#she should be at the club. for free. they should pay her to be at the club | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kujousgf · 8 months

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WEST COAST. mdni. 18+.

pairings: older!natasha romanoff + f!maximoff!reader

summary: in which natasha agrees to help with a bake sale and you both stumble into admitting your feelings

warnings: legal age gap (natasha is 43 and reader is 22), pining lesbians, top!natasha, bottom!reader, finger sucking, light dom/sub dynamics, fingering, brief daddy kink

wc: 5.7k

a/n: thank you very much for this request, it gave me brain worms, also this is not proof read so :]

“Come on, Tash, please? Mom said you’d go with me because she’ll be busy with B and T’s school fair.” You practically beg the older woman, holding your cell phone carefully between your cheek and shoulder as you finish mixing up the ingredients for the cupcakes you were baking; it wouldn’t be the first time you dropped it in some cake batter if you weren’t careful. Half of them were for Billy and Tommy’s school fair and the other half were for the bake sale you were helping out with at your university. You had taken it upon yourself to do the baking this year because you knew your mother, Wanda, would be busy with work and getting your younger brothers ready for the fair. They were always very hyper and excitable, it took a lot to round them up. You didn’t really mind though, you did have some extra free time and you always got restless when you truly had nothing to do.

Natasha chuckles on the other end of the phone, “Your mom can say anything she wants, sweetheart. That doesn’t make it true, that just makes her Wanda.” She can practically hear you rolling your eyes as you groan at her response. She’s typing lazily with one hand as the other holds her cellphone, not paying nearly as much attention to her work as she should, especially with the deadlines coming up for this quarter. She can’t help it, though, you rarely call her like this, and when you do she wants to give you as much attention as she possibly can. “Besides, I thought this was something you could handle on your own. You’re a big girl, aren’t you? A little bake sale shouldn’t scare you.”

“Ugh, I’m not scared, you jerk. I just think it would be a little easier if I had someone to help me! And, I want to check out everything else too. I heard the haunted house this year is gonna be amazing! Peter’s working on it with MJ, I just have to go,” you put the phone down on the counter and put it on speaker, not wanting to risk dropping it while you pour the batter into the cupcake tray; that wouldn’t be the first time either. “It won’t be as much fun if I’m by myself, and Kate will be busy trying to make people want to join the archery club. Please? It’ll be so fun, I’ll even give you a cupcake for free.” You try to bargain with her, knowing that she’s always been a fan of your baking since she’s so terrible at it herself.

The bake sale was a part of your university’s fall celebration. Every October, they held a bake sale, a club fair, a haunted house, games and some other things in the week leading up to Halloween. This was your fourth one, and usually, you’d force your friend Kate to help you, but this year she’d agreed to help out with the archery club before you could ask. Not that you minded, because when you brought it up, your mother had absentmindedly suggested that maybe Natasha could help you since she couldn’t, and you would never say no to spending time with the redhead. You don’t know when exactly your schoolgirl crush on your mother’s friend turned into the very real thing it was now. You wouldn’t even say it was a crush because at this point you were certain you were damn near in love with the older woman, but you knew it was something you could never have. So, even as you and Natasha grew closer as you grew older, becoming something akin to friends now that you’ve reached your early twenties, all you could do was cherish the time you got together.

You can hear Natasha sigh before she responds, “Fine, but you better make it two or I’m leaving before you get to that haunted house.” You’re about to thank her profusely before she speaks again, effectively cutting you off before you even started, “Now, listen, I’d love to stay on the phone with you, but if I’m gonna take the day off tomorrow, I’ve got some work to finish. I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

You both bid each other goodbye and once you hang up the phone, you smile giddily. Natasha was going to take the day off tomorrow for you. Natasha, who was always busy with work, was going to take the day off so she could help you with your silly fall bake sale. “Oh my God… Oh my God!” You feel like a teenage girl with a crush again, getting so excited over something so simple, but you just can’t help it because you know if anyone else had asked, Natasha would have said no. You check the time to make sure none of your family members would be home soon before you call Kate. You just have to tell her about this. You have to get out all your nervous excitement and giddiness before you see Natasha tomorrow, you’ve always been afraid she could see right through you and your feelings. You didn’t need to be more obvious than usual tomorrow.

And, yeah, you do make two cupcakes specially for Natasha with red icing because you know it’s her favorite color even though the rest of the icing is orange and black.

Tomorrow comes quicker than both you and Natasha would like. You, because you still don’t know what to wear, and honestly, you’re a little worried Kate might come by and say something stupid. She’s always telling you to just put it out there and let Natasha know how you feel, but you can name at least a thousand reasons why that is the worst idea she’s ever had. Not including when she broke the church’s bell tower by accident when she was a freshman. First and foremost being that Natasha is your mother’s best friend, Natasha is twice your age, and ruining the little platonic relationship that you have with Natasha would hurt you more than when Karolina Dean moved away in the seventh grade when the two of you had what you would now call some sort of situationship.

And Natasha, because she doesn’t really know why she agreed to do this at all. She really does have work she needs to get done and there’s truly no reason she couldn’t have told you to ask one of your university friends to help you, she knows Kate isn’t your only friend, far from it. Well, the first part of that is a lie– she does know why. She knows exactly why she agreed to help you, she agreed because you asked. What she doesn’t know is what she’s going to do around you today with no one as buffer. No Wanda, no Billy, no Tommy, not even her sister Yelena, it’s just you and her. Sure, there would be other students on campus and coming up to the bake sale table, but in her mind, it’s still just you and her. She doesn’t like when it’s just you and her, because when it is everything feels too real. Suddenly, when it’s just the two of you, there’s no reason for her to hold back. And she knows she needs to hold back, she has to because there’s no world in which you would ever be allowed to be hers.

You’re holding up different sweaters in the mirror, trying to figure out which looks better with the particular shade of denim you’re wearing, when you hear a knock on your door and your mother walks in. “What’s up?” You turn your head to look at her before turning back to the mirror, still trying to decide. “The one with the brown in it,” she hums, walking over to sit on your bed. She’d always been able to tell just what you were thinking even if you didn’t ask. “You’re overthinking this sweater a lot. Are you sure it’s just Natasha that’s going to be with you today?” You weren’t prepared for her question and your eyes widen just the slightest and you hope she doesn’t notice. “Yeah, just Natasha. Kate’s doing her archery thing, and I think America is helping MJ and Peter with the haunted house.”

“Okay… Well, if there was someone, you know it’s okay for you to tell me, right?”

“Mom!” You groan, she seriously cannot be doing this right now. You’re a grown woman, for god’s sake… but you do appreciate how much she cares for you, you just can’t tell her. Ever.

“Alright, alright! I just wanted you to know. The boys and I are going to be leaving in a few minutes. You should come say goodbye to them, I think they’re going to stay at your father’s tonight...”

You make a noise of agreement, nodding. You know there was a ‘but’ that she wanted to say, but you both knew what it was without her saying it out loud. They were supposed to stay with Vision last weekend too, but that never happened. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Wanda squeezes your shoulder as she walks past you, and you wait until she’s shut the door before you let your head fall back slightly, staring up at the ceiling. You can’t help but think she’s known for a while, and you feel slightly nauseous at the fact. If she knows, maybe Natasha does too, and that just can’t happen.

Natasha arrives a few minutes after Wanda and the boys leave, opting to pull into the driveway when she sees the lack of her friend’s minivan in it. She told you she’d pick you up because it made no sense to take two cars and she had to pass your house to get to the university anyway. She takes two seconds before she turns the car off and gets out. She’s too old to be acting like an insecure teenager, she can do this. She’s dressed for the occasion, wanting to fit into the fall theme, wearing a nice knit sweater and a casual pair of pants.

Her heart squeezes when you open the door and you’re wearing your own knit sweater, she forgot how cute you looked during the fall. “Tasha! I’ll just be a few minutes, I have to get everything packed up and put my shoes on, but then we can go. Come in!” You’re out of her sight as quick as you stepped into it, wanting to get everything done as quickly as possible. You didn’t want to make her wait.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t make me stand out here the whole time.” Natasha steps inside, wiping any dirt off of the bottom of her boots on the doormat. She’d take them off, but there’s no point if you’ll just be leaving in a few minutes, anyway. Sue her. “Where are those cupcakes I was promised?”

“They’re on the counter, the red ones.” You call out from the kitchen, you weren’t expecting her so early or maybe you’d lost track of time after you said your goodbyes to everyone earlier. It’s a comfortable silence as you move around the room, packing everything up while Natasha eats her cupcakes, offering to help you every few minutes, but you just wave her off. She wouldn’t usually let you do that, but she was enjoying the food, so she’d settle for not letting you bring anything out to the car, she’d do that herself.

“Okay, done!” You say, proud of how quickly you’d gotten everything done, and turn to look at Natasha only to find her already looking at you. You feel heat rush to your cheeks and you avert your gaze quickly. “I can see that. You put your shoes on and I’ll bring everything out to the car.” She doesn’t phrase it as a question, but you open your mouth to object anyway, only to be interrupted before you can speak, “It’ll be faster this way, won’t it? Go put your shoes on, cupcake.”

The name leaves you grumbling as you huff and walk out of the kitchen, knowing she’s right. Natasha only chuckles before she starts bringing everything out to her car, making sure that nothing is going to accidentally get squished or have their containers tipped over. Once everything is settled, she grabs the latte from the cupholder in the front seat and meets you at your front door as you’re locking it, “This is for you because I know you spent way too long in the kitchen last night.”

“Non-dairy?”

“Of course.”

“Then thank you.” You take the cup from her, your breath hitching when your fingers brush and bring it up to your lips to take a drink. “Oh my God, this is good.”

“I figured you’d like it. Now, come on, weren’t you the one who said we needed to get there early?”

The car ride passes comfortably, with the occasional small talk, but mostly the radio playing quietly in the background while you sip on your latte and Natasha taps against the steering wheel in time with the song. You find that you don’t need to talk to enjoy your time with her, just being with her is enough. Feeling her presence around you is enough for you to feel relaxed and get that warm feeling that only Natasha can give you. When you arrive and Natasha finds somewhere to park, you take a quick scan of the quad. Thankfully, she was able to find close parking, which is a miracle, really. Your eyes light up when you spot Professor Potts standing near an empty table which you can now only assume is for the bake sale.

“I’ll be right back, I just have to go talk to Professor Potts for a second.” You point behind you with your thumb and then turn to leave. You only take two steps before you’re turning your head to look at Natasha again, “But, actually, since I know you won’t let me help, you can start bringing everything over to the table. I’ll be right next to it.”

Natasha laughs a little under her breath at how quickly you went from ‘you’re not carrying everything yourself, Tasha’ in the car to ‘actually, you do everything’ now that you were actually here. “Yes, Ma’am.” She teases, and you roll your eyes at her before starting to walk over.

It doesn’t actually take long for Natasha to bring everything over to the table, and by the time she’s done, you’re wrapping up your conversation with Professor Potts– Pepper, as you usually call her. You were just double checking the details of the bake sale and what the prices were supposed to be before you properly set everything up, but you didn’t think Natasha would be particularly interested in that conversation, so you figured she’d be happy enough to bring everything over while you talked. “Oh! Pepper, this is Natasha. Natasha, this is Pepper. She’s one of the professors who helps run the student societies!”

“It’s nice to meet you, Natasha. I didn’t realize Y/N was bringing her partner today.” Pepper smiles and holds her hand out for Natasha to shake.

“Oh, she’s n–”

“It’s nice to meet you as well. It was a bit of a last minute thing, something about Kate and archery, but I’m sure it’ll be fun.” Natasha shakes Pepper’s hand, mirroring the other woman’s smile.

“Speaking of Kate and archery, I’m sure you two can manage this just fine on your own, because I have to go find her and make sure that her ‘advertising’ of the archery club doesn’t include any actual arrows this time.” Pepper sighs, and Natasha just laughs like she knows exactly what it’s like to deal with Kate’s antics, before Pepper walks off.

You stare at Natasha wordlessly for a couple of seconds, thinking maybe she’s going to say something about the fact that she just implied the two of you are together, but instead she just raises an eyebrow at you. “Are you going to tell me how you want this table set up or am I just supposed to guess?”

“Oh– no, yeah, I’ll help.” Your cheeks heat up as you start telling her where you want everything placed and start to write the prices on the little chalkboard easel Pepper had put on the table. You quickly forget all about the incident as you start setting things up and your friends stop by the table to talk before going to tend to their own responsibilities. You don’t really pick up on the way they all point out Natasha’s presence, meaning to tease you, but you just tell them happily that she’d agreed to help because Kate couldn’t.

The rest of the bake sale goes on like this until you run out of things to sell, some people making comments about how good of a pair you and Natasha made or saying something about how they didn’t realize you’d have someone with you here today. You seemed to ignore it, not saying anything about it or giving any indication that it made you uncomfortable, but Natasha was quick to pick up on what the implications were. It didn’t help, she realized, that the color palettes the two of you chose to wear complimented each other so well that it looked a little like your outfits were matching.

The way in which you acted as if these comments were normal and that you might have expected them or even welcomed them makes Natasha’s brain go haywire. She can’t help but think of all the things this could possibly mean, but the final thought her brain lands on is that she can’t help but wonder if it would be wrong of her to bask in this for just a little bit. She had already not corrected Pepper when she implied you were together– though, that was more so because she didn’t want to embarrass either of you. So would it be so wrong for her to lean into that? To let everyone think you were a couple? To treat you like you were her’s for just a little bit? She doesn’t think so.

You’re in almost a daze as the rest of the day goes by. Natasha takes you to the haunted house like you wanted and holds your hand the whole time so you don’t get too scared. If you had known Yelena was helping inside the house, you might not have wanted to go so bad. She’s still holding your hand when you exit the haunted house, and she continues to hold it when you talk to Peter and MJ when you spot them outside. She lets go when she gets a phone call and gives you an apologetic smile and excuses herself, but not before giving your hand a little squeeze, and you feel your heart leap in your chest. All of this feels too natural, being with Natasha like this. Holding her hand, laughing with her, walking with her. It’s now when you realize just how close you and Natasha have been all day and you stumble in the middle of your sentence while talking to MJ.

“You okay there?”

“Yeah!” It comes out too loud and too quickly, “yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired, you know. Long day and late night last night baking.”

“Mm… Nothing to do with your woman over there?” MJ points not so subtly over at where Natasha is currently talking on the phone.

Your eyes go wide, “She’s not– she’s not my woman, MJ!”

“You’ve been holding hands this whole time and she’s… here instead of at work,” she gives you a look like she doesn’t believe you at all, “seems like your woman to me.”

“Yeah! Mr. Stark only ever takes time away from work if Ms. Potts asks him to and you know how they are, Y/N.” Peter chimes in.

You feel your face go red hot and you groan, “can we please stop talking about this right now?”

“Stop talking about what?” You jump when Natasha suddenly appears beside you and wraps her arm around your waist.

“Oh, we were just talking about how scared Y/N got in the haunted house.” MJ lies smoothly before giving you a look.

“Yes, but now we’re done talking about that and we should get back to our table to clean up properly.” You change the subject, trying not to focus on Natasha’s arm wrapped around you, but it’s lighting your body on fire and it’s very hard to focus on anything else. She squeezes your side softly and nods, “sure. It was nice talking to you, MJ, Peter. Good job on the haunted house.”

You barely let Peter get out a “Thanks, Ms. Romanoff!” before you’re slipping out of Natasha’s hold to grab her hand and practically dragging her away from them. She heard the conversation starting from you stuttering over the implication that you’re together, but for you, she can pretend she didn’t hear a thing. So, instead of bringing it up, she gives your hand a soft squeeze. “It’s okay that you were scared, you know? You don’t need to be embarrassed, Yelena can be pretty terrifying when you actually get a look at her.”

“Tasha!” You scold, swatting at her shoulder, “don’t be mean to your sister,” but you can’t help but giggle just a little bit. She only chuckles, and despite the way you’re both struggling to decide whether to bring your feelings up or not, you settle into the comfortable existence you share with each other.

Before you know it, you’re in Natasha’s car again and on your way to her house. She said she just had a couple of things to do in her home office before she would take you home again, but she would try to be as quick as possible. Technically speaking, your mother should be done with Billy and Tommy’s school fair and you could just ask her to come pick you up, but you don’t tell Natasha that. You would much rather get to spend some extra time with the older woman (and you love the way her house smells) than go home and inevitably spiral as you think about the day and everything that’s happened with her before calling Kate and spilling everything.

When you get there, she tells you to make yourself comfortable and help yourself to anything in the kitchen if you want to before she disappears into her office at the end of the hall. You settle down on her couch and scroll through your phone for a few minutes before you start to get bored. You consider the fact that Natasha is working on her day off and think that maybe she’d appreciate a coffee, especially if she didn’t have to make it herself, so you stand up and wander into the kitchen. It’s nice and modern, but it has a few personal touches that make it distinctly Natasha. You notice that the coffee maker is right on top of the counter and you look in the cupboard for a mug before you get started on making her coffee.

You’re pretty sure that the only thing Natasha likes in her coffee is a little bit of sugar, so you take a little look around the pantry until you find some, and when the coffee is ready, you pour it into the mug before adding a little sugar. You hum to yourself and make sure you haven’t spilled anything on the counter, picking up the mug and then starting the path to Natasha’s office. This all feels so natural, that the usual nervousness of doing something like this for the older woman doesn’t even creep in until you actually see her.

You knock on the door, waiting a second before opening it with your free hand. “Tasha?” You push the door open and Natasha looks up from the paperwork on her desk to greet you with a smile. “You get bored out there, sweetheart?” She puts her glasses up on the top of her head and turns to look at you properly.

“I. um, made you coffee. I figured you might want some since you weren’t expecting to have to work today.” You walk towards her desk and when you’re close enough, she takes the mug from you and leans up to press a soft kiss to your lips as a sign of her gratitude, “thank you, sweetheart.”

Your brain short circuits.

She almost drops the mug onto the floor.

You just look at her, frozen, for a few seconds as you watch the wheels turning in her head. She puts the mug down on the desk carefully as she tries to figure out what exactly she’s going to say now. She hadn’t even really thought about it before it happened, it just felt so natural and like something she’s supposed to and allowed to do. But in reality, kissing you has never been any of those things. She’s never done that before even that one time you got so drunk, you practically begged her to. She’s been very careful with her actions and with restraining herself, but now? What does she do now?

“Natasha...” Your voice comes out almost like a whisper and for some reason, you’re a little afraid that she’ll tell you to leave. That she had just been caught in the moment and she would never knowingly kiss you under any other circumstance.

Natasha opens her mouth to speak, but then she gets a proper look at you standing nervously in front of her and she mutters a ‘fuck it’ under her breath. “Come here, baby.” She pushes her desk chair out slightly and guides you into her lap without any kind of resistance from you. You fidget in her lap, not used to this kind of proximity with the older woman. “I’m gonna kiss you again, alright?”

With those words, it’s like a switch flips and you surge forward to crash your lips against hers. She lets out a little surprised noise before she kisses you back properly, moving her lips against yours and resting her hands on your hips. She lets you lead for a bit until you get a bit too bold for her liking and she grips your hips harder as a warning. She was in charge, not you, and she was going to make that very clear.

Almost immediately she’s dominating the kiss, and you tangle your fingers in her hair. Her glasses fall off somewhere behind her, but neither of you really care enough to check where. You only pull away because you need to breathe, and when you do, your chest is heaving and you’re a little dazed. Natasha coos and reaches up to cup your cheek, rubbing her thumb against your soft skin. “Do you need a little break, sweetheart, hm? You look a bit flustered.” She teases before swiping her thumb across your bottom lip, and you grumble slightly, “I’m not–”

Natasha pushes her thumb into your mouth and presses down on your tongue before you can finish, “ah, ah, don’t talk back to me, Y/N,” she scolds, and you whine quietly. You want to bite down on her thumb in retaliation for the use of your actual name, but you know that will only make things worse for you. Not that things are particularly bad right now, you’d probably take anything Natasha gave you, but you’d prefer her cooing over you and doting on you at the moment.

Instead, you suck softly on her thumb and you know it’s the right decision when she hums in approval. It was almost too easy for the two of you to fall into this rhythm, like you were meant for each other. You both knew exactly what the other wanted and you’d do anything to please her while she’d do anything to keep you happy. Her other hand squeezes softly at your hip before it begins playing with the waistband of your jeans. “We’ve had a long day, huh? You did so well at the bake sale, you deserve a reward, don’t you?”

You nod, looking at her pleadingly and whining softly. Your clothes feel too warm and you want her to touch you, and she’s wearing too many clothes, and you want to touch her, but her thumb is in your mouth and you can’t just push her away. So, you opt for looking like a kicked puppy until she understands what you want.

“What is it, hm?” Natasha pulls her thumb out of your mouth and you chase after it slightly until you realize that maybe she wants you to actually tell her and you open your mouth to speak. Your breath catches in your throat, though, when her other hand trails down and cups your clothed cunt. “Do you want me to touch you, is that it?”

“Tasha, please.” You whimper. You can barely feel anything through your jeans and it’s already driving you crazy. You just hope she’s not the type to tease.

“Alright, alright, arms up.” Natasha chuckles and waits for you to follow her instruction before slipping your sweater off over your head. Her eyes darken as she takes in your bra clad chest and she greedily gropes at your breasts for a moment. “So pretty,” she mumbles, leaning in to kiss softly at your neck.

You moan softly and you clutch at her sweater. Natasha’s hands on you feel better than you ever could have imagined, and you’ve spent more time than you care to admit imagining this. She’s not too rough, but she’s not too soft either. She touches you with the perfect amount of force and it makes your head spin.

Her hands trail down your chest and then your stomach, leaving goosebumps in their wake, before her fingertips dance across the waistband of your jeans. “You looked so cute today in your little fall outfit. Do you know how hard it was for me to keep my hands to myself?” Natasha pulls back, her skilled fingers now moving to unbutton your jeans. “You make things so hard for me, sweetheart. It’s like you’re trying to torture me.”

“I just like to look nice for you, Tasha. Is that wrong?”

“Up.” She taps your thigh, and you stand so that she can tug your jeans down for you to step out of. Normally, you’d be a lot more shy about undressing like this for the first time, but right now you just can’t seem to care.

Natasha pulls you back down into her lap and then pulls you in for a kiss. Her hands find purchase on your hips and her tongue finds its way into your mouth, easily gaining dominance over you. You moan into her mouth as your fingers tangle in her hair again, trying to pull her impossibly closer.

And then finally, after what seems like forever, she slips one hand inside your panties. The gasp you let out when her middle finger ghosts over your slit is like music to her ears, and she pulls away from the kiss so she can see your reactions properly.

“No teasing, Tasha, please.” You whine, your hands dropping to her shoulders. “Shh, I’ll give you what you want, sweetheart.” She slowly begins rubbing circles against your clit and you’re all whimpers and whines as she does.

She takes her time, using her other hand to tug the cups of your bra under your breasts so she can play with your nipples, pinching them and rolling them between her fingers all while keeping the same steady pace in slow circles around your clit. She basks in the noises she’s able to pull from you even with the lightest of touches. She considers taking you to her bedroom so she can fuck you properly, but she think she wants ot save that for another day. This will have to do for now.

“Inside, please, Tasha.” You whimper pathetically, hands bunched up in her sweater as you try to be good like she wants you to. She takes pity on you when she pushes two fingers into your drooling hole. She curses under her breath, “God, you’re so wet, sweetheart. Is this all for me, huh?”

You nod, desperately wanting her to move her fingers. “All for you, Tasha.” You attempt to bounce up and down on her fingers, but her free hand moves down and holds you still. “Please, I can’t– mph!” You interrupt your own begging when Natasha begins thrusting her fingers in and out, the angle forcing the heel of her palm to press against your clit. You bite down on your bottom lip to stifle your moans, embarrassed about how loud you’re being already.

“That’s it, baby.” Natasha breathes, taking in the sight in front of her with eager eyes, “You take my fingers so well, sweetheart.” She praises, curling her fingers inside of you. You reward her with a particularly high pitched moan and you just barely notice the pink tint of her cheeks. It seems she's enjoying this just as much as you are. Something about having you like this drives Natasha wild. Being able to hear your moans and see the expression on your face makes her almost lightheaded with desire.

“Oh God, Natasha.” You moan loudly when she grinds the heel of her palm against your clit and presses against the sensitive spot inside you at the same time. Natasha coos, and it doesn’t take long with her fucking you like that for you to get close to the edge. “Tash– I’m gonna– Please–” You beg, pleading for something you’re not even sure of.

“Shh, I’ve got you, sweetheart. Be a good girl for Daddy.”

Natasha’s words tip you over the edge with the help of her skilled fingers and she guides you through your orgasm, letting you ride it out before pulling out her fingers and bringing them up to her mouth.

“Fuck, I don’t know if I’m done with you just yet. I might have to take you to bed instead of taking you to dinner.”

#alice's fics !#natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x fem reader #natasha romanov smut #natasha romanov imagine #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x female #natasha romanov x reader

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buryustogether · 1 year

Text

lilac - chapter 5

miguel o’hara x f!reader

summary: finally, you’re completely, and utterly, alone. but not for long.

wc: 5.2k

tags/warnings: domestic dispute, throwing objects, swearing, breakup, displacement, tooth-rotting fluff

author’s note: seatbelts on please

What woke you the next morning was not heavy, thick arms leaden with muscles, or kisses pressed to your temple with full lips that were curved up into a gentle, tired smile, but rather the alarming buzz of your phone right beside your head. Your eyes opened to stare at the little black box sitting on your pillow inches from your face, the screen bright with an alert that commanded your attention. Grumbling into the pillow and throwing your leg over the empty space beside you, not giving much attention to the fact that your boyfriend should have been there, you grabbed blindly at the phone and brought it to your face.

What you saw pulled you straight from whatever bleariness held you captive.

News stations, shaky cell phone footage, helicopter captures - they all showed the same thing all across every social platform available. An apartment building in Brooklyn had been… well. You didn’t quite know what to call it. Neither did anyone else. The structure of the building had been changed entirely, the very foundation rocked to its core. Floors had been tilted sideways in gravity-defying angles, graffiti no one could decipher had been sprayed and inked along its uneven walls. And to everyone’s horror, the walls and windows and roof seemed to all be glitching, like a television caught between channels. It shook and jumped when officials came too close, threatening to move by itself again and swallow them whole.

No one knew quite what to do. They were calling it a feat of a new villain, the work of a molecular mastermind.

You tapped a news coverage of the strange building, now wide awake and all the sleep cleared from your eyes. The video began to load, that gray little circle swirling around and around… before your phone died and the screen went black.

Releasing a long, growl-like groan of exasperation, you angrily clawed at your charger and plugged your phone in. You tossed off your covers and rubbed at your eye with the palm of your hand, attempting to run through your day. It was some minor holiday - you couldn’t remember which - so school was out, and you had today off from the club, so you were free to do as you wished.

Well, as you sort of wished. Grocery shopping, cleaning the apartment, doing laundry… since god knew Ferris didn’t do any of it.

Your attention was drawn to the front room of the apartment when you heard the door open and closed, followed by a pair of voices. One, you recognized. The other, you did not. Following the soft murmurs and laughter into the main room, you found Ferris and his new keyboard player leaning against the kitchen counter, passing your jug of milk back and forth between them. The girl spotted you standing in the doorway first, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of you watching them like a predator who had cornered two rabbits who were too stupid to be paying attention. She set the jug down on the counter and plastered on a small smile.

“Hi,” she said and waved a hand in your direction.

Ferris glanced up, following her gaze, and almost seemed to stop himself from jumping when he caught your slitted eyes watching him. He reached up to wipe at his lip with his sleeve, clearing his throat. “Hey, babe,” he said, but there was no kind of affection in his tone. It was all guilt and regret for being caught in what he seemed to think was a furtive meet up with his new fucking keyboard player.

As you stared at the two, as you stared at your half-emptied jug of milk sitting on the counter, you felt your chest tightening more and more until there was hardly any room left for you to breathe. Your blood was frozen in your veins, flooding your body with a chilly kind of fire. Every single fiber of your being was alight, fueling the fire that had sparked to life in your chest.

A part of you wanted to play dumb. A part of you wanted to pretend you had no idea what this was, go along with whatever kind of game he was playing because, if you didn’t, you’d be alone.

But that other part of you, that bigger, hulking, furious part of you knew you couldn’t do this anymore. You couldn’t play this part any longer, couldn’t memorize this script while you were also the one writing it and directing the whole show. This stupid fucking costume didn’t fit anymore. The stage wasn’t set any longer.

The show was fucking over.

Like she was sensing the oncoming storm brewing in your home, the girl shuffled on her feet toward the door. “I think I’ll just show myself out,” she said. She started to say goodbye to your boyfriend, beginning to raise a hand, before she caught the dangerous gleam in your eye and slipped out without another word.

As soon as she left, you crossed the room into the kitchen. Ferris regarded you with an unreadable expression. You thought that, maybe, a bit of that furrowed brow was guilt. Fear. You liked the idea of him being afraid of you. But you didn’t allow yourself to indulge in such a thought. For now, all that you could think of was this rage building and building in your throat. That - and the fucking dishes in the sink.

A couple of plates, a few spoons, and a fork. Stuck for days in this porcelain bowl while the dishes in the washer got themselves dirty again.

All this time. All this… effort. And for what? Nothing but a couple dishes left in the sink and this fire growing in your belly.

From behind you, Ferris shuffled himself awkwardly and swallowed thick. “I, uh… I thought you’d already left for work.”

You pursed your lips, feeling tears prod at the corners of your eyes as you stared at the faucet. Silently, you took the deepest breath you could, brought up every ounce of courage that you found within yourself.

You didn’t care if you were going to be alone anymore. You just wanted this to be over.

“I am so fucking done with you.”

For a long, long while, there was only the sound of silence in your apartment. Downstairs a few flights, a dog barked madly. Outside, car horns blared. Thunder rolled in the distance, bringing with it the promise of pouring rain and lightning that would light the sky alight with a fire unmatched.

Ferris said, “What?”

“I said - “ You reached into the skin and grabbed one of the plates, your fingers dipping into the water gathered at the bottom, then spun around on your heel and launched it directly at his head. “I’M DONE WITH YOU!”

He just barely dodged the projectile, his gaze swinging around with it as it sailed through the air and shattered into thousands of pieces against the wall. They scattered like bullet casings, twisting about your bare feet.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” he shouted, lifting a foot to stare at the pieces. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

You picked your way across the tile floor, tiptoeing around the glinting shards, then jumped into the hallway and stormed back toward the bedroom. As you threw the door open all the way, surely leaving a dent in your wall, you heard him following you.

You didn’t care anymore. You didn’t give a fuck.

As rain droplets began to tick against your windows, you heaved the closet door open, grabbed a pile of his clothes from his side, and tossed them out onto the floor. A number of his shoes followed, dropping limply to the hardwood as you continued to scrounge for more of his belongings.

Ferris grabbed onto the door frame as he came to a stop before you, watching with wide eyes and a gaping mouth as you emptied your closet of his things. “Hey, hey, hey! What the fuck are you doing?!”

Once you were satisfied you’d gotten everything from the closest, you stalked over to his side of the bed and began to rip everything out of its place. His phone charger, his nightstand trinkets, everything that looked and smelled and seemed like him.

His hand came from behind to grab your shoulder, and before you could stop yourself, you flung yourself around and smacked him hard across the face. Before he had a chance to react, to even raise a hand to his cheek, you felt tears spill down your cheeks as you yelled, “Get out! I want you out!”

“Oh, come on, nothing was going to happen -”

“Oh!” you shouted, then stormed past him, out from the bedroom, and into the hallway. He followed close behind, watching as you grabbed his hoodie from where it was slung over the back of the couch and tossed it to the floor. “You’re so fucking stupid, Ferris, you don’t - You don’t get it!”

He stopped you as you made to head for the bathroom next, holding you by your shoulders so tight your skin ached and his knuckles paled. “What?” he demanded, sporting a fleshy red mark on his face where you’d struck him. “Don’t fucking get what?”

“Everything!” you howled, feeling as tears cascaded down your cheeks to your chin. From there, they traveled down your neck and to your collar. “Fucking everything, Ferris! The way you bring people into our home, the way you never help with the bills, the - Jesus, the FUCKING DISHES IN THE SINK! Would it kill you to put away the fucking dishes?!” Ripping yourself from his hold, you reached up to weakly wipe at your tears. “I gave you so many chances, so many. So many signs…! And you never saw them. You never fucking saw them. So I’m giving you one now that you won’t be able to miss. Get. Out.”

For a long moment, Ferris only stared at you. You weren’t able to identify the expression playing his features, but it certainly was not the one that always stared you down on the regular. And you basked in it. Then suddenly he was moving, grasping your shoulders, coming close enough to show that his bottom lip was quivering. Normally you would have wrapped him up in a hug, held him close.

But now you wanted him as far away from you as possible.

“Hey, hey,” he said lowly, sounding strangely sweet. “Just take a breath, alright? Deep breath. We don’t have to do this right now. We’ll get this all cleaned up, sit down, take a break. And we’ll talk it out just like we always do, right?”

“There’s no talking about this, Ferris,” you sniffled, trying to push him away. “There were so many times to sit down and have a goddamn conversation, and you never wanted to. So what makes you think I would sit down and talk this out with you?”

Ferris held on tight despite you trying to get away from him, holding you so that your chests were pressed together. A chill crawled up your spine as you remembered last night; the neon glow of the lights, the feeling of Spiderman’s muscles beneath his shirt, the sensations that crawled across your body when he sighed and held you close.

How fucking pathetic was it that you felt safer in a stranger’s arms than in your own boyfriend’s?

“Because we always work things out, baby,” he said, pulling your attention back to his face. His eyes had faded pink like he was the one that was about to cry - like he was the one who was allowed to cry - and he rubbed his hands up and down your arms. “Right? We always come around. We - we can start over, okay? Forget about the band, and - and that Miguel guy always texting you, and our jobs, and everything. We’ll move, okay? Fresh starts.”

You regarded him with wide eyes, your lips parted and curled upwards in a sneer that you didn’t think you were capable of. A new, fresh kind of feeling entered your veins, one like ice water had replaced your blood. You released a low, disgusted sound from the back of your throat and clasped a hand over your throat. “You - have you been going through my phone?”

Ferris pursed his lips - a tell he had that his anger was starting to flare up. “Only to keep you safe,” he urged. When you finally shoved him away and turned, he burst. “And good thing I have been, too, huh?! That creep is practically stalking you! Texting every other night, asking you to meet up -”

“Because of his fucking kid!” you howled, then grabbed the television remote and threw it at his head. He must have seen your windup, because he ducked, letting the projectile sail over his head and smack against the couch behind him. “He’s a father, you fucking dickhead - his kid is my goddamn student! I’ve been tutoring her! Not going out on dates with the guy! How selfish can you be?!”

“You and I both know those aren’t texts of some shitty-ass ‘well to do’ pops,” he threw back when he’d returned to his full height. “Asking how you’re doing in the middle of the night? While you’re at work? Real classy, that guy is. Trying to fuck his kid’s teacher.”

“Will you get out already!” Tears rivered down your cheeks as you hugged yourself, bare feet freezing against the hardwood floor and heart thundering in your ears loud enough to triumph the rain that had begun its pounding on the windows. “Get the fuck out of my apartment!”

Ferris stared at you for a long, long while, his chest heaving and his eyes ablaze with some kind of emotion you could not place. For a moment or two, you thought briefly that he was going to strike you. But then he stooped to grab his hoodie and stormed past you. Broken pieces of plate crunched under his shoes as he threw open the front door. “Call me when you’re ready to talk like an adult,” he said over his shoulder, then left you alone.

So incredibly, utterly, terrifyingly alone.

Slowly, as the blood rushing in your ears faded away, the noises of the outside world returned. The dog downstairs was still barking. The cars were still honking. The rain was pounding, and the thunder was rolling, and you were sobbing.

Contorting your mouth into a cry as a broken wail escaped your lips, you let yourself sink down to the cold floor and hung your head in your lap. Your systems were all fried, your brain on break. The only thing you could do was sit there in a heap and cry, shaking amidst the absolute mess you’d made of your home.

What seemed like hours later, and when you found yourself all out of tears, you sat up and stared at an empty place across the room. You’d finally, actually, truly done it. You’d kicked him out, opened your chest and shown him just how many bullet wounds you’d been carrying from every time he pulled that trigger of a tongue. He was gone. And you intended to keep it that way.

White noise invaded your ears as you set to work, allowing the rest of the world to fade away. You swept up the shattered pieces of porcelain on the kitchen floor; when you picked up a larger piece that had tried to get away from you, you realized it reminded you of your monarch mask from the club. You let it drop to the ground, and then you cleaned up those pieces, as well.

Next you emptied your box of trash bags and dragged them behind you as you traveled your apartment room to room, corner to corner, clearing out everything that belonged to Ferris. His clothes, his utilities and trinkets and prized possessions - they all went into the bags. And those bags were hauled downstairs and placed in the corner beside the trash. The guitar was leaned up against them. When you went back down half an hour later to throw out his food you hated the leftovers he’d been letting rot, it was gone.

Maybe those strings could make someone better than him happier than he was.

When the entire place was cleared of him, you dug through your wallet and the secret stash you kept in the sole of one of your ratty shoes and went to knock on your landlord’s door. The locks on yours were changed in less than an hour.

And when you finally felt safe enough to breathe in your own air again, you cleaned your entire home. Floor to ceiling, you mopped and wiped down and sprayed until every single trace of him was gone. The sheets were changed. The couch cushions washed. Every single piece of grime and dirt he’d brought into your life was gone.

And you couldn’t have been more glad.

Ferris had been a stain on your life, one you hadn’t necessarily wanted to clean and get rid of. If you did, it meant that you’d be left with a blank slate, with the echo of what you used to have. But echoes were meant to fade away. And blank slates were meant to be filled with new things. Bigger, better, brighter things.

It must have been late evening, after the rain had finally calmed and the thunder moved south, when you were pulled from the little dinner you were making yourself by a knock on the door. Your head whipped around, systems on high alert, thinking it was Ferris. You stayed perfectly still and silent.

There came another, slightly more frantic knock, followed by a call of your name. But it wasn’t Ferris on the other side. “Hello?” said Miguel O’Hara. “Are you home?”

For the first time today, since the moment you’d opened your eyes this morning, a certain kind of warmth blossomed throughout your chest. Setting the stove to low, you crossed the little kitchen, unchained your new locks, and swung the door open. The sight that greeted you was not the one you realized you were expecting.

Both Miguel and Gabriella were soaked to the bone, creating a puddle at your doorstep, and each hauling a small load of baggage over their shoulders. Their matching eyes were tired, exhausted. The little girl was shivering through her wet clothes, and her father tugged her closer to his side in an attempt to keep her warm.

“Hey,” murmured Miguel when your alarmed gaze flickered to meet his.

“Oh, my god,” you said, then stepped aside so that they could enter. “Get inside, please. Come on.” You watched as they trudged into your kitchen, lugging their things with them. “What the hell happened?” you asked, forgetting your mouth in front of your third grader.

Miguel dropped his bag down beside the door as you shut and locked it, releasing a long, weighted sigh from the back of his throat. He dipped his head down and palmed at the back of his neck as he turned to face you. “The apartment,” he said shortly, and suddenly you understood. The apartment building this morning in Brooklyn that had been disfigured by… whatever. It had been theirs.

How long had they been out in this?

“Jesus,” you said, kneeling down to grab a clean dish rag and towel Gabriella’s soaking hair. She sniffed tightly as you did so, her large, brown eyes shut to the sensation of your hands moving across her head. Poor fucking kid - displaced by whatever new freak incident New York had to offer this week.

“I tried to call you,” said Miguel from where he stood over you.

Your heart sunk slightly in your chest. “I’m so sorry,” you said as you stood, clutching the towel to your chest. God, even with all that excess water weighing him down, he still towered over you like a mountain. You were able to see his midsection through his wet shirt; but you didn’t let yourself go there. Not now. “I’ve been busy all day. Something - something happened, and…”

He met your eyes, limp hair hanging in his face to frame his temples, his cheekbones, his finely-cut jaw. A drop of water fell from the squared point of his chin, landing on the top of your bare foot. It sent a shiver racing in a mad dash up your spine. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered to you, and you were able to feel his warm breath fan across your face. Christ, when had you gotten this close? “We didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Don’t do that.” Against your better judgment, because today had been a day of going against every wall and boundary you knew, you reached up to ghost your fingers along his jaw. You swore you heard his breath hitch in his throat as he blinked down at you. “You can stay as long as you need to. Both of you.” You swallowed, clenching your jaw against the screaming, searing sensation that wanted you to lean forward and connect your lips to his. “I don’t care if it’s days or weeks or months. You and she will always have a home here.”

This was insane. You could get fired from your job if the board found out you were doing this. But you didn’t care. As of now, your mind had long since run away, and you weren’t in much of a rush to catch it. Because if it felt this good to be out of your head, then by god, did you want to stay like this forever.

Miguel’s head tipped down ever so slightly and his throat moved as he swallowed thick. He had just opened his lips to whisper something in reply when your attention was pulled to the side, reminding you that you were not the only ones here.

“Daddy,” said Gabriella, looking just miserable standing there in a puddle of the water dripping off of her. “I’m really cold.”

Pulling away with a quick glance, Miguel stooped to pull his daughter into his arms. “I know, princesa,” he murmured as he held her, smoothing back hair that had stuck to her face. “We’ll get you warmed up.”

“The bathroom’s just down there,” you said, pointing down the hall. “You can run her a bath, if she wants. I’ll grab her something to wear.”

Nodding his thanks, he carried her and one of her bags down the hall and into the bathroom. A few minutes after the door softly clicked shut, you heard the water begin to run. You leaned against the countertop, staring at the bags gathering water by your front door.

This was happening. This was happening. Miguel O’Hara was going to be staying in your home. After dreaming and fantasizing all this time, he was finally within arm’s reach.

But your quiet comprehension was muted by the cold slap of reality. He wasn’t here for pleasure; he was here out of necessity. Out of survival. He and his daughter wouldn’t have a home for god knew how long; this wasn’t some dream come true. It was a tragedy.

On quiet feet, because you thought you heard Gabriella sniffling from the bathroom as she and her father talked in hushed tones, you crept into your room and retrieved an oversized sweatshirt and some shorts that she would be able to drawstring tight. After leaving them by the restroom door, you took her and Miguel’s things into the bedroom and laid out what little lay inside to dry; some of his spare clothes, a laptop, legal documents… anything and everything they could have been able to grab before they were evacuated. Staring at a framed picture of Gabriella when she couldn’t have been older than three or four, you wondered just what had caused the strange phenomenon that destroyed their home. Had it been an accident? Or had something targeted taken place?

You wondered if Spiderman was trying to take care of it.

After laying out their belongings to dry on your bed, you hurried back to the kitchen and scrambled to make your dinner enough for three people to share. You hoped they liked store-brand mac and cheese.

Some time later, after you’d heard your hair dryer running for a while, Miguel and Gabriella emerged from your restroom. She looked tiny in your old pajamas, but she seemed content with the way the long sleeves flopped about her arms and the hoodie framed her face like a curtain. He’d also changed into a spare set of clothes he must have had in the bag - a loose pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that stretched in the most perfect way across his well-defined pecs. You couldn’t help but stare for a moment longer than necessary when they wandered back into the kitchen, following their noses to the plates waiting for them.

“Hope you two are hungry,” you said as you gave them each their dinner. “Gabriella, honey, the remote is on the arm of the couch, if you want to watch TV while you eat.”

After waiting for a nod from her father, she took her plate and scurried over to your couch. A moment later, your apartment was filled with the quiet sounds of cartoons.

Miguel released a long, deep sigh from the pit of his stomach as he leaned back against the kitchen counter with you, crossing his bare feet at the ankles. How funny it was, how beautifully ironic, how quickly this had become an idyllic scene of domestication. “I really can’t tell you how much this helps us,” he said, pushing mac and cheese around with his fork. His thick, full brows pinched together as he lost himself in thought. You noticed that when he did, a little line appeared at the corner of his mouth. “It all happened so quickly. Just…”

“Hey.” Again going against what your brain tried to pull you away from, you placed the hand that wasn’t holding your bowl over his wrist. Despite having been soaked just a short time ago, his tan skin was warm beneath your own. When your fingers slid down, you felt the soft twitch of his pulse. “It’s alright, Miguel. You’re here now. She’s safe.” You gave him a small, crooked smile. “It’ll be okay.”

He held your gaze for a long while, so long that you felt your heart skip a beat, and when it did, he released a small chuckle - like he could hear it. Finally, you both looked down to push around at your dinners. He did not ask you about the absence of your boyfriend that you had told him pushed you out of your own home that day at the library. You were sure a keen man like him could pick up on a few things; how there were no belongings of another man here, how there were dents in the walls where you’d thrown items and slammed doors.

He didn’t ask, and you were glad. It seemed, in a way, he knew.

You loved that he did.

Behind you, the sound of a speaker being fiddled with pulled your heads around. Gabriella had discovered the little record player on your shelf - a gift to yourself a year or two ago. You hadn’t played it much, what with Ferris’ constant complaining about it. But as you watched the little girl gingerly place a vinyl down on the player, you realized you’d been missing out.

“Ay,” scolded Miguel and set down his bowl. “Manos a ti mismo.”

“It’s okay,” you said, then moved into the living room to help her with the settings. “I haven’t used this thing in forever.”

Seemingly still a little shell shocked from the events of the day, Gabriella watched you shyly as you dropped the needle and suddenly, music was spilling from the speakers. It wasn’t the kind of music your old boyfriend played on that guitar of his; this was real, with heart and feeling and a kind of rhythm that pulled your heart slightly from the abyss it was stuck in.

‘Hey, what’s the matter with your head, yeah?’

And then, because fuck, you couldn’t think of anything else to do, and because your feet were suddenly moving on their own, you started dancing. You swayed back and forth to the beat of the song, to the bass and the melody, wiggling your head a bit.

“Come on, pretty girl,” you said, taking Gabriella’s small hands in yours. “Will you show me that beautiful smile and dance with me?”

Slowly, gingerly, like a bit of her fiery, lively soul was returning to her, Gabriella’s lips thinned into a smile. She let you pull her around the living room, beginning to copy your movements as she grinned and giggled. Her limbs were sluggish and awkward, a wonderful testament to the mere nine years she’d been on the earth, but her laughter and her tongue poking through the place where she’d recently lost a tooth made up for it. Lyrics like directions to your awful little dance spewed from the shelf where the record player sat, witness to the show in your home.

‘Baby, find it, come on and find it.’

You spun on your heel to face Miguel, who was standing at the entrance of your kitchen, watching the scene before him with parted lips and hooded eyes that made your stomach turn violently and passionately. Shuffling closer to him and bringing forth every ounce and inch of courage you hand, you took your hands and wiggled up close. You breathed out the next lyrics in a sing-songy whisper only he could hear.

“Bear with it, baby, ‘cause you’re fine, and you’re mine, and you look so divine.”

Miguel’s head tilted to the side in that way he did, gaze wider now and the beginnings of a low, enthralled smile twisting his lips. Then his feet were moving, allowing you to pull him into the living room with Gabriella to join your little dance.

While she twisted and spun and pretended to know the words, you felt his fingers interlace with yours. You grinned, because holy fuck - what else in the world was there to do? - and let him sway you back and forth with the thrum of the song, fronts just inches apart and legs already tangled together. He began to hum the song from the back of his throat, from the bottom of his belly, and you swore you’d never heard a better sound in your life.

When Gabriella had turned away, too caught up in her own world of the song, Miguel leaned in close so that his cheek brushed yours, so that your chests were pressed together, so that his full lips grazed the shell of your ear. He murmured so softly you strained to hear him over the swell of the music, but you did.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered.

Then he pulled back away to bore his gaze down into your own, his forehead just barely grazing yours.

You didn’t know what to say. Didn’t trust yourself to say nothing, because you might have just shrunk into yourself and disappeared into the very tingling, overwhelming ache and pang of want and need and everything else in your heart. Didn’t trust yourself to open your mouth, because you might have just leaned up and kissed him.

So you just pressed your forehead up into his, smiled so bright and so wide your cheeks hurt, and danced.

tags: @mooomeadows @twentysomethingwereyote @screamforyani @fangirlreice7 @axdjelx @ornamentalnecromancy @faust-pda @ilikethemoon28 @mrm-pachypoda @wadafrick @natthernandez @bakgoktski @soupsexsunsalutationsss @roxannarichie @lovagirlxxx @soggyeyeballsss @yoyoyoyoyo55555 @sophipet @quaintii @lavnderluv @cookiezxx @euphorica @its-a-polyglot @nicalysm @maxi-ride @exzidss @crappwr0m @femme-is-dead @bitch-onthemoon @hier—soir @takayomi @kirke-is-my-name @d1lf-loverrr @might-be-a-rat @brooks-lin @maki-z @bookfreakk @act1839 @dollscircus @sleepingaway @anxietybutterfly @bioticboot @mxkn @freeingrebels @digitalcreature404 @aimee777 @hunnaye @blahbahed @cyanide-mustard @impettywhenyouare @mental-illness-is-my-friend @bobfood @jenniferdixon05207 @moonchild-cupcake @venomous-ko @marvelouslovely-barnes @syarblu @fruitcupsworld @soooooyesbutactually-no @hopefulcandywitch @elwyn7 @oh-theseus @thepanwiccan @takayomi @dreamingofbucky @yuuuumii @p1nkliquor @scammer-get-scammed @mlishe

#miguel o’hara smut #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #atsv miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara #miguel atsv #miguel o’hara atsv #across the spiderverse #atsv x reader #spiderman 2099

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etherealstar-writes · 9 days

Text

ORDINARY LIFE | ARSENAL WFC X TEEN AVENGER OC | PT 1

pairings: arsenal women x teen avenger oc (platonic)

summary: in which a sixteen year old just wants to live an ordinary life away from all the superheroing madness and play football for her club, trying to hide her past as a former teen avenger from all her teammates.

part one: beginnings

✦ ——— ✦ ——— ✦

Ameris Adarlan knew her life was anything but ordinary. She had grown up amidst the chaos of heroes and villains, her parents' affiliation with SHIELD and their close friendship with Tony Stark shaping her childhood in ways she never imagined.

From a young age, Ameris had been thrust into a world of secrets and danger, her parents' untimely demise serving as a stark reminder of the perils that came with their line of work. A planned fatal car accident that claimed their lives had left her ten year old self scarred, both emotionally and physically, the jagged line running across her left eyebrow a constant reminder of the tragedy that had torn her family apart.

Tony Stark, her father's closest friend, had then taken her under his wing, and Ameris grew determined to avenge her parents’ deaths, joining the Avengers at the young age of thirteen, intent on aiding them however she could.

Ameris didn’t have any powers that made her outshine like most of the other Avengers, choosing to remain in the shadows of the spotlight. But she did possess a special talent, the ability to predict the movement of others or objects by reading their body language and initial movement.

While everyone around her told her that she was an Avenger prodigy, that she was gifted with this talent, and made her feel like that she should consider herself lucky because of this ability, no one knew how hard she worked on this skill and trained to be where she was at, spending years trying to read every individual’s mannerisms and body language.

But as the years passed, with each mission assigned to her remaining victorious, came the daunting realisation that their heroism came at a cost. A cost that Ameris couldn't bear to pay like her parents had.

So, at the age of sixteen, she had finally made the decision to leave it all behind. With a heavy heart and a determined spirit, she bid farewell to the Avengers and the life she had once known, hoping to seek solace in the simplicity of a world untouched by chaos and strife.

It was a decision born out of necessity and self-preservation, a choice to reclaim the appearance of a normal life she had been deprived of for so long. With London beckoning her with open arms, Ameris decided to move there and pursue a career in football, a passion she had shared keenly with her father, but hadn’t had the strength to pursue since his death.

Not until now.

And so here she stood, outside the doors of Arsenal Football Club, feeling a surge of anticipation course through her veins. The crisp London air filled her lungs as she took a deep breath, the cool breeze blowing her dark hair locks back.

She steeled herself for the new chapter that awaited her, ready to leave behind the shadows of her past, and entered inside. Making her way to the reception area, she greeted the staff with a warm smile, her nerves masked behind a facade of confidence.

"Hi there, I'm Ameris Adarlan," she said, offering a smile to the receptionist. "I'm a new signing."

"Ah, yes, Miss. Adarlan. Welcome to Arsenal,” The receptionist greeted her with a warm smile, her fingers flying across the keyboard before she slid a clipboard over to her to sign some papers. “I'm afraid the captain and vice-captain are currently tied up with the other new signings, but they'll be with you shortly."

Ameris shrugged nonchalantly. "No worries. I can wait."

The receptionist handed her a badge with her name imprinted on it, a small gesture that made Ameris feel oddly official.

"Feel free to roam around the facility in the meantime," the receptionist told her.

Ameris nodded her thanks and set off to explore, her curiosity piqued by the prospect of getting to know her new surroundings. She passed the hallways with photos of the team framed each year, and couldn’t help but stop for a moment in front of the trophies’ display to admire it.

“Hey there!”

Ameris shifted her gaze to the person that gained her attention, watching the brown-haired woman make her way towards her with a steaming cup of coffee in hand, dressed in the Arsenal training kit.

“Hi,” Ameris greeted her with a sincere smile.

“I was excited when we were informed that we were getting a teenager signing, and an adorable kid, no less.” Ameris chuckled while the woman extended her hand politely.

"I'm Steph, by the way. Welcome to Arsenal." Of course she knew who she was. She’d done her research on all of them.

“Thank you. And I’m Ameris,” she replied back as shook her hand firmly, noting the genuine warmth in Steph's demeanour. “But I think you already knew that.”

“You’re right about that.” Steph grinned before pointing at Ameris’ badge that hung around her neck. “And I read your name on that.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Has Kim or Leah gotten to show you around yet?”

Ameris shook her head. “Not yet, no. They were still busy with the other signings.”

"Well, I’ve got nothing better to do, so how about I show you around? Consider it a little welcome gift from one teammate to another," Steph offered.

"Sure." Ameris smiled.

She fell into step beside Steph as they began their impromptu tour of the club.

As they made their way through the training facilities and locker rooms, they came across Katie McCabe and Beth Mead, two of Ameris' new teammates.

"Hey there, newbie!" Beth greeted Ameris with a friendly grin. "I'm Beth, and this here is Katie."

"Hi," Ameris greeted them warmly, returning their smiles. "Nice to meet you both. I'm Ameris."

Katie's eyes sparkled with curiosity as she studied Ameris with interest. "So, what brings you to Arsenal, Ameris? You must be pretty talented to get signed at such a young age."

Ameris chuckled softly, rubbing the back of her neck in a modest manner. "I guess you could say I've had some practice. But honestly, I just love the game. Football has always been a passion of mine."

Katie nodded in understanding. "Well, you've certainly come to the right place. Arsenal is like a big chaotic family, and we're thrilled to have you join us."

With a smile of gratitude, Ameris felt a sense of warmth wash over her. Maybe, just maybe, she could find the ordinary life here she had always longed for.

✦ ——— ✦ ——— ✦

hey everyone! i love reading comments and they really motivate me to continue writing so pls feel free to comment your thoughts <33

#arsenal x reader #arsenal wfc x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine #arsenal women x reader #woso #woso fanfics #leah williamson x reader #katie mccabe x reader #steph catley x reader #beth mead x reader

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bluesylveon2 · 11 days

Text

To the Most Handsome of Them All (800 Follower Special ft the third years)

Again, this is late but thank you for 800 followers!!

Summary: The third years fight over an apple (not clickbait)

Note: platonic third years x Yuu/reader (there is a hint of romance, but you have to squint), crack, chaos, humor, some second years cameo, and the third years being ready to fight each other.

Warning: fem Yuu/reader, not beta read, some cursing, Ortho threatening Idia, and possible ooc characters

Word Count: 4.5k

Masterlist: here

Somewhere within Pomefiore's lab was a short, feminine-looking-

"Hey! I can hear ya!"

(Sorry. Ahem. Where was I?)

A lavender-haired boy wearing a lab coat and stirring a suspicious liquid in a pot.

"Mwahaha, you will pay for all the trouble you give me, Vil Schoenheit." The boy pulled out his laddle with a shiny golden apple in it. He carefully picked up the apple with one hand and whispered a charm into its glossy skin.

"Let's give NRC a taste of drama." The boy picked up a knife and smiled sinisterly.

"MWAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Trey and Cater rested in the courtyard under a tree, finally free from their classes. The area was quiet, and there were a few lingering students. Cater hummed a popular song as he scrolled through Magicam. Trey was coming up with the following experiment for the science club.

"So I heard Vil's film about the sleeping princess was a hit. Everybody is talking about it!" Carter said, showing Trey the latest Magicam post.

"Let's hope that Yuu uses her share of the profit on things she needs," Trey smiled, proud of his underclassman's hard work.

"Like premium tuna cans?" Cater snickered before bursting out into laughter. "OW! What was that?" He exclaimed and held on to his sore head.

"What do you mean?" Trey asked with concern, and then he saw it. From the corner of his eye, there was a golden apple lying not far from them. Trey picked it up to examine. "To the most handsome third year? What a weird thing to carve into an apple."

"Let me see that!" Cater swiped the apple and held it at eye level. "Hmm. Yep, that's what it says." His eyes lit up like a light, and he held the fruit close to his face.

"Cater, what are you-"

Snap

"Who is the handsomest of them all? #handsome #thirdyear #apple #golden #totallyme," Cater typed away on his phone until he hit send.

Trey's eyes widen in alarm. "Cater, why are you posting that?"

Cater dramatically rolled his eyes. "C'mon, and think about it! Our class is filled with princes, models, heirs, you name it! Wouldn't you want to know who is the best-looking?"

Trey rubbed the back of his neck in confusion. "I guess? But that makes us look like chopped liver. We don't fit under that criteria."

"I wouldn't underestimate your looks, Chevalier of Rose. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, like the pomme in Monsieur Magicam's hands." A smooth voice chuckled. Cater and Trey looked up to find Rook sitting on a branch and smirking at them. The blonde swiftly jumped down and landed next to Trey.

"I agree with Rook," The sound of heels alerted the trio of the newcomer. "Don't underestimate yourself, potatoes."

Cater sweatdropped. "I don't know if I should take that as a compliment."

Vil ignored the comment and walked up to Cater instead. "I saw your post, Cater, and I believe that apple belongs to me."

"What makes you say that?" a smug voice asked, causing Vil to roll his eyes. "Herbivore's post said it was for the most 'handsomest third year.' What makes you the one who deserves the apple?"

Vil smirked and crossed his arms. "I am the embodiment of being the fairest, and unlike you, Leona, I have many fans. Therefore, that apple belongs to me."

Leona put a hand on his hips. "Being fair has nothing to do with looks." He and Vil glared at each other like rivals, leaving the others to watch.

"I feel like we are watching a drama show," Trey whispered to Cater.

"Totally."

"Tres bien! Roi du Poison is so beautiful even when he is mad!"

"ORTHO PUT ME DOWN! I DO NOT WANT TO BE ASSOCIATED WITH THESE NORMIES!" Idia's screams caused everyone to watch as Ortho carried his older brother like he was a wet cat. The humanoid's eyes sparkled as his eyes landed on the group of third-years.

"There they are!" He flew to the group and dropped his brother on the ground. "Big Brother, you are going to prove to your friends that you are handsome, and you cannot return to Ignihyde until you prove yourself!"

"B-B-B-BWAH?! Do you not see me compared to them?" He pointed at Leona and Vil. "I am literally an R card compared to the SSRs! I am not qualified for this! Can I go-" Ortho's glare caused Idia to stop rambling. The others didn't hold back their smirks as the younger Shroud placed a finger on Idia's chest.

"You are going to stay here and spend time with your friends. Do I make myself clear?" For a cute and innocent-looking humanoid, Ortho was more than his looks.

"They aren't really my friends…" Idia mumbled and fiddled with his fingers.

"Big Brother."

"EEP!"

"Fufufufu. Don't worry, Ortho. I can help keep an eye on him," Lilia's mischievous voice sent chills down Idia's spine. The bat fae floated down from the sky and rested a hand on Ortho's shoulder. To Idia's horror, Ortho smiled with glee.

"I assure you, younger Shroud. Your brother will participate in this contest," Malleus, the final third year of the ragtag group, said as he joined in and patted Ortho on his blue fire head.

"Looks like it is time for me to go. Have fun with your friends, Big Brother!" Ortho flew off, leaving Idia to fend for himself.

"WAIT ORTHO! DON'T LEAVE ME!" Idia jumped up, only to be grabbed by the hoodie by Malleus. Idia blushed in embarrassment as Malleus held him up like a cat.

"Honestly, it is like leaving a child in daycare," Vil sighed and turned to the group. "Alright, boys. How shall we settle this?"

"I propose we FIGHT TO THE DEATH!" Lilia exclaimed. Everyone's eyes widened except for Malleus, who was unfazed by it.

"Not bad, Lilia. I can get behind that idea," Leona smirked, his eyes trained on Malleus as he spoke.

"Oo la la! That would be a marvelous sight to see. A fight between Roi du Dragons and Roi du Leon would bless my eyes!"

"Lils' idea is cool and all, but can we not do something that can get us killed?" Cater popped in, and Idia eagerly nodded in agreement.

"As much as I would like to see Leona and Malleus ruin each other's looks with bloodshed, someone who looks the most desirable deserves the apple." Vil picked up his magical pen and summoned a small jeweled box with a heart on it. He swished his pen. The apple floated out of Cater's hands and landed on the box's cushion. "This apple will remain here until a winner is determined."

"Can I be the judge of that?" Idia raised his hand. Lilia and Malleus looked at him, confused. "What? I'm not going to win anyway. Take me out of the running by making me the judge."

Malleus sighed and dropped Idia to the ground. "Honestly, Shroud. You self-deprecate yourself, yet you are handsome already."

"Yeah, even the Ghost Bride thought so!" Lilia joined in.

Idia had never felt more embarrassed in his life. "That woman was delulu!"

"What we need-" Leona interrupted. "Is somebody besides Radish Sprout to judge this?"

Vil, watching the whole exchange, nodded in agreement. The staff would be a good idea, but they might confiscate the apple before he could get his hands on it. They needed somebody else. A lightbulb lit up in his head. Vil cleared his throat to get everyone's attention.

"Gather around, potatoes. I have an idea."

"How kind of you to consult with me. My benevolence shall decide who deserves this apple."

"Cut the crap, Azul, and pick somebody," Jamil said with irritation. A vein began to pop out of his forehead. The poor vice housewarden could feel his stress build already.

Vil's great plan led the group (along with a few second years) to Mostro Lounge. The group had managed to squeeze into one booth. On the other end of the table were the second years. The Octotrio didn't mind the company, Jamil looked pissed, and Kalim was just happy to be there.

Floyd sat up straighter from his spot on the Lounge's leather sofa. "So let me get this straight. You guys want us to pick the most handsome to get an apple?"

Trey chuckled nervously. "As ridiculous as it sounds, yes."

Floyd did not look convinced. "That's a dumb idea. Why should we be helping you out?"

Vil sighed. He did not need to sigh anymore, or he might get wrinkles. "You five are the only dorms without third years in this group. So, as neutral parties, you should decide who gets it."

Kalim's mouth opened in an o, "You know, I always wondered why that was…"

"Fine, I'll start," Floyd rolled his eyes and pointed at the third years. eenie, meenie, minie, you-— His finger landed on Leona, causing the beastman to smirk at everyone.

"A vote is a vote," Leona said, looking at Malleus, who was frowning. Meanwhile, Floyd unceremoniously flopped back down on the sofa. He closed his eyes, drowning out the incoming argument between the two princes.

"That is not how it should be done, Kingscholar," Malleus said through gritted teeth. It surprised Lilia how his son was not blasting Leona into oblivion. Probably to not ruin his chances. "You were voted by chance."

"Oh yeah? And what are you going to do about it?"

"If I may," Jade interrupted and faced the third years. "I would like to cast my vote." The third years watched with curiosity as Jade's heterochromatic eyes scanned them. "Trey."

The lounge was quiet, minus the sounds of a clock ticking nearby.

"WHAT" Everyone's eyes widen, and they turn to the man who looks as confused as they do.

"Why are you confused, Trey? You're in the lead with Leona right now!" Cater exclaimed as he took selfies with Trey to post later.

"I was expecting someone like Leona or Vil," Trey chuckled while ignoring glares from the two.

Jade smiled. "Let me explain. According to a questionnaire from the East, most females prefer guys who fit Trey's description over others, hence my decision to pick him."

"Okay, so that's one point for Trey," Cater said while typing on his phone. "What about you, Azul?"

Azul smirked and stood up. He let out a dramatic sigh. "Well, my decision is based on who would bring me the most money if I were to put them as the face of the Lounge."

"Thank Sevens, that's not me," Idia muttered. He quietly tiptoed towards the door, only to be stopped by someone grabbing his hoodie.

"You're not leaving under my watch, Shroud," Malleus said sternly and dragged the poor boy back to his spot. His grip remained on the hoodie.

Luckily for them, Azul did not seem to notice. "That leaves someone with beauty. Not someone rough and brutal." He glared at Leona before continuing. "Therefore, I would pick Vil."

Vil smirked and had an 'I told you so' look as he looked at the others. Leona felt the urge to wipe off the smug look on Vil's face.

"And what about you?" He gestured to Jamil. "Let me also remind you who saved your ass from Radish Sprout over here."

Idia rolled his eyes. "Yet the normies made it out alive in the end. Field trip with me was 7/10 tops."

The overblot boys shuddered at the memory, unaware of the last member's internal crisis.

Malleus leaned towards Lilia, a frown etched on his face. "The others got invited on a trip with Shroud? Why didn't I get one?"

Lilia smiled and patted Malleus on the back. "Soon, I promise you that. Now look, Jamil is going to make his choice."

The vice housewarden felt a headache coming on. After this monstrosity, a nap after tending Kalim was needed. "I would have to pick Cater. He is decent in my eyes."

"Really?!" Cater's eyes went wide. "I knew I could always count on you!" He exclaimed and pulled Jamil in for a side to take a selfie. "This has to go on Magicam!"

Lilia wiped a pretend tear out of his eye. "Oh, poor me. What did a cute and young boy like me do to deserve this? Wah…”

"I can think of many," Leona muttered.

Lilia ignored Leona's statement and turned to Kalim with puppy dog eyes. "Kalim, my dear friend, you must pick me to heal my fragile heart."

"What you need to see is a doctor before your back breaks too," Malleus added, but Lilia also ignored that.

"Do I have to?" Kalim wailed. "This is too hard, and you are all my friends."

"Magnifique! What beautiful words!" Rook sighed and held his chest where his heart was.

"Asim thinks I'm his friend…" Malleus whispered to himself, a giddy feeling in his chest.

"HECK NO! I refuse to befriend a cheerful guy like him! Not happening!" Idia exclaimed, causing Vil to elbow him out of irritation.

"I know! I'll pick Malleus, Idia, Lilia, and Rook! That way, you all get a point," Kalim said cheerfully, his face bright like the sun.

"That has to be the most wholesome thing I have ever heard," Rook wiped a tear from his eye. "Beaute!"

The others did not share the same sentiment. Leona's ears perked up when he heard thunder booming at a distance.

"Gentlemen," Azul stepped in casually or stupidly, depending on how Malleus will react. "It seems like you are going to need another person to seal the deal. Someone from a neutral party."

The thunder stopped, and Malleus turned to Azul with interest. "Oh? Do tell, Ashengrotto.”

Azul smirked. Oh, how his dear friend is in for a wonderful surprise.

It was a peaceful day in Ramshakle, and Yuu spent it the best way she knew, ordering pizza and spending it with Grim. No ADeuce. No Sebek screaming her ear off. No Octotrio trying to scam her.

(You get the picture)

Yuu was preparing the snacks just as the doorbell rang.

"It's probably the pizza! I'll get it, Grim. You pick a show to watch," she yelled. Two tall figures were standing at the door. That looked different from the pizza delivery guy. Yuu opened the door to find the two Heartslabyul third years.

"Hello, Yuu," Trey smiled.

"Hey, bestie!" Cater grinned and pulled Yuu in for a hug.

"Hey…" Her eyes wandered to their outfits. Both guys were not wearing their dorm or school uniform. Instead, Trey wore his Camp Vargas outfit, and Cater wore his Pop Music Club clothes. "Guys, is there an event going on?"

"No, silly!" Cater said as he guided Yuu inside. "Though you have to agree that these fits just go with us, right?"

Yuu sweatdropped. She opened her mouth, but Grim's screeching stopped her.

"YUU, I THOUGHT IT WAS GOING TO BE JUST US TODAY!"

Yuu stepped away and pulled Grim into a hug. "Oh, Grim. It will be once these two leave," she glared at Trey and Cater. This was supposed to be a relaxing day—not this.

"It will be very quick, and then you can get back to your show," Trey said, causing Yuu to relax a little.

"Fine," Yuu sighed. "Spill."

Cater grinned. "If you had to pick who is the most Cammable, out of me or Trey, who would you pick?"

Yuu blinked and tilted her head. "Can you repeat that?"

"Which one of us looks the best," Trey sighed.

Yuu looked at her friends in confusion. Sure, she had heard weirder things since coming to Twisted Wonderland, but this was something she did not expect to hear. "I mean, you both have your own type of charms. I guess I would pick-"

"Oi," a familiar voice said, widening Trey and Cater's eyes. You can't make the herbivore choose when it is in your favor." Leona smirked as he entered the dorm. He scanned the area like he was hunting prey. "I almost missed the show."

Yuu did not hear Cater and Trey curse under their breaths as she took in what Leona wore. Leona wore the outfit from the Fairy Gala instead of his usual school uniform. He even went all out, from the makeup on his face to flowers decorating his hair. "Is there a fashion show Dad did not tell me about?" Yuu mumbled to herself. Maybe Crewel was too busy handling the guys to tell her?

"Hey, what is with the fancy getup?" Grim's voice broke Yuu's thoughts. The cat monster jumped onto Yuu's arms and glared at the third years. "You are ruining my night."

Leona rolled his eyes. "Look, furball. Herbivore has to pick which one of us she likes, and then we will be out of your way." His eyes flickered up to Yuu's. "Remember who was kind enough to share a room with you"?

"HOLD IT!" Vil yelled, causing Yuu to turn her attention to the newcomers. He strutted into the room with Rook trailing behind.

"Is there a fashion event going on because why are you guys dressed up?!" Yuu exclaimed. Sure, the Pomefiore guys dressed nicely, but Scalding Sands and Halloween vampire outfits Vil and Rook wore respectively were too much.

Vil sighed. "I wish, Potato. Then I could show them who is truly the most good-looking of them all." He smirked in the direction of the other third years.

"Beaute! But a vampire has an allure you cannot resist, no? They are very good-looking." Rook winked at Yuu, causing the others to glare at him.

Yuu frowned and whispered to Grim. "Good looking? What do you think they are talking about?"

Grim shrugged. "These guys are always spouting nonsense. What's important is our movie night."

"NOO I DON'T WANT TO BE NEAR THOSE PEOPLE!" Idia's voice cried out. The others turned to see said boy being dragged into Ramshackle by Malleus.

"Tsuntarou? What are you doing here? And why are you dressed like you're going to the City of Flowers?" Yuu asked Malleus as he let go of Idia, causing the housewarden to fall with a small "oof."

Malleus only smiled. "I came here to settle some personal matters. You are one of my most precious friends, Child of Man."

"Great, looks like the star of the show has arrived," Leona said in disdain.

"Why do you have to be like this?" Vil shook his head disapprovingly.

"Don't forget about me!" Lilia said as he popped out from behind Malleus. Yuu only frowned in confusion. She was used to Ace or Deuce showing up randomly, but seven guys? Something was not adding up.

"What's with the fancy outfit? Halloween is over." Grim asked Malleus and then turned to Lilia. "How did you get that outfit? I thought that was from the past."

Lilia chuckled and flexed his muscles under his armor. "I have my ways."

The others in the room looked at Grim, confused.

"Long story," Lilia answered vaguely and turned to Yuu. "But can't you see how cool I look in this? Like a knight in shining armor!"

"No way!" Cater intervened. "Lils is cool, but that fit is so outdated. Yuu, can't you see that Trey and I look the best?"

Yuu glanced at Grim in confusion. "The best?"

Grim eyed the group wearily. "These guys are more koo koo than normal."

"Clearly, you potatoes do not get fashion. I have a very unique taste, no Yuu?"

"Uhhh…"

"Roi du Poison has excellent taste! Look at how the fabric goes well with his skin," Rook gushed and turned to Trey. "Great fabric choice, Chevalier of Rose!"

Trey chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. "Let's not talk about me…"

Leona jumped into Yuu's view. "Forget that wannabe. Clearly, I am better than him." Yuu was mesmerized by the fairy dust that followed Leona's movements. Until she was pulled away by someone else.

"Child of Man, are you alright?" Malleus gently held onto Yuu's arm.

"I'm just confused about why you all barged in here."

"I understand." Malleus smiled. "Although, would you agree that this outfit suits me?"

Yuu looked over Malleus's outfit before responding, "It does. The other students at the other schools would not stop talking about how mysterious you looked, either. I wonder if Rollo felt the same?"

"Yeah, well, I would rather not see that guy ever again," Idia muttered to himself. Malleus and Yuu turned to him, causing him to look up in shock. "Oh no! I'm caught! I need to get away before I have to socialize with the extroverts."

"Idia."

"EEP!" Idia stopped moving.

"Why are you wearing that suit? Eliza is not here anymore."

The others stopped to watch as Idia's hair turned slightly pink, and he struggled to speak.

"I-uhh…It is for a cosplay convention."

"Yeah, you would never wear that unless-" Grim gasped. "You are getting married!"

Idia's face fell in horror and his hair turned fully pink. "NO!"

"Ohoho. I remember those days."

Everyone turned to the Ramshackle ghosts, watching the group as if it were a drama.

"Yeah, I remember fighting other guys in favor of a girl's hand."

The others froze as Yuu began to connect the dots. Luck was not on their side as the smallest ghost began to speak.

"I heard from one of the chefs that these boys were arguing about who was the most handsome of them all."

"And you needed a girl like me to pick someone." Yuu finished aloud. A dark aura came out of her, and a vein popped out of her forehead.

It was at that moment the third years knew they fucked up.

"AND STAY OUT OF MY DORM UNTIL YOU SOLVE YOUR CHILDISH GAME WITHOUT ME!"

The school could hear the local therapist yell as the third years landed on the ground one by one.

"Ow, that totally is going to bruise later!" Cater whined as he assessed the damages with his phone.

Trey chuckled from next to the redhead. "At least she did not make us bleed,"

"Who knew the Child of Man could kick so hard?" Malleus said, stunned while gently hovering to the ground.

"I thought I was back home for a second," Leona said as he rubbed his head.

"There goes my cute face!"

"Enough, Lilia." Vil groaned as the bat fae lay on top of him. His hair was definitely a mess now. "Rook, remind me to hire Yuu to do stunts for my next movie."

"Oui. Madame Trickster has good form."

Idia rolled his eyes. "I can't believe you normies let yourselves get kicked out by a girl. That was like an arcade game where you're spamming the A button." He huffed, causing Leona to glare at him.

"Speak for yourself. You got kicked out as well, Radish Sprout."

"Monsieurs," Rook stepped towards the group with a gentle smile on his face and his hands up. "We should not focus on how we hurt Madame Trickster. Think about each other. Maybe the important thing was the friendships we made along the way?"

….

…..

"Don't ever say that again, Rook." Trey chuckled awkwardly.

Vil sighed and shook his head. "I feel like that was something Neige would say," the model felt as like he was going to vomit at the thought.

"I think I puked inside," Idia visibly cringed.

"Guys, we have important things to worry about, such as Rook's cheesy lines," Cater said. "Who is going to get the apple?"

"Monsieur Magicam has a point, although I have a suggestion," Rook said as the third years watched expectantly. "No one should get the apple since Madame Trickster chose no one."

"I agree. I can feel wrinkles forming on my youthful face." Lilia cried as Vil took out the apple from its box.

"How do we get rid of it?" Idia eyed the apple suspiciously. If only Ortho were here, then he could shoot it with a laser.

"I have an idea," Malleus said. He grabbed the apple with one hand, and instantly, the fruit lit up in green flames. "There. All gone." He looked up to see the other third years, minus Lilia, watching with their jaws dropped. Malleus wiped the charred bits off his gloves and turned to the group. "Should we all prepare for later?"

Rollo stood tall and walked through Night Raven College, his student council members trailing behind. As the Noble Bell student council president, it was his job to remain diligent and make a good impression on NRC, even if he had opinions about the institution. A twinkle caught his eye as he made his way down the path to the gates of NRC.

"Where are you going, Rollo?" His vice president asked as Rollo stepped out of the path.

"I'm just inspecting something. You can go ahead without me," Rollo said until he was in front of the item. There, lying on the ground, was a golden apple that did not have a speck of dirt despite being on the ground. Rollo picked up the apple and inspected it. "Disgusting," he said, sensing the magic embedded in it. Rollo turned the apple to find something written on it. "To the most handsome third year…" the boy muttered. Suddenly, the apple was plucked out of his grasp and was floating in the air.

Wait a minute.

"Reveal yourself!" Rollo pointed his staff at the apple.

"Ooo, you caught me~," a voice said with glee. Rollo held his stance as legs magically appeared, followed by a torso and a head. "Long time no see, Rollo."

Rollo clicked his tongue. "It has, Chenya. Now, hand me that apple so I can dispose of it properly."

"Heh, heh, this thing?" Chenya threw the apple in the air like it was a ball. "I think I'm gonna keep it for myself. You know what they say? Cats like shiny things," he said as he began to disappear again.

"Why you!" Rollo yelled, and his staff glowed. "I'll take it by force then."

"WAIT!" A girlish voice yelled. Neige Leblanche ran into the scene, huffing and puffing. Rollo froze and put his magic away. Meanwhile, Chenya revealed his whole body.

"Purrfect timing, Neige. I almost got burned to a crisp." Chenya cried in glee. Rollo rolled his eyes. Dramatic much?

Neige ran between the two. "Guys, let's all stop fighting and be friends! We should not create a commotion while visiting another school. Think about friendship and world peace!"

Chenya and Rollo remained quiet as if processing Neige's speech. Neither reacted until Chenya's infamous Cheshire grin graced his face.

"Nah." His attention turned back to Rollo. "This apple is clearly made for me. Who cannot resist these purrfect looks."

Rollo scoffed and crossed his arms. "A fool, really. Now give me that apple. I need to dispose of it." He lunged forward, but Chenya moved too quickly. The beastman grinned mischivously.

"You gotta catch me first!” Chenya stuck his tongue out and laughed as his body disappeared again, leaving a floating apple running across campus.

Rollo gritted his teeth, and his face turned red. "Stop hiding, Chenya!" he yelled, losing all composure as he chased after the Cheshire cat.

"Guys! Let’s talk about friendship!" Neige exclaimed as he followed Rollo, leaving the Noble Bell vice president, who came to check on Rollo, confused.

Meanwhile, the NRC third years watched the goose chase pass by them while returning to their dorms.

"Was Chenya holding the apple Malleus just incinerated?" Cater asked randomly. The others thought for moment before shaking their heads.

"Let's just keep moving," Vil responded. "Before Crowley sends out a search party for us."

Just a typical day at Night Raven College.

Disclaimer: I do not own Twisted Wonderland and its characters. Those belong to Aniplex, Walt Disney Japan, and Yana Toboso.

©: This story belongs to bluesylveon2 2020-24. DO NOT modify, republish, or plagiarize my work.

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #platonic twst x reader #twst x female reader #trey clover #cater diamond #leona kingscholar #rook hunt #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #malleus draconia #lilia vanrouge #twst third years #alchemi alchemivich pinka #rollo flamme

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agroteraa · 2 months

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Calling All My Lovelies

Felix Catton x f!Reader

My fic masterlist

Summary: AU where Saltburn's ending never happened. Felix lived happily up to 2017 (and on), where he happened to meet you. Meaning he is around 29-30 here.

Featuring the song "Calling All My Lovelies" by Bruno Mars

Also mentioning songs like "24K Magic" and "Too Good to Say Goodbye" by Bruno Mars, you can listen to them or even the whole "24K Magic" album for the right mood and atmosphere ❤️

Tags: fluffy angst, AU.

Warnings: mentions of sex, kinda?cheating, relationship misconception.

Word Count: 2,7K

Felix's London apartment was luxurious. Of course, it wasn't Saltburn, but there was a lot to see and be impressed by here too. Especially the view of the Thames, which was strewn on both sides with many lights of the most beautiful sights of the UK capital. Felix and all his guests found the lights especially bright in winter, as on this late February evening.

Especially the girls. Each of those whom he brought here stopped in awe at the huge panoramic windows and looked at the views almost from the height of the flight of a city bird. If before that they had somehow not been one hundred percent fascinated by Felix and his lifestyle, then this luxurious apartment was always the final charming argument.

Y/N was no exception.

When he brought you to his place after a fun evening full of alcohol, it seems that you looked at the views of the city more closely than anyone else and even managed to point out to him some new places from afar, which he did not pay much attention to or did not know what exactly these places were.

Felix smiled warmly - he would love to admire the view of the city with you, preferably standing in an embrace. But then he wasn't interested much of it back then, rather in something else. When he returned from the kitchen with a bottle of expensive alcohol and two glasses, you barely had time to taste the drink, as you merged again in a passionate kiss, which flowed into an even more passionate night. One of the best for both of you, and oh how he would like to repeat it.

But you weren't here right now.

There was no one but Felix himself, this evening was also full of alcohol, but there was little fun in it.

And all because you misunderstood each other. Very much.

When he brought you to his house from the club that day, he didn't think that you would take it all so seriously. Kate didn't take it in. Therefore, from her friend (or whoever you were to her, or maybe you didn't communicate that close? After all, if Felix had to think about it, it was the first time he saw you there with her…) he expected the same understanding.

You had a great time at the club, and then a night at Felix's apartment. Then you started to chat online a lot, went for a brunch and for a walk in the park, where you talked for a long, long time, cheerfully chatting about everything in the world. Well, except for discussing relationships. Then another night together, no less, if not more wonderful than that the previous one. Then another brunch. And after that… You had a lot of work and things to do, while Felix had a lot of free time and his own needs.

When you found out from Kate that he had slept with a couple of girls during that time (not with Kate herself, though they stopped sleeping not so long ago), you were crushed.

And she just shrugged her shoulders and said that you should have known or guessed that Felix lives in a free relationship mode.

You didn't know. Or you didn't want to know. And the main thing was that you thought that something special was going on between the two of you, you saw it in Felix's eyes, felt the distinct warmth of his touch and a certain special thrill overall. The way you talked to each other. It wasn't just sex or an empty mindless flirt, even if the beginning of your relationship was very fast and passionate. It was all felt even after two nights and many days, evenings and nights of mutual texting and calls.

Anyway, you didn't discuss otherwise. That was the whole point. And so, when, after things suddenly got clear, you received another usual message from Felix, you ignored it for a long time, unable to respond, being numb with pain, indignation and shame. You still was processing it and didn't believe to the end (that it would happened or that you were such a fool, you weren't sure yourself, probably both). Then, after a few more of his messages, you somehow pulled yourself together and answered all of them at once, quite briefly and dryly.

After some dialogue in this manner, Felix realized that there was clearly something wrong. He started asking what was the matter, to which you answered him:

You didn't answer. Felix called. So, roughly in ten minutes of a phone conversation, you found out in raised tones that he "doesn't owe you anything nor didn't promise anything" that you "are fine as you are now, why complicate everything" and that "please, let's keep seeing each other, it doesn't mean anything special" was a real argument to him.

"As if you don't know yourself."

"Explain?"

"I don't want to, I'm not in the mood to talk to you right now. If ever at all."

"???"

You shouted into the phone "No, if you don't want to complicate things, then I do, I'm sorry! More precisely, I wanted to. I thought we were serious.… Maybe... it seemed all... special. That's it, look, I... I don't want to talk any longer. And don't call me anymore, okay?"

And so, one day had passed, then two and three. And now the fourth day was already ending, turning into the fifth. You really didn't pick up the phone anymore and didn't respond to his messages, which were getting fewer and fewer every day.

But Felix had more and more thoughts in his head instead. He has almost passed all the stages of acceptance these days:

denial - "no, it's nothing, she's going to be mad a bit and come back to me";

anger - "not coming back? Well, fuck her!";

bargaining - "please, Y/N, answer my messages already...";

depression - "have I really lost touch with her forever?..".

Except for the acceptance itself, of course. And besides the fact that he was returning to all these stages randomly from time to time.

He really did not understand, he was not used to the fact that a girl could take a relationship with him that seriously, especially so immediately. Okay, these infatuations at school and even sometimes at university, when people fell head over heels in love with him, romanticizing him without really knowing him, but now? In the adult world, when everyone should understand the "rules of the game" and that no one seriously owes anyone anything until it is discussed. That was how Felix thought about it. And that was why it was so strange to him that it could hurt you so deeply.

He contemplated about it all the time and, to tell the truth, it even began to flatter him that someone could fall in love with him so much and take him that serious from the start. If he got everything correctly. Yes, at first it surprised him, then it worried him, then it flattered him, and after that... something inside him began to hurt unpleasantly?

He wasn't lying back then. These girl didn't mean a lot to him. But did this mean that Y/N did?..

His heart and mind began to fill with deep, complex feelings that he had not experienced for a long time and, to be honest, had not realized properly and processed in an adult way, being almost-thirty.

And Felix got scared. He was genuinely scared, that was why, first of all, he was pouring alcohol into himself all evening, inhaling lots of smoke as well.

And right now, he decided to brighten up his company not only with wine, champagne and cigarettes, but also with music. He chose Bruno Mars, whose new album he has listened to quite often since its release. Fancy stereo speakers filled his apartment with the loud sounds of "24K Magic".

Felix danced to the rhythm of the songs, sipping wine straight from the bottle. Now he tried to imagine that he was having fun in a club, and not alone in a dark empty apartment, and he almost succeeded in that.

That way Felix Catton decently lifted his mood along with the level of alcohol intoxication.

He skipped the song "Versace on the Floor" because he wasn't in the mood for slow romantic songs. But when "Calling All My Lovelies" started playing a little later, Felix was unable to switch it either.

He leaned back in one of the chairs, frowning and very intently listening through a decently tipsy consciousness to the lines of the song that had begun.

I got too many girls on hold for you to be so bold

Too many on my team for you to act so mean

"Oh, yeah. Exactly so," Felix thought.

You say you wanna go and have fun, well, you ain't the only one

If I ring, don't let it ring too long or I'm gone

"That's bloody right," he said aloud and nodded slightly several times, taking another sip of wine from the neck of the bottle.

I got Alicia waitin', Aisha waitin'

All the -eeshas waitin' on me

And also Stacey, Tracey, Macey, Lacey… Had he mentioned Tracey already? In general, all sorts of -aceys were waiting for him too, and not only them.

So why you contemplatin'? Playa hatin'?

If this is how it's gonna be

I'm callin' all my lovelies (Callin' all my lovelies)

'Cause I can't get a hold of you

At these words, Felix gripped the bottle so tightly that it almost broke under the force of his fingers squeezing it. It was definitely unpleasant for him to hear from Bruno Mars things that Felix was afraid to admit even to himself. He shook his head, closing his eyes. No, that was bullshit.

Since you ain't thinkin' of me (Since you ain't thinkin' of me)

Oh, look what you're makin' me do

Sharp breath. Closed eyes. Exhale.

Honey pie, I'm far too fly to be on standby

Sendin' me straight to voicemail, suga, what the hell? (What the hell?)

That was right! What the hell was all that? You ignored him too! How long had he been texting you and even calling you? Was that fair? Why should he run after you? He shouldn't.

Ooh, you ought to be ashamed, playin' these childish games

I don't get down like that, tell me where you're at, hit me back

Yes. Come and tell him that to his face. Oh, how he wanted you to be right in front of him now. Or didn't want to. No, he actually did. And not only to talk, getting things clear, but also to repeat the night like these… His imagination had already begun to draw pictures of how he would kiss you, undress you... and then… Your sensual moans echoed in his head. He almost felt your skin with his elictrified fingertips. And after that... no, no, stop.

Mmm, I got Alicia waitin', Aisha waitin'

All the -eeshas waitin' on me

"That's it, Bruno, you understand me, buddy! Felix mentally raised a bottle of wine as a toast and drank another sip to "them boys", to "free spirits".

So why you contemplatin'? Playa hatin'?

If this is how it's gonna be

He could have called any of the girls he mentally had listed. And everyone would come to him immediately or at least as soon as possible, doing everything Felix would have wished. Ha. How do you like that, Y/N?

But for some reason he didn't want to text to any of them, much less call them.

The only voice he wanted to hear right now was yours.

I'm callin' all my lovelies (Callin' all my lovelies)

'Cause I can't get a hold of you

Since you ain't thinkin' of me (Since you ain't thinkin' of me)

Oh, look what you're makin' me do

For the second time, he couldn't stand listening to these words. Abruptly and carelessly putting the bottle on the glass table and staggering decently, Felix wandered off to get his phone. It was time to call his not-even-ex-not-girlfriend. Catton-Jr. seemed to be listening to the dial tone more on purpose, just not to listen too closely to the words of the song that went on:

Pick up the phone, pick up the phone

'Cause all this lovin' needs a home, oh, yeah

Oh, no, look at what you started, baby

Now, I'm left here brokenhearted, baby

"Pick up the phone, yes, pick up the phone, come on," he repeated, tapping his foot. The phone dropped the call after a short time, and the guy dialed for the second, then the third time and…

There's a pain in my chest, I cannot explain

I told myself I wasn't gon' cry (Oh, not gonna cry, no, no)

But somebody's gotta come dry these eyes 'cause (Dry these, ah, 'cause)

The dial tone beeps continued. Felix studied London at night under their measured rhythm. His favorite activity was to peer at passing boats and ships of various sizes, models and speed, as well as trying to count their number. He often got distracted, but still loved it.

So, he didn't notice that the beeps from the real phone had flowed into the beeps from the song. In "Calling All My Lovelies" Bruno's imaginary crush was a famous actress. Her voice "responded" in lively yet sensual tone:

Hi, you've reached Halle Berry. Sorry I can't get to the phone right now

But if you leave your name and number, I'll get right back to you *mwah*

Damn... (Bruno Mars' voice hissed back with increasing echoes and annoyance).

At this point, Felix himself clenched his teeth and threw the phone on the floor out of anger. Fortunately, the carpet was soft enough to survive the fury of its owner and continue to function in case you suddenly wanted to respond.

I'm callin', callin', callin', callin' all my lovelies

'Cause I can't get a hold of you

Oh, since you ain't thinkin' of me (Since you ain't thinkin' of me, baby)

Look what you're makin' me do

Felix almost whimpered at the realization of what a fool he had been and what a stupid situation he was in right now. Where he led himself. Why couldn't you two just talk? Why couldn't he just tell it all at once, from the start? Maybe it would have been different otherwise now. Resting his forehead against the big window, he felt its pleasant coolness, but it could not cool down his burning resentment inside. Most of all, he did not like it when the blame for the current situation could not be shifted to anyone or anything else, and this pained him incredibly right now.

Pick up the phone, pick up the phone

'Cause all this lovin' needs a home, oh

He collapsed into a chair near the window, clutching its handles tightly and stretching his long legs. If only he would…

Felix inhaled and exhaled noisily, throwing his head back and taking a pack of cigarettes along with a lighter out of his shirt pocket. The fingers did not obey a little, as the hands of their owner were shaking slightly from nerves and alcohol intoxication. He growled slightly in irritation. When the guy was finally able to light a cigarette, he took a long drag on it.

Now he wasn't in the mood for energetic and carefree songs. He skipped "Finesse".

That was how the last song from the album started playing - "Too Good to Say Goodbye":

I've made mistakes

I could have treated you better

I let you get away

There goes my happily ever after

Tell me why, why can't we try and start again?

This can't be how our story ends…

Oh, please…

He really did miss you.

And he was not right.

He wanted to win you and your trust over again. He finally admitted it with all his heart to himself. He would try. Really.

If only you could…

The phone, thrown on the fluffy carpet, suddenly came to life and started vibrating.

Releasing all the smoke from his lungs, which Felix had inhaled, at once, he abruptly bent down to the carpet.

Your name appeared on the phone screen, gleaming brightly in the darkness.

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femsolid · 2 years

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“We’re in 2019. Female hair is CENSORED everywhere. You don’t see it on TV. You don’t see it in magazines or adverts. There is an injunction of society for women to remain 'soft' and completely hairless. Just like a little girl. I don’t believe that’s a coincidence. Young, skinny, hairless girls have been very popular in the media for years and it makes me wonder. Who's behind it all? Who's perpetuating this message about women looking like adolescent girls? It sometimes feels rather paedophilic. It worries me.” – Camille Alexander. Musician (2019)

“Years ago I did think about getting laser hair removal for my navel hair, but then I realised I'd be paying a couple of hundred pounds just to conform to expectations that I don't even care about– I'd much rather use the money for a holiday or circus lessons! I think that's one of the things which annoys me so much about society and the media's expectation for women to be basically hairless– they're pressuring us to invest serious time and money and endure pain. It's a double standard and it's unfair. Being able to accept your body– hair, scars and all– is freeing. I remember seeing my Aunt Glynis dancing to reggae in the 90s with her armpit hair showing– she looked so confident, happy and free. As a child, I couldn't put my finger on 'why', but I can now. On a practical level, it feels pretty darn good when I consider how much time, money and pain I've saved by accepting my body as it is. I like to think that that memory of my aunt being free and totally comfortable in her own skin is one that I can emulate and pass onto other girls and women. It hasn't always been received well though. At Lambeth County Fair one year, a friend of a friend was seriously freaked out when he saw my armpits. He asked me "what's wrong with you? Why would you do that?!", which was pretty amusing but bewildering. It reminded me there will always be people out there who may react and judge me like that. Thankfully, the opinion of people who think like that means very little to me! For me having hair and not caring is a bit like being part of a secret club. When you notice someone else who is resisting society's expectations and staying hairy you feel solidarity and respect. It's nice to be part of that.” – Isabel (2019)

“As a teenager, I remember trying to stuff myself into a box of what a girl should be like. It always felt uncomfortable; padded bras, shoes that hurt and shaving rash. Running, swimming and climbing have helped me to see the strength and resilience in my body and to love it for what it is. Growing my armpit hair has been a recent experiment and the longer it gets, the more I like it! I like the way it looks & feels. It has given me a new respect for myself. So I say, embrace growth & if it pleases you, let it all grow!” – Jess (2018)

“Shaving, epilating or waxing hurts. I was tired of suffering, trying to adapt to the image of a ‘beautiful young woman’ society is selling us. Everybody told me to shave. As a teenager, it’s a huge subject among girls; where do you shave? What method are you using? It takes so much time and costs so much money (the majority of hair removal products are also not recyclable). All of these reasons coming one after another motivated me to stop shaving. I would often have irritated skin after shaving and being a very sporty person, the sweat and the friction of my clothes would cause pain.The worst thing was having sex on the second day after shaving my vulva. I didn't understand why women would suffer and waste so much time on hiding who they really are. By showing my body hair on stage, I would like to stimulate and change people’s point of view. I’d like to motivate women to make their own choices.”

– Darian Koszinski. Circus artist (2018)

“I stopped shaving completely when I was a teenager because of two instances. The first? I got tired of all the time wasted on maintenance and the discomfort that came with it. The second was when I went on a few multiple week-long backpacking trips; it would have been extremely inconvenient to spend hours ripping my hair out, so I let things grow. Being so close to nature let me dive deeper into and re-examine the relationship with myself and the world, acting as a mirror. In nature, there is wild; it is as beautiful as it is untamed. How could it be anything other than that? I felt so relieved and free when I let it grow out. It felt like being able to breathe. It was incredibly comfortable too. I felt a confidence and boldness returning, like I was replenishing some kind of primal power. I will say that a very pleasant side effect of having armpit hair is its ability to ward off rude people whom I wouldn’t care to interact or associate with anyway. Because the people that care about that sort of thing and make it a point to say how disgusted they are, are precisely the kind of people that I don’t want in my life.”

– Kyotocat (2017)

“At this point in life, I feel that the real question shouldn't be 'why did you let your armpit hair grow?' But actually, 'why did you shave in the first place?' Please celebrate your body! Own who you are and be that! Those who celebrate who and what they are, are creating a much open and safer space for those who are struggling to understand who and what they want to be in life. It might be easier said than done but give it a try. We'll then help create a healthier and understanding society with less bullshit than there already is...”

– Alex Wellburn (2017)

“I never stopped shaving because I never started. I do remember my mother shaving when I was younger and I thought that was pretty unnecessary since she was a strict muslim. I later realised it's a thing women do to look more desirable to men. It really irritated me that the people who reacted negatively to my natural armpit hair were men. Like it was the most disgusting thing in the world. It really gets on my tits. This is just one more reason that I don't shave it off. It belongs to me and I don't make noise about the "ugly"; hair on men which are sometimes pretty painful in the eye... But you've got to get over it and don't let these idiots get under it. I would recommend growing it to any women.”

– Ayan Mohamed. Graduate architecture student (2014)

Natural Beauty Photoshoot

#gnc

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physalian · 5 months

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Humanizing Your Characters (And Why You Should)

To humanize a character is not to contort an irredeemable villain into the warped funhouse mirror reflection of a hero in the last 30 seconds to gain “narrative subversion” points. To humanize is not to give said villain a tragic backstory that validates every bad choice they make in attempt to provide nuance where it does not deserve to be.

To humanize a character, villain or otherwise, is to make them flawed. Scuff them up, give them narrative birthmarks and scars and imperfections. Whether it’s your hero, their love interest, the comic relief, the mentor, the villain, the rival, these little narrative details serve to make all your literary babies better.

Why should you humanize your characters?

To do this means to write in details beyond those that service the plot, or the themes, or the motifs, morals, foreshadowing, or story. These might be (and usually are) entirely unimportant in the grand scheme of things. So, if I wrote lengthy diatribes on pacing and why every detail must matter, and character descriptions and thematic importance, why am I now suggesting go free-for-all on the fluff?

Just like real people have quirks and tics and beliefs and pet peeves that serve our no greater purpose, so should fictional people. Your average reader doesn’t have the foggiest idea what literary devices are beyond metaphor, simile foreshadowing, and anecdote, but they can tell when the author is using motif and theme and all the syntactical marvels because it reads that much richer, even if they can’t pinpoint why.

And, for shipping fodder, these tiny little details are what help your audience fall in love with the character. It doesn’t even have to be in a book – Taylor Swift (whether you like her or not) never fills her music with sexual innuendo or going clubbing. She tells stories filled with human details like dancing in the refrigerator light. People can simultaneously relate to these very specific and vivid experiences, and say “not that exactly, but man this reminds me of…” and that’s (part of) the reason her music is so popular.

What kinds of narratives need these details?

All of them. Visual media, audio, written, stage play. Now, to what degree and excess you apply these details depends on your tone, intended audience, and writing style. If your style of writing is introspection heavy, noir character drama, you might go pretty heavy on the character design.

But even if you’re writing a kids book with a scant few paragraphs of setting descriptors and internal narration, or you’re drawing a comic book – if you have characters you want people to care about, do this.

Animators, particularly, are very adept at humanizing non-human characters, because, unlike live acting, every single stroke of the pen is there with intent. They use their own reflections for facial references, record their own movements to draw a dance, and insert little bits of themselves into signature character poses so you know that *that* animator did this one.

How to humanize your characters.

I’m going to break this down into a couple sections: Costume/wardrobe, personality, beliefs/behavior/superstitions, haptics/proxemics/kinesics, and voice. They will all overlap and the sheer variety and possibilities are way too broad for me to capture every facet.

Costumes and Wardrobe

In the film Fellowship of the Ring, there’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment where, after Boromir is slain by the Uruk-Hai, Aragorn takes Boromir’s Gondorian vambraces to wear in his honor, and in honor of their shared country. He wears them the rest of the trilogy. The editing pays no extra attention to them beyond a split second of Aragorn tightening the straps, it never lingers on them, never reminds you that they’re there, but they kept it in nonetheless. His actor also included a hunting bow that didn't exist in the book because he's a roamer, a ranger, and needs to be able to feed himself, along with a couple other survival tools.

Aragorn wears plenty of other symbolic bits of costume – the light of the Evenstar we see constantly from Arwen, the Lothlorien green cloaks shared by the entire Fellowship, his re-forged sword and eventual full Gondorian regalia, but all those are Epic Movie Moments that serve a thematic purpose.

Taking the vambraces is just a small, otherwise insignificant character moment, a choice made for no other reason than that’s what this character would do. That’s what makes him human, not an archetype.

When you’re writing these details and can’t rely on sneaking them into films, you have to work a little harder to remind your audience that they exist, but not too often. A detail shifts from “human” to “plot point” when it starts to serve a purpose to the themes and story.

Inconsequentiality might be how a character ties, or doesn’t tie their shoelaces, because they just can’t be bothered so they remain permanent knots and tripping hazards. It might be a throw-away line about how they refuse to wear shorts and strictly stick to long pants because they don’t like showing off their legs. It might be perpetually greasy hair from constantly running their fingers through it with stress, or self-soothing. A necklace they fidget with, or a ring, a belt they never bother to replace even though they should, a pair of lucky socks.

Resist the urge to make it more meaningful than “this is just how they are”. If I’m using the untied shoelaces example – in Spiderverse, this became a part of the story’s themes, motifs, and foreshadowing, and doesn’t count. Which isn’t bad! It’s just not what I’m talking about.

Personality

In How to Train Your Dragon, Toothless does not speak. All his personality comes from how he moves, the noises he makes, and the expressions on his face. There’s moments, like in the finale, when his prosthetic has burned off and Hiccup tells him to hold on for a little bit longer, and you can clearly see on his face that he’s deeply uncertain about his ability to do so. It’s almost off the screen, another blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment. Or the beat of hesitation before he lets Hiccup touch him in the Forbidden Friendship scene. Or the irritated noise he makes when he’s impatiently waiting for Hiccup to stop chatting with his dad because they have a giant dragon to murder. Or when he slaps Hiccup with his ear fin for flying them into a rock spire.

None of those details *needed* to exist to endear you to his character or to serve the scenes they’re in. The scenes would carry on just fine without them. He’s a fictional dragon, yes, but these details make him real.

Other personality tics you could include might be a character who gets frustrated with tedious things very quickly and starts making little inteligible curses under their breath. Or how they giggle when they’re excited and start bouncing on their toes. Maybe they have a tic where they snap their fingers when they’re concentrating, trying to will an idea into existence. Or they stick their tongue out while they work and get embarrassed when another character calls them on it. They roll around in their sleep, steal blankets, drool, leave dishes in the sink or are neurotic with how things must be organized. They have one CD in their car, and actually use that CD player instead of the phone jack or Bluetooth. They sing in the shower, while they cook, or while they do homework, no matter how grating their voice.

They like the smell of new shoes or Sharpies. They hate the texture of suede or velvet or sticky residues. They never pick their socks up. They hate the overhead light in their room and use 50 lamps instead. They hate turning into oncoming traffic or don’t trust their backup camera. They collect Funko Pops and insist there’s always room for more.

And about a million others.

Beliefs, Behaviors, and Superstitions

*If you happen to be writing a story where superstitions have merit, maybe skip this one.* Usually, inevitably, these evolve into character centerpieces and I can’t actually think of one off the top of my head that doesn’t become this beyond the ones we all know. A few comedic examples do come to mind:

The Magic Conch in “Club Spongebob” and the sea-bear-proof dirt circle in “The Camping Episode”

Dean Winchester’s fear and panic-driven actions in “Yellow Fever” and “Sam, Interrupted”

The references to the trolls that steal left-foot socks in How to Train Your Dragon

I’m not a fan of wasting time writing a religious character doing their religious thing when Plot Is Happening, but smaller things are what I’m talking about. Like them wearing a cross/rosary and touching it when they’re nervous. Having a specific off-beat prayer, saying, or expression because they don’t believe in cursing.

The classic ones like black cats, ladders, broken mirrors, salt, sidewalk cracks can all be funny. Athletes have plenty, too, and some of them, particularly in baseball culture, are a bit ridiculous. Not washing socks or uniforms, having a team idol they donate Double Bubble to and also rub their toes. A specific workout routine, diet, team morale dance.

Other things, too. A character who’s afraid to go back downstairs once the lights are off, or fear the basement or the backyard shed. Or they’re really put-off by this old family photo for no reason other than how glassy their eyes look and it’s creepy. They like crystals, dreamcatchers, star signs, tarot, or they absolutely do not under any circumstances.

They believe in all the tried and true ways of predicting the weather like a grizzled old sailor. They believe in ghosts, vampires, werewolves, witches, skinwalkers, doppelgangers, fairies. They talk to the cat statue in their kitchen and named it Fudge Pop. They whisper to the spirit that possessed the fridge so it stops making all that racket, and half the time, it works every time. They wear yellow for good luck or carry a rabbit’s foot. They’re not religious at all but still throw prayers out to whoever’s listening because, you know, just in case. They sit by their window sill and talk to the moon and the stars and pretend like they’re in a music video when they’re driving through the city in the rain.

Haptics, Proxemics, and Kinesics

These are, for all you non-communication and psych majors out there, touch and physical contact, how they move, and how they move around other people.

Behold, your shipping fodder.

Two shining examples of proxemics in action are the famous “close talker” episode of Seinfeld (of which every communication major has been subjected to) and Castiel’s not understanding of personal space (and human chronemic habits) in Supernatural.

These are how a character walks, if they’re flat-footed, clumsy, or tip-toers. If they make a racket or constantly spook the other characters. If they fidget or can’t sit still in a seat for five seconds, if they like to sit backwards or upside down. How they touch themselves, if they do a lot of self-soothing maneuvers (hugging themselves, rubbing their arms, touching their face, drawing their knees up, holding their neck, etc) or if they don’t do any self-soothing at all.

This is how they shake hands, if they dance while they cook or work. It’s how much space they let themselves take up, if they man-spread or keep their limbs in closer. How close they stand to others or how far. If they let themselves be touched at all, or if they always have their skin covered. If they always have their back to a wall, or are always making sure they know where the nearest exit is. If they make grand gestures when they talk and give directions. If they flinch from pats on the back or raised hands. If they lean away from loud voices or project their own. If they use their height to their advantage when arguing, puff their chest, square their shoulders, put their hands on their hips, or point fingers in accusation.

If they touch other characters as they pass by. If they’re huggers or victims of falling asleep on or near their comrades. If they must sleep facing the door, or with something solid behind them. If they can sleep in the middle of a party wholly uncaring. If they sleepwalk, sleeptalk, migrate across the bed to cuddle whoever’s nearest with no idea they’re doing it.

If they like to be held or like to hold others. If they hate being picked up and slung around or are touch-starved for it. If they like their space and stick to it or are more than happy to share.

Do they walk with grace, head held high and back straight? Or are they hunched over, head hung, watching their feet? Are they meanderers or speed-walkers? Do they cross their arms in front or lace their hands behind them? Do they bow to authority or meet that gaze head on?

I have heard that Prince Zuko, in Last Airbender, is usually drawn sleeping with his bad ear down when he doesn’t feel safe, like on his warship or anywhere in the Fire Nation, or on the road. He’s drawn on his other side once he joins the Gaang. In Dead Man’s Chest, just before Davy Jones drives the Flying Dutchman under the waves, two tentacles curl up and around the brim of his hat to keep it from blowing off in the water.

When they fight, do they attack first, or defend first? Do they touch other characters’ hair? Share makeup, share clothes? Touch their faces with boops or bonks or nuzzles and eskimo kisses? Do they crack their knuckles and necks and knees?

Do they stare in baffled curiosity at all the other characters wholly comfortable in each other's spaces because they can’t, won’t, or don’t see the point in all this nonsense? Do they say they’re happy on the outside, but are betrayed by their body language?

Voice

Whether or not to write an accent is entirely up to you. Books like Their Eyes Were Watching God writes dialogue in a vernacular specific to its characters. Westerners and southerners tend to be written with the southern drawl or dialect, ripe with stereotypical contractions. Be advised, however, that in attempt to write an accent to give your character depth, you could be instead turning off your audience who doesn’t have energy to decipher what they’re saying, or you went and wrote a racist stereotype.

Voice isn’t just accent and dialect, nor is it how it sounds, which falls more solidly under useful character descriptions. Voice for the sake of humanizing your characters concerns how they talk, how they convey their thoughts, and how they become distinct from other characters in dialogue and narration.

If you’re writing a narrative that hops heads and don’t want to include a big banner to indicate who’s talking at any given time, this is where voice matters. It is, I think, the least appreciated of all the possible traits to pay attention to.

First person narrators have the most flexibility here because the audience is zero degrees removed from their first-hand experiences. Their personality comes through sharply in how they describe things and what they pay attention to.

But it’s also in what similes and metaphors they use. I read a book that had an average (allegedly straight) male narrator going off and describing colors with types of flowers, some I had to look up because I just don’t know those off the top of my head. My immediate thought was either this character is a poorly written gay, or he’s a florist. Neither (allegedly), the writer was just being too specific.

Do they have crutch words they use? like, um, actually, so…, uh

Or repeat exclamations specific to them? yikes, yowzers, jeepers, jinkies, zoinks, balls, beans, d’oh!

Or idioms they’re fond of? Like a bat out of hell. Snowball’s chance.

Do they stutter when they’re nervous? Do they lose their train of thought and bounce around, losing other characters in the process? Do they have a non-Christian god they pray to and say something other than “thank God”? Are they from another country, culture, time period, realm, or planet with their own gods, beliefs, and idioms?

When they describe settings, how flowery is the language? Would this grizzled war hero use flowery language? How would he or she describe the color pink, versus a PTA mom? Do they use only a generic “blue, green, red” or do they really pay attention with “aquamarine, teal, emerald, viridian, vermillion, rose, ruby”?

How do this character’s hobbies affect how well they can describe dance moves, painting styles, car models, music genres?

This mostly matters when you’re head-hopping and the voice of the narrator serves to be more distinct, otherwise, what’s the point of head-hopping? Just use third-person omniscient.

If you really want to go wild, give a specific narrator unique syntax. Maybe one character is the ghost of Oscar Wild with never-ending run-on sentences. Just be sure to not go too overboard and compromise the integrity of your story.

In the book A Lesson Before Dying, a somewhat illiterate, underprivileged and undereducated minor has been given a mentor, a teacher, before they face the death penalty. At the end of the book, you read all of the letters they wrote to their teacher. There’s misspellings everywhere, almost no punctuation, and long, rambling sentences.

It’s heartbreaking. The subject matter is heavy and horrible, yes, but it’s the choice to write with such poor English that has a much bigger impact than perfect MLA format.

How to implement these details

Most of these, in the written medium, need only show up once or twice before your audience notices and wonders why they’re there. Most fall squarely under character design, which falls under exposition, and should follow all the exposition guidelines.

These details exist to be random and fluffy, but they can’t exist randomly within the narrative. If you want to have your character be superstitious, pick a relevant time to include that superstition.

Others, like ongoing speech habits or movements, still don’t overuse, especially if they’re unique. A character might like to sit backwards in a chair, but if you mention that they’re doing it every single time they sit down, your audience will wonder what’s so important and if the character is unwell.

And, of course, you can let these traits become thematically important, like a superstition being central to their personality or backstory or motivation. These all serve the same purpose of making your character feel like a real person instead of just a “character”.

Just think about tossing in a few random details every now and then and see what happens. One tiny sentence can take a background character and make them candidates for the eventual fandom’s fan favorite. Details like these turn your work from “This a story, and these are the characters who tell it” into “these are my characters, and this is their story.”

#writing advice #character design #writing tips #writing resources #exposition #writing tools #writing a book

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biibini · 4 months

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Hii!! After mizu graduates college, what type of job do you think she'd have? Would it have to do with sports or maybe something way different? (I absolutely love your writing and headcanons !! 🩷🩷)

modern!mizu post-college life headcanons

tags: post-grad life, engineering mizu, stable work life, a woman in stem, moving in with reader, basketball with mizu, mizu join fencing club, peaceful post-grad life (the dream)

a/n: ngl the thought of post-college life is tripping me out,,, im a junior in college rn and the thought of it just kinda doesnt?? exist?? also ive heard too much info from my friends' rants ab their engineering degrees and switching majors from mechanic to electrical back to mechanical engineering,, theyre fucking nuts

modern!mizu would prob be in the engineering sector of jobs

wooo stem baby (i am a digital marketing major i should not be talking)

bc hello?? money???

also let’s use that mechanical engineering degree to good use

she didn’t leave home for nothing

with her technical skills from eiji

modern!mizu would probably be a CAD engineer

CAD aka computer aided design

technically speaking, it would allow her to work from home or hybrid

and she can easily transfer her mechanical and on-hand knowledge to a digital format

like she’s smart yall

she just got some troubles w procrastination

but dont we all?

(coping so hard)

this job would also allow her free time and flexible hours to do her job

and i feel like modern!mizu opts for a good work-life balance

if she wishes, she can take the day off snd just go out with u or go to the gym

the freedom of choice while staying comfortable at home?

sign her tf up

she can have her tea time, gym time, spending time w u time, and her self care time

the self care in question: enjoying the silence

and realistically, its a well paying job thatll keep her and u afloat while helping eiji financially if need be

modern!mizu hopes her work and smarts can help her provide for others and herself

its ab time she doesnt let herself depend on a man for money

yeah thats a fuck u to u, m*k*o

shes made the mistake once

shes not gonna make it again

just bc postgrad modern!mizu isnt in sports doesnt mean she’ll stop playing

she needs to get her exercise and movement some way some form

basketball with taigen

and always aim for the three-pointers

and is successful most of the time

and then proceed to aim for the half court shots

and fail most times

fencing with eiji whenever shes back home

she’ll def try to teach u

and its fun at first but

she wants to stretch her wings out

modern!mizu would prob join a fencing club

it would be a great for her to fully practice and spar

not just against her old man

or go soft w u

but also go against ppl her age

modern!mizu would move into a place w u

nothing grand but a small apartment where u could refresh and build the place to be ur own

ringo is a good friend

a true best friend she could trust

but it was time to move in w u

and not be wary of ringo hearing u when he comes home

modern!mizu would be more adventurous in hobbies

yeah she has basketball and fencing and her tea collection

but now she has a stable job

no need to worry about grades

and just to live life one step at a time

she would probably try out pottery with u

definitely practice her cooking with ringo's and ur help

all in all, a very patient life

(she deserves it)

#mizu bes #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x reader #bes mizu #blue eye samurai #mizu x y/n #mizu headcanons #blue eye samurai mizu #blue eye samurai x reader #modern mizu #modern mizu headcanons #modern au #blue eye samurai modern au

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luvyeni · 1 month

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SEX FASHION AND GUITARS — chapter 28. release party !

𐙚 pairings. rockstar!jaemin x stylist!reader

synopsis. l/n y/n fashion major and photographer on the side who says what she wants, na jaemin music major and lead guitar player for underground band DREAM. After yn forgets her to change her account and says something that catches the eye of jaemin she tries to ignore him — expect thanks to chenle she now works for them.

word count. 1877

SMUT WARNING !!

Jaemins social battery had officially burned out; he sat in the booth of the club, nursing his drink; his picture hung up all over the club, watching his friends bask in all the attention they were receiving— half these people they didn’t really know, but when you tell people there’s free alcohol then it’s bound to be crowed.

Jaemin didn’t want to get to know the girls that were coming up to him— a few months ago, their sultry voice’s and little clothing would’ve peaked his interest; however his eyes were glued to only one person, you; but you were too busy dancing with jeno to even notice.

“you look like a loser.” Chenle came over, sitting down. “how you figure?” he scoffed, taking a sip of your drink. “you’re also stupid.” He rolled his eyes. “did you come over to insult me?” chenle shook his head. “im just saying, you’re not even trying, she came here, she looks hot as fuck.” He glared at the boy. “oh calm down, she’s my best friend I can say what I want.”

“anyways she looks good, and you’re sitting here like a loser just watching.” chenle said. “if you don’t take her home tonight, I think you should just give up, let jeno do it.” Chenle smirked watching the boys nose flare up. “seems like he’s close to anyway look.” He could see jeno’s hands low on your hip. “you’re annoying.” He turned to the younger boy. “but im right.”

chenle was scooped up by jisung dragging him away, leaving the boy alone again, still watching you; the more he watched you dance with jeno, the more jealous he became— and the more that damned skirt became see through. “shit.” He grunted, sitting his drink down on the table, standing up; hoping his growing boner isn’t showing — making his way over to you.

“why are you trying to get me killed by jaemin?” jeno questioned. “what makes you say that.” He put his hand on your waist. “you’re looking this good, im not gonna lie— and I know you can feel him staring at you.” He saw right through you. “so why not just go up to him.” You smiled. “because why not?” he shook his head. “you know he really likes you, he just doesn’t know how to verbally tell you.”

“so he’s a coward?” you questioned, he laughed. “yes, but he means well.” jeno said. “besides we both know you’d rather be with him than me, because you keep looking past me and if you continue to do so im gonna kill myself.” He said stepping back, turning around. “just on time, he’s coming over here.” He went to walk away. “have fun.” He smirked walking away.

“you scared him away.” you tilted your head, he knew you were teasing him. “good.” Before you could say something, he grabbed your waist pulling you close to him. “cause I love the guy, but he was pissing me off.” he looked at your skirt. “your skirt is really sheer, anybody could see something if they looked hard enough.” He squeezed your waist, smirking when you bit your lip. “I don’t think anyone is paying attention to me like that.”

Your hands came up to the nape of his neck, he grunted upon feeling you tug at his roots. “please princess, I could see it the moment you walked in here, all the eyes on you.” He said, you chuckled. “you seem jealous.”

“why wouldn’t i?” you could hear his voice deepen. “they’re staring at what’s mine.” His nose was pressed against yours. “what’s yours?” you questioned teasingly. “don’t remember you asking.”

Having enough of this push and pull, he gripped your waist, a small whimper falling from waist, and that’s all he needed. “we’re getting out of here.” He said. “now?” you questioned. “im not fucking you the bathroom of a club.” You felt a tingle below. “we’re going back to mines.”

The damn taxi couldn’t get there faster; saying your goodbye— jaemin not really caring, he was ready to take you back to his apartment. “the taxi is here.” He grabbed your hand— dragging you outside the club, opening the door to the car, letting you get in first; secretly cause he wanted to get a peek at your ass. “fuck, your skirt really is see through.”

You smirked as he got into car after you. “you can’t wear this anymore.” You felt his hand in between your thighs. “ja-jaemin stop.” You whispered. “why, you getting turned on?” it was his turn to smirk, pressing his lips against your temple. “you know this reminds me of the first time we ever left together.” You clenched your thighs together. “dirty girl, thinking about me fucking you again.” You prayed the driver didn’t hear. “don’t worry princess, we’re almost to minds, I can tell you’re getting wet.”

A few minutes later your misery was over; you had pulled up in front of jaemins apartment complex; he paid the driver, helping you out of the car, he stayed close to you so no one was looking at your skirt; that he swore he was gonna burn after tonight— cause after tonight you’d be his.

He didn’t even wait for the elevator door to shut, before his lips was on yours, pushing you against the wall. “j-jaemin , just can’t wait.” He dry laughed. “you’re breathless and panting in my ear, and im the problem.” His hand crept up your top— but the door open. “lets go.”

He pulled you down the hall to his apartment, hurriedly unlocking his door; his cock desperate to be touched as he pushed the door open, pulling you in, pushing up against the door. “fuck I finally got you to myself.”

You both didn’t even bother taking your shoes off, going at it until you got to the room; you got control for a second, pushing him down on the bed, sinking to your knees. “sh-shit princess, you look fucking sexy down there.” He lifted his hips, letting you pull his pants down. “so eager to have my cock in your mouth.” He hissed as he felt the cold air on his length. “you missed it that much?” you kissed his cock, his precum coating your lips, he sighed.

You wrapped your lips around his red mushroom tip sucking. “oh fuck!” he gripped the sheets. “keep going baby, keep sucking my cock.” you slowly went down on him, the tip of his cock kissing the back of your throat. “fuck, I missed your mouth so much.” You felt his hand tangling up in your hair. “come on princess -fuck- I know you can take it all the way.”

He pushed your head all the way down, your nose pressed against his abdomen; your throat tightening a his cock. “oh shit , keep sucking me baby, im gonna cum.” He grunted. “fuck im gonna cum.” he gripped the shits. “shit im cumming!”

You hummed around his cock, feeling his cum coat the back of your throat with a whimper like moan— pulling off him. “there we go, be a good girl and swallow it.” His cock twitching as he watched you swallow, sticking your tongue out, letting him tap his cock on your tongue. “perfect.”

He pulled you up into a kiss, your poor cunt begging to be touched. “this fucking skirt.” He growled against your lips. “who told you to wear this out?” he pulled the skirt down. “w-wore it for you.” You pouted, he smiled. “yeah?” he threw the fabric across the room, leaving you in your black panties. “wanted to show that pretty ass off for me.” He pushed your legs open, your cunt on display. “look at you, making such a mess.” He pinched your ass. “jaemin, fuck.” You moaned.

He slid your panties to the side. “look at your poor cunt, so wet, begging to be touched.” you sighed feeling his fingers on your slit. “so sensitive, been a while since someone touched this pretty pussy hasn’t it?” you moaned, nodding— even with hanbin, you both hadn’t even had sex, wanting to wait. “good, it’s mine, no one else should be touching it.”

You moaned as he slid his fingers inside. “fuck you sound so pretty.” He huffed, moving his fingers. “gonna stretch you out before i fuck you.” He slowly adding another one, using his thumb to rub your clit. “cum for me princess, make a mess on my fingers.”

You called out his name, letting your orgasm wash over you, legs twitching as he came. “jaemin , shit!” you squeaked as he pulled his fingers out, putting them into mouth before wrapping them around his length, stroking it before slapping it on your clit, slipping inside your warm waiting cunt. “shit, you’re so fucking tight.”

You moaned as cock dragged along your wall; pulling out— a scream involuntarily leaving your lips as he slammed back into you, a curse leaving his mouth; rocking his hips. “shit, I fucking love your pussy.” His hips slapping against yours, the sounds of your dripping cunt and your moans bouncing off the walls as he slammed into your cunt. “fuck keep clenching around me.”

“oh my god.” You gasped as his cock hit a certain spot. “jaemin fuck!” he fucked into that spot over and over. “fuck jaemin im gonna cum soon, please keep going.” He sped up, his hands coming up to your shirt, squeezing your boobs, pushing your knee up, hitting a different spot that made you see stars. “fuck im cumming!” you screamed, legs twitching as you came. “oh fuck let up princess, you’re too tight — gonna cum again.”

He could feel his orgasm approaching, your cunt squeezing his cock like a vice. “sh-shit, shit im cumming.” You felt his cock twitch twice before feeling his cum coat your walls. “oh fuck.” He sighed, holding himself up, looking down at you as you breath. “fuck princess.” He huffed. “you tired me out.”

You rolled your eyes; not liking that he rolled his hip, you whined due to overstimulation. “st-stop it.” You moaned. “m'sorry.” He smirked. “I’ll leave you alone for now princess.” You hissed as he slowly pulled out, watching his cum leak out after him. “so fucking hot.”

After laying there for about 15 minutes in silence, he turned to you, kissing your temple. “mine.” He whispered. “all of you.” He pulled out close. “is mine.”

you flipped your body around, so that your chin was resting on his chest. “I really should make you work for it na jaemin.” You teased. “should make you get on your knees and gravel.” He smirked. “I’ll get on my knees alright, but I won’t be graveling while im down there.” You felt his hand, coming dangerously close to your heat. “no you aren’t touching me down there anymore tonight I am exhausted.”

He sat up. “fine , let’s get you in the shower first, and then get you something to eat because sex and alcohol is quite literally barbaric to go to sleep on.” He helped you up. “look at you being a gentleman for once” he shrugged, kissing your lips, pulling away with a cheeky smile.

“that’s because you changed me.”

previous - masterlist - next

TAGLIST (CLOSED). @nominsgirl @haechansbbg @axo-l0tl @darlingz99 @hollxe1 @lostinneocity @lovebuglissas @stars4yulia @syzavxy @kgyam4 @trashx678 @jarrofkookie @fae-renjun @iheartjayke @foxy-kitsune @kriizztin @bugcattie @thisisnotjacinta

©️LUVYENI

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itsbeeble · 5 months

Text

Gorgeous

SUMMARY: Minghao was the black sheep, though you'd never understood why. Maybe it's time you figure it out.

GENRE: smut, fluff, angst (MAJOR ANGST)

PAIRING: Xu Minghao x afab!reader

WC: 5.5k

SERIES MASTERLIST

PERM TAGLIST: @juyeonszn @winterchimez

SERIES TAGLIST: @captain-brie @nobraincellmode

18+ MDNI AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

WARNINGS: this is actually really dark, infidelity, rich people core, p in v sex, exhibitionism (yn gets fingered in the back of her car while on the phone), minghao is possessive, stalker themes, criminal, mentions of blood, reader gets injured, a lot goes on actually i've never written something like this el oh el

A/N: this was NOT supposed to end up like it did, but I decided on a whim to do this. Thank you to @sungbeam and @mosviqu for beta reading this (even if some of it was very last minute). I hope everyone enjoys this as much as I did teehee

“Who is that?” You tilt your head, eyes trained in the direction of someone you’d never seen before at these functions. Your friend, Jang Gyuri, follows your eyes and kisses her teeth.

“Xu Minghao,” she brings her lips close to your ear so only you can hear her. No need for prying eyes and ears to hear what she has to say and spread unwanted rumors. “I’d stay away from him if I were you.”

“Why?”

Many people would have described you as innocent. You came from “new money” as they would call it. Your father practically struck gold when he decided in his early thirties to start a business. The company grew quickly, the products being released becoming popular all over South Korea and, eventually, internationally. You knew that you should pay more attention to his work, as you’d likely inherit it one day, but you can’t find it in you to care. With this recent rise to power, you’d been taking advantage of your seemingly neverending access to parties of all kinds. Galas, clubs, birthday parties for the spoiled brats that had been born into this life. You were a free spirit, never one to avoid cameras, and that made you dangerous in the eyes of many in this country. Gyuri told you that, though old money was never afraid of new money, new money had the power of intimidation.

She’d told you many names as examples: Wen Junhui, Choi Yeonjun, Lee Chan, Han Jisung, Bae Joohyun, Kang Seulgi, Chwe Hansol. Though their families weren’t necessarily liked, they held status among the wealthy children for varying reasons— proving their worth being the main reason, intimidation being another.

Xu Minghao, however, was never a name you had heard in these recent months. Maybe there was a reason for that, you note when your eyes meet his lidded ones and he flashes you a lazy smirk. Your cheeks heat up, and you turn your gaze back to Gyuri. She’s giving you a dirty look, her painted red lips pursed and her eyebrows knit together.

“He’s bad news, Y/N,” she warns. “Seungcheol will tell you about it, and he’d want you to be careful around him.”

“Seungcheol,” your voice is laced with venom, “is in the bathroom with Seo Yookyung. I don’t think he cares what I do, so long as I don’t ruin his reputation.”

“That’s not exactly what I would call a healthy relationship.”

Both you and Gyuri flinch, startled by the interruption, and turn to scold whoever jumped into a private conversation.

You fall short, however, your mouth partially hanging open with shock and, honestly, awe.

From afar, you could tell that he was attractive but now that he’s up close? You feel like you could sink and drown in him. Long dark hair, thin and pointed face, scrutinizing eyes. He was intimidating to most, this you could tell. But to you?

He was the most gorgeous person you had ever had the pleasure of laying your eyes on.

“Xu Minghao,” Gyuri’s tone is cold and she shuffles to stand just slightly in front of you, something both you and Minghao notice.

“Jang Gyuri,” Minghao mocks, sticking one of his hands into a pocket in his slacks.

“What are you doing here? Don’t you know by now that you aren’t welcome?” Her words are sharp, and it almost scares you. Gyuri, despite her reputation for being cruel, had always been kind to you. She’d been a sort of mentor to you, teaching you the rights and wrongs in terms of “rich behavior”. She taught you the right people to associate with, and the wrong people to associate with. However, she had never once raised her voice or made you feel unwelcome. Quite unlike how she talks to Minghao.

“I go wherever I please, Jang Gyuri.” Minghao sighs, a puff of air that makes a few loose strands of hair flutter out of his face. Then his eyes return to you, scanning your body but not in a seductive manner. No, he’s curious. You can see it in his eyes, behind the cold front he puts up. “And…who might you be?”

“None of your business—”

“L/N Y/N—”

You and Gyuri speak at the same time, and you shut your mouth quickly when she shoots you another nasty look. Minghao, however, is amused. One side of his mouth quirks up in a mild show of this, the corners of his lips picking up.

“So, which is it?” He inquires. “None of your business or Y/N L/N? I’m not a betting man, but I’d wager that it’s the latter.”

You poorly stifle a laugh, covering it with a cough.

“What do you want?” Gyuri hisses out, tapping a heel on the marble floor impatiently. Minghao presses his lips together, loosely shrugging his shoulders.

“Just wanted to see if I could buy your lovely friend here a drink.”

“She’s taken.”

“She,” you finally interrupt Gyuri and place a hand on her collarbone to gently push her back. “Can speak for herself. And she will need a few more drinks to make it through the night.”

Gyuri sputters out an argument, trying to get you to stop, but Minghao grins down at you and offers his arm. You gladly take it, giving Gyuri one more warning look before you’re tugged away through the crowd.

“You’re new money.” Minghao leans against the counter next to you while you sit on one of the few open stools left. There’s a martini in front of you, one that’s barely been touched since you received it a few minutes ago.

“Is it that obvious?” You tilt your head and Minghao smiles, his head dipping down a bit.

“Not entirely,” he looks back up and shifts his weight. “Only if you know what to look for.”

“And what, exactly,” you lean toward him, resting your chin on the back of your hand, “are you looking for?”

His tongue runs over his lip, eyebrows furrowing in thought.

“You’re interesting, Y/N L/N.” Evading the question.

“Oh?” You finally bring your martini glass to your lips, taking a small sip of the alcoholic beverage. “Why is that, Xu Minghao?”

“You don’t…you don’t know who I am, do you?” Your lips quirk into a small smile.

“No, I don’t. Is it something important?”

For the first time since you’d begun talking to him, he falls quiet in a way that shows discomfort. Your smile drops, and you lean back on your stool.

“Minghao,” you start. “Is there something I should know?”

You see a muscle in his jaw feather, see his eyes dance around you to see who was around. One of your hands falls to your lap, playing with the expensive fabric of your dress. Now he’s avoiding your questions.

“I’m…” he huffs out a breath, tilting his head back and scoffing out a laugh. “I can’t believe I’m saying this to someone I just met, but…there’s something about you that I just can’t place.”

“I’ve been told that by many people.” Minghao shifts closer to you, his arm resting on the back of your chair.

“What else have they told you?”

“That I can be a bit…straightforward.” His other hand is on the counter, and your fingers dance just a bit closer to his, the tips brushing together slightly. “That when I get nervous, I either talk too much or not at all.”

“And…?” He leans his head down a bit.

“That you’re bad,” your voice lowers, your lips curling into a smirk. “That I should stay away from you.”

“And I take it you don’t listen to these people, do you?” Minghao asks, his voice dropping an octave. There’s tension around you, something so thick you could cut it with a knife.

“Not at all.”

“What would they do if I asked you to leave with me?” His fingers finally lace with yours and you hum, pretending to think.

“Seungcheol might not like that very much.”

Minghao scoffs. “You know damn well that he left a long time ago.”

“But still…” you sigh and shake your head. “Someone has to be loyal.”

A nod from the man in front of you, and a sly smile.

“I understand, and I won’t make you do anything.” He squeezes your hand once, and you feel him slide a piece of paper into your palm. He waits for your fingers to close around the paper before he pulls his hand away. “You’ll know where to find me when you change your mind and drop him. And, when you do, I’ll be waiting.”

When he leaves the building, you feel like you can finally breathe. Your shoulders relax, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. You’re in the middle of trying to get your body under control when Gyuri stomps back over to you.

“What the hell were you thinking, talking to a man like him?” Her nails dig into your upper arm, scraping into your skin and causing you to suck in a sharp breath. “Are you stupid?”

“I don’t see what your problem is,” you sigh and finish off your martini before sliding off your barstool. Your feet are aching at this point, and you’re just itching to get out of this dress. “He isn’t as bad as you think he is.”

“Xu Minghao isn’t the man he’s seemed to convince you he is.” Gyuri warns you. “He’s a liar, just like his father is. He’ll hurt you, Y/N, and don’t come crying to me when he does. I’ll just tell you that I warned you and tried to stop you. I won’t help you if you get yourself tangled up with him.”

“It’s a good thing I won’t need your help then, isn’t it?” You retort, tearing your arm out of her grip and straightening your posture. “I know exactly what I’m doing, Gyuri, and I won’t let you or Seungcheol stop me anymore.”

“Gyuri tells me you’ve been talking to Xu Minghao.” Seungcheol looks at you in the mirror as he tightens the tie around his throat. You’re in the middle of sliding on another pair of uncomfortable shoes that will have your toes bleeding by the end of the night, and raise your gaze to look at him.

“I have. Only once, though.” Your eyes return to the ground to grab the second heel. For two weeks you had been talking to this…mystery man. You’d learned more about him every day, of his father’s scandals that would have left his family bankrupt had Minghao not come out and saved the company. You found it admirable but most chose to despise him, refusing partnerships and refusing to admit the good he’s done for his company and family as someone so young.

And, of course, you had only done this with a little bit of research and a quick phone call to the number he slipped into your hand. You’re sure Seungcheol knows this, knows that you’re too curious for your own good. This is something the two of you had argued about far too many times to count, and he’s since given up on trying to stop you.

“I’m sure that you’re aware of everything, then?”

“Aware of Minghao’s father or of your infidelity?” You rise to your feet, and Seungcheol freezes for just a moment before carrying on.

“Ah.”

“If you’re going to whore yourself out,” Your hand brushes against your boyfriend’s shoulder and you spin him around so you can tie the fabric around his neck. “At least do it where no one will see you.” Your lips are drawn into a tight smile and you rest your hand on his chest. “At least do it where no one will see you, my love.”

“I take it…” Seungcheol watches you walk away and listens to the clicking of your heels on the ground. “...that the engagement is off, then?”

“Correct.”

“What will you do?” You turn to look at the man you once tolerated, now finding him disgusting.

“I think that I’ll be just fine. I have an apartment, I have a family that loves me, and a thriving company that I need to learn to lead. You, however, should worry about your status once news of your actions hits the papers come Monday.”

Seungcheol nods slowly, his tongue digging into his cheek.

“I have a ride to the gala,” you make your way for the bedroom door, lips drawn into a thin line. “I will have someone collect my things tomorrow morning, so make sure everything is exactly as it is now because they will have a list and I will come for everything you have if your toy for the night has the gall to take my belongings again.”

Seungcheol looks at you for a long moment, watching you leave the room before choosing to follow you.

“And what of the deal your father made with my company?”

“Find someone else,” you shrug. “My father just wanted to make connections and you happened to give him the perfect opportunity to benefit both companies.”

“I could tell people, you know.” Seungcheol places his hand on the front door, stopping you from leaving. You turn to face him, your eyes narrowed. He doesn’t appear angry, yet he isn’t looking too pleased either. “That you had an affair. They would believe me. They would never believe someone like you.”

An easy smile passes over your lips, and you place a hand on his chest. “I don’t need them to believe me. Gyuri, on the other hand…” you kiss your teeth. “She can be quite the devil, no?”

“Gyuri trusts him?” Seungcheol asks and you can practically taste the disbelief.

“No, she doesn’t,” your lips draw into a thin line. “She does, however, trust me.”

A silent type of anger radiates off Seungcheol as you turn away from him again. This time, when the door shuts, he doesn’t follow you. You’re glad he doesn’t. It makes it much easier to steady your breathing and the shaking in your hands.

You arrive at the party alone this time. There is no Gyuri and no Seungcheol to protect you from the cameras, from the invasive questions, and the microphones shoved into your face. It startles you and before you can get one foot out of the door, your body freezes up. One of the guards your father hired yells something, and then there’s someone sliding into your car and pushing you back.

“Take a breath,” a soft, silky voice pushes through the yells outside the car. A hand cradles the back of your head, tangling in your long strands of hair, pulling you closer and tucking you into the crook of his neck. “Just breathe, love.”

Maybe it's the adrenaline, maybe it’s the freedom you now know you have, but suddenly you’re laughing and pulling away from Minghao. He looks just as stunning as the last time you saw him. Dark hair, narrowed eyes, lips drawn into a thin line. He’s wearing a suit similar to last time— all black, the top few buttons of his dress shirt undone.

“Are you alright?” His hand comes to your cheek, letting you nestle into his gentle hold. “Talk to me, love. Are you alright?”

But you just keep laughing, and then you’re clutching at his collar and yanking him toward you for a furious kiss. He freezes against you, one hand on your cheek and the other on your waist. It takes him a moment to reciprocate, to get over the initial shock and sink into you. His lips move softly against yours, forcing you to calm down and actually breathe like he’d requested.

After a few moments, you pull away and lean your forehead against his.

“So that’s what this is about?” Minghao murmurs. “You just wanted my attention, is that it?”

“Not necessarily,” you pull away from him, but he doesn’t let you go very far. His hand is just around the curve of your waist, holding you near to him. “I have other reasons.”

“And what would they be?” His lips press against the corner of your mouth, and you feel butterflies erupt in your stomach like a teenager in love.

“I like you, Xu Minghao.” God, you sound like one as well. “Very much.”

“I like you too, Y/N L/N.” Another kiss, this time tilting your head to reach the corner of your jaw. The car starts moving again, and Minghao calls out an address. His address, you assume.

“You’re gorgeous, Minghao,” He laughs against your skin, trailing his lips down your neck slowly. “It makes it hard, you know.”

“Makes what hard, my flower.”

“To focus. To talk to you. You make me so nervous, it’s infuriating.” Your breath hitches as he sucks gently at the skin above a vein. Your hand curls around his neck, tangling in his long strands of hair.

Minghao doesn’t respond, but you don’t mind. Not when he drags you into his lap, the fabric around your body now splayed across the backseat of your car. You can hear your phone ringing, but you ignore it until the sound disappears. You focus on Minghao, focus on the feel of his lips on your skin and his hands all over your body. You focus on swiping your tongue over his lip, on pressing forward until his back is digging into the door, the armrest uncomfortable against his spine but neither of you cares.

Your phone rings again and, this time, Minghao pulls away from you, tilting your chin up and handing you the slim device.

“It’s your father, I think.” His lips press against your jaw, and you exhale shakily. “Shouldn’t worry him too much.”

“Minghao—”

“Answer him.” His hand replaces his lips, giving your jaw a slight squeeze. “Or I will.”

The third ring comes, and you swallow hard. Minghao smiles, his lips curling up as he takes the phone from your hand and swipes on the green button.

“Y/N.” Your father’s voice is steady, and you can hear the exasperation. “What is this I’m hearing from Choi Seungcheol that the engagement is off?”

Minghao’s lips touch your neck again, his fingers sliding under the fabric of your gown to trace up your thigh. It takes all the power in your body to not gasp into the microphone, your eyes fluttering as he touches you.

“He— what did he say?” You briefly stumble over your words, trying desperately to keep a firm grip on your phone and nearly failing when Minghao’s hand dips past your lacy underwear. Two fingers prod at your core and your breath hitches. Your free hand drops down and grips Minghao’s wrist tightly. He shoots you a playful smirk, lips puffy from kissing you and from sucking at your neck. You let him go.

“That you’ve left him. That you had an affair with…” you hear shuffling on the other end of the line, and then a loud sigh. “Xu Minghao?”

“That would be a lie, father.” You inform the older man, and Minghao’s fingers sink deep into you. It’s a wonder you haven’t moaned into your phone yet but with the way his skillful hand pumps in and out of you, soon you very well might. His thumb pushes at your clit, and you let your head drop into his neck, begging silently for him to have mercy on your poor mind and body.

“Is that so?”

“Seungcheol had an affair. Well, several affairs. Minghao simply helped me realize that I wouldn’t—” Your voice cracks as a little whimper almost makes its way out of your mouth. Minghao leans his head against yours and you can feel his cheeks stretching into a smile as he continues to drag his fingers in and out of your sopping-wet walls. He scissors them a bit, and then you feel a third sink into you. Your legs begin to shake and try to close, and with his free hand Minghao grabs onto one of your thighs to hold them open. “—wouldn’t be happy if I stayed with him.”

You hope that the shaking in your voice can pass as upset tears.

“I don’t— It doesn’t matter if you end up happy. I want what’s best for you and the business. Marrying Seungcheol would have balanced this.”

“Marrying Seungcheol would lead to a miserable life and the downfall of two companies.” You snap back, and you hear Minghao beginning to whisper praises into your ear. With red cheeks and a swelling heart, your hips begin to roll down on his fingers. “Minghao, at least, will keep me happy and will benefit both companies in many ways.”

Silence on your father’s end, and a knot begins to form in your stomach.

“Don’t cum yet, flower.” Minghao murmurs, licking at the skin under your ear. “Wait until he hangs up.”

I can’t. You want to scream. Every curl of his fingers, every brush of his thumb against your clit. It’s all becoming too much for you. It’s incredible you’re able to keep yourself together while on the phone.

“Is this what you really want?” Your father asks, and your whole body shudders against Minghao.

“It— it is.” You gasp. Another pregnant pause. Fuck, it’s like your father wants you to suffer.

“Have him come by my office tomorrow for lunch. We’ll all talk then.”

You don’t get the chance to respond before he’s hanging up the phone and the car is rolling to a stop. Minghao rips his fingers out of you, effectively ruining the high you’d been approaching.

“You’re— you’re horrible.” You whine, watching as he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean.

“You love it, though.” He grins and slides you off his lap so he can get the door. Your body feels like jelly, your mind in a haze. You hardly notice Minghao tugging you by the hand, guiding you out of the car and to the front door of a beautiful house— so beautiful that it nearly takes your breath away.

Minghao’s arm is placed delicately on the small of your back, and you let him guide you into the house and up a grand marble staircase. You can’t begin to express the awe you feel. You can’t help the giddy feeling in your bones when you reach the top of the staircase and Minghao takes your hand. It appears, however, that he is feeling just about the same as you when he smiles so wide that you fear his lips would become stuck like that, and he drags you quickly toward a bedroom.

You let him press you down on the bed and let him kiss his way from your mouth to your jaw, down your neck, and begin to peel the straps of your gown down your body so he can expose more and more skin. You feel like you’re burning up, feel like your body is being set ablaze wherever he touches your body. The zipper along the side of the dress is tugged town, and you raise your hips so Minghao can peel it down the rest of the way and throw the fabric somewhere across the room.

“I should be mad at you for that,” you say to him, although you relish in the feeling of his lips trailing down the valley of your breasts. “That dress was a very expensive gift.”

“Oh?” Minghao’s voice is muffled, and he tugs your panties down your legs as he speaks. “From who?”

You watch as he begins to rid himself of his clothing, watch as he reveals every gorgeous inch of his skin to you.

“Seungcheol.” His gaze hardens when he sees you smirk.

“Then I should burn it, I think. Replace it with something newer, prettier, pricier.” He hovers his body over yours, lacing the fingers of one hand through your own and using his free hand to align himself with you. A pleased sigh is emitted from your lips as he sinks in, back arching as he begins to stretch you out.

“Is that so?” You breathe out. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling his face closer until you can kiss him.

“Mmm.” Minghao hums against you, beginning to roll his hips slowly into yours. “I should burn everything that he has ever given you, I think.”

You can barely respond, your voice seemingly broken and replaced by gasps for air as he begins to thrust into you harder and faster and you can’t seem to get control of your body. He doesn’t care, though. He doesn’t care that you can only roll your hips into his, can only bite into his skin, and leave dark marks that he won’t be able to hide (not that he would want to). Knowing that you’re enjoying this, fucked too dumb to speak even though he’d only been inside of you for barely a few minutes, it’s all enough for him. It’s more than enough.

“What would he say if he saw us like this?” Minghao continues, his hands sliding down your legs and gently pushing them farther apart. “Hm? Would he stop me? Would he try to fight for you?”

You try to tell him he wouldn’t, but all that comes out of you is helpless babbles.

“I would,” he hisses, and the knot in your stomach returns. It builds and builds, growing tighter and tighter with each passing moment. “He doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t deserve to touch you, to feel you.”

“And—” you finally manage to choke out a few words. “And what— what m-makes you—oh god, Minghao please— think that— that you do?”

“You already know why, my flower.” Minghao’s hips are slapping against yours at a pace— at a furosity— that you can’t keep up with, “Do you really need me to spell it out for you?”

The knot in your stomach snaps, your walls fluttering around him but he’s relentless. He pounds into you as your body convulses underneath him, your pathetic whines and moans turning into desperate wails.

“I’m better than him in every way,” Minghao grits out, desperately fighting off his own orgasm. “Do you know how long I’ve been keeping an eye on you? How long I’ve wanted to take you from him? You have no idea how hard it was to not take you into the bathroom that night and fuck you the way you deserved. I wanted so badly for you to be mine.”

Overstimulation begins to wash over you, becoming a pleasurable sting that you don’t want to go away. His cock twitches inside of you and his breathing becomes heavier. You can see him trying to say something more, but all that comes out of him is a heavy groan, and then his hips are stuttering against yours. Warm cum spills into you, mixing with your own, and spilling out onto the sheets beneath you. Your legs thrash in Minghao’s grip, but he pins you down as his hips slow. His hair is messy, his forehead tinged with sweat. You can see his mouth hanging open a bit, heavy breaths rolling out of him.

Do you know how long I’ve been keeping an eye on you?

The sentence replays over and over in your mind amidst the scattered post-sex thoughts.

How long I’ve wanted to take you from him?

Minghao rolls to the side, laying beside you on his large bed.

He didn’t say anything to you, and you didn’t say anything to him.

It was pure silence. A silence that allowed for clear thoughts.

Do you know how long I’ve been keeping an eye on you?

The drive to your father’s company the next day is…quiet to say the least. There’s an air of discomfort around the two of you and you’re unsure of whether it’s due to him having to meet your father or the conversation that will follow. Minghao, much like the night the two of you met and you’d asked about why everyone seemed to disapprove of him, was tense. His hands were set on his knees, squeezing tightly to the point of his knuckles turning white. His head is turned away from you, keeping his gaze on the city as you drive. It makes you nervous. Had you done something wrong? Was he regretting everything?

You swallow hard, mimicking his position and turning to look out the window.

Do you know how long I’ve been keeping an eye on you?

There had been something so off about the way he said that. You still couldn’t quite figure out what it was, and it had your stomach churning uncomfortably.

The feeling only worsens when you pull up in front of your father’s building and Gyuri is standing with Seungcheol. Both look upset, standing straight with their arms folded behind their backs.

“What is this?” Minghao murmurs, thanking the driver quietly when his door opens. You slide out behind him, taking his hand in your own as he helps you stand.

“I’m…I’m not sure what this is.” You admit, your eyebrows knitting together as Gyuri approaches you. “Gyuri, what’s happening?”

“You need to come with me,” she tugs at your arm, attempting to pull you away from your new lover.

“What?” Your hand tightens in Minghao’s, your feet gluing into place. “What— what are you talking about? Gyuri, what’s going on? What is Seungcheol doing here?”

“Y/N,” Seungcheol steps toward you, but Minghao is faster and pushes you behind him. Your hand dislodges from his, and you yelp as Gyuri practically rips you away from him. Your knees hit the ground, skin scraping against pavement. The door of the company building practically flies open, a few police officers filing out with your father taking up the rear.

“Father?” Your throat is closing up, too many emotions pulsing through your body.

“What is this?” Minghao is yelling. People are stopping on the streets to stare. Gyuri and Seungcheol pull you to your fight, and you don’t think you have the strength to stop them. “Y/N, WHAT IS THIS?”

For a moment, you’re afraid. He lunges for you, and two officers grab at him. He looks rabid, his eyes crazed and teeth bared like some animal as he yells and screams and kicks against the people holding him. Your father approaches you, relief replacing the typical stone-cold gaze he gives you.

“What’s happening?” You’re sobbing now, blood washing down your legs. Gyuri is crying with you, and Seungcheol’s hands are shaking.

“Are you alright?” Your father asks. “Did he do anything to you?”

“I— what—” you can’t breathe.

“Xu Minghao,” an officer speaks over the commotion. “You are under arrest for the crimes of criminal harassment, assault and battery, and extortion. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney—”

“GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF ME—” Minghao’s hand flies out, nearly clipping the officer in the jaw as he finishes speaking.

He yells obscenities, yells for you, at you, at the people around him. He curses wildly, using every name under the sun, threatens death upon everyone.

Do you know how long I’ve been keeping an eye on you?

“I’m sorry.”

Gyuri is sitting on the chair beside you as you get your knees treated. You stare blankly ahead of you, and she turns her head to Seungcheol, silently pleading for help.

“Y/N,” he says slowly, “do you understand what’s happening?”

No response.

“Minghao…we told you he was not the man you thought he was. You fell too hard, too fast, didn’t give us time to tell you everything.”

Silence. Gyuri starts talking again, not knowing if you heard anything they were saying.

“He’s…he was planning on using you, Y/N. Using you to get…to get your father’s company, just like he did with his own father. It…it was all fake. Everything you learned about him, everything we all thought we knew about him…it was all lies. It was in the small details.”

People always said you were innocent. People always called you naive. You trusted too easily, loved even easier. It made it easy to use you, to take everything you had and throw you to the side. Some people of new money were able to gain the respect of those of old money, but you?

No one would ever respect you.

Not after you fell for the gorgeous man, fell for his gorgeous lies and fantasies.

Thinking about him here in this hospital room…

Something about it makes you want to sink and drown and die. Maybe that would be easier.

“Can… can I leave?” you look up at Seungcheol, tears welling in your eyes. He looks heartbroken. “I want— I want to leave, Seungcheol. Can we leave?”

Heartbroken. That’s the look in his eye that you couldn’t recognize last night. It wasn’t anger, it wasn’t the realization that he had lost you.

“We can go. It’s over now.”

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danikamariewrites · 6 months

Note

i just read feysand x reader housewife and I’m wondering if i can request a cassian x housewife reader. like imagine being stressed ab work and then you talk to cassian ab it and he says that you shouldnt worry over things like stressful work, and that you should do whatever makes you happy. so like imagine then reader stays at home and foes whatever she wants woth no stress, maybe she has a business that sye runs so she isn’t burnt out like she used to be and it is all in her speed, maybe she loves writing and starts doing it since she didnt have time before. And omg imagine beefy daddy cassian coming home and he’s so big omg and gives her a hug with his ripped juicy arms and he’s just so manly omg🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤 sorry if this is confusing i genuinly lost my mind thinking ab this

At Home

Cassian x reader

A/n: @thehighladywrites has inspired me to write this plus I’ve been dreaming of daddy Cass all week so this is a treat for all of us lmao

Warnings: fluff 🤗

Cassian hated how stressed you were about going to work and how tired you were at the end of the day

It killed him to see you like this

Cass didn't want to stress you out by talking about it so he waited until you came to him

You came home early from work in tears, your mascara all smudged and all sniffly

You went right to Cassian's office and he dropped everything he was doing to comfort you

He took you out for a nice dinner that night to finally propose what was on his mind, stay home and let him take care of you

It was a dream of Cassian's to be able to take care of his mate and now he has the chance

Rhys certainly paid Cassian enough

By the time you sit down for dinner you still have a pout on your lips from earlier

After ordering a bottle of wine and your favorite appitizer Cassian reached across the table to hold your hands with his large ones, "Sweetheart, I want to talk to you about something."

You look up at him, hope twinkling in your eyes. "What's up Cass?" you askk quietly

A small smile pulls at his lips. "I hate seeing you this upset. And I know you like working and being independent, but what do you think about quitting and letting me take care of you? Of us."

You thought you were going to break down again. Not trusting your voice you nod as you pull your lips into a tight smile. "Please," you whisper out

Cassian was ecstatic that he could finally take care of everything for you

In bed that night you went over what would happen from here on out. Cassian would pay for everything, even if it was just a fun purchase you wanted. You are free to spend your days however you want. If you want to stay home and do nothing, great!

If you wanted to start training he'd take you with him

If you wanted to pick up a new hobby Cassian would support you

You went to workout/train for a few weeks with Cassian and the Valkyries for a few weeks until it started to not be fun

You were able to grow closer with the rest of the IC now that you stopped working

Feyre and Mor became two of your best friends

You were even invited to join Valkyrie book club which you loved

Reading all of these books inspired you to start writing yourself

At first it was just for fun and you brought it to book club for the girls to read

Then they started encouraging you to write for real and see if you could get published

Cassian fully supports this and loves how creative you've been. It makes him so happy to see you like this

Another perk of staying home is that you get to spend more time with Cassian

You were super attached to him in general

How can you not love that beefy, sweet, tall illyrian he just has so much love to give and you bask in it

If Cass is away at the house of wind for the day you bake his favorite cookies and you started making delicious dinners for you two

Your favorite part of the day is when Cassian comes home

You run to greet him at the door, "Cassie!" "Sweetheart!" he crouches down a little with his arms open waiting for you to throw yourself at him

He hugs you tight to his chest and spins you around, putting you down and kissing you, telling you how much he missed you

When Cass works from home you sit in his office with him, mostly on his lap becuase you two can't stand to not have your hands on each other

You love being wrapped up in his big arms

sometimes you squeeze and poke at his biceps for fun just to see him flex them as a reaction

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar reader fic #acotar reader imagine #acotar imagine #cassian acotar #cassian fanfic #cassian imagine #cassian headcanons #cassian x reader #cassian x you #cassian headcanon

190 notes · View notes

eros-vigilante · 2 months

Text

The Many References in Teniwoha's Samsa

If you haven't read "The Metamorphosis" by Franz Kafka, the one thing you likely know about the short story is that in it a man turns into a bug. And this is enough to recognize the allusion of Samsa being named after the protagonist, Gregor Samsa, as well as the imagery of a dragging tail and onomatopoeia of "zuki". However, there are several deeper layers to Teniwoha's symbolism of themes and references to "The Metamorphosis" that add a great level of cohesion with Immiscible Discord's story. First, I would like to say that "The Metamorphosis" can be found as a free pdf online, and is a very good short story, so if you have the time and energy you should read it. This post will only be summarizing the themes that are referenced in Samsa and Immiscible Discord and will not include some of the other great commentaries Franz Kafka has. And of course, it will spoil the progression of the plot. Also, all quoted lyrics are from Amiaryllis' english cover, which is also very good and worth listening to. The lyrics will not be quoted in order.

The biggest and first theme the surrealist nature of the story expresses is that Gregor Samsa has been led to - and does - believe that his worth is tied to his ability to work. When he discovers he is a bug, he is only concerned because he is going to be late for his job if he cannot figure out how to get out of bed in his new body. He is determined to go to work because his entire family relies on his job to pay for their lives. ("i've grown monstrous down to the very core of my soul") This is comparable to Mafuyu's relationship to academics. Their mother relies on them to fulfill her dream of Mafuyu becoming a doctor, and so teaches them that nothing matters as much as this goal. Even when Mafuyu is stressed or physically ill, they push themselves to attend school, club activities, cram school, and study. Mafuyu's academic performance is their worth to their mother, as Samsa's income is his worth to his family. ("so could the bravest of souls face me and bear the toll?") When Samsa's family discovers he is an insect, they are horrified. Samsa finds this reasonable as he also considers his form monstrous. It is another theme of the story being from his perspective that he has good faith in his family to the point of seeming either naive or to have a low self-esteem. Actions that are most easily justified as disgust and hatred are rationalized by him, despite acknowledging at points that his family was not as affectionate to him after they began relying on him for money, as well as acts of physical violence such as his father shoving him back into his room.

("those painful fights, fearful nights") This is an interesting thing to compare to Mafuyu's experience of being gaslit by their mother. They believe very strongly- because they were told- that everything their mother is doing is for them, their future, and is in their best interests. This prevents them from questioning her actions and sacrificing their own desires in a self-destructive manner, which is also something Samsa does. For instance, he hides himself with a bedsheet so his sister does not have to see him when she brings him food, despite him finding this uncomfortable. ("craving any smile or attention just from you") Samsa's sister is the only one who still shows affection towards him, as she is the one who brings him food, but eventually she too festers fear towards and dehumanizes him. By the end of the story, the entire family blames their despair on him becoming an insect and no longer believe he is Gregor Samsa. The most direct reference to the story in the lyrics is when his father throws apples at him and has to be stopped from killing him by his wife, Gregor's mother. He crawls back into his room and he is locked inside. ("i beg, don’t throw those rotten apples at my chest before they lock up, lock up samsa") This could best reference when Kaito says that Mafuyu's mother is killing their feelings or true identity. Additionally, Mafuyu's mother places all blame for Mafuyu's recent behavior on Kanade's influence. And as the family plans for their life after his death, Mafuyu's mother tells Kanade that she plans to convince Mafuyu to go back to doing what she wants, no matter how extreme she must be about it. ("if it all goes to plan, then, we’ll soon rejoice") In the end, Gregor Samsa stops eating, and dies of starvation. All the while, he still thinks fondly of his family and believes they are in the right for their treatment of him. Gregor Samsa is used to form a strong representation of the extent to which Mafuyu has been gaslit. ("so please don't tell me that you'll be giving up on reality, samsa") The biggest difference (other than the bug transformation) is that Mafuyu has people who still dearly care about them, and not just for what they can provide. While all of Gregor Samsa's family abandons him, the other members of Nightcord do not abandon Mafuyu. Mafuyu has a reason to live, and people to tell them that they do not deserve to be locked away. ("i know that brilliant light will shine as the clock strikes 25")

He could already hardly feel the decayed apple in his back or the inflamed area around it, which was entirely covered in white dust. He thought back of his family with emotion and love. If it was possible, he felt that he must go away even more strongly than his sister. He remained in this state of empty and peaceful rumination until he heard the clock tower strike three in the morning. He watched as it slowly began to get light everywhere outside the window too. Then, without his willing it, his head sank down completely, and his last breath flowed weakly from his nostrils (Franz Kafka).

#mafuyu asahina #immiscible discord #mafumom #samsa teniwoha #franz kafka #prosekai #n25

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ghoststyles · 1 year

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Fairway to Heaven - Part 1

Hi!! I’m so excited to post my first-ever Harry fic! I’ve been on 1D Tumblr since the very beginning, logged off for 5 years and now I’m back 💀 So I’ve had a lot of ideas over the years that have just lived in my head. GOLFRRY + MUSTACHRRY are my weaknesses, so this is my twist on a golf/bev cart girl + agegap fic 🤩

I’d love to hear your thoughts. I have most of the story written, so I should be able to have a consistent posting schedule. Not sure the total # of parts quite yet. I’m also happy to write additional blurbs if y’all like Harry and Briar as much as I do 🥹🐥🦊

Here is a mood board I put together. Feel free to picture Briar however you please. The mood board is just to set the vibez!

Without further ado...Enjoy!

Word count: 4.5K

Contains mature themes. Read at your own discretion. Agegaps, cursing.

Read Part 2 | Read Part 3 | Read Part 4

By the time she gets to her designated cart, she’s already fifteen minutes late; but her iced coffee is the perfect color, and her hair didn’t give her too much trouble this morning. A win is a win.

Briar Barlowe quickly dumps a bucket of ice in her cart’s side cooler as the bar back begins filling the bin with the usual suspects: Bud Light, Michelob Ultra, Fireball, Tito’s, Casamigos, Ginger ale, and, of course, grape juice. She makes sure to keep her lavender cups stocked and plenty of fun straws to make everything more fun. She even decorates her tip jars to say funny jokes.

Since starting at Wynnewood Country Club, Briar has gained a bit of notoriety among the players as the girl with a bright smile and a heavy pour. This job is exactly what she needs to fill the gap between graduating college and beginning her business degree in the fall. Good money, stress-free responsibilities, and time spent in the sunshine.

Her Uncle, Patrick Barlowe, is the golf pro at Wynnewood; a local legend who was just shy of making the PGA Tour himself. He spends his days teaching lessons, running the pro shop and serving on the Board of Directors for the club. If you’re in with Patrick, you’re in with everyone.

When he heard her worries of not finding a summer job after graduation, it was a no brainer to offer her a position as a beverage cart girl. They both gaze out over the course from a table under the gazebo on the top deck of the club’s restaurant.

“That job sounds a little sexist, Uncle Patrick,” Briar sneers. All she can picture is driving around in a little dress and a visor like Malibu Barbie, answering the male members’ every beck and call.

The club is gorgeous; first built in 1914, and the architecture reflects it. It has two golf courses, 4 tennis courts, a pool, and deluxe spa. The member fees skyrocket each year, upping the amenities and overall snootiness of the members.

“The money is good and the members are pretty harmless. From the way you’ve swindled me into throwing teddy bear tea parties, I think you’ll do just fine on the sales aspect.”

“Fine. When do I start?”

Patrick leans back in his seat, “I’ll call Dominic in the morning.”

With that, they finish their drinks and appetizers just as the sun sets.

Walking out to her car, she sees a black Range Rover pull under the carport. The boys at the valet stand are already bickering over who gets to drive this one.

Based on the surrounding town, the level of pretentiousness at the club never surprises Briar. The yearly member fee for the club can cover 2 years’ worth of her business school tuition alone. She shakes her head and jumps into her hand-me down Jeep to head back to her apartment, paying no mind to the man entering the front door of the club.

Her shift this morning started out in the frigid cold, forcing her to change outfits later in the day as the sun came out. She’s sporting her black athletic skort and a racerback tank top. She opts to leave her hair down and sport her black and white Nike trailblazers to keep the look casual.

With a few weeks’ worth of shifts under her belt, she’s learned the ways of the club and fallen into a good rhythm. On any given weekend day, she has to head to the clubhouse to restock twice before 12PM. Today is not one of those days.

As temperature warms up, the course begins to fill up. In the last hour of her shift, she’s left with only a few beers and a few shots worth of Tito’s. Her tip jar is a little emptier than usual, but the pun on her sign got a few chuckles. She sets up shop on the 17th hole and snaps a few photos of the sunset.

“I shot one under today. One under a tree, one under a bush, and one under the water.”

Briar jumps at the voice behind her. Is that an Irish accent? She leans to peer over the side of her cart. She sees a man, older than her, donning a light blue polo with dark blue pants and a white hat, reading the joke on her jar.

“Clever, isn’t it?” She smiles kindly at him.

“Hilarious. It’s like ya been watching my game today,” he laughs. He moves closer to where she’s standing.

“Can I get you anything? I’ll be honest, I’m mostly wiped out.”

He peers down at the contents of the cooler. “I’ll take that last Mich Ultra. Do you have any Casamigos left? My mate is a little picky.”

“No Casamigos,” she says with a slight frown. “I’ll try to keep my drinking to a minimum next time and save you some.”

He lets out a loud laugh and squeezes his eyes shut. “Alright, just this then. He’ll have to deal with it.”

“I can offer you some Peanut M&M’s for your troubles,” she says, pulling out her iPad to ring in the order. “Do you have an account with the club, or do you want to pay cash?”

“The account is under Niall Horan,” he says, putting a $20 bill in the jar. “Thanks for the M&M’s, darlin’.”

“I’m Briar. It was nice meeting you, Niall. Thank you!” She beams. He smiles and starts heading back to the path toward the clubhouse.

After cleaning her cart and counting her money, Briar finishes the day drinking a mojito at the bar, while Cam, her new friend at the club, is working her bar shift.

“How was it out there today, babe?” Cam asks.

“Slow at first, but it definitely picked up. I couldn’t even head back for a restock. Luckily, the members I got at the very end weren’t picky.”

“Oh! Did you see Niall?” she asks as she puts glassware in the dishwasher.

“Yeah,” Briar furrows her brows. “How did you know?”

“I used to serve him on the front course all the time. Now that I’m too old and wretched to work out on the course, he’ll visit me in here sometimes. He mentioned playing the back course with a friend today.”

Briar is always assigned to the back course. There are only minor differences in difficulty, but she finds the back course to be a little more calm and serious. They’re also a little more generous with their tips. She’s not sure if her assignment has something to do with her uncle’s knowledge of the club’s inner workings.

“He is really nice, and generous. I didn’t get to meet the friend, though. Did you?”

“Yes, he was a little more reserved. But Niall is a riot, so he makes anyone look calm. I didn’t catch his name.”

Briar hums and stirs her mojito around as she stifles a yawn. “Well, I’ve been here since 7:30 this morning, so I am ready to goooo,” she drags out her last word. She waves bye to Cam and begins the trek to the employee parking lot.

As she’s walking, she gazes up to the upper deck of the restaurant where she can just barely make out Niall standing by the railing. He’s talking animatedly and waving his beer bottle around.

A bit off to the right, peering down at her, is a tall, striking man with dark features wearing a white button down and a sport coat. The top two buttons are undone just enough to see his collarbones.

The club has a strict dress code for the restaurant. Briar often does a double take when she sees members out of their golf clothes. She wonders if he’s even allowed to show that much skin.

Shrugging it off, she continues toward her car, but not without looking back at the man. He’s still looking at her, curiously, taking a sip of his drink and turning away not long after she looks up.

She can’t help but get this strange feeling, almost as if the hairs on the back of her neck are standing straight up.

As the summer starts to heat up, so do her shifts at the course. By the end of them, Briar’s hair is sticking out sideways and her make up is smeared down her face. She bought a miniature fan that clips right to the visor of her cart to keep her cool throughout the day.

It’s just past 8:30 in the morning on Tuesday when she hears a familiar voice on the 8th hole. She squints and sees Niall, along with the dark haired man from the other night. There are a few guys she doesn’t recognize standing with them.

She maneuvers her cart through the winding path, closer to where the men are.

“There’s the beer angel!” Niall shouts. She smiles and shakes her head. He comes jogging over. “I hope you’re fully stocked this morning.”

“Yep, I am! I even have a few breakfast sandwiches, if you’re interested.”

His eyes light up as she pulls out a bacon, egg and cheese on an everything bagel from the warming drawer. Chef Lambo, the executive chef of the club, made them especially for Briar’s customers.

“Yesss. I’ll take one of those, a Mich Ultra, two Transfusions, and — H! What do you want?” He yells, partially turning to face his friend in the distance.

She faintly hears, “Casamigos!”

“And a Casamigos on the rocks, with a lime,” he finishes. It takes her only a few minutes to make the cocktails.

“Do you want these on your account?” Briar asks Niall.

He takes a huge bite of the bagel and mumbles, “No, you can put it all on my mate’s. Last name is Styles.”

Styles, or, “H” as Niall called him. The mystery man’s Last name is Styles. And, he’s a member here.

“Got it. Well, good luck today.”

“Thanks, we’ll need it. We’re trying to close a work deal with the two guys we’re playing with. Hey, don’t be afraid to swing by us multiple times. We can use all the schmoozing we can get,” he smiles.

“I think I can do that. Let me know if you need help, I’m told I’m very persuasive,” she smiles as she takes the emergency brake off of her cart. He throws another $20 in her jar and then waves, nearly dropping all of the items in his hands.

Niall returns to his group, handing out their drinks. Briar continues to watch before pulling away. H steps out from behind Niall, slightly lifting his cup — his lavender cup — towards her, as a thank you. His facial expression is stoic, watching her carefully.

She smiles to herself and drives off. The rest of the shift goes by in a blur. She swings by Niall and H’s group a few times. Each time, Niall greets her to grab more drinks and snacks.

Is that on purpose? If the drinks are on H’s account, why isn’t he coming over? She’d like to get a closer look at him. She chews on the inside of her lip and continues on with her closing duties. She loves the morning shift; in early, out early.

After parking her cart in the garage, she can see her uncle in the pro shop, glasses on the tip of his nose, peering down at something. She lightly knocks on the door and pushes it open.

“Hey, Briar bear,” he says, looking up at her. “How was your day?”

Briar sighs at her childhood nickname, plopping down on the couch by the practice putting green. Members can test out clubs before purchasing them in the pro shop, making it an optimal spot to hang out and mess around with all of the clubs.

“It was good, I just have to get used to waking up this early again. And I already know you’re going to say, ‘welcome to the real world, kid’, so just stop there,” she says sassily.

Patrick chuckles and focuses back on with his paperwork. They’re quiet for a few moments.

“What’re working on, anyway?” she asks, craning her neck to see what he’s doing.

“Just some budget sheets, and making a list of members who haven’t had a lesson from their amazing in-house golf pro,” he says, punching numbers into his phone calculator.

“They get a free lesson from you?”

“Yes, when they join. But now, to keep up member retention, we’re going to offer sessions to members who have been here for 5 years or more,” he scratches his temple. “Most of ‘em don’t need it, but I feel they always leave with a new drill to practice and some sage advice from yours truly.”

“That’s cool,” she replies absently.

“Wanna help?” Patrick asks her. She nods silently and takes a seat beside him. She sees a list of last names, first initial and an “X” next to their name if they’ve taken a lesson.

She notices an X next to “Horan, N.” but not “Styles, H”. Interesting.

Briar continues to audit the two lists, until she hears her uncle clear his throat.

“Hey, are you going to hang here for a bit? I need to run back into the main clubhouse for a few minutes.”

Patrick runs the pro shop solo during the day, until a high school or college kid can come in in the afternoon.

“Yeah, I’ll hang here. What do I do if someone needs something?”

“Then you can entertain them with your dazzling personality until I get back,” he teases, sticking his tongue out. “Alright, I’ll be back.”

“‘kay,” she says, walking back to her original spot on the sofa, laying her head back on the edge.

Her eyes are shut, only for a minute, until a brilliant idea pops in her head. She rises off the sofa and saunters over to the computer her uncle was just working on.

The employee portal is logged in under Patrick’s account. Briar doesn’t know much about it, aside from using it to clock in and clock out. It’s still on the member screen, an area she’s 100% sure she doesn’t have access to.

She peruses the site until she finds a “Member Look-Up” tab. Briar’s intrusive thoughts win.

She slowly punches in S-T-Y-L-E-S and waits for the results to populate. 2 results found.

She clicks on the first profile. An account pulls up for a Paul Styles, and a photo of a white-haired man pops up.

Well, that’s certainly not him, Briar thinks to herself. She exits out and clicks on the next account. No profile photo opens, but the name is at the top. She bites her thumbnail in anticipation of what she’ll see.

Harry Styles. H. Niall’s mysterious friend. The tequila lover.

She starts to scroll down the page. The profile is more bare than the other man’s, but she can see the basic things about him. He’s 41, joined the club 8 years ago. He lives in another pretentious town only a few miles away.

Then, she sees a “Member Activity” tab. Out of curiosity, she clicks on it. Her eyes widen, seeing every transaction he’s ever made on his account. His “dues” each year. Holy shit.

His purchases seem pretty standard for members of Wynnewood. Mostly rounds of Casamigos on the rocks (shocking) and dinners ranging from $100-$400, with a few bills over $1,000.

He joined 8 years ago, but his transactions have only begun to pick up in the last month or so. Before, his visits were sporadic at best.

Briar can’t even fathom having that sort of money to throw away. She started working at age 14 and never stopped. The only reason she gets a taste of country club life is because of her uncle.

She closes out the portal, not wanting to risk Patrick walking in while she’s snooping around. She returns to her spot on the sofa and begins playing 1010! on her phone.

She exhales and tosses her phone to the side. As she sits up, Patrick reenters the pro shop.

“Thanks, Bri. Heading home soon?”

“Yeah, I gotta get back home for Gus,” she smiles, thinking about her dog. Her baby.

“Alright, I’ll catch you later. Say hello to my buddy for me. And give him a butt scratch — Tell him it’s from Uncle Patty.”

“Will do. See ya.”

When she’s showered and comfy at home, with Gus, her Bernese Mountain Dog, snuggled at her side, she finally feels relaxed.

She’s worked nearly every day since she started. But, those are the sacrifices of a summer job.

She turns on Selling Sunset on Netflix to drown out the silence of her apartment. Already bored of this season, she pulls out her phone.

One last round of stalking, then she’ll let it go. She opens Instagram and begins typing in Harry’s name in the search bar. Nothing. Hm.

She tries Niall, immediately getting a hit. She clicks on his account to find it public, full of funny and happy photos. He’s clearly from Ireland, but has lived in the United States for some time. She wonders if he went to school here, or if he just got a job here.

She scrolls down to a group photo — on the golf course, of course — of Niall, Harry, and a few other guys. They look a lot younger here. She can see the photo is from 7 years ago. Harry’s stoic face is a stark contrast to Niall’s infectious smile. She clicks on the photo to see if Harry’s profile is tagged. Nothing.

Defeated, she moves onto LinkedIn. She tries Harry’s name again. Within 10 seconds of the search engine results popping up on the screen, her eyes land on exactly what she’s looking for. He has a profile. Her heart starts beating a little faster.

Really, Briar? All this for a guy you’ve barely caught a glimpse of? She clicks on the profile and sees the most gorgeous man at the top. He looked good from afar, but this is totally different.

Sticking out to her is his chiseled jaw, pouty lips, and beautiful (green?) eyes. His hair is longer in this photo than what she’s seen him with the past 2 times at the club, but she figures this page is old.

She scrolls down to the employment history. He works for a hedge fund. No wonder he has that kind of cash laying around. He’s been at the same company for a number of years, and received his bachelor’s degree from Georgetown and his MBA from the University of Pennsylvania. Smart dude.

She notes his MBA graduation year is 2006. She laughs, knowing she was probably still playing on a playground that year.

She exits out of the page, proud of her findings. She decides to text Cam about Niall’s friend.

B: Hey! So I totally stalked Niall online. His friend’s name is Harry! 😆

C: So funny, how’d u do it? 😂

B: Instagram for Niall, and earlier, I used Wynnewood’s portal to look up Harry. I just went on his LinkedIn, too. Now, I know all about his work and schooling, lol.

C: Your account is private, right? 😳

C: It notifies people if you’ve looked at their profile unless you’re private…

B: What?! I didn’t know that…WTF do I do?

Briar’s stomach drops. He’s probably already gotten the notification by now. She’s mortified. She logs back on to LinkedIn and deactivates her account. Reddit says those are her best chances of counteracting the notification.

She decides to go to bed, but ends up tossing and turning until 3 AM, knowing her alarm is set for 6:30. She stares at the ceiling, pleading for Harry not to show up at the club tomorrow.

The morning comes around, and after mustering enough courage to get up and make herself presentable, she rolls into work, ready to jump on her cart and be lazy. The universe (or Uncle Patrick, probably!) has a different plan.

Since it’s a holiday weekend, Briar is working inside for a change. She feels a little out of her element. She’s worked in restaurants in the past, but it’s always a little stressful when you have know idea where anything is, or how to use the register.

Taking a moment to survey the large banquet room, she doesn’t see Niall or Harry. She begins to relax. Until, 30 minutes later, she sees both of them enter and begin talking to the hostess.

Please don’t go to my section, she thinks. She watches the girl gathers 4 menus and turns to lead the men further into the room. Briar’s worry grows more with each step the hostess takes toward her section. Fuck.

She seats them down at a 4 person table right in the middle of Briar’s section, assuming the two men from yesterday will be joining them.

She takes a few deep breaths before grabbing a water jug and two stemmed water glasses. She casually approaches the table, lightly placing the water glasses down and filling them.

Niall looks up briefly with a smile before exclaiming, “There she is! I requested you to be our server after I saw you at the coffee machine over there.”

Briar smiles before turning her attention to Harry, who hasn’t glanced up from his menu. She looks back at Niall.

“Awesome! This is going to be great,” she lies through her teeth.

While this exchange is happening, she can feel Cam’s eyes burning through the back of her head. Cam is the service bartender of the day, so she has time to people watch and laugh at Briar’s bad luck.

“Are we waiting for any more guests to join us?” Briar asks.

Niall clears his throat and says, “Yes, those two blokes from yesterday. Harry here is going to close the deal with them today.”

Harry glances up at her with a shy smile. She reciprocates, unsure if he’s aware of her cyberstalking from last night.

“Wow, well, I’ll make sure my service is extra good, then. Can I throw in some drinks while you wait?”

“I’ll have an Old Fashioned. Harry?” Niall turns to his friend.

“Casamigos on the rocks for me, please. With a lime. Thank you.”

“You got it,” she says with a tight-lipped smile. Of course that’s the very first thing he ever says to her. And he’s BRITISH?

Cam laughs as the ticket prints at the bar.

“Oh, shut up,” Briar grumbles.

The other men finally arrive, and the meal goes by at a snail’s pace. When the group is finally ready to order, Briar is already mentally checked out. Briar goes to take Harry’s order.

“What can I get for you?”

“I’ll have the chicken, please,” he says simply.

“And how would you like that cooked?” Briar asks, furiously scribbling on her note pad.

Harry’s face contorts to a perplexed look, almost as if he was about to laugh.

“Um…cooked…all the way through?” He stifles a chuckle.

Niall bursts out laughing, cluing Briar in. She realizes the others ordered porterhouse steaks, so, out of habit, she asked how they’d like them prepared.

Her eyes go wide, “Right, well, I’ll go put these in. Thanks!” She shuffles away at lightning speed.

Harry stares at her from across the room, smirking when they make eye contact. She wants to bury her head in the sand trap on the golf course.

When the meal is done, the men shake hands, and Niall and Harry look relieved. They ask for another round of drinks for the two of them and the check. Niall heads toward the restroom while Harry pays. She tries to bolt as soon as the check is dropped, but she hears Harry clear his throat.

She turns to face him.

“We’re about to go play a quick round of 9-holes to celebrate. Are you our beer angel today, or are you stuck in here?” Harry says, as he opens his wallet.

Briar feels her heart begin to race. She’s sure her face is beet red. The word angel rolls off his tongue so easily.

“Um, no, I’m um, stuck in here for the rest of the day. I’ll be back on Sunday, though,” she says quietly.

“Shame, I was starting to think you were bringing me all of my luck. I’ve been crushing these guys in our last few rounds,” he smiles, swirling the remnants of his drink around.

She bites the inside of her lip, unsure if she should still be holding eye contact. He hands her the checkbook, full of cash. She smiles, unable to speak.

“Oh, and Briar— I’m an open book. If you wanted to know more about me, you could’ve just asked,” he says with a sickeningly sweet smile.

That’s the moment Niall returns to the table, and presumably the only reason she doesn’t drop to the floor in fetal position.

“Thanks, Briar. Lunch was great. We’ll see you next time,” Niall says sweetly.

“Thanks!” she squeaks, scurrying to the back, where she nearly mows down Cam.

“Woah! What’re you doing?” Cam squeals.

“He KNOWS!” Briar wails.

“Who? Who knows — OH!” Cam shrieks. “What did he say to you?”

“He said, ‘Briar, I’m an open book. If you wanted to know more about me, you could’ve just asked.’”

Cam’s mouth drops open. “Did he say it with his sexy accent and sultry voice?”

“Shut up!”

“Fine. Well, what did he tip you?” she asks, reaching for the book in Briar’s hand.

She opens it, finding enough cash to cover the $450 tab, and an extra $300 as a tip.

“Damn! Who has that much cash at one time?” Cam laughs.

Briar flips to the back of the book, only to find a note on a small piece of paper:

I’m an Aquarius, in case you were wondering. : - )

She stares blankly at the note. When did he have time to do this? Was he going to slip this note to her regardless? A million thoughts run through her head, until she hears Cam.

“What a creepy-ass old person smiley face,” she says, shaking her head.

Briar thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world.

Finally, her shift ends and she can escape the club, just for a day. As she heads towards the women’s locker room, she’s rummaging through her bag, attempting to fish out her street clothes so she can change as quickly as possible.

As she stalks closer to the locker room, she collides head-first into a firm, wet object. She feels strong hands grasp her hips to steady her.

“What the fuck?” she says, moving the hair out of her eyes, only to be met with a strong tattooed torso, partially covered by towel tied loosely around the person’s waist.

Her next words die in her throat as she looks up.

Harry.

Harry, who just left the steam room.

He smirks down at her, gently letting go of her waist. Suddenly, she feels hot, as if she were just in there with him. Briar’s fight or flight kicked-in, causing her to spin on her heels and flee in the opposite direction.

He senses she’d run, so he gently grabs her wrist, locking her in place. She peers up at him like a deer in headlights. His other hand is firmly planted on his hip to hold up his towel, in fear of giving the whole club a show.

He tilts her chin up so she’s making direct eye contact. Her stomach drops, sending a wave of nausea through her body. She studies his face; long eye lashes, slight stubble and two dimples that form as he smirks down at her softly.

“I told you, I’m not shy.”

He releases her chin and saunters back to the mens’ locker room.

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