you for the first time a week later. it’s late in the afternoon, and both your faces are tinged with gold. he slips a hand beneath your jaw, and you let him slowly guide your lips to meet his. they’re soft, hesitant, and sweet, pressing against yours with an uncharacteristic shyness.

you sigh happily when he pulls you forward to straddle his lap, slipping your hands into his thick blonde hair, letting him press light kisses down the length of your neck.

“hey, beautiful,” he breathes into your collarbone, and you laugh.

“hey, pretty boy. nice to see you today.”

atsumu’s discovered a newfound love for reading ever since you read the little prince outloud to him. you’ve been bringing him secondhand books from the thrift store near your house, and now there’s a sizeable stack of novels out on the table.

“i think i’ve read more in the past couple months than i ever read in high school,” he admits, running a finger down the spine of treasure island. “you’ve turned me into a nerd.”

“you’re welcome,” you say, straightening his collar.

“it’s kind of nice, though,” he says thoughtfully, tossing the book back on the table. “to read about all these different people, all the things they do. all the stories i’m never gonna get to experience.”

“you’re getting to experience them through reading,” you correct. “that’s the beauty of fiction.”

atsumu laughs. “you’re such a sap.”

“it’s true,” you insist. “god knows life is too short to live through everything we’d like to. that’s why he gave us imagination.”

“do you believe in god?” atsumu asks softly. his stare grows distant.

you think for a moment. “sometimes i do. do you?”

“same. sometimes.” he fiddles with the hem of his shirt. “sometimes i wonder, though… like, if there’s a god, why does he hate me?”

you chew on your cheek. “why do you feel hated?”

atsumu laughs a laugh tinged with slight bitterness. “sweetheart… i’m not going to live past twenty-five, if even that.”

you swallow the knot in your throat, letting it sink deep into your stomach where it sits like a lump of copper. “well… the little prince is less than a hundred pages. sometimes the shortest books are the best reads.”

atsumu nods silently. he’s not convinced. you’re not sure if you are, either.

atsumu sleeps a lot these days. you spend as much time with him as you can, but more often than not, he’s in a half conscious daze, curled up beneath the white hospital comforter. during these times, you just set your backpack by the door the slip into bed next to him, wrapping yourself around his back and pressing your palms to his chest just to feel his heartbeat. it’s faint, but it’s steady and rhythmic. ba-dump. ba-dump. ba-dump.

sometimes, atsumu’s his usual, lively self, cracking bad jokes and poking fun at you. his smiling face has come to be your favorite picture. on these days, you bring him a hot chocolate from the coffee shop and split it with him, kissing off the whipped cream that finds its way onto his lips. he still likes to play chess, and, though he won’t admit it, you’ve been getting better. one day, you beat him, two games to one.

there are solemn, quiet times, and there are bright, cheerful times, but you savor all of them. every moment spent with atsumu is valuable in your book. occasionally, you’ll go with him out into the hospital garden, into the warmth of the sun. every so often he’ll stop, lean on you to catch his breath, but he never complains.

“look,” he’ll say instead, pointing at a vine of jasmine, or a single daisy swaying in the breeze. “almost as pretty as you.”

one day, as you’re leaving atsumu’s room, you run into his doctor in the hall.

“keep your chin up,” she says, straightening her glasses. “it’s possible he could still recover. strong young men often do.”

you nod slowly. “is he going to need a transplant?”

“well,” says the doctor, clicking on her pen absentmindedly. “if it gets any worse, yes. but i’m going to be honest with you — it’s unlikely we’ll find a donation with both a matching blood type and in good condition.”

“ah.”

“so just hope for the best.” she slips into his room before you can say another word, leaving you to lean heavily against the wall, staring at nothing in particular. miracles happen every day, you remind yourself. there’s no reason atsumu shouldn’t be the recipient of one.

“hey,” atsumu says. he whispers your name with an unusual tenderness. “i have to talk to you.”

it’s been five months since you first met atsumu on a clinical, and it’s been three months since he began to call you his girlfriend. you lace your fingers between his, giving his hand a light squeeze. “yeah, ‘tsumu?”

he takes a deep, shuddering breath. “i don’t think i’m going to… be here much longer.”

“no,” you say, chest tightening. “don’t say that. you’re gonna be fine.”

“sweetheart,” he says, voice low. he takes your chin and firmly turns your head to look at him. “i’m sorry. you know i am. i just… i’m sick. it’s hard to think straight sometimes, so i just wanted to tell you before i can’t anymore.”

“tell me what?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“tell you that i love you.”

“atsumu,” you breathe. a frustrated tear finds its way down your cheek. “i… i love you, too. but please… just hang on. they’ll find a donor. they have to.”

“they might not,” he says, and he smiles, pulling you close. you knot your hands in the front of his t-shirt, pressing your face to his chest. “don’t cry. i’m just going to go live in the stars, right? like the little prince.”

there’s so many things you want to say, like, you nerd, can’t believe you’re making literary allusions or shut up, asshole, or i’ll miss you if you do, but you say nothing, because if you open your mouth you’re sure you’ll just sob.

“don’t cry,” he says again, but he’s crying, and you lift your face to see the tears streaming. “i love you.”

your throat is too thick to say it back, but he sees it in your eyes. i love you, too.

you spend the rest of the night with him before leaving at a little past 2am, and the next morning, you get a text from osamu.

he’s gone.

you don’t cry at the funeral. it’s small, just his family, a group of close friends, and you. you don’t look in the casket, either, because you want to remember his smile, and empty bodies don’t. you sip on a paper cup of water and lean against a wall, where osamu finds you.

“hey,” he says, and you nod in return. “he left this for you.”

you take the letter from him, and after he gives your shoulder a squeeze and heads back to his parents, you tear it open.

hey, you. i’m writing this two months after you first came into my room in that god-awful set of scrubs. right now, you’re napping in the chair near my bed. you look cute. we had our first kiss last week, and i’m still walking on air. fuck, that sounds dorky. oh, well. guess i’m a dork. only for you, though.

anyways, if you’re reading this, it’s because i’ve died. whoop-dee-doo. i’ve moved on to the great beyond. i’ve fallen past the veil. whatever it is you nerds like to say. there are probably things i’m going to say to you in the next few months that are a little more… intimate, i guess? but i wanted to tell you this while it’s still fresh in my mind: you’ve honest-to-goodness saved my life. i mean, it might not go on for much longer, sure, but you really have, in a way. being sick is weird. it makes you a lot more sensitive to miracles.

you start. you don’t remember ever talking to atsumu about miracles.

someone from the outside might look at me and call me unlucky, but i feel pretty damn lucky right now. meeting you was without a doubt a miracle, and if i never got sick, it never would’ve happened. take that as you will, i guess. all i know is i’m not angry at god, even though maybe i should be. i mean, i’m still not sure he’s even out there. but there’s gotta be something, or someone, because how the fuck else could i have possibly recieved something so… great? i sure as hell never did something to deserve it. (god, i sound stupid. but it’s just hard to chalk up to coincidence.)

anyways, i love you. not sure i’ll ever get the guts to say that out loud, so i’m saying it here. i love you, and i hope you love me, too.

- atsumu

“i do,” you whisper. “i do.”

on your way home, you stop at the convenience store for a bottled water, and the little orange cat comes out and winds itself around your leg, purring.

“hey, ‘tsumu,” you say, squatting down to scratch its head. “fancy a game of chess?”

it meows back.

“yeah?” your eyes grow wet, and you wipe them on the sleeve of your sweater. “wanna come home with me?”

it meows again, and this time, you break out into full scale crying. you’re not sure if you’re imagining it, but you think you can see a tear in the cat’s eye, too.

he follows you home, and the next day, you purchase a water dish, a big bag of cat food, and a blue collar. (blue was atsumu’s favorite color.)

three years later.

“honey?”

“yeah?”

your husband comes out from the hall, buttoning up his shirt. “you almost ready to go?”

“almost, ‘samu,” you say, slipping on a bracelet. your hands are shaking, and he notices it, too. today’s the third anniversary of atsumu’s death, and it’s also the date of osamu’s first big press conference. “he’d be so proud of you, you know.”

osamu smiles. “he would. he’d be proud of you, too.”

you laugh. “what for? for marrying his little brother?”

“no, he’d probably be kind of pissed at me,” osamu jokes, before coming to stand behind you. he wraps his hands around your waist. “he’d be proud of you for finding happiness, i think.”

“i am happy,” you say, tilting your head as osamu presses a kiss to your temples. there’s a beat of silence. “but i miss him.”

“i do, too.” osamu rests his chin on your head. “he probably misses us.”

“mm,” you say. “i think he might be having too much fun for that, actually.”

“maybe,” says osamu, and he leans forward to grab the keys from the counter. “i’m gonna go heat up the car, okay?”

“sounds good,” you say, as the cat dashes into the room with a meow. a nameplate that reads ‘tsumu’ dangles from his collar. “oh, hey kitty. i forgot to feed you. i’ll be out in a minute!”

after you fill the cat’s dish and pull on a cardigan over your dress, you slip outside, shivering in the night air. the sky is clear and full of stars, and as you walk to the car, you crane your neck up to see.

“hope you’re doing well, ‘tsumu,” you whisper to the gleaming constellations.

you still have things you want to say to him, even after all these years. you want to ask him how the weather in the cosmos is, and if the fruit salad is better up there. you want to ask if he’s read any good books lately, or if he’s seen how great osamu’s serve has gotten recently. you want to laugh with him.

most of all, though, you want to let him know that he was your miracle, too.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu fanfiction #atsumu #atsumu miya #miya atsumu #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu miya x reader

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after-witch · 4 years

Text

Bad Day (Yandere Overhaul x Reader)

Title: Bad Day (Yandere Overhaul x Reader)

Synopsis: You’re in one of your… moods again, barely able to lift your head on your own. Kai wants to help you.

Notes: yandere, stockholm syndrome

You are having one of your… “off days,” again.

Kai Chisaki purses his lips behind the black face mask stretched across his face. He’s been sitting at his desk, diligently working, sneaking glances to the tablet dedicated exclusively for streaming footage from your room 24/7. It gave him solace to see you curled up reading a book or pecking away at a puzzle or humming to yourself while you cleaned up what tiny messes you were able to make in your room.

But for the past few hours, since morning actually, you had been curled up on the side of your bed doing… nothing.

He had a feeling that something was off in the morning when you did little to obey or resist him as he went about your routine. You didn’t tell him to “fuck off” which was a plus, but you didn’t greet him or acknowledge him, either. It took you far too long to put on your clothes, and Kai had almost forced himself to turn around and see if something was wrong, before you finally mumbled that you were finished.

After he’d gotten you ready, he set down your breakfast tray and mentioned that you’d be eating alone--he had something to get done. You didn’t reply. He had watched on his tablet as you slowly, almost dizzily seemed to sit down at your desk and pick at your food. A few bites, if that. Then you walked to your bed, legs nearly dragging, and curled up with your pillow.

And now, there you were, still curled up. Kai zoomed in with his stylus, and saw the hints of glinting wetness on your cheeks. You’re crying, silently. The sight tugs at his heartstrings. He could handle it when you cried during a punishment--your tears were a consequence of not listening to his superior intellect and judgement, after all. But the late night cries or the days, like this one, where you simply weep endlessly are a different matter.

He sighs and shuts his laptop with a quiet click. He opens a locked drawer in his desk and retrieves a small bag with vials and needles--in case he needs them. Then he walks the few steps to your door and knocks.

You’re crying. You barely realize it until you feel the thick wetness pooling on your cheeks as they press against the pillow. You wipe the tears away, but more come easily to replace them, and you don’t have the energy to move your hands anymore. You hope your silent tears become sobs, soon. Those feel better than the bitter quiet ones.

Everything feels heavy and slow. You curl up tighter and wish you could make the heavy weight on your chest go away. It feels like an anchor--or a night hag. You wonder if you’re dreaming, one of those terrible dreams you’ve been having since you were taken captive; the ones where you can’t move and the world is a giant rush of thick, slowing fluidity and rushing sounds but no matter what you do, how hard you try to scream through your thick tongue, you can’t move a muscle. You wake up endlessly, falsely, until finally the morning (and Kai) arrives.

But you’ve done all the dream checks Kai has taught you (you hated to admit the nightmares at first, but they got so bad that you were losing sleep, and the conversation about your dark eye circles was inevitable) and it’s clear: you’re awake.

You’re not having a nightmare. You’re just… sad.

The realization drags you down further. You’re sad. You’re sad and… there’s nothing you can do about it. You can’t escape. Even mental escapes were few and far between.

Thinking about the past makes you cry, but thinking about the future is just as crushing. What future? Trapped in a room that’s not your own, doing puzzles and reading books, eating food from trays; you felt like a specimen in a zoo, a character stray out of a science fiction short story. Come one, come all, come watch the fascinating (Y/N) as she lives in her little bubble where the only choices she has are the ones we give her!

Whoop-de-doo, you think, whoop-de-fucking-doo.

Yet even your bitter sarcasm, once something you held onto to keep you sane as your captor chipped away at your defiance, feels hollow. What’s the point? Nothing you said had any real effect on him. Or you. They were just words. You were helpless. He could close your throat with a gesture. He wouldn’t--probably, you think, probably--but he still controlled what you did and what you ate and lately, how you felt, and that was the present. Your present.

You swallow, throat dry and begging for a drink, but you can’t be bothered to get out of bed and reach the glass of water still sitting on your desk. Your eyes trace the curvature of the glass, the little beads of condensation on the rim.

You’re a few minutes into your tracing game when you hear a firm, deceptively polite knock at the door.

Oh.

He likes to knock, likes to hear you tell him “Come in.” But you don’t have the energy for that today, so you stare aimlessly at the door. A few more knocks, and then he enters, anyway. Figures.

“I came to see how you were doing,” he says.

You stare ahead, seeing him, but not focusing on him. Your eyes eventually drift back to the glass.

He watches you.

“You didn’t get enough water today, did you? You know hydration is important.”

You lick your lips unconsciously but say nothing.

“Come, (Y/N), get out of bed and we’ll get you a fresh glass of water.”

Your body, your throat, aches for the refreshment. But your mind keeps you firmly planted in bed.

Kai sighs, and you tense. That sigh either means you’re in for a lecture or some type of injection. Or both. But even the threat of a mysterious liquid burning inside your veins can’t get you to move, so you remain curled up, staring ahead.

You think about turning around so you can stare at the wall and not Kai, walking towards you, but whatever part of your brain that controls common sense overrides the impulse.

Kai sits himself on the side of your bed, his back almost carelessly brushing your legs. It makes you shiver.

“Do you feel ill?”

At that, you force yourself to whisper, afraid of what will happen if you let him go down that road again. Your voice is hoarse, dry, and painfully in need of use.

“No,” you say. You vainly attempt to clear your throat. “I’m not sick, I swear.”

“Hmm.”

Kai reaches a hand across your body and places it against your forehead. You feel his cool skin against your head and realize that he’s taken his gloves off. For you, he said once, only for you.

“Your head doesn’t feel warm.”

You dimly remember your mom saying that, once or twice or maybe a dozen times, when you were trying to fake sick to get out of school. You close your eyes and pretend, for just a second, that you’re little and under your cartoon-character-print covers and that it’s your mom touching you.

You open your eyes as Kai speaks and ruins the illusion.

“Is something bothering you?”

You’re bothering me, you think. You want him to go away. You just want to stare at the glass or the wall anything, really, anything that lets you unfocus your mind and let your emotions weigh you down. You want to cry and cry until your chest heaves and your eyes sting and snot pours down your face.

“Answer me,” he says, and you almost flinch at the order when you realize that it was spoken with none of his characteristic sternness or condescension.. Usually when you don’t listen, he gets stern, almost paternalistic in his desire to make you just listen-to-him-for-once. But now, his voice is soft. Almost… pleading, you think. Almost caring.

You whimper softly when you feel both his hands around your upper arms. He pulls you up, his grip firm but not harsh, until you’re sitting against the headboard. The position almost makes you dizzy--you’d been laying prone since the morning.

“Answer me,” he says again, this time as his hands trace the tears on your cheeks and wipe the remnants away. You wonder if he’s fighting the urge to scrub the saltiness from his fingers--they must feel dirty.

You shake your head, vaguely, softly. You stare at your hands, folded almost primly in your lap. You don’t want to tell him anything. You want him to go away so you can weep about everything you’ve lost, past, future and present. His prying makes your stomach twist with something you don’t recognize. Pity? Hope?

You look up at him and flinch.

His eyes are wet. Tears brimming underneath.

Your captor. Kai Chisaki. Overhaul. Is crying--or close to it.

Instinctively, your hand reaches for his shoulder. Now it’s his turn to flinch at your fingers curl around him, softly at first, then with a sympathetic grip.

“Don’t… don’t cry,” you say. Your stomach feels like it’s doing flips. You hate seeing him cry, and you don’t know why you should--he’s made you cry countless times.

“I’m worried about you, ” he says, “So worried.” His voice is dripping with warmth and truth. You hate it. But it makes you feel like you’re cocooned and safe, all the same.

You barely register as Kai wraps both his arms around your back and pulls you in close. The sudden gesture is shocking, unwanted. Your other hand grips his other shoulder and you want to push away, but the sudden warmth and closeness--physical interactions you haven’t been able to enjoy for months--brings tears back to your eyes. When was the last time you had been held, except in dreams?

“Please tell me what’s wrong, angel,” he says. His own voice is hoarse now, and you wonder if he’s starting to cry. Your hands release their defensive grip and you find your fingers clenching the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m just…” You struggle for the words and grip his shirt tighter. “I’m just having a bad day,” you whisper, finally. You lean your face against his chest, closing your eyes against the tears that spill down your cheeks.

Kai’s hands, which have killed countless men, rub your back softly. He shushes you, soft and plying. You close your eyes and wonder what will happen when you open them again.

#yandere overhaul #yandere kai chisaki #yandere bnha #yandere x reader #yandere #afterwitch writes

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duskholland · 4 years

Text

One Million | Tom Holland Smut

summary ↠ you’re not one to shy away from competition, so when your co-star Tom approaches you with an opportunity to secure the ultimate bragging rights, you aren’t afraid to play a little dirty... ↠ famous!y/n x tom.

word count ↠ 4.3k

warnings ↠ mxf protected sex, oral (fem receiving), fingering, swearing, fluffy feels.

a/n ↠ this took a very soft turn, but I’m not mad about it tbh. it’s definitely inspired by that thirst trap photo that Tom posted the other day. does that man ever chill??? for frame of reference, Tom currently has 35.4 million followers on Instagram, which is...insane lmao. I guess this is kind of similar to my last Tom fic, but I’m really digging famous!y/n, so I wrote it anyway and I’m really happy with how it turned out! I hope you enjoyyyy :)

18+ !!!! this contains NSFW material, so do not read if you are a minor.

“Y’know, Y/N, I think my fans love me more than yours love you.”

Your eyes widen as you take in the bold statement. With a grin rising on your face, you glance up and across the sofa, your gaze drawn immediately to Tom. Your co-star has a cocky smirk fixed to his lips, and he raises an eyebrow defiantly as he meets your eyes.

“As if,” you scoff. You sit up straighter and stretch out your back, glaring slightly at him. “My fans love me. That’s why I’ve got more followers than you on Instagram.”

“Low blow.” Tom isn’t looking so cocky now, as he draws his arms across his chest and pouts at you. You try not to stare at the way his tight black t-shirt clings to the bulge of his arms, but it’s quite difficult: Tom is incredibly attractive. “Plus, that’s barely even true. What are you at? Like, 37 million?”

You delight as you tilt your phone screen towards him, his brown eyes widening in shock as you exclaim, triumphantly, “40!”

Never one to accept defeat so easily, Tom reaches up and wraps his hand around your wrist, his touch keeping your phone in place as he brings his index finger up and begins to scroll through your feed, greedy eyes skimming over the numbers. You stay still, trying not to think about how nice it feels to have him gripping at your skin so tightly.

“Well, I get more likes than you,” he finally resolves, his words significantly weaker than they’d been previously. When you raise an eyebrow at him, he shrugs. “I do!”

“No, you don’t.” Disliking the way he seems cocky now, you shuffle up the sofa. The cushions are firm and slightly uncomfortable, but that’s what you get when you’re crammed inside a trailer on a film set. You’re just glad Tom had suggested you spend your lunch break together in his trailer rather than yours -- his, at least, has a working lock on the door and a functioning mini-fridge. “Give me that.”

He passes you his phone, and you fall to a stop when you’re sitting right beside him, your thighs now pressing together. Your teeth catch at your lower lip as you begin to scroll through Tom’s profile, your irritation slowly rising as you realise that he’s right: he does tend to gather more likes on his posts than you do.

“Shit,” you mutter defeatedly. You pass him back his phone and lean back, stretching your arms above your head as you groan softly. You can feel him, looking at you with those warm, brown eyes, his stare taking in the curves of your chest and the way you know your nipples strain against the fabric of your white t-shirt, so you make a poised effort to jut your front out just a little further than is truly necessary. When you bring your arms back down to your sides, his eyes find yours, and the way his pupils are blown a little wider brings a smirk to your face. You’d be lying if you said you viewed Tom only as a co-star, or even as just a friend: really, there’s been this palpable, will-they-won’t-they air surrounding the two of you ever since that first day on set. The timing’s never quite been right, but as your gaze shifts between his handsome, seductive grin and his phone, you have a feeling that things may change sooner than you’d imagined.

“How about we settle this, once and for all,” Tom suggests, his words slow as he thinks. His eyebrows pull together as he picks his phone up and presses the small plus button at the bottom of the app, creating a new post. “We have a little competition, right here, right now. Whoever wins gets supreme bragging rights.”

“And what exactly do you have in mind?”

Tom’s tongue slips across his lower lip, wettening it torturously slowly and his firm gaze settles on your mouth for a quick moment, his lips pulling into a slow smirk as he takes in the way you fluster beneath his gaze. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“We both post something, together, at the same time. Whoever gets to a million likes first, wins,” he explains.

“And I can post anything?”

“Anything you’d like, love.”

Your eyes narrow as the cogs begin the twirl in your mind. “And when I win..?”

“If you win, darling, I’ll let you rub it in my face as much as you’d like.”

You hum slowly, letting one of your hands fall to Tom’s covered thigh. You feel his muscles flex beneath your touch, and it makes your thoughts darken. “Let’s raise the stakes,” you suggest, “If you really believe in your popularity, that shouldn’t be an issue, right?”

A semblance of hesitation twitches out across his face, but Tom nods nonetheless. “What do you want?”

You let your hand go for a little wander, the tips of your fingers circling up to his knee. You tap a small rhythm over his jeans as you string your words together, doing your best to sound as innocent as possible as you say, “Winner takes all.”

“Winner...takes all?”

“If you win, I’ll let you do anything you want to me.”

Tom’s quiet for a moment, and the silence that envelopes you is charged with the past few weeks of lingering touches, suggestive stares, and building sexual tension. When you drag your eyes from Tom’s knee to his face, you find his cheeks tinted a light rosy red and his forehead pulled tight. His eyes narrow as he looks at you, but then one of his arms moves and wraps around your back, and he’s bringing you in closer. You lean into the touch and find yourself swinging a leg over his thighs, your body shifting in closer as you straddle him. He’s hot and firm beneath you, and you find yourself sinking into his thighs easily.

“And if you win?” Tom continues, both of his hands now resting on the curve of your waist. His fingers are light, teasing, and you try not to think about them as he drags his touch down to toy with the hem of your shirt.

You let your lips brush up against the shell of his ear as you move closer, feeling the heat radiating from his skin. His cologne is strong and distracting and a sense of lust pushes aside all other logical emotions. “If I win,” you say, whispering into his ear, “I get to do whatever I want to you.” You brush your mouth, feather-light, across the column of his neck, barely leaving a kiss to his skin.

When you move back, Tom’s face is flushed significantly darker. He tilts his head to the side, his loose curls flopping over his forehead, and he looks so fucking attractive that it’s hard to keep your mind focused when all you can think about is how lovely his head would look, buried between your thighs, or how nice it would sound to hear his deep grunts as he fucks you.

“You’re on.”

You sit back in his lap as you force your attention back to your phone, ignoring the way your body is slowly rising in temperature. You know exactly what you need to post in order to win, and luckily, you already have the shots edited and saved as a draft; you’d been prepared to post them last night but something had told you to hold back, and now that’s going to play to your advantage.

“I’m gonna win,” you tell him confidently. “There’s no way you’ll be able to beat me. May as well just throw in the towel now, Holland.”

Tom just hums in response, his eyes fixed firmly to his screen. “We’ll see about that,” he counters. “Are you ready?”

“Not gonna let me see?” You ask, taking stock of the way he’s purposefully angling his phone so you can’t get a sneaky peek.

“Nope.” His tone is infuriating and the way his eyes twinkle mischievously makes you doubt, for the first time, your ability to win this bet. “Don’t want you getting any big ideas and beating me.”

“Fine,” you grumble. You move your thumb to hover over the post button, eyeing him sceptically. “3.”

“2.”

“1.”

In sync, you press post, watching as Tom does the same. You watch as it takes a moment to load, and then it pops up into the top of your feed. You grin as you refresh, and you see Tom’s post slip up. You can’t help but sigh wistfully as your eyes take in his photo.

It’s so obviously a thirst trap, but fucking hell, you don’t care. He looks glorious. You forget for a moment that you’re straddling the man as you pinch your fingers together and zoom in on the photo, your eager eyes taking in the lines of Tom's sweaty, post-workout body. He’s posing in a mirror, the lighting all dark and mysterious, but the lines of his hard, exercised abs are clear, and his face looks so goddamn sexy pulled into an intense smirk that it makes your panties wet.

“Holy shit,” Tom says. You shake yourself out of your blissed-out thoughts and look up to him, finding him staring at his phone, looking at your post. Your lips quirk into a small smirk as you watch him swallow deeply, his lower lip pulling into his mouth as his eyes examine your photo unabashedly. “When did you become a Calvin Klein model?”

You shrug lightly. “Had a shoot a few weeks back,” you say. “I think the photos turned out quite well, don’t you?”

You know the photos are bomb. The air on set had been electric, the photographer had been a creative visionary, and you’d felt unbelievably alive the entire time you’d been posing. The branded underwear and bralette clung to your body in just the right way, and for the first time in a long time, you'd felt radiant. The photos capture that completely, and you know that you've probably played dirty - because who can resist a thirst trap? - but you can't bring yourself to feel guilty because Tom's done the same thing.

He doesn’t give you an answer verbally. Rather, Tom takes one final look at the screen, curses beneath his breath, then tosses his phone aside and pulls you closer. Your centre settles over his crotch and you find yourself raising an eyebrow as you feel his hard cock straining up against his jeans. His hand finds your face, fingers grasping at your chin, and you let him tilt your head towards him, eyes dark and heady. His mouth is close now, his breath warm and smelling of peppermint and lavender, and the temptation to dive right into kissing him is almost overwhelming, but instead, you decide to tease him a little bit.

With a slight smirk on your face, you move in, allowing yourself to grind against his covered crotch as you let your lips kiss at the corner of his mouth. Tom groans softly, the noise rattling straight through your chest and sending excitement rushing between your legs, but you reach up and curl your fingers through his hair, and delight as you continue to kiss around his face, your pecks light, always avoiding where you know he aches to feel you. He lasts a few minutes, his eyes fluttering shut as he allows you to tease him, but as you drop your mouth to his jaw and start to nibble at the sensitive skin there, Tom pushes you away.

“Such a fucking tease, love,” he murmurs, voice dark. One of his hands slips up beneath your t-shirt, skating over the curve of your back. “No bra?”

You give him a slight shrug. “No need,” you say. “You know, you’ve probably just made a million people horny, just from that one picture.” You pause as Tom’s hand skims around to the front of your body, gently, delicately shifting up to cup one of your boobs. A soft hiss passes through your lips as he drags his thumb across your nipple, his touch firm. “You’re quite the specimen, Holland.”

“Could say the same about you, love,” he returns, bringing his second hand beneath your top. He explores your front, and your body responds naturally as you push nearer to him, craving more of his touch. “Better check the likes.”

“Don’t move,” you ask him, ignoring the way his smirk drips with confidence at the words as he continues to play with your breasts. You reach down and pluck up your phone, opening up Instagram and moving to your profile. A loose chuckle falls past your lips. “I’m at 1.2 million,” you brag.

Tom growls. “What about mine?”

Your smirk is quickly wiped from your face as you find your way to Tom’s profile. “It also has 1.2 million.” You keep refreshing each post, but the numbers are moving too quickly for an outright winner to emerge. “I think we’ve tied,” you’re forced to admit.

Tom’s mouth finds your neck, and he delights in dragging his lips up and over your sensitive skin, kissing softly, deeply, tenderly, letting his teeth occasionally drag over you as you whimper. He makes his way up to your ear, his tongue swirling around your ear lobe, and you have to stifle a moan as he whispers, “guess that means we’re both winners,” in that delicious, husky voice. “C’mere.”

He finally catches your lips in his, his mouth moving fiercely against yours as you return your fingers to his hair. He groans as you pull on his strands, bringing him nearer, kissing him back just as hungrily. Your mind lingers on that image he’d posted, of himself all hot and defined and sweaty, and it brings the heat between your legs to the forefront of your mind as you start to imagine what it’ll be like to see the thing in real life.

His kisses are needy and messy - a collision of teeth and tongue, but you part your lips and you let him push his tongue into your mouth, his hands clinging to your front. As his thumbs skim around your nipples, you grind down against him, every part of you on fire as you let Tom consume you.

“Is the door locked?” You ask between hot kisses.

“Fuck,” he says as he breaks away, angling his head back to look at the rickety trailer door. “No.”

With a reluctant sigh, you catch his lips in a long, hard kiss, and then break away. You’re a little unsteady on your feet as you stagger up, your chest feeling a chill as Tom’s large hands fall away from your skin. You can feel his eyes on your ass as you quickly go to the door and turn the lock, breathing out a sigh of relief as you realise that’s it: no more distractions, only Tom, and you, and hopefully, a fuck so good it rocks your world.

When you turn around, you see that Tom’s moved. He’s ditched the squeaky old sofa in exchange for the small double bed that’s hidden in the corner of the trailer, and he’s laying across it, waggling his eyebrows seductively. You giggle as you approach him, your eyes skating over his bare chest, and you appreciate that he’s taken the time to pull off his top and jeans, and you scramble to do the same.

“If it’s a tie,” Tom mumbles, as he wraps you in his arms and presses you down into the mattress. His arms go either side of your head, his eyes skating across your naked chest. “I think it’s only fair we each get something that we want.”

You let your hand wander down his body, your fingers curving over his abs before grasping at his length over his boxers. The groan that rumbles up his throat makes you catch your lower lip between your teeth. “Seems fair,” you concede, a smirk lilting at your lips as he grinds down against your hand, pushing his aching member further into your touch.

“What do you want me to do?” He asks you.

You kiss him a few times as you ponder his question. There are about a thousand things you’d like Tom to do to you.

“Might be nice if you ate me out,” you say finally. The man raises a ruffled eyebrow as he slides down your body, grinning. His fingers push into the soft flesh of your inner thighs as he spreads them apart, face level with your hot core. A shy smile on his face, he maintains eye contact with you as he presses a gentle, dry kiss to your covered clit. “Fuck, Tom.”

He’s a tease. For a while, he seems to enjoy kissing everywhere but your centre, always lingering just over or beside your silk panties. By the time he hooks his fingers beneath the waistband and tugs them down your legs, you’re throbbing and wet, and you’re so sensitive that you’re thrusting down to meet him the second you feel his tongue dragging through your slit.

“Taste so good,” he coos, voice muffled by your heat. He wraps his arms around your thighs and holds you in place as the wide, flat expanse of his tongue leaves bold stripes up your centre, exploring and poking at your slick folds. He’s attentive — keeps an eye on you and notes the way you respond as he does certain things, and within no time at all, he’s got you moaning and squirming. The sensation of his tongue as it firms and slips into your aching hole, or as it sucks and flicks around your clit is sensational, and the fact that it’s Tom makes it a thousand times better.

“Shit, Tom, you- fuck, you feel so good.” Your hands twist around his curls, finding relief as you tug at his strands whenever his tongue caresses you particularly strongly. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

Your words seem to spur him on, and as you make brief eye contact with him and see your juices soaking his chin, you realise that’s exactly what he wants. Tom slips two fingers into your flushed entrance and coaxes up against your back wall, fucking you roughly as his tongue continues to twist around your clit.

“Cum for me, love,” he urges, speaking against your slit. “Want to watch you fall apart for me, gorgeous girl.”

You’re seeing stars before you know it, your legs tensing and your mouth falling open as you cry out, Tom’s fingers and tongue working you through it. He makes out with your heat like there’s no tomorrow, the obscene sounds mixing with the way his fingers twist and thrust, and it’s got to be one of the best orgasms of your life because you’re still shaking from the aftershocks even as he’s pulled his fingers from your cunt and pushed them into his mouth. His eye contact is unwavering as he licks his fingers clean, a dirty twinkle dancing in his eye.

“Fuck,” is all you can muster, your chest still heaving. Tom falls to rest beside you, and you’re quick to turn and move up to straddle him, enjoying the view of his flushed body as you grind your soaked centre over his boxers. “I guess it’s time that I return the favour, Tom. What would you like me to do?”

You run your fingers over the grooves of Tom’s muscular abdomen, admiring the lines of his abs as his hands wander your sides, drawing up to find your boobs again. You raise an eyebrow and draw a lovely, rattling chuckle from his mouth.

“Sorry, love, can't help myself.” He rolls your nipples between his fingers teasingly, smirking as you whimper. “There are so many things I’d like you to do…” One hand moves and he cups the back of your head to pull you in. Your lips connect in a deep kiss and you shift against him, his muffled moan sinking into your mouth as he bucks up against you. “I think I’d like you to ride me.”

“You think?”

Tom moves his hands to the curve of your bare ass and he squeezes softly over your skin, nudging the line of his strong cock further into your slit. “Y/N,” he says, eyes flooding with heat as you teasingly rock down against him, “I need to feel you. Been waiting- fuck, been thinking about you on top of me for months.”

You reach down and pull his boxers down his legs, returning to settle in his lap with a smirk on your face. “Who am I to deny that?” You ask, voice sultry. “Condom?”

Tom reaches out and rummages through a nearby drawer, procuring a silver packet with a grin.

“You fuck a lot of people in this bed, Tom?”

He splutters, and you feel bad for a moment, until he says boldly, “Not been with anyone since I met you.”

You raise an eyebrow, ignoring the way it makes your heart beat a little faster in your chest to hear those words. “Me neither,” you admit. Then you take the condom wrapper from his hand and rip it open, and the mood shifts as you wrap your hand around his length and give him a few pumps, Tom groaning deliciously in response. Once he’s full and hard, you pinch the tip of the condom and roll it down his length, settling yourself over him a moment later. You grind down for a few moments, enjoying the feeling of his rock hard tip rubbing over your clit.

“Please, love.”

You see the desperation on Tom’s face and quell it with a long kiss. Your hand guides his length between your legs and you sit back on him slowly, moaning into his mouth as he fills you up completely. Your lips separate, and for an aching moment, your foreheads are pressed together, and there’s an air of unspoken silence hanging between you as you get a little lost in his deep brown eyes. You swallow deeply, the emotions stirring in your heart making you nervous, so you quickly kiss him again, and then his hands are on your waist and he’s guiding you along.

It’s electric. As your bodies connect and you gradually begin to move faster together, you find yourself getting lost in it. You drag your lips over Tom’s necks and collarbones, kissing him and sucking lightly, and enjoying the quiet whimpers that fall from his pink lips. His hands explore you, grabbing at your ass, or your boobs, before one of them settles permanently between your legs and toys with your clit. His fingers work magic as his hips jut up to meet yours, the combination of your movements allowing his cock to hit nice and deep inside you.

You wonder why it’s taken you so long to do this with him. Tom’s eyes watch you intently, notes of adoration mixing with his obvious arousal. At some point, his free hand stretches out and tangles with yours, and then your intertwined fingers fall to the mattress and you find his lips with yours as you begin to build towards your high. His grip on your hand keeps you anchored, even as you begin to get lost in the hazy pleasure of it all, his body twitching slightly as your walls start to squeeze him.

“G’nna cum,” you manage, voice thick. Your clit pulses beneath his fingers. “Fuck, Tom, you feel so good in me. Love your cock.”

He kisses you harshly, but it fades to a softer kiss as you hold your mouth against him. “Let go, baby,” he urges, “‘m close too. Want to feel you, darling.”

It’s the way he grinds down to meet your bounce as his fingers rub your slick clit that has your breath hitching and your orgasm rippling across you. You don’t even try to stay quiet as you rock against him, his length brushing over your walls perfectly, and his face screws into a picture of orgasmic bliss as he cums with a splutter, his grip on your hand tightening as a string of curses fall past his lips.

A deep breath escapes you when you collapse beside Tom, your body blissed out and tingling warmly. A smile springs across your face as he brings your joined hands to his mouth, kissing over your knuckles softly. It’s so gentle and loving that you find yourself looking at Tom a little differently, his lips now appearing alluring and inviting, and the shaggy curls resting across his forehead endearing. You inch closer to him subconsciously, and one of his arms wraps around your shoulders to keep you against him.

“So,” he says, voice a little uncertain, lacking that normal charismatic charm. “That was…”

“Life-changing,” you suggest, punctuating it with a light laugh.

Tom nods, large hand shifting over your bare back. “You could say that.” His eyes focus on your lips for a moment, before he moves in and lets his mouth press across your forehead. “Would you want to… go on a date with me, sometime?”

You draw your lower lip between your teeth as you nod bashfully, finally allowing yourself to feel the butterflies that twinkle in your heart every time you see him.

“I’d really like that,” you admit. You press a kiss to the top of his shoulder before snuggling down, wrapping your arms around his warm chest as he holds you near. “I’d say this was a pretty good outcome to our bet, wouldn’t you?”

Tom chuckles. “Yeah,” he says. “I’d say we’re both winners.”

He kisses your temple, lips soft, and you know that he’s right: you feel like the luckiest woman in the world, to be held in his arms like this, to have felt him so intimately, to have his heart held in your hands, even if you don’t quite know it yet.

“Definitely,” you agree. “I couldn’t think of a better prize.”

And he kisses you then, mouth meeting yours in a slow burn of new love, and you know that he agrees with you wholeheartedly.

#tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland oneshot #i...would like to be tom’s co star thanks #y/n #y/n use #self insert #self-insert #famous!reader #costar!reader #smut

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crazywritertomboy1224 · 3 years

Note

(I feel you in the empty inbox too 😢 I have a deal for you, I send you this kirishima request since imma kirishima simp and you have something to write about, deal?)

How about this:

Kirishima and his girlfriend managed to sneak out of the UA campus for a night city date. They were all nervous about being caught, but those fears fade away when they started having fun. Like they went to the arcade were the tried their best to kick each others ass. (you can add whatever else you want to the date). They were having so much fun they almost lost track of time, then tried to sneak back to the dorms without being noticed, but obviously, they failed.

(if you don't mind I'll keep sending you requests :p)

I've been WAITING for a Kiri one! So happy to finally have found another Kiri simp! Sorry this one took so long, I had to get it just right, yk? (Plus I've been kinda busy ;-;) Anyways, hope you like it (and hope it brings Kiri justice)! (Also yes please keep sending in asks!!) As always, stay safe and hydrated and don't forget to eat! <3

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

Eijiro Kirishima x Reader

TW: cussing

Genre: Fluff, romantic

Word count: 1579

You cracked your door open, peeking out to make sure no one was around. After you assured the coast was clear, you slipped out, closing the door with a small click behind you.

You stood outside your dorm room, waiting patiently. A nearby door creaked open and you shushed him frantically. “Shut up! God, you’re loud.”

He just laughed quietly, pulling you into a hug and pressing his nose into your hair. You sighed in contentment, having missed these times when it was just the two of you.

“C’mon, let’s go.” He grabbed your hand and you both tiptoed down the hall, took the stairs down, and opened and closed the front doors, all with barely any noise.

Once outside, you turned around to see if you could see any lights turning on, just checking no one had heard you.

“It’s fine, babe. No one saw or heard us. We’re good, now let’s go!”Eijiro grabbed your hand and led you off campus and over to a nearby arcade.

He ran ahead of you and held the door open for you. “M’lady?” he says, a smile playing on his lips as he swung his hand in a semi-circle around, over his head, and under his other arm.

You grinned and walked in, giving him a cheek kiss as you passed. “Thhaannnkkk youuuu,” you said, drawing out your words dramatically.

He giggled and followed you in, trying to fight you to be the first to the counter. You elbowed him in the ribs, temporarily pushing him out of the running.

You ran up to the counter and slammed your hands down on the old, faded linoleum. “Two pleas- DAMMIT EIJIRO!” you screamed as Eijiro came up behind you and pulled you away by your waist.

He slid the money across the counter and turned back to you with a huge smile plastered across his face. You growled under your breath and walked up to him, looking straight up at his face, arms crossed.

“What, pebble?” he asked, tugging your hand up to the counter so the cashier could give you your band and cards.

“Oh, nothing. It’s just that I feel bad for you.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Because I’m gonna kick your ass.” You smirked, dashing off to find the first game.

You skidded to a stop in front of the only available skee-ball machine and swiped your card. Eijiro did the same on the one paired with yours. It beeped and the plastic shield above the balls slid back.

You picked up the first one and rolled it, landing it in the outer ten-point ring, Eijiro managing to make it in the twenty-point cylinder. You growled to yourself, knowing you’d have to up your game to beat him.

He glanced over at you and flashed you a grin as he rolled his second ball, making it into the ten-point this time.

You roll it with so much angry force that it actually makes it into the one-hundred slot. You freeze for a second, registering what just happened before Eijiro nudges you with his elbow.

“Great shot, y/n!” He beams a huge smile at you and you can’t help but smile back and hug him.

“Thanks, babe!” You roll another one, scoring a ten, Eijiro rolling a fifty.

“One minute left!” The machine squealed out.

You both made a show of quickly rolling all of the balls down, not really caring what holes they landed in. You ended up with 380, Eijiro with 370.

You met him halfway as your machines printed out your tickets and he wrapped you in a hug, breathing in your ear. “Good job, pebble.” He congratulated you.

“Thanks, you too," you replied, ripping your tickets off and shoving them into your back pocket.

“What’s next?” you ask him, since you picked the first game.

“Umm, air hockey? I’m not horrible at it,” he suggests, pointing to the left.

“Sounds good," you reply and he leads the way over.

You take your positions at either side of the table and swipe your cards. You place your hand on your paddle as Eijiro does the same. The puck falls out on his side and he places it in front of his paddle, swatting it over to you.

You swat it back at him, aiming for his pocket. You missed and he deflected it, shooting it back toward your pocket with a little wrist flourish.

You tried to defend it and send it back at him, but you missed and it landed straight in your pocket. You sighed as you grabbed it and placed it back on the table, cracking your neck.

Eijiro laughed. “Why- why are you-” He doubled over in laughter. “Why are you- why are you cracking your- popping your- your neck?” He asked, stuttering from laughter.

You glared at him playfully. “Because I’m about to beat your ass.”

His face suddenly went serious. “No way.” He deflected your shots and sent the puck spinning into your pocket time after time after time until the buzzer went off.

He won… 26-1. He laughed and hugged you. “I love you!” He said, grinning. You sighed in acceptance but were unable to stay mad at him.

“Why do you have to be so cute?” You mock-complained, pressing your face into his chest as he wrapped his arms around you tightly.

“Alright, let’s go. What’s next?” You stood up on your tiptoes and looked around, eyes scanning and mapping out the whole place.

“Hmm… bumper cars?” You suggested, lowering yourself back to the ground and shrugging.

Eijiro reached out and grabbed your hand. “Great idea! Let’s go.”

You dashed across the building and joined the line. You checked the time on your watch. “Oh, shit. Kiri, it’s already two am!”

“Oh shit.” He flipped his wrist to check his own watch and his eyes widened. “Okay, after this, we go back.” You nodded.

After what felt like forever, you were at the front of the line. You showed the nice girl your bands and she let you in. You sat down in the [____] one, your favorite color, while Eijiro chose the red one.

You zoomed around the track, waving pageant-style at him as he hunched over the wheel in the little bumper car that seemed way too small for him. You laughed, throwing your head back as you finished in third place all in all, first between you two.

You stood up, brushing off your clothes, and walked over to help a struggling Kirishima out of his doll-sized car. “Need some help?” You asked, chickling as you extended your hand to him. He took it with an annoyed face but you could see in his eyes that he was joking.

You pulled him up by his hand, your fingers lacing together by instinct once he rose completely out. He wrapped you in a hug as you waited in line to leave.

“Ugh, bottle-necking us like this isn’t cool.” He muttered against your hair, annoyed at the people who designed it with only one exit gate.

You giggled against his shoulder and pull away, leading you out in a hurry. “SHIT!” You yelled. “That took an hour!” Eijiro froze in terror, staring at his phone.

“Fuck. Kaminari and Mina have been texting me.” He said, tapping the screen.

“Dammit. Jirou and Momo have been texting and calling me.” You replied, opening the messages to tell them you’re fine.

You finished texting before him and grabbed the front of his shirt, guiding him out of the building and back to the dorms.

You pulled the doors open and saw Mina and Momo. They were sitting on the couch, sipping tea. Mina looked over as you two walked through the doors. “Care to explain where you’ve been all night?” She asked, raising an eyebrow over her mug.

“Uh- we were with… Denki and Jirou,” Kirishima tries to explain. You nod, thinking you might be able to get away with it.

Denki and Jirou pop their heads over the back of the other couch. Mina looks over with a pointed expression. “Care to try again?”

“We wanted to get away for a bit, just the two of us and have some fun before finals. We were at the arcade down the street.” You blurted out, ducking your head in shame.

“Why didn’t you invite us? We could’ve all hung out!” They exclaimed, clearly riveted that you didn’t invite them.

“Like we said, we just wanted some alone time. Sorry guys, maybe next time?” Eijiro responded, placing a hand around your waist and pulling you close.

Mina seemed satisfied with that answer and sent you off to bed while the four of them stayed downstairs, doing whatever the hell they were doing.

Before you went into your dorm, Eijiro pulled you close and smothered you in a hug. You pulled away, tired, but he gripped at the back of your hips and pressed a sweet, loving kiss to your lips and another to your forehead.

“Goodnight princess. I love you.” He whispered into your ear, hugging you tight one last time.

“Goodnight my manly man. I love you too.” You kissed his neck, which was the highest part you could reach.

You both turned around and went into your separate dorm rooms to sleep in your own separate beds that night. You fell asleep smiling and all the second thoughts you’d ever had slipped away. This was exactly what you needed.

#eijiro kirishima #kirishima eijirou #eijirou kirishima x reader #eijiro kirishima x reader #kirishima x y/n #fluff #kirishima fluff #eijiro kirishima fluff #mha #asks #thanks!#<3

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