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deebris · 1 year ago

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From annoying to beloved

Homelander x fem!Reader

Synopsis: The new member of the Seven annoys Captain Patria with their habit of doodling in the corners all the time, but he didn't expect to end up liking it.

During the fourth season, it can be read as both romantic and platonic.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of murder, the reader has the power to control plasma, fluffy.

The reader is also kind of anxious.

Word count: 2.9k

"You gotta be fucking kidding with me." Homelander interrupted abruptly upon hearing snores in the room. "Is Noir sleeping?"

"Mmhmm," Firecracker murmured in agreement, but the masked superhero jolted awake when The Deep kicked his chair.

"Oh, shit! Sorry, guys." Black Noir straightened up, while the Captain shook his head in disbelief, unable to fathom what he had just witnessed.

"Ah, what the fuck." The blonde furrowed his brows, eyes darting around the room quickly, then fixing on a specific point when something else caught his attention. He had noticed you earlier with a notebook and pencil, but now you're not writing but drawing. The irritating sound of the graphite scraping against the paper had been bothering him for some time, but he had tried to ignore it, assuming as a newcomer you were taking notes.

He wouldn't lie. Though he found taking notes utterly stupid, he liked to think someone was that focused on what he said. Not that he needed it, just opening his lips and everyone would be watching him. But as if that weren't enough, he finally realized you were dressed in regular civilian clothes.

"Radiance, where's your suit?" He asked slowly, but angrily. "Can't anyone do anything right around here?"

You finally tore your attention from the paper, meeting Homelander gaze directly. It's not that you weren't paying attention—in fact, you were, maybe more than anyone else there. It was easier to absorb things while doodling, a way to calm your nerves. Well, that or rubbing your sweaty fingers together until they hurt.

No one ever understood. Even back in school, your parents used to receive complaints about you drawing during class, no matter how high your grades were or the fact that you were the top student.

This was your first meeting with the Seven, and the last thing you wanted was to give the impression of being careless or not caring about being there. It could be said that one of the best days of your life was yesterday when Vought sent you a notice, letting you know that the greatest superhero of all had personally chosen you to join the team. After so many "retarded" - in his words - he had been forced to accept into the Seven, Homelander saw in you, above all, the opportunity to make up for Firecracker's ridiculous weakness.

When Ashley began talking about your powers, he had no doubt the last spot was yours. It was simply brilliant. Who the hell would have imagined someone would have powers to control a state of matter? You could maneuver fire, generate electrical discharges, disrupt magnetic fields, and damn it, you could split atoms as if slicing butter.

Vought's scientists said they didn't know if it was possible, but you could destroy the damn out of a star one day. Homelander wasn't a science guy, but in one of his moments of boredom, he got curious and did some research. He didn't even know that plasma crap was all that, he thought it was a cell thing or whatever.

He always thought someone with a power as peculiar as yours, and at your age, would be arrogant or just plain dumb. But you were actually the complete opposite. You didn't speak unnecessarily, and while you seemed very aware of your own actions, you had no clue how powerful you were, or perhaps ignored that fact. The blonde thought you were an idiot for it, but he appreciated the inferiority you submitted to, especially in relation to himself.

"I don't have one, sir," you replied to his question, feeling small with everyone looking.

"What the hell?" He continued, focusing on you with incredulous voice, he couldn't believe it. How did someone end up here without even having a superhero suit?

The truth was, you had never been part of any team before, nor had you received any sponsorship during your life, or even attended Godolkin University. The only thing you had were your powers, which were indeed impressive. You never chased after any position, nor were you ever obsessed with being a famous superheroine, but lately you thought it would be a good adventure to radicalize your life. That's when you applied to join the Seven.

"How do you have a name and not have a fucking suit?" He asked, boiling with anger, fists clenching tightly behind his back.

"They gave me a name when I filled out the application," you answered honestly. That day, after they chose to call you Radiance, a random and easily commercial name, you couldn't complain much and didn't want to bother, so you left it at that.

"You'll be introduced as an official member of the Seven tomorrow, how do you not have a suit?" He took his hands off his back, moving them as he spoke to express his confusion, and for a few moments you followed it movement like a child who can't keep their attention on anything for long. "Who's handling your marketing?"

You couldn't answer, so you stayed silent and no one else dared to say a word either. You had no idea who was handling your marketing, not knowing you should even have that. You glanced quickly around the table, perhaps seeking some kind of help for the situation, but everyone looked down when they realized you were staring at them. They were enjoying themselves, and that made you exhale through your nose in embarrassment.

"You know what? Fuck it, doesn't matter." Homelander brought his fingers to his furrowed forehead, letting out a loud sigh as he calmed down. "Just... don't show up like this in public until someone gives you a suit."

"Yes, sir," you replied tensely, relieved that he had resolved the matter.

Sister Sage widened her eyes in relief when she finally saw the superhero sitting beside her. She opened her mouth to begin speaking, as she had intended from the beginning, but when some sound was about to come out of her mouth, Homelander spoke to you again, this time pointing an accusatory finger at you:

"And stop drawing, damn it," he ordered, causing you to slowly drop the pencil on the table, as if caught doing something wrong with the weapon of the crime in hand. You stared at your lap throughout the entire meeting, embarrassed for messing everything up on your first day.

When the meeting ended, you followed most people out of the room, but stopped nearby in one of the hallways. You slid down the wall, crouching in a hidden corner, and lightly tapped the sketchbook against your forehead in annoyance.

"Stupid," you murmured softly to yourself. It was so ridiculous, yet it embarrassed you so much. Maybe this first day wasn't so bad after all. You would have plenty of time to prove your worth to everyone, no need to dwell on this situation. Even though you had been corrected in front of some of the most iconic supers by Homelander himself, this situation could be overcome. It was thinking about it that kept you from letting the burning tears fall.

"I can hear you whining," Homelander voice made you jump to your feet, startled to be caught once again doing something you shouldn't. He didn't seem happy, and his expression was so intimidating that you felt like Mariah Carey performing for a crowd of Eminem fans.

He approached you in slow steps and you held the sketchtebook protectively to your chest, as if that could protect you from something. He glanced down to briefly see the object in your hands and looked at you with disgust.

"If you don't straighten up, I'll kick you out. Got it?" Everything about him exuded threat. Maybe if he weren't so imposing and powerful, that sentence would have sounded a bit like the janitor from your old school scolding you for spending too much time in the bathroom during class.

You were paralyzed standing there and all you could do was a nod. But your gesture made him more aggressive.

"Answer with your mouth. Are you mute or something?" And there he was, hands behind his back again. He seemed to enjoy that pose.

"I won't mess up, sir," you said, swallowing your saliva.

"And get rid of that. Or burn it, do whatever, just get rid of it. And I better not see you with that again," he said referring to your notebook, walking away faster than before. "These kids..." you heard him mutter distantly.

After that happened, you didn't destroy the sketchtebook, but you were afraid of being caught and kept it safely tucked away in the back of a drawer in your room. What the eyes don't see, the heart doesn't feel, right? You mentally made a promise to yourself not to use it anywhere else but here, to avoid causing more trouble.

It's been a week since you've been with the Seven, and several strange things have happened. You quickly realized that Homelander wasn't the pristine and merciful hero everyone believed him to be. But the truth was that deep down you already expected that. Everything about heroes always seemed too perfect and pure, there had to be a catch. Despite everything, you still remained yourself, never intentionally hurting anyone or getting involved in murders and conspiracies.

You were comfortable helping out with some minor crimes that Vought sent you to solve, but by now you suspected that sooner or later Homelander would ask you to do some of his atrocities. It was still hard to think about how to feel about it, but you weren't naive, you were already mentally preparing to submit to it or else be killed.

During that time, as you adjusted and interacted with the team, it didn't go unnoticed by Homelander that you were drawing on your own hand, or on napkins and on random sheets you found lying around, even though you hadn't shown up with your sketchtebook again. This was starting to wear on his last nerve, but he tried to ignore it. As long stayed as you were, without asking too many questions and obedient, he made an effort to continue overlooking your makeshift drawings.

"Meeting's over," the blond suddenly declared, interrupting another of the Seven's weekly gatherings while cutting off The Deep's rambling about his ideas.

"But I haven't even talked about the flying shark yet," he tried to defend himself.

"Shut up," Homelander's voice rang out sternly in the room, issuing a warning that the man promptly obeyed.

"Right. Meeting's over." Ashley nervously moved to gather the portfolios on the new soda advertisement she had come to present, but as soon as she touched the first folder, specifically the A-Train one, the superhero exploded in rage:

"Ashley! Get out!" She immediately dropped the folder in place and hurried out in her heels, unable to run in them. "All of you! Get out of here."

Everyone got up from their chairs, even you, and filed out through the front door, leaving the folders on the table. Sister Sage hesitated, thinking she might be an exception, but when his scowl deepened, she understood she should leave too.

With the room empty, Captain Patria took a few minutes to admire the view from the tower. He enjoyed staring at it sometimes, even when bored.

"Bunch of idiots," he muttered to himself, shaking his head in denial, indignant. If he had to spend one more minute with these morons, he would have a heart attack, even though that was technically impossible for him.

He threw his cape back as he turned to leave, looking down and not focusing on anything in particular. But his eyes caught something different from the other folders. It was obviously yours, with a huge drawing covering the text and images printed on it.

That was the first time he actually saw something you had scribbled. And damn, it was perfect. It was a drawing of everyone in the room, with him in the center looking angry. Just as he was. His ego flared up as he noticed that his figure was more detailed than the others'. You must have started drawing him first, hence had more time to detail him. The idea of you making him the main focus of this particular drawing made his pupils dilate. He used his super hearing to check if anyone else was around and secretly took that sheet for himself.

The next time he saw you drawing in the Seven's room, he couldn't help but wonder if you were drawing him again. As soon as he noticed you sneakily reaching for a pen that belonged to Ashley, he looked in your direction. The noise that used to annoy him now sparked curiosity. And after staring at you for so long, it didn't take long for you to look back at him too. The blond thought you would be embarrassed, like most people, but you just grinned as if you were used to being caught looking. And indeed, you were.

You began drawing Homelander more frequently when you realized he never caught you watching him. It was easier and avoided awkward situations with other people. After two whole weeks of drawing him continuously while taking advantage of this freedom, you felt capable of drawing his face without even needing to see a photo, having memorized most of his distinctive features.

Well, it seems he's finally noticed you.

Sometimes, when alone in your room, you took out your sketchbook and started practicing the memory of his facial features you had developed. Just like every other time, you became absorbed in the drawing, focusing only on the voices around you to understand what was being said. This was also a way to keep yourself engaged during conversations, so you wouldn't get restless from being still while being a mere spectator of everything. After all, you never participated much or gave opinions; Deep already did enough for two.

The meeting had already ended, but you stayed in your chair, even as everyone else left, to finish just a part of the hair. You thought no one would mind, and then you would leave as usual, but a voice caught you by surprise:

"Can I take a look?" Homelander asked, for the first time, using a gentle voice beside you. His expression was enigmatic, somewhat relaxed, and shy at the same time.

You turned the stack of post-it notes, also taken from Ashley, for him to see what you had drawn, fearing what he would say. You weren't ashamed of drawing people, much less of them catching you doing it. You feared because he found your habit annoying.

He observed the drawing, seeing his posture from the side, upright and imposing. He wondered if you drew him exactly as you saw him, or if it was just another caricature of reality, like those Photoshopped pictures spread around. He looked much better than he imagined, though he had that superiority complex that made him see himself as a god.

For a moment, he was offended to see his image stamped on such despicable things as scraps of paper and these damn post-it notes. Your fingerprints were also visible stains, and the paper was slightly wrinkled from his sweat. He had noticed that sometimes you drew calmly, as if you had all the time in the world, and other times it was like drawing on a boat in a storm. Today seemed to be the latter situation.

"Do you like drawing me?" He glanced at you.

"I do," you shrugged. That was the simplest and most truthful answer you could give. "Sorry, I won't do it anymore," you said, thinking he was bothered by it.

"Why?" He ignored your apology.

"You're drawable... I guess," you stared at the table, not understanding the flow of the conversation.

"And what the fuck does that mean?" He asked in a louder voice, turning to face you, obviously confused. "Is this some artistic shit?"

"It's just that you're easy to draw because you have unusual characteristics. It's a good thing," was your answer, and it inflated his chest with narcissistic pride. Unusual, that's what you said, but to him, it was like being called extraordinary.

"Next time you draw me, try using a sketchbook," he said sternly, pretending to reject your work, but deep down, he just didn't want to show that he really liked it. That statement was his way of encouraging you to continue, but at the same time, it was so ironic, considering he got mad at you just when you were drawing him in the sketchtebook that day.

"But you asked me to get rid of mine," you said simply, your voice dwindling with each word of the sentence, not wanting him to find out that you had never thrown it away.

"I'll get you a new one," he said dismissively, taking the entire stack of post-it notes with him, including the drawing, as if you wouldn't notice.

#imagine #x reader #homelander #the boys season 4 #homelander x reader #the boys x reader #oneshot #the boys amazon #homelander x you #the boys s4 #homelander fanfiction #antony starr #antony starr x reader #the boys homelander #the boys the deep #sister sage

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gloomskulls · 9 months ago

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚LIMERENCE [tasm!peter parker]

pairings: tasm!peter parker x reader

part 2

⇢ ˗ˏˋ SUMMARY ୨୧ For Peter Parker, the deepest secret is not being Spider-Man. It's that he likes you, no he loves you, wants you in any imaginable way possible. After years of quietly admiring you from a distance, everything changes after a biology project that partners you two together. Peter sees a glimpse of chance to get nearer to you, but the line of affection and obsession begins to blur

⇢ ˗ˏˋ WARNING ୨୧ obessive peter, creep peter, stalking, masturbation, panty sniffing, dirty thoughts, breaking in, just peter being hopelessly in love. If any of this finds you uncomfortable, please click out do yourself (and me also) a favor. lemme know if I missed any! MINORS DO NOT READ

If you don't want to see my dark stories in the future please block the tag #madi: dark content

A/n: my first ever fic posted on Tumblr, yippee! This is also my first ever smut so it probs be equivalent to horse poo but anyways, this also takes place in tasm 2. don't steal any of the shit I've written or else i'm gonna turn you into Vicky from Terrifier/srs

Peter didn't understand what was so special about you, you were just a crush. Or that's what he convinced himself. Every single place you were in, Peter would carefully trail behind you, like there was a magnet strapped onto you, and Peter was the metal, he would always find himself drawing next to you. Peter Parker was no stranger to keeping secrets. It was, after all, the epitome of his double life. A mask, a costume, a name that wasn't his at all. There was one secret, however, that even the Spider-Man's mask couldn't cover—his growing infatuation towards you.

It started out really simple. You decided to give back the nerdy boy's pencil in sophomore year and defended him from Flash Thompson in his junior year, it was all simple really, something a person with decency and was taught with proper manners would do. But Peter took it as more than that.

Candid photos here and there, purposefully falling of his skateboard so you would help him, cryptic notes in your locker, sometimes a random flower if Peter was lucky to find any.

Limerence, as some might say

The first people who would ever notice Peter's strange behavior where the people who raised him. Uncle Ben would notice this girl in the screen of his nephew's computer, so did Aunt May when she saw many polaroid photos of the same face underneath Peter's bed. Peter shrugged it off, saying the same exact words to the both of them.

'she's just a crush'

Peter Parker was very good at being hidden in the open. Sure, he didn't want to be invisible, but it is what it is. One of the self-working "losers" with horrible punchlines and pretty much the face screaming "nerd". Well, it didn't bother Peter much. He had many other more important things to think about. You

It's been years now. It was already the last year of senior year, graduation was already nearing, still, he hasn't mustered up the courage to do speak to you, afraid that you won't reciprocate the same feelings he has. His been watching you from a distance, stealing glances in class and making mental notes on all the little things you did, like doodling on the corners of your notebooks or, how you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were concentrating. He knew that it was weird, creepy even, but Peter couldn't stop himself.

So, when Mr. Warren announced a paired project for biology, Peter's internal monologue kicked into overdrive.

"Pair work begins today," Mr. Warren said, his smile a gruff overture that still Peter thought unnecessary. "Choose your partners wisely, just choose somebody you will along with. You can really screw up over this project if you don't!"

The room broke out into a low buzz as students shuffled their chairs and moved toward their friends. Peter didn't move. He never did. Choosing a partner was like finding a needle in a haystack type of task for him

Alright, Pete, it is not such a big deal. You are not going to end up with her or anything. Just relax, find someone cool, and—

"Peter!"

Your voice broke through his thoughts, and he looked up to see you in front of his desk, clutching a notebook to your chest

"By any chance do you have a partner? My friends kind of made their own pairs" you asked, your lips curving into an easy smile.

Peter blinked. His brain short-circuited.

"N-nope. I'm totally solo. Flying solo. A lone wolf. A…"

"Awesome! Then let's team up."

Peter turned to you, his mind racing, he blinked, trying to absorb this. You were choosing him? He nodded frantically; his heart was hammering at a top speed that he was convinced you could hear it

You smiled at him, you fucking smiled at him

For the rest of the class Mr. Warren instructed everyone to plan for the project for the rest of the class. You kept bouncing ideas back and forth, and Peter felt a strange, thrilling sensation of in his heart. You were funny, clever, and surprisingly very easy to communicate with. Every time you laughed at one of his jokes, he felt like he was soaring.

When the bell rang, you packed your things and turned to him. "We should work on this at my place. Tomorrow after school?"

Peter nearly dropped his notebook. "Uh, yeah. Totally. I mean, yes. That works. Perfect. So super normal."

You laughed again. "Cool. Here's my address."

And with that, you scribbled it on a scrap of paper and handed it to him before walking away, leaving Peter frozen in his seat.

That night, Peter was sitting in his room staring at the address. To most people, that was just a little detail, probably not even worth a second thought. But to Peter, it was an invitation, or perhaps a key, even just for a second to get into your life. To know every little thing about you

Unfortunately, though, that's not enough.

He felt his hands shaking as he opened the drawer in his desk to reveal a small trove of hidden treasures; poorly taken pictures of you from a distance, bits of paper that you had thrown away during math class, and a small stash of hair strands that he meticulously collected from your hair comb when you weren't looking

This was love, wasn't it? The desperate consuming desire to be around her, to know everything about you.

And tomorrow, he shall get his chance.

You invited him, but Peter just knew it was really more than what you would ever willingly give.

His love was a web, and you were stepping into it, one delicate thread at a time.

Peter stood outside your house with a crumpled piece of paper clutched in his rather sweaty hand. The address on it was correct, but doubt clouded him. What if she had forgotten about this meeting? What if this was simply a joke? No, she would never do that, he tried to convince himself

Peter Parker was standing at your porch. Each thump of his heart sounded like one of the drums in the music club. He raised his hand to knock, hesitating for a moment. Maybe it was a terrible idea to come here after all; he could fake being sick, sending her an apology while rescheduling. Just then, the door swung open before he even had the chance to run.

"Hey, you found my house, I actually thought you would get lost cause I wrote the wrong color of the rooftop on the note" you said while stepping aside to let him enter.

"I was actually hesitant to knock, because it didn't look like the description" He quietly said. You actually got everything right, I was just being a huge pussy so I didn't come immediately, he thought to himself.

"Come in. I have started working on the diagram."

Peter plasted a grin and forced his legs down inside. "Well, look at you. Overachieving already. I guess I'll just sit back and let you do all the hard work."

You rolled your eyes and laughed, your voice making him feel that the world wasn't so bad after all. "Nice try, Parker. Grab a marker. You're on label duty."

"Come on, we can work in the dining area," you said, leading him across the house.

The dining table was already loaded with supplies, with textbooks scattered everywhere, colored pencils, sheets of poster paper, you name it. You positioned herself and gestured to him to join you.

You fell into a rhythm, your hand sketching the parts of the circulatory system while Peter scrawled out the labels in his neatest handwriting. He cracked jokes every few minutes, drawing out your laughter like a lifeline. It would be so easy to lose himself in the moment, pretend that you both were just two friends hanging out and not a guy hopelessly infatuated with someone who didn't even know half the truth about him.

Both of you had a relatively smooth first hour of working, few questions were asked here and there on the project. Peter kept his answers short, being extra cautious with what to share, but it seemed you did not mind. You sketched diagrams, jotting down notes with an ease that made Peter's hands tremble every time he made an attempt to help.

"So Peter," you suddenly announced after the silence, "why is it that you don't talk very much? At school I mean"

The question staggered him, rendering him blank while the colored pencil just hovered above the page.

Peter jerked up his head and looked surprised. "What do you mean? Talking is what I do. I mean, there's even people begging me to stop."

You smirked but didn't let it down. "I mean really, you're funny but I know nothing about you. What's your thing, Peter Parker?"

He didn't answer immediately but fiddled with the marker. "I'm just… some guy. Pretty boring, honestly. Not much to tell."

Your expression softened, "I don't buy that. You're not boring".

Your words made Peter's chest tighter. He wanted to believe you, yet the voice at the back of his mind reminded how wrong youwere. If you only knew the real him, the guy who had spent countless nights staring at your window, memorizing your every move, you wouldn't be smiling and sitting here before him.

"Hey, don't overthink it. You're cool. Let's just finish this masterpiece, okay?" you said, flicking his arm before he could answer.

Peter smiled forcedly

And when they finished the day's work, you walk him to the door once more, your smile as warm as ever.

"Thanks for coming over," you said. "You're actually a pretty decent partner, Parker."

"Decent?!" Peter gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. "Wow. Don't hold back; tell me how you really feel."

And you laughed, shaking your head. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Peter waved. You waved back at him, as he strolled down the street, but he did not go very far. Instead, he found himself across the street in the same place, hidden under the shadow of the oak tree.

you were in your living room again, curled around a blanket and a pillow as you watched whatever was on your screen, your face glowing softly from the light of the television. Peter leaned against the tree with both hands shoved in his jacket pockets and simply watched.

How long he'd been there, he couldn't tell, but he didn't want to leave. This was the closest he ever felt with you, even if you didn't know he was here.

He knew this was crossing the line, but he couldn't help himself. He found himself sneaking into your house. Now he really felt like a robber trying to intrude a home, expect he wasn't really going to steal anything, or so he thought.

It was late at night, you and your family were already asleep at this point

Peter knew that the right thing to do was to head home. He knew for sure that this crossed a line even he wasn't sure he could come back from. But before he could stop himself, he was moving, slipping across the street and into the shadows of your yard.

His palms were slick with sweat as he scanned the side of the house. The metal trellis leading up to your window wasn't very solid, but it would hold him if he was careful.

He carefully climbed the trellis, not putting too much weight on it. And his heart was pounding as he got to your window, his fingers brushing against the cool glass.

It wasn't locked.

At that moment, his body froze. The rational part of him screamed to stop, to climb back down and pretend this never happened. But then his hand was on the window. And that soft sound of it sliding open seemed to be deafeningly loud in the stillness of the night.

He slipped into his feet and landed silently on the carpeted floor. Your room smelled of lavender and something warm and sweet like vanilla. A little bit of moonlight filtered through the curtains and brightened the room in pale silver.

There she was

You laid curled up in your bed, the blankets pulled up to your shoulders, your face peaceful in sleep. Peter’s breath caught in his throat. You looked so serene, so utterly perfect, that it made his chest ache.

He stood there for what felt like an eternity, just watching you. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to feel—satisfaction, maybe, or relief. But all he felt was a strange mix of awe and guilt.

This was wrong.

He knew it.

But he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

He looked around your room, it was full of polaroids of either you or your friends.

He started walking around your room quietly, careful to not wake you up in your slumber, because God knows what will happen if you saw him in your room with all its glory, he couldn't even imagine the disgust on your face.

But one thing caught his eye

Your bathroom was open, and in your bathroom was a basket with what he assumed inside were dirty laundry.

He knew it was disgusting, heck, over the top creep award would probably go to him, but he found himself walking towards the bathroom. It was wrong, but he still did it, he needs to get help, he thought to himself.

One second ago he was walking towards your bathroom, next thing you knew he was rummaging through your dirty laundry, occasionally smelling some of your shirts. He cherished the way your scent overwhelmed his nose, he was in Cloud 9.

While he was rummaging, a little piece of clothing caught his eye. With shaky hands he picked up the piece of clothing, it was your pink underwear with little cherries scattered everywhere as design.

He brought it near to his nose. He suddenly sat down in the neat cold tiles of the bathroom floor, he smelt it as if it was his oxygen.

He let out a small moan. He didn't know if it was an invisible force making him do such things, but he found his hands unbuttoning his pants

Peter Parker sat in the rest room; hand clasped tight around the lacy edge of the pink panty. He took out his hardened length of his boxers. The scent of dirty panties wafted his nose.

He imagined you wrapped around his throbbing cock, he thought of the feeling of your tight little pussy riding his cock, he wanted the sweet nectar from your lips, while having a feast on your quivering hole. His cock throbbed in his palms, his hands were much faster now, stroking his hardened cock. He had to bite his tongue to keep himself from moaning

Why was he doing this? You were literally there, outside the bathroom, sleeping. And Peter was here, out in the open, jerking off to the smell of your used panties

He was drenched in sweat as his hairs stuck to his wet forehead. He fantasized about your perky tits; perfect little nipples erect in anticipation. Pumping the shaft rapidly, imagining you on all fours begging for more, the bounce of your tits while riding him moaning his name like a mantra, Peter, fuck Peter, Peter, oh my God!

Peter was breathing heavily, his release was near, he profusely pumped his manhood, his hands and cock covered in his sticky pre-cum.

He wanted to feel you inside him, want you to quiver in pleasure as he fucks you over and over again.

He felt a sudden wave of pleasure hitting him, before he knew it, he released a flooded torrent of jizz into sticky cum as it scattered all over the floor. He slumped against the wall, heaving as he tried to steady his racing heart. He looked outside the door, finding you in the same spot as you were. You were sleeping oh so peacefully

He gazed at you, his heart full of unfulfilled yearning. He desperately wanted to be part of your world, to be someone you chose to let in. Yet no matter how many jokes he made or how close you seemed; he knew deep in his heart that he was not enough.

A soft sound broke the silence.

Peter's eyes snap to the bed, and his stomach lurch at the realization that you were stirring. Your brows knitted, your breathing started shifting, just as if you were going to wake up.

He immediately threw your panties back into the basket as he stood up and fixed his underwear and pants

He felt panic surging him, he immediately sprinted near the window. It made a loud a thud, now he was fucked

He moved quickly and quietly without thinking as he quietly ran towards the window. Just as you were about to opene your eyes, he slipped stealthily past the fluttering of curtains.

He tried scrambling down the trellis and found the ground, shivering and shaking as he did so.

He was hidden in a shadow corner, looking up towards your window. You were sitting up now, rubbing your eyes and looking around your room with a sleepy confusion.

Peter's chest tightened.

What's the matter with him?

He hurried as he turned away, his footsteps quiet against the pavement

The cool night air wrapped around Peter Parker like a cold, suffocating blanket as he walked back toward his house. Each step seemed to slant further and further as if his sneakers were scuffing wet against the cracked pavement in a slow and deliberate rhythm.

It was as if the world had gone still—entirely quiet. No cars were heard, no distant chatter, no hum of the city. Just Peter, the quiet whistle of wind through leaves, and the pounding thuds of his thoughts.

With that, he shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets, his fingers curling into tight fists. Replaying the scene, he heard the soft sound of your breathing, the warmth of your room, and the way you stirred in your bed as if you had felt him there.

What the heck are you doing, Parker? He hadn't intended to climb into your room. He hadn't intended for it to get this far. Watching from the shadows was one thing, but tonight… tonight he had crossed a line.

He stopped moving and leaned against the lamppost, his breath escaping him in short, sharp gasps. Above him, the light flickered, shining unevenly across his shadow on the ground.

"This isn't me," he whispered to himself, the voice trembling.

But wasn't it?

Hadn't he been staring at you for years, taking notes while you weren't looking, memorizing all of your movements, laughter, and smiles? He had told himself that it was just harmless admiration from a distance, but now it was clear.

What would you think if you knew?

He sighed, Peter threw back his head and gazed up at the sky. Above him the stars, though cold and distant, seemed on to him— judging him in silence.

With the words of Uncle Ben echoing in his mind, With great power comes great responsibility, Peter winced.

Peter's jaw clamped down. Not great power; not yet. But wasn't all this part of it? Taking responsibility for his actions, owning up to his mistakes before they spiraled uncontrollably out of hand?

It hit him like a gut punch.

He wouldn't ever be able to take it back. Nor would he ever be able to wipe away the fact that he'd violated your space, your privacy, in a way you might never forgive. But he could stop it from going any further. He could ensure that you never found out.

@gloomskulls 2024. DON'T COPY, TRANSLATE OR USE ANY OF MY WORKS HERE OR ANY OTHER WEBSITES. Photos don't belong to me

1K notes · View notes

thewrldx · 3 months ago

Text

Best Friends, Better Lovers — S.S

Synopsis: Sebastian Sallow is your best friend, but you fell in love with him. What are you going to do when your secret letter ends up in his hands?

Sebastian Sallow x FemaleReader

WC: 3.8K

18+ aged up characters, obviously in love best friends to lovers, soft smut.

DT: @sallowsproperty my sweet dani—you deserve soft seb 🥹

i never write sweet things bare with me

also ignore the mistakes it's 2:48am

MDNI!

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　　˚　　　⠀　⠀ 　　,　　　　　　.

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　.⠀　　⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀,

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀✦ ⠀ ⠀　　　　　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀* ⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　　　　.　　　ﾟ .　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　✦ 　　　　　,　　　　　　　.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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　　　　　⠀　　　　⠀　　,

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　⠀　　　⠀.　

　　˚　　　⠀　⠀ 　　,　　　　　　.

　　　　　　*⠀　　⠀ 　　　　　⠀✦⠀　

　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　　.　　　　.　　　

　　　˚　　　　　　　　ﾟ　　　　　.

　.⠀　⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀,

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As soon as Professor Weasley signaled Transfiguration class was over, you were up and moving, weaving through desks with one goal in mind.

Your best friend had missed your first class today—no explanation, just an empty seat at the table where he normally slouched with a smirk and a quill he never used properly. You weren’t sure you wanted to know why he’d skipped. But you still wanted to see him.

Sebastian was still seated, deliberately slow in packing his bag, like he was stalling. Drawing it out on purpose. Part of you couldn’t help but wonder if he already knew you’d come over, that he was waiting for it. Maybe even hoping for it.

You reached his desk and leaned against it with a practiced ease, propping one elbow behind you, a subtle arch to your back just enough to draw his gaze in case he wanted to look.

You hoped he wanted to look.

Your smile was small, barely there, one that lived more in your eyes than your mouth. The kind of smirk that hinted at trouble. Dangerous.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show up,” you said, voice light, teasing. It was not a complaint, just a jab aimed to get under his skin the way you always knew how to.

“I missed one class,” he replied, looking up at you, but not too fast. Almost as if he was trying not to stare. “Hardly grounds for exile.”

You raised a brow. “I don’t know, Sallow. Seems a little suspicious. Were your causing mayhem without your partner in crime?”

A hand flies over your chest in mock offense, earning a chuckle from the boy.

“And if I was?” He challenges.

You reach into your satchel and pull out a few pages of parchments, holding it up between two fingers. Notes. Neatly written, edges crisp, possibly color-coded. “Then you wouldn’t get these.”

Sebastian blinked. “You took notes for me?”

You gave him a look. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you retorted, though the corner of your mouth tugged upward. “Ominis was going to set them on fire. Something about not deserving them if you don’t care to show up.”

His eyes sparkled then, deep brown catching the slant of afternoon light. It seemed he was thoroughly amazed with the fact that you took notes for him.

Your breath hitched, but you tried to mask it quickly.

“I thought I’d be your academic savior.”

He leaned back in his chair at your quip, arms crossing lazily over his chest. The movement pulled his robes tighter over his frame, but you tried not to notice. Just like he tried not to notice the way your collar had come undone, the fabric loose around your neck after a long day.

You both were failing spectacularly.

“You mean to tell me,” he began, “you spent your precious free time writing out notes to rescue me from academic ruin?”

You shrugged, feeling a slight flush beginning to creep on your cheeks. You brushed imaginary lint from your skirt, trying to regain some sense of composure. “Someone has to stop you from flunking out.”

“So you do like me that much.”

You rolled your eyes, because it was easier than telling the truth—which was, yes.

Yes, you did like him that much.

But he was your best friend.

You shifted just slightly. The angle of your body changing enough to make him sit up a little straighter. You held out the notes and didn’t let go when he reached for them. Your fingers brushed his, just once, and it was like flint striking against steel. A spark that both of you pretended you didn’t feel.

“In your dreams, Sallow,” you said smoothly. “I did miss you arguing with Sharp, though. Something about how many inches should be due next week.”

Sebastian snorted. “I could have talked him down.”

“Or gotten detention.”

He shrugged, reckless and unapologetic. It was one of the reasons you fell for him. Not just the charm and witty remarks—but the way he made everything seem easy, like gravity never pulled quite so hard on him. It was infuriating.

Intoxicating.

Inevitable.

You realized then that your hands were still touching.

One of you should have pulled away, said something clever and meaningless. But instead, your eyes met his, steady, and for a heartbeat you wondered if maybe it wasn’t stupid to feel this way for him.

Then he took the notes, a bit too quickly, shattering that shred of confidence. His fingers fumbled as he shoved them into his bag like they were suddenly too much to hold.

“Thank you,” he muttered.

“Of course.”

A beat.

“Loser.”

His expression softened at the insult, like something in the word, or perhaps the way you said it, had altered his heart once more. It broke the tension, just as you had wanted.

You pushed off the desk, brushing by with a whisper of fabric. If you lingered too long, especially while he was looking at you like that, you’d say something you shouldn’t. something a best friend wouldn’t say.

“See you tonight,” you called over your shoulder, already peeking out into the corridor.

He didn’t get the chance to reply.

. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆. . • . .

Dear Sebastian.

I don’t know why I’m writing this.

I mean, I do. I was talking to Ominis, because that attentive bastard found out my secret, and he told me to. Said writing things out helped him when he couldn’t say them aloud. And because he’s irritatingly wise, I listened.

But I’m not going to give this to you. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself. Because if you ever read these words, if you knew the extent of what you really meant to me, I think I’d actually dissolve on the spot.

Spontaneous combustion via sheer embarrassment.

Here it is anyways.

I am in love with you, Sebastian Sallow.

Not the soft, sensible kind of love, the kind the creeps up gently and asks permission. No, Merlin help me, this is the all-consuming, knock-the-wind-out-of-me, ruin me forever kind of love. The kind that has engraved on my soul, whether I like it or not.

I’m surely going mad.

It’s getting worse. I can’t go a few hours without looking for you in a room, or imagining what you’d say in the middle of class. I miss you before you’re even gone. That’s probably not normal.

Definitely not normal.

Two whole years of this. Two years of being your best friend, of pretending that’s all I wanted. Watching you be reckless and brilliant and infuriatingly charming and telling myself I wasn’t falling in love.

I let you drag me into arachnid infested cave dwellings and up mountains in the pouring rain. I let you talk me into breaking rules and curfews and probably a few laws. I learned the way your brow furrowed when you’re focused. How your voice gets soft when you’re talking to me but don’t realize it.

I know how you laugh when I say something that actually surprises you. How you sing—horribly off-key—when you think no one’s listening, and dance like an idiot in the Undercroft when you’ve had too much of the that terrible honey mead. (Which, for the record, you stole. I was only an accomplice, like most times.)

I know you better than anyone.

Falling in love with you was never part of the plan. I think I would’ve avoided you altogether if I had known this was the outcome. Because now, nothing else compares. And the worst part is, I think you’ll never see me that way. Not really.

You’ll keep teasing me, keep being your impossibly frustrating self, and I’ll keep pretending it doesn’t make me ache in ways I don’t even have words for.

So, this letter—it’s a secret.

A coward’s confession.

Something I will most likely set ablaze the moment I finish it.

—Yours. Always.

P.S. I will have to thank Ominis, because I feel, barely, better.

Sebastian had read that piece of parchment in your elegant scrawl once.

Then again.

And then a third time, just to make sure he hadn’t dozed off in his dorm and conjured it all up in some twisted dream.

It was quiet, Ominis had vanished off somewhere, muttering something about needing peace, and the rest of the boys were still lingering at dinner. He bailed early, knowing that he should probably be responsible, and take advantage of those notes that you had graciously given to him.

Except when he thought of you handing them over—propped up against his desk, giving him that dangerous half-smile, gracious was not the word he would use.

Sebastian dropped onto his bed, grinning to himself. You could pretend all you wanted that you didn’t care, but the ink on those pages said otherwise. They were detailed with tiny margin comments that almost felt like whispered jokes.

He pulled the pages from his bag and tossed them onto the blanket in front of him. His intent was noble, skim the outlie and read a line or two, enough to commit one potion recipe to memory before inevitably tossing them aside.

Something slipped from the stack.

A single folded piece parchment, thicker than the rest, slightly creased at the corners.

He frowned, brow creasing as he picked it up. It wasn’t labeled, just tucked between a diagram and an oddly flirtatious doodle of a bubbling cauldron.

It probably wasn’t supposed to be there.

But then he saw his name.

In your handwriting.

His entire body went still, immediately sitting up straighter.

He unfolded the letter slowly, like it might vanish if he moved too fast.

And then he read.

And read.

By the end, his heart was hammering like he’d just sprinted across the castle. Every word screamed you—sarcastic, stubborn, heartbreakingly vulnerable.

You had written that you had the kind of love he’d only dared imagine in the late hours of the night when everything else was quiet. Confessed the very thing he’d spent months—hell, a year—trying to bury.

Sebastian rubbed at his jaw, staring at the end of the letter, his thumb hovering over the last line.

Yours. Always.

He let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “Coward,” he murmured, a smile curling despite the ache in his chest. “You absolute coward.”

You loved him.

And you had no idea that he loved you, too.

That every other girl had paled in comparison since the moment you walked into his life with a smart tongue and a heart bigger than you let on.

And you wrote it down with the intention of burning it.

Sebastian folded the letter carefully, pressed it to his chest for one suspended second, letting himself feel everything.

Then he stood.

. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆. . • . .

You were dying a slow, humiliating death.

The realization hit halfway through brushing your hair, your eyes snapping open in horror as your stomach sank. That stupid letter you wrote. The one you poured your heart into like some desperate romantic.

It had been in your bag.

Next to your Potions notes.

You flung yourself across the room like a girl possessed, digging through your bag, once. Twice. Dumping it completely. Then tearing through your belongings like they’d personally betrayed you.

Gone.

It was gone.

And you knew exactly where it went.

A tidal wave of panic surged through your bloodstream, burning hotter than any fever. Not only had you accidentally handed over a soul-bearing love confession, but you’d done it to Sebastian Sallow.

Your best friend.

This was it. The end. The absolute, mortifying, inescapable end. He was going to read it and probably laugh, or worse, pity you.

This was surely going to ruin everything. Your friendship. Your entire existence.

You did the only thing a sane person could do in such a state.

You crawled into bed and pulled the duvet over your head, curled into a mortified little ball, and vowed never to emerge again.

Maybe the blankets would absorb the shame, and if you held perfectly still, Sebastian would forget you ever existed and move on with his life without ever bringing up the letter.

But of course, you weren’t that lucky.

Not even fifteen minutes after the devastating realization, you heard the soft creak of your dormitory door opening.

You went rigid.

Please be a roommate. Please be a ghost. Hell, let it be Peeves. Anyone but—

“…Hey.”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

No no no no—

“I know you’re in here.”

His voice was soft, and amused. Way too smug and far too close for comfort.

When you didn’t respond, he took advantage of the silence.

“You left me a love letter,” he added casually, like that cursed thing hadn’t just detonated your world. A pause. “That I was never supposed to see, apparently. Which, by the way, is rude. Who writes something that romantic and just plans to obliterate it to ash?”

You sank deeper into your cocoon of embarrassment.

Then—fwip.

He grabbed the edge of the duvet.

“Sebastian—no—don’t you dare—”

Too late.

He peeled the covers back in one swift, dramatic flourish, like he was unveiling a piece of art. Your face was flushed to hell, hair sticking up slightly, eyes wide and full of horror. You looked like a startled cat.

He grinned. “There she is.”

You immediately rolled away, yanking a pillow to cover your face. “Get. Out.”

“I will, eventually,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed like he belonged there. “After you come out and face me like a brave girl.”

“I’m not brave. I’m dying.”

“Dramatic,” he chuckled. “Tragic heroine. Very on brand for you.

The pillow smashed harder against your face.

He spoke, softly, “…it was really beautiful. The letter.”

You peaked one eye out, expression wary. Suspicious.

He took that as an opening. Gently, he pulled the pillow away, and worse, worse, reached up and tucked a bit of hair behind your ear, fingertips warm and feather-light against your skin.

“Hi,” he whispered.

Oh no.

“Hi,” you whispered back.

A moment.

“You know I love you too.”

A statement. Not a question. Before you could even fully absorb the admission, he was speaking again.

“Can I kiss you?”

Surely, you stopped breathing.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but it was not that.

His eyes searched yours, open, vulnerable, and eager. He needed you to say yes, because he didn’t know if he’d survive if you said no.

You would be a complete fool to ruin this moment.

“Yes,” you answered.

That undid him completely.

He didn’t speak, just exhaled sharply as a mix of relief and desire collided inside of him. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing over the line of your jaw while his gaze flicked down to your lips. His breathing was coming in uneven spurts.

Finally, his lips found yours.

It was slow at first, like he didn’t quite believe it was real, that he was kissing the girl he’d been so unbelievably in love with for the last two years.

It deepened in an instant. You made a sound in your throat, helpless and airy that lit something hot inside Sebastian.

His fingers slide into your hair, tilting your head as he kissed you like he’d been craving to. Your hands fisted into his shirt, pulling him closer until you bodies met in a soft thump as you tumbled back onto the bed together.

Side by side. Entangled. Still kissing like the world might end if you stopped.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” Sebastian rasped against your lips. His mouth trailed down to your neck. “I’m sorry if I’m—fuck—if I’m moving too fast. I just can’t stop…”

His lips pressed a soft kiss to a sweet spot, causing you to let out a sigh.

“Don’t” you breathed. “Don’t stop.”

He groaned low and rough, the sound activating butterflies in your stomach. His hand slid down your side, gripping your hip as he rolled on top, pressing his body flush to yours. A gasp fell from your mouth at the heat of him pressing against you.

“Merlin,” he rasped. “You feel that?”

Oh, you did.

He was hard. Incredibly hard. Heavy against your thigh in a way that made you clench around nothing. You’d imagined this after hours, basked in only dim candlelight, hand between your thighs.

Imagination had nothing on the real thing.

“Yes,” you practically begged, dazed. “Seb...yes.”

He kissed you again, slower, tasting the one thing he thought he’d never get as his hips rolled instinctively. His hands wandered, reverent, exploring you like you were a spell he wanted to master. His lips dipped lower, trailing to your collarbone.

You arched into him with a broken whimper.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured, barely audible.

You smiled. “Sebastian, for fuck’s sake,” you teased. “I want you.”

His chocolate eyes darkened, playfulness bleeding into desire.

“Say it again.”

“I want you.”

His mouth was on yours again—hungrier now, desperate in a kiss that stole the breath from your lungs. It tasted like years of restraint finally unraveling, all soft gasps and tangled fingers, as your bodies moved in perfect clumsy rhythm.

Clothes melted away between kisses and whispered I love you’s, scattered like leaves in the fall. He paused when he reached behind you, unclipping the small clasp and letting your bra come undone in his hands. The straps slid down your arms like silk and he had to take a moment to sit back on his heels, eyes roaming over your bare chest.

“Fuck,” he breathed, one hand sliding down your thigh with shaking fingers. “You’re gorgeous.”

His hand found the edge of your underwear, and you let out a moan when his fingers brushed your inner thigh. He froze, breath catching in his throat like the moment had stolen the air from him.

“Bloody hell…” he murmured, voice wrecked. His finger gilded higher, just barely grazing over the soaked fabric clinging to you. A low sound rumbled deep in his chest. “You’re so wet.”

Your hips tilted towards him without thought, your blush deepening.

“I can’t help it,” you replied. “It’s you.”

His forehead pressed to yours, eyes closing as he tried to keep control.

“I’ve thought about this,” he admitted. “All the fucking time. What you’d sound like. How you’d feel under me…” he paused to open his eyes. “Around me.”

You whimpered at the last part, thighs trembling as slick pooled between your legs. He was going to be the end of you.

Sebastian did not waste another second. He pushed your panties aside and finally touched you.

His fingers were warm and sure, the pad of one brushing over your clit with delicate precision, and you let out the softest, sweetest cry.

“Gods,” he murmured, dragging his fingers through your slick, coating them, “You’re drenched, love. Absolutely soaked for me.”

“For you,” you gasped, clinging to his shoulders, nails leaving tiny crescents into the muscle. “Please…”

He didn’t make you beg twice. He started to rub slow, steady circles over your sensitive bundle of nerves, drawing out sounds you didn’t know you could make.

Then he pushed a finger inside.

“Oh—!”

He paused only to check your eyes, searching for any sign of discomfort. When all he found was satisfaction plastering your expression, he added a second finger, curling them expertly until he found that spongy spot that made you whine.

He worked you gently, lovingly, coaxing wave after wave of pleasure from you until you were shaking beneath him. He was panting watching you, his arousal painfully obvious through his boxers.

Sebastian needed to be inside you.

His fingers slipped out, and he kissed the whine from your lips. He tugged down the thin fabric of his boxers, tossing them aside. He sprung free, all of him.

You gulped. He was big, throbbing and leaking at the tip from how badly he needed you.

You pulled your panties the rest of the way down, chest rising and falling rapidly.

For a fragile second, panic fluttered in your stomach.

He noticed. Of course he did. He always did.

“Hey.” His voice was soft as he reached for your cheek, thumb brushing the skin. “It’s okay. We don’t have to—”

“No,” you interrupted quickly. “I-I want to. I’m just… nervous. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

He smiled, warm, and pecked the tip of your nose.

“It’s okay,” he promised. “I’ll take care of you.”

He shifted, body slotting perfectly between your thighs. His hand guided himself to your entrance and he leaned down, lips pressing gently along your temple, down your jaw, over the shell of your ear.

“You’re going to take me so well.”

His tip nudged against you—teasing—and then he pushed in, sliding in easily.

A cry left your lips at the sensation, new and intense. He moved slowly, watching your face with care, giving you time. Your hands clawed at his back, leaving tiny half-moons he’d treasure later.

“Sweetheart,” he moaned, mouth parted in stunned bliss, “you feel so perfect. So fucking perfect.”

His hips stilled as he bottomed out, letting you breathe. He kissed your shoulder, trying to prove just how precious you were to him.

“Please, Seb,” you said breathless, biting your lip.

He pulled out nearly all the way, then slid back in, deep and unhurried. Your body welcomed him, desperately. You moaned at everything he gave you, and he swallowed the sounds, rolling his hips deeper each time.

You both laughed through one misaligned kiss, still panting through another wave of pleasure.

It was slow. Beautiful.

Two souls, finally connecting in the way they had been yearning to.

And fuck did it feel like heaven.

“Sebastian,” you gasped, voice cracking as he hit a spot that made your toes curl.

He groaned your name in return, thrusts turning a little messy.

“I’m not going to last,” he confessed. “Not after wanting you for so fucking long.”

You cupped his face, pulling him close. “I’m right there.”

That shattered him.

He thrust harder, hips stuttering as your walls clenched around him.

“Fuckfuckfuck—” he gasped, trembling, stars blooming behind his eyes.

He spilled into you with a strangled groan, hips grinding to prolong the pleasure as you moaned beneath him, your own orgasm ripping through you.

Sebastian collapsed over you, heart hammering, your legs still wrapped tight around his waist. For a long moment, neither of you spoke—just clung to each other, panting, kissing lazily, mouths brushing as you caught your breaths.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. “That I didn’t last.”

You smiled, dazed and thoroughly wrecked, tracing your fingers through the sweat-damp hair at the nape of his neck. “You were perfect.”

His laugh was breathless, and completely in love. He kissed you again gently, because he could.

“I owe you a love letter now.”

#fanfic #smut #romance #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow x reader #hogwarts legacy sebastian #sebastian sallow smut #writer #fluff #friends to lovers #best friends to lovers #help #i am posting #i am so tired

507 notes · View notes

ceruark · 5 months ago

Text

somebody's supposed to fall in love

[yan! alexis ness x gn! reader x yan! michael kaiser] synopsis: your boyfriend’s best friend is an oddly prominent figure in your relationship. [university au. implied poly.] cw: yandere themes - implied stalking and obsessive behavior. wc: 1.4k a/n: if you ever find me caught between these two, don’t help me… i’m exactly where i need to be

you’re not fond of how… involved michael is in your relationship.

he’s studying abroad the year you and alexis get together, but even so, you’re aware of how important the man is to your boyfriend; it’s hard not to, given that michael draws attention every time he enters a room, and before you entered the picture, alexis followed him around like a second shadow. you know about their close friendship going into the relationship, but it proves to be a problem in a much different way than you expect.

alexis's friends warn you that he tends to be a pushover where michael is concerned, and that you’ll always be second to the blonde, even if it’s you alexis is actually dating. of course, you don’t pay their words any mind in the beginning, given that michael is on the other side of the world, both out of sight and out of mind while you and alexis get cozy with each other.

when michael returns to campus the following year, both your and alexis’s friends joke that he’ll drop you now that his real lover is back. at first, there’s some truth to what they’re saying; alexis spends so much of his free time catching up with michael, which means he isn’t really seeing you, since you make a point to avoid the blonde like the plague.

at some point, alexis must realize you’re pulling away from him, texting him less frequently and not bothering to ask if he’ll be at your apartment that night— no, you already know where he’ll be. so roughly a month after michael’s return, alexis rushes back into your arms, apologizing for neglecting your relationship and swearing to make it up to you.

and he does… kind of. he splits his time more evenly between you and michael, and though it aggravates you that the other is as much of a priority to your boyfriend as you are, you give him some grace— it’s his best friend who was away for a year. for a blissful two months, you accept this delicate balance alexis is managing as the new norm, and eventually any irritation you feel over the matter has dissipated altogether by the time your lovely boyfriend decides to knock you off your axis once again.

he wants you to meet michael. after all, who doesn’t want their best friend and significant other, the two people most important to them, to get along?

the thing is, you’ve met michael already— in freshman year, and you think it’s odd that michael hasn’t mentioned this to alexis. you sat next to him during an introductory writing course you both took to fulfill a general graduation requirement, and unfortunately for you, it was a class where the professor forced you to discuss the content with your neighbor on the daily. only half way into week two, you’d snapped at him, fed up with his holier-than-thou attitude and calling him out on how his condescension did little to mask his apparent insecurities with himself.

perhaps you should have known that someone like him would only view your words as a challenge. you’d dug your own grave at that point, and michael only got worse after that, using every class period as an opportunity to get under your skin and discover what makes you tick. he seemed far too gleeful every time you bit back an insult in the name of keeping your cool, and by the time the semester ended, you wanted absolutely nothing to do with him— a sentiment you conceded when you got with his best friend, but the point still stands.

even after that wretched semester, though, you’d still notice michael in the peripheral of your life. sometimes you’d catch him staring at you when you were in one of the dining halls laughing with your friends, or in the library slogging through your mountain of assignments. you always met his blank stare with one of your own, never giving him the satisfaction of a reaction.

your hatred may have simmered down over time, but you still want to keep him as far away from you as possible. you cannot fathom how someone so loathsome could keep the company of someone so sweet, but there were still facets of alexis’s mind that you were working at comprehending.

so you agree to meet michael, and to your surprise and suspicion, it’s fine. you don’t know if he’s just playing nice because you’re with alexis and it’s going on a year now, but you’re not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. you allow this delicate civility to settle between yourself and michael and agree to spend more time in his presence, more for alexis’s sake than for your own.

but by the time your decision to let him in catches up to you, it’s far too late. give him an inch, and he’ll take a mile; it hits you like cold water one random day in the second semester of the year that you and alexis haven’t really had a moment alone together in months. save for the bedroom, every second you’ve spent with your boyfriend has also been spent in michael’s company. you don’t even know how it happened, just that you had somehow gotten so used to him being around that this little fact managed to slip under your radar.

the minor detail nagging at the back of your mind evolves into a loud, blaring siren the weekend after midterms. you got together with alexis and some of his friends for a celebratory drinking session following a slew of exams and essays, and now, you sit slumped over the table in one of alexis’s hoodies, a delightful buzz making you feel lighter, but not bumbling. alexis is making sure a very drunken erik makes it back to his dorm safely, leaving you alone with michael in their shared apartment.

the blonde is reclined in the seat across from you, eyes half-lidded as he fumbles with a deck of cards left out from the night’s events. he’s had more to drink tonight than both you and alexis, and it’s evident in the way his guard seemed to be lower than you’ve ever seen it. he laughed more— openly and warmly, with his friends rather than at them— and he was even, dare you say it, pleasant to be around.

so naturally, your guard is down, too, when he looks at you with a hint of a smirk on his face and asks, "you know you’re wearing my hoodie, right?"

you snort at him. “what are you talking about? i got this out of alexis’s closet.”

“i’m sure,” he agrees. there’s a glint in his eyes, one that reminds of why you wanted to keep your distance from him in the first place.

“alexis and i share everything.”

something about the way he holds your gaze with such intensity has your stomach flipping over. you haven’t felt like this around him in a while— uneasy, uncertain— but maybe the alcohol has him acting bolder, or rather, has him forgetting to put on the carefully crafted mask that he’s had on around you for the past few months.

the suffocating tension snaps when you hear the sound of the front door clicking shut and alexis kicking off his shoes at the entrance. you quickly spring up from your seat, heading into the other room to ask if erik’s alright, and then get ready for bed. you don’t step out of alexis’s room to bid michael good night, the lingering feeling of his gaze still sending icy pinpricks down your spine.

he starts flirting with you after that. he starts flirting with you in front of alexis, who does absolutely nothing about it. alexis, who just laughs at michael’s antics like his best friend isn’t actively hitting on his significant other. alexis, who doesn’t bat an eye when michael’s touch on your shoulder lingers just a little too long. alexis, who starts forcing you into the middle of couch between him and michael when it’s the spot that he usually takes.

alexis, who approached you first. alexis, who seemed to already know everything about you when you first started dating, who always knew exactly what to say or do to make you head over heels for him. alexis, undoubtedly in love with you, but undeniably devoted and loyal to michael. alexis, prancing around in sheep’s clothing and leading you directly into the jaws of the wolf.

it’s far too late to even try to untangle yourself from their web, and that makes the realization all the more awful; from the start, you were never meant to be just alexis’s.

571 notes · View notes

shaiyasstuff · 6 months ago

Text

just give me your forever | zayne

synopsis : Zayne has loved you, from the day he met you in high school when he was seventeen, all the way to the present where he finds that you are still the person he silently fell for through stolen glances in the hallway, and laughter between study sessions. content : FLUFF, zayne x non-mc!reader, non-cannon!au, just fluff, and fluff, and more fluff, maybe sprinkle of comedic elements.

It was a quiet winter night, the kind that made the city lights shimmer a little softer and the world feel a little slower.

You were walking ahead with your friends, bundled in your coat, laughter spilling from your lips like music carried by the cold wind.

You looked happy—unguarded, bright, alive.

He trailed behind his own group, just a few paces back, fresh from a dinner reunion with familiar faces from years past.

But it was you he saw—really saw—glowing beneath the streetlamp, laughter like delicate wind chimes, drawing something dormant in him to stir again.

“Hey,” his friend leaned in with a knowing grin, nudging his elbow. “Didn’t you used to have a massive crush on her back in high school?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, more in surprise than annoyance, but he masked it with a half-hearted glare.

“Relax,” his friend chuckled, raising both hands in mock surrender. “Just saying—she’s single now. If you ever thought about trying…”

He hesitated.

The idea lingered longer than he expected, curling around his ribs like warmth against the winter air.

But then he exhaled softly, almost wistfully. “She wouldn’t feel the same.”

His friend gave him a look, brow lifting. “Never try, never know.” He shrugged, casual as anything, then added with a sly smile, “Besides, pretty sure everyone knew she liked you too.”

That made him stop.

His eyes snapped to his friend, disbelief written all over his face.

His friend only laughed, clapping him on the back. “Why do you think she always ended up in your classes? Come on, man. You really never noticed?”

And suddenly, the past didn’t feel so distant anymore.

The way you’d glance his way when you thought he wasn’t looking.

The way you always sat just close enough.

The way you smiled like you were waiting for him to say something he never did.

He looked down, lips parted slightly, the cold forgotten as something warm flickered to life inside him.

Maybe, just maybe it hadn’t been one-sided after all.

His friend nudged him again—sharper this time, a not-so-subtle push that nearly sent him stumbling forward. “Go, before you regret it. She’s leaving for Switzerland soon.”

He froze. “She’s leaving?” The words came out too quickly, too startled.

His friend only shrugged, hands deep in his coat pockets. “Said something about studying.”

And just like that, the air around him shifted.

He didn’t think anymore.

Didn’t weigh the what-ifs or brace for rejection.

His legs moved before his heart could catch up.

He jogged toward you, each step punctuated by the sound of snow crunching beneath his boots and the echo of your laughter lingering in the cold.

He hesitated when he reached you, just for a moment, trying to decide how to say everything he’d left unsaid for years.

Then he reached out—lightly, carefully—and tapped your shoulder.

You turned, confusion flitting across your face at first. But then recognition sank in, softening your features.

Your lips curved.

“Zayne…” you said, voice tender, smile warmer than the night deserved.

His name had never sounded like that before. It slipped from your mouth like it belonged to you. Like maybe it always had.

“I—” he began, but the words tangled in his throat.

Your brows pulled together, concern rising in your eyes. “Is everything okay?”

He swallowed, gathering the courage that had always felt just out of reach. “I’d like to take you out, before you leave.”

The air held still between you.

Your eyes widened just a little. Behind you, your friends were trying, and failing miserably, to stifle their giggles, but you didn’t turn to them.

You were looking only at him.

“I…” A smile bloomed on your lips, hesitant, lovely. “Sure.”

He stared for a heartbeat longer, trying to commit the moment to memory—how the cold had flushed your cheeks, how the snow dusted your hair like stardust, how you looked like something out of a dream he used to have in high school.

“Then, I’ll see you next week,” he said, voice a little breathless, “at the caf�� we used to study in.”

You laughed softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah, I’ll see you.”

And with that, you turned back to your friends, their laughter wrapping around yours as you walked off.

Just before you disappeared around the corner, you glanced over your shoulder and gave him one last smile—quiet, knowing, enough to make him feel like he was seventeen again.

“See, told you,” his friend’s voice rang out behind him, smug as ever.

Zayne didn’t even bother to look back.

He just shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips as he stared at the place where you’d been.

“She’s still breathtaking.” He mutters to himself.

—•

Saturday arrived slowly, each hour dragging like wet leaves on pavement. Zayne sat at the edge of his chair, thumb pressed to his lips in a nervous habit he hadn’t indulged in years.

His phone rested beside him on the table, the screen lighting up every so often—not with a message, not with your name, but with the time.

Mocking him.

He checked it again. Then again ten minutes later.

Just to make sure the date was right.

Just to reassure himself he hadn’t imagined the whole thing.

He exhaled hard through his nose, running a hand over his face.

This is ridiculous, he thought. You’re a surgeon. You perform open-heart operations. You speak at conferences. And now you’re here, pacing like a teenager waiting for a crush to call?

Still, the nerves didn’t ease.

Because this wasn’t just any Saturday.

It was the Saturday.

The one where, for once, he let himself believe in something fragile.

A second chance. A maybe.

The possibility of something that could’ve happened ten years ago if he had just reached out instead of staying silent.

Now he stood outside the café, the one that had once been filled with textbooks and quiet glances across coffee cups.

The wind was sharp, tugging at the edges of his coat, but he barely noticed.

His eyes swept the street again, slow and deliberate—though he wouldn’t admit how desperately he was searching for a glimpse of you.

He shifted his weight, glancing at his phone once more before slipping it back into his pocket.

The café buzzed quietly behind him, couples drifting in and out, laughter trailing through the door each time it opened.

Still no sign of you.

His heart thudded a little louder in his chest.

She wouldn’t have bailed… right?

As if right on cue, you appeared.

You crossed the street with a careful grace, your minidress peeking out beneath a coat that stopped just above your knees. Black leg warmers disappeared into winter boots, and a soft white scarf curled around your neck like a whispered promise of warmth. Snowflakes clung to your hair, glittering under the muted afternoon light.

And just like that—Zayne forgot how to breathe.

For a moment, the years folded in on themselves.

Gone was the surgeon, the calm professional, the man who spent his days in operating rooms and sterile halls.

In his place stood the boy who had once looked across a high school corridor and saw someone who made the world feel quieter, softer.

He stared, transfixed.

You hadn’t even noticed him yet, but his heart had already started racing, his thoughts scattered like pages caught in the wind.

It was like seeing you for the first time all over again.

“Hey!” you called out, your smile blooming the moment your eyes met his.

Zayne froze for half a second, breath catching as you jogged toward him with a kind of eager warmth that made the cold blur into nothing.

There was something so you about the way you moved—unthinking, open, like the world hadn’t ever taught you to hold back.

Your scarf trailed behind you, hair dancing in the breeze, cheeks kissed pink from the chill.

And as you drew closer, he felt it—the sudden, unmistakable pull in his chest.

You were radiant. Familiar.

A little different, a little older, but still you.

And in that moment, watching you rush toward him like you’d never hesitated, he felt seventeen again.

Awestruck.

Wordless.

Like you were the first girl he’d ever fallen for—because maybe you were.

You stopped just in front of him, cheeks flushed from the cold, smile still as dazzling as ever. It hit him like a wave—how little had changed, and yet how much more breathtaking you looked up close.

“Did you wait for long?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.

Zayne blinked, lips parted, but no words came out. He was too busy taking you in—the way your breath curled in the air, the sparkle in your eyes, the softness of your voice.

Everything about you felt surreal, like a memory he wasn’t ready for but never wanted to forget.

You squinted, amused, and waved your hand in front of his face. “Zayne?”

He startled slightly, blinking out of the haze.

“I—sorry,” he said, voice a little hoarse. “No, I just got here a while ago.”

You giggled, light and effortless—and somehow, it sounded like summer. Like sunlit afternoons and open windows in a classroom, the kind of laughter that once echoed down high school hallways and made him turn his head without thinking.

Even now, surrounded by snow and frost-kissed air, you brought warmth with you.

And Zayne swore he could feel it bloom in his chest.

He cleared his throat softly, trying to steady the storm inside him, and stepped forward to open the door to the café.

The warm scent of roasted coffee and something sweet drifted out into the cold, but it was nothing compared to the warmth you brought with you.

You smiled as you passed him, the corners of your eyes crinkling slightly. “Thanks,” you murmured, your voice quieter now, softer—just for him.

As you moved past, the faint scent of dandelions clung to the air around you. It hit him instantly—nostalgic, familiar.

The memory was immediate.

Golden fields, textbooks open under the sun, your laughter drifting through the breeze while you lay beside him, feet bare and hearts still untouched by time.

And just like that, he was undone again.

You both found a quiet corner by the window, the kind of seat that invited slow conversations and lingering glances.

The server took your orders—two coffees, something sweet to share—and drifted away, leaving you in the soft hum of the café’s warmth.

You shrugged off your coat and unwound your scarf, sighing contentedly as the heat settled into your bones.

The cold still clung to your cheeks, but your eyes were bright—twinkling like they used to when you’d catch him staring during study breaks under the sun.

You looked at him with that same familiar curiosity, the kind that made it feel like no time had passed at all.

“How’ve you been?” you asked, your voice light but sincere. “We didn’t get to talk much that night, did we?”

He swallowed, shifting in his seat slightly.

No, you hadn’t.

He’d been seated a few chairs down, close enough to hear your laughter but too far to do anything about the ache it brought.

The whole evening, he’d watched you—just like old times—while his friend tried, and again, failed to suppress his laughter beside him while he sat there in silent, wide-eyed longing.

Now, you were sitting right across from him.

And this time, you were looking back.

“Yes, you were having fun, I didn’t want to disturb,” he replied coolly, leaning back just slightly in his seat, fingers wrapped around the warmth of his cup.

His tone was steady, smooth—even casual—but inside, his heart was thudding loud enough to drown out the soft clatter of cutlery and quiet music around them. You smiled at him, clearly unconvinced by the calm exterior he wore like a tailored suit.

There was a glint in your eyes now, teasing and familiar, like you could hear the truth behind the quiet restraint in his voice.

“I heard you went to medical school right after we graduated,” you said, your fingers wrapping around your cup as the waitress gently placed your orders down in front of you. You gave a polite thank you, then turned your full attention back to him.

Zayne nodded, lifting his coffee, using the motion to buy himself a second of composure. “Yeah,” he said, eyes meeting yours over the rim of the cup. “Didn’t leave much room for anything else.”

There was a quiet weight to the words—one he didn’t mean to let slip. But with you, it felt impossible to hide behind half-truths and polite smiles.

Especially when you looked at him like that.

Like you saw him.

Like maybe you always had.

You nodded, a soft, understanding expression settling over your features.

“I’m heading to Switzerland to finish my nursing course,” you said, your voice gentle, but steady.

Then you smiled—small, almost shy, but proud too. It lit up your face in that quiet way he remembered. A smile not meant to dazzle, but to share something of yourself.

Zayne stared for a beat too long, something warm tugging at the edges of his chest.

Of course you were still the kind of person who wanted to care for others.

Of course you were still chasing something meaningful.

“When you come back, maybe I’ll recommend you to my hospital,” he said—too quickly, too eagerly. The words tumbled out before he could rein them in.

His eyes flicked away for the briefest second, as if embarrassed by the suddenness of it, the way it betrayed how much he wanted you to come back. Not just to the country.

To him.

But you only laughed, soft and surprised, a smile curling at your lips as you tilted your head.

“Is that your way of saying you want me to come back?” you teased gently, eyes glinting with mischief.

Zayne let out a quiet breath of a laugh, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. “Maybe,” he murmured. “Maybe it is.”

You laughed, the sound warmer now, bubbling up as if his words had stirred something soft in you.

“Well, thank you,” you said between small chuckles, eyes crinkling with amusement. “For the recommendation.”

Zayne smiled—really smiled this time—unable to look away. You always did that. Took the tension right out of the air, replaced it with something lighter, something brighter.

And just for a moment, sitting there with you in that quiet café, he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like if this wasn’t temporary. If you weren’t leaving. If this was only the beginning.

“When are you leaving?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost hesitant.

You took a sip of your coffee, then hummed thoughtfully. “Hmm… in about a month.”

A month.

Zayne nodded slowly, trying to mask the way that timeframe settled in his chest like a ticking clock. Thirty days. Four weekends. Not long—but maybe long enough.

Long enough to see you again.

Long enough to try.

Long enough to wonder what might happen if you stayed.

Then—almost too eagerly, before he could stop himself—he leaned in just slightly, the words escaping like a breath he’d been holding too long.

“Would you mind if…”

His eyes searched yours, hopeful, unsure.

“…if I spent your remaining time?”

The moment hung between you, suspended in the quiet hum of the café. He looked at you not as the boy from ten years ago, but as the man who had waited too long to say something, hoping it still wasn’t too late.

Your fingers paused around your cup, and for a second, you just looked at him—really looked at him.

And then you smiled.

When you nodded, that smile still playing gently on your lips, you said, “I’d love that.”

Simple. Sincere. No hesitation.

And just like that, Zayne felt his heart soar—swift and sudden, like something inside him had finally broken free.

The noise of the café faded into the background.

All he could see was you.

All he could hear was those three quiet words echoing through his chest, anchoring him in something that felt dangerously close to hope.

The conversation drifted easily between you, weaving through memories of awkward high school presentations, cafeteria disasters, and long-forgotten inside jokes.

You were laughing—really laughing—head tilted back slightly, your eyes glowing with nostalgia.

Zayne listened, adding in a comment here and there, but mostly he just watched you.

The way your expressions shifted with every story, how your hands moved animatedly when you got excited, how your smile lingered even in the quiet moments between words.

He sat there, a soft smile tugging at his lips, his coffee long forgotten.

To anyone else, he might’ve seemed distant—but inside, he was entirely present, caught in the gentle pull of a memory made real.

You were here, across from him.

Laughing like you used to. Smiling like maybe, just maybe, you still remembered the boy who had once loved you in silence.

—•

He walked you home afterward, the two of you moving slowly through the quiet streets, the snow crunching softly beneath your feet.

The sky was painted in hues of gold and rose, the last light of day casting a warm, mellow glow over the world. It wasn’t cold enough to rush, and neither of you wanted to. The sunset stretched the moment out, like time itself was taking a breath.

You walked close, shoulders occasionally brushing, boots leaving twin trails behind you.

There was something tender in the silence between words, something that didn’t need to be filled.

The city was hushed beneath the falling dusk, and Zayne found himself stealing glances at you—how the fading sunlight kissed your skin, how your eyes caught the glow, how your smile still lingered even without a word spoken.

He didn’t want the walk to end.

Didn’t want this to end.

So when you reached your apartment and turned to him with that soft, familiar smile—one corner of your mouth tilted just so—and said, “Do you want to come in for a bit?”

Zayne felt his heart skip.

He nodded, carefully, calmly. “Sure.” His voice was steady, but the spark in his eyes betrayed him.

Internally, though? He was a storm of quiet excitement, doing everything he could to keep it from showing on his face. Because even though he was older now—composed, polished, practiced—somehow, with you, it still felt like the first time.

And the thought of one more moment with you—just one—was enough to make the world feel a little more alive.

He stepped inside, the warmth of your apartment wrapping around him instantly. It smelled faintly of vanilla and something floral—something soft.

Something you.

His eyes roamed the space slowly, taking it all in. The cozy scatter of books on the coffee table, the plants thriving by the window, the mismatched throw pillows, the delicate string lights draped along the wall.

It was intimate, lived-in, quiet in the way a safe place should be.

So undeniably you.

His lips tugged into a small, almost wistful smile as a memory flickered to life—your younger self, hands waving excitedly in the air, eyes sparkling as you told him about your dream home.

“I’m going to have a window seat, right there,” you’d said once, pointing to nothing in particular. “Lots of books, soft lights, a kettle always on. It’ll feel like peace.”

And looking around now, he could see it. You’d done it. You’d built it.

“You really got it done,” he said softly, still smiling. “Just like you always said you would.”

You smiled at him from behind the kitchen counter, your fingers tugging off your gloves, then unwrapping the scarf from around your neck. The setting sun filtered through the window behind you, casting a golden halo around your figure.

“Yep,” you said, with a proud little grin. “Took me a while, but months of savings can be miracles.”

Zayne watched you, a flicker of admiration softening his gaze. There was something deeply endearing in your honesty—in the way you didn’t boast, just quietly celebrated what you built with your own two hands.

He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed loosely, and murmured, “Worth every second, I’d say.”

And he wasn’t just talking about the apartment.

Later, with tea warming your hands and the quiet of the apartment settling around you, the two of you drifted to the couch. You sat close, but not quite close enough to touch—just enough space to feel the gravity pulling softly between you.

The window let in the last traces of sunset, casting long shadows across the floor. You spoke here and there, laughter low, voices softer now, like the world had grown too still for anything loud.

Zayne stared into his cup for a moment, then glanced at you, something shifting in his expression. A memory had crept in—one he hadn’t thought about in years.

You, outside the school building, shoulders curled in, your body shaking while your friend held you tightly. He hadn’t known what to do then. He’d stood frozen, heart caught in his throat, wishing he had the courage to go to you.

His voice was quiet when he finally spoke.

“What happened that day?” he asked.

You blinked, the question catching you off guard—not invasive, just gentle. Honest. A piece of a past he never got to understand.

He wasn’t asking out of curiosity.

He was asking because, even now, he still cared.

You gave a sheepish little smile, eyes lowering to your tea. “It was nothing… I was so young.”

Zayne watched you, quiet, patient—he could tell it wasn’t nothing, not to you, not back then.

You turned to him gently, your voice softer now, laced with a quiet kind of nostalgia. “The guy I had a crush on didn’t like me back. Or… so I thought.”

Your gaze drifted then, not quite meeting his, as if the memory still held a weight you hadn’t fully let go of.

There was something knowing in the way your voice trailed, something that brushed the edge of truth—and left it hanging delicately between you.

Zayne’s breath caught, just a little.

And for the first time, he wondered if all those years ago, you had been crying for him.

You let out a quiet chuckle, the sound wistful. “Thinking back,” you said, swirling the tea in your cup, “maybe if I were a little bit braver, I would’ve told him.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and this time, they didn’t waver. There was a quiet intensity behind them, a softness laced with something unspoken—as though the words you didn’t say carried more weight than the ones you did.

It wasn’t just a memory.

It was a question.

One you didn’t ask aloud, but Zayne could feel it—settling between you like the final piece of a puzzle long forgotten.

And for a moment, the air between you shifted—gentle, expectant, and full of things that had never been said.

His brows knit together slightly, subtle but unmistakable. Not in confusion—more like hesitation, like the weight of your words had landed somewhere he wasn’t expecting.

Zayne looked at you, really looked, as if searching your face for some kind of confirmation. His fingers tightened slightly around the mug in his hands, the warmth grounding him while his thoughts spun in quiet circles.

He didn’t speak right away.

There was something vulnerable in your voice, in your gaze, and he could feel it—how close the truth was now, how easily everything could shift with just a few words.

But instead, he just sat there, caught in the stillness of the moment, not quite ready to let it fall one way or the other.

Soon, the conversation shifted—naturally, gently—drifting toward lighter things. You both let it, neither of you acknowledging the delicate line you’d just tiptoed along.

The moment settled into the quiet like snow on branches, untouched but felt.

Eventually, Zayne glanced at the clock, his expression tightening just slightly.

“I should head out,” he said, his voice low, reluctant. “It’s getting late.”

You nodded, trying not to show your disappointment. “Of course. Long day tomorrow?”

He gave a small smile, standing and slipping his coat back on. “Always.”

But as he looked at you—framed in warm light, tea still cradled in your hands—he wondered if maybe, just maybe, he was leaving with more than he came with. And a part of him already missed the quiet between you.

You waved lightly as he left the apartment.

A small smile played at your lips at the encounter.

—•

The next weekend came quicker than expected, and as promised, Zayne took you out again. This time, it was to a bookstore tucked between a flower shop and a tiny café—one you had once mentioned in passing, your voice laced with quiet excitement.

He remembered. Of course he did.

The sky was overcast, the kind of gray that made colors pop, and the faint chill in the air gave the moment a kind of softness, like the world had slowed just for the two of you.

When you arrived, your eyes lit up the way he hoped they would.

The storefront was quaint, lined with old wooden shelves visible through the window, books stacked in uneven towers like little secrets waiting to be found.

“You remembered,” you said, turning to him with a smile that made his chest tighten.

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but the way his lips curved betrayed him. “Of course I did.”

And as the bell above the door chimed and you both stepped inside, it felt less like a second outing—and more like the start of something.

He bought you your favorite books without hesitation, slipping them onto the counter before you could protest. You turned to him with wide eyes, a mix of surprise and delight lighting up your face.

“Zayne,” you said, laughing, “you didn’t have to—”

But he was already smiling, that rare, quiet kind of smile—the one that softened all his sharp edges.

“I know,” he said simply, watching the way your fingers clutched the bag to your chest, like it was something precious.

You thanked him excitedly, almost shyly, and he couldn’t help but admire how something as small as a book could light you up so effortlessly.

Then the two of you stepped out onto the sidewalk, the cold brushing gently against your cheeks, but neither of you seemed to notice.

The world around you moved on, busy and distant, while the two of you fell into a familiar silence—one that didn’t need to be filled.

Just walking side by side, hearts a little fuller than before.

“Y/N,” he said suddenly, your name slipping from his lips with a quiet urgency.

His footsteps slowed, and instinctively, so did yours. You turned to look at him, mid-sentence—something about love, marriage, the kind of life you wanted someday.

But the way he said your name—it stilled everything.

There was a shift in the air, subtle but undeniable. A sudden surge of confidence burned in Zayne’s chest, unexpected and unshakable.

Maybe it was the way you looked at him, eyes so open, so trusting.

Maybe it was the fading light casting soft gold along your cheek.

Or maybe it was simply that he’d waited too long already.

You blinked up at him, curious. “Yeah?”

He hesitated only for a moment—just long enough to remember the weight of every word he didn’t say back then.

“I’d like to be that person,” he breathes, the words soft, almost carried away by the wind.

He steps closer—slowly, deliberately—until you’re just a breath apart. His eyes meet yours then, fully, without hesitation, and for the first time in a long time, he isn’t hiding behind silence or timing or fear.

“That person who loves you like in the books,” he adds, voice barely above a whisper, but certain. His smile is small, gentle, and achingly sincere—like he’s offering you something sacred.

Not a confession.

A promise.

Your lips lifted into a gentle, almost bashful smile, eyes softening as you looked at him—truly looked at him.

A breath of laughter escaped you as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture tender, almost instinctive.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment for too long,” you said, voice quiet but steady, laced with something real—something that had waited years to be spoken aloud.

And just like that, Zayne felt the world shift around him. The past, the waiting, the almosts… all folding into this. Into now.

He reached out, slowly, and took your hand in his—his touch warm, steady, reverent. His thumb brushed over your knuckles like he was grounding himself in the moment, in you.

“I want you to know,” he began, voice low and earnest, “I’ll always be there, right by your side.”

You looked up at him, eyes wide, breath caught somewhere between surprise and something far deeper.

“I want to be the person who kneels before you,” he continued, stepping just a little closer, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly.

“And whisper confessions and words of comfort,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper now—raw, sincere, every word a piece of his heart laid bare.

Like he wasn’t just speaking of love.

He was offering it.

“I know you’re going away soon,” he said, the words catching slightly in his throat.

He paused, looking at you—really looking—eyes searching yours for something steady to hold onto. Then he took a breath, quiet but certain, like he was anchoring himself in this one fragile truth.

“But as long as you promise me… forever,” his voice softened, thick with feeling,

“I’ll wait for you.”

There was no desperation in it, no demand—just devotion. A quiet vow offered beneath a winter sky, his heart in your hands, and not a single part of him afraid.

You smiled—softly, slowly—like the weight of his words had settled into your chest and made something warm bloom there.

Your eyes never left his as you gave the smallest of nods, but it said everything.

“I’d love that very much,” you whispered, voice laced with emotion, steady and sure.

And in that moment, with your hand in his and the promise of forever hanging gently between you, time seemed to pause—just long enough for two hearts to find their way back to where they’d always belonged.

—•

The day of your departure arrived, quiet and gray, the kind of morning that felt suspended in time.

Zayne stood at the airport, just beyond the glass, watching as you disappeared slowly into the terminal. His hand lifted in a small wave—soft, a little sad—but steady.

His eyes didn’t leave you, not even as the crowd began to swallow you whole.

The final weekends had been filled with everything but goodbyes. The two of you had spent them in laughter and stillness—racing each other at the arcade, sprawled across your living room floor with board games half-finished, sharing stories under the dim light of late evening.

There were no heavy words, no teary promises. Just presence. Just you and him, savoring what you had before the flight, before the months apart.

And now, as he stood there, alone but not lonely, Zayne didn’t feel fear.

He felt sure.

Because you had smiled and said “I’ll come back,”

And he knew—without doubt or hesitation.

That you would.

masterlist

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honeekyuu · 8 months ago

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talk too much. [suna rintarou x reader]

twelve. lipstick

previous || masterlist || next

a/n. you ever just miss a man so much you pick up a hobby again?

warnings: suna rintarou

✗ !!! minors do not interact !!! ✗

✗ !!! ignore timestamps !!! ✗

“We’re still on for Saturday, right?”

You swallow down the bite of dinner, smiling nervously into the camera. Suna’s got two fries in his mouth, and he’s not looking at you. His gaze focused very carefully on his drawing pad, stylus gripped loosely between his fingers and following the path his wrist sets with care.

It’s just after seven o’clock, but you’d been on the phone since two. He’d clocked quite a few extra hours in the studio this week due to some project deadlines, and you’d dutifully sat on the other end of a facetime call every night. Your own work remains undone, the problem set haunting you from the corner of your desk. You have a draft of a chapter for your writing class up on your monitor, your messy notes open on your laptop.

You’d been doing that more recently, too. Blatantly ignoring the responsibilities of your major to actually invest in your electives, this one in particular. You’d always been interested in writing, but it’d been more of a passing hobby than anything else. This class – and the encouraging feedback from your professor – had made it scarily real for you in the last few weeks, with a terrible, lingering hope filling you. A terrible hope that this might be what you’ve wanted to do this whole time. A terrible, nagging thought that the unopened problem set on your desk might be indicative of something bigger that you’ve been trying not to acknowledge.

You’re more than happy to set that issue aside to engage Suna’s conversation.

“Saturday?” you say, spooning more of your rice bowl into your mouth while you give him your attention. He only glances at you, eyes dropping to your mouth before flitting toward his own dinner shyly. He shoves nearly half of his burger in his mouth, only snorting when you watch in horror, before nodding.

“‘aturday,” he mumbles plainly, and you have to pull up your calendar because you know that’s all you’re getting.

PUMPKIN PATCH – DON’T FREAK.

Well, that’s not helpful.

Your chest swarms with nerves, and you do your best to appear as though a brick of fear hasn’t just come down over your head.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.”

He sees right through it, swallowing while he cuts you a disbelieving glance. “You’re so nonchalant and cool.”

You laugh, hiding behind a hand. “Sorry, I’m freaking out.”

“Me, too.”

His honesty is disarming as always.

“Yeah?”

“Incredibly. But I still wanna do it.”

You purse your lips, warming. “Me, too.”

A beat passes, and then a voice full of fond amusement. “Yeah? You sure?”

A roll of your eyes, the draw of his laugh when he sees it.

“Yes, Rinnie. I’m sure.”

A sigh of frustration masked as a laugh. “You’re so cruel for that.”

It’s hard to focus on your draft that night.

–

You take a deep breath and exhale slow. Slow.

Breathe in, turn to look at yourself in the mirror, this way and that.

Breathe out slow. Slow.

“It’s okay,” you say to yourself, breathing in slow and then breathing out slower. “It’s okay, it’s Suna.”

It’s Suna, the same boy you’ve been talking to for weeks – months, really. The same boy who’s proven again and again that he’s not like any boy you’ve ever met before. The same boy who’d asked to pick you up this morning, who’d asked to walk entirely out of his way to pick you up for a date. A date that he’d been pushing for since before either of you could consider it one.

“It’s Suna,” you breathe again, forcing yourself to be okay with how your hair looks. “Just a first date. With Suna.”

There are three quiet knocks on the front door, echoing around your apartment and into your bedroom.

Just a first date with Suna.

You start to sweat almost immediately.

“Okay,” you breathe, fanning your face with nervous hands and walking on shaky legs to your bedroom door. “Okay, I can do this.” You look around the living room as you cross it, making sure the space is tidy and lacking anything potentially embarrassing. You’d already checked five times, but one more couldn’t hurt.

By the time your hand is on the doorknob, your face is burning and your hands are clammy.

The man on the other side of the door doesn’t look much better.

It’s weird, meeting someone you’ve known for months.

The first thing you notice is that he’s tall. You’d known. You’d known he’d be tall, but fuck, he’s tall.

The second thing you notice is that he’s got dark features but light eyes. Green eyes, but black hair, black eyebrows. Green eyes, but inky black eyelashes that flutter over them. You’d known that too, from the photos and the calls, but his eyes are greener and his hair is darker in person. His clothes are just as dark, grey shirt tucked into black jeans and dark plaid flannel thrown over the top.

You notice the piercings and tattoos, too. The lip ring he tugs nervously between his teeth, the uneven number of piercings on his left ear and right ear, glinting in the light of your apartment hallway. The black ink peeking out from under the sleeves of his flannel, dark ink and pale, ringed fingers.

Pale, ringed fingers that are shaking just slightly, wrapped tight around a bouquet of flowers.

He looks exactly the same as he does in his photos – the familiarity is nearly overwhelming – but everything is new, intense. The reality of Suna Rintarou is stronger than it had been before.

“Hi,” you whisper, staring up at him with wide eyes. He stares back, looking just as stunned.

“Hi-” he breathes, cutting short and swallowing hard. You watch his Adam’s apple bob, ink on his throat moving with it. “-pretty girl.”

You’re not sure you’ll survive this day.

You shiver, breaking eye contact nervously and trying not to let the chills that his voice induces run rampant on your skin. “Do…” You glance over your shoulder and then back at him. “D’you wanna come in? For coffee or something?”

You watch his face redden in real time, watch his ears turn pink as he looks away from you.

He’s as nervous as you are.

“Sure,” he says quietly. “That sounds nice.” He follows you inside, stepping carefully into your foyer and looking around curiously while he takes his shoes off. “I like your place.”

You warm, padding into the kitchen to start making coffee. You’re distracted beyond belief, distracted by the overwhelming sense of Suna’s presence. It only worsens when you glance back to thank him and realize that he’d followed you down the hall. “Oh. Hi.”

His eyes scan your face – your wide eyes and surprised blush – and then he bites down on his lip ring, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Hi. Am I making you nervous?”

Laughter bubbles out of you, and that wave of familiarity returns, washing away some of your anxiety about meeting him. You already know him.

“Maybe,” you tease, nodding back at the bouquet hanging limply in his hand. “But not any more nervous than I’m making you.”

Suna glances down, realizing that his hand is gripped so tight around it that petals are starting to shed off of the flowers onto your floor. “Oh-” He holds out the bouquet, grimacing when more petals float down between you. “This is for you.”

You smile, feeling a swell of giddiness rise in your chest – the one that you’ve always gotten with him, from the moment you started to fall for him. “I have some vases in that cabinet over the fridge,” you say, still grinning stupidly at him. His eyes twinkle, and you know he’s caught the tinge of domesticity in the way you talk to him. “Help me out, 6’3”?”

He sets the bouquet on the counter, never taking his eyes off of you. “Whatever you say, pretty girl.”

Oh, good lord.

You press a clammy hand to your heated face, watching him cross the kitchen toward you. You lean into the corner of the counter when he stops close enough to you that his scent washes over you, warm and comforting and so Suna and new that you have to fight not to gravitate toward him.

Suna reaches up with ease, pulling the cabinet open and plucking a small vase from inside. He smirks to himself while he does. “Why d’you keep these up here if you can’t reach?”

“So I can get pretty boys like you to do it for me,” you joke, basking in the nervous flutter of those inky black lashes and the sharp cut of those green eyes down to yours.

“Got a lot of pretty boys on your roster?” His voice drips in annoyance, but his face is a lovely pink color and he can’t seem to keep eye contact with you.

“Just one,” you say, your confidence leaving you when he hands over the vase. Your fingers brush against his, and your heart flies to your throat, the nerves unbearable. You turn away, filling the vase with water from the tap and putting far too much care into arranging the bouquet. You feel him behind you, feel his eyes burning through your skin as he takes you in.

“I like your jeans,” is all he says.

You glance down, taking in the light denim jeans and burnt orange cardigan you’d spent way too much time picking out last night. You’re not the biggest fan of how the jeans fit you, mainly because they’re much more form-fitting than you’re used to, but you’d really wanted to try something new for him. To show him how far you’ve come.

“Thanks,” you whisper nervously. “I’m still getting used to them.” He doesn’t say anything, but there’s a large part of you knows that he doesn’t need to. You can feel his pride from here, washing over you in waves of heat.

You turn back to him, leaning all your weight on the counter so you don’t collapse. “I like your outfit, too.”

His grin is torture, you’re sure of it.

“Thanks,” he mumbles. “I tried really hard today.” When you just beam up at him playfully, he sighs in defeat and looks away. He scans over all the things on your fridge, lingering on the polaroids of you with your friends while he speaks. “‘s probably better if we skip the coffee and just go.”

Your face drops, and you blink in confusion. “Why?”

He just smiles in a way that feels self-deprecating, eyes locked on a photo of Alisa and Suga kissing each of your cheeks while you laugh. He swallows, staring down at it with something warm in his gaze. “If we stay here much longer, I’m not gonna wanna leave.”

He has no idea how okay with that you just might be.

Still, he’d promised you a pumpkin patch.

You step toward him, closing the distance and watching as his gaze flits to yours nervously. You press your chest to his while you reach past him for the fridge, pretending you don’t feel his breath stutter or the fingers that brush against your waist.

There’s another photo, just under the one he’d fixated on – it had been taken the same night, just last week in fact. A weeknight when the three of you had decided that bellinis and Breakfast Club could be the only cure to your end-of-semester stress. When Alisa had whipped out a cheap polaroid camera and demanded a photoshoot, when Suga had only been so glad to order delivery for more alcohol and raid your closet for stupid photoshoot outfits. When the three of you had gotten drunk and giddy enough for your newfound confidence – still shy and small and in no small way nurtured by the very man in front of you now – to make an appearance, encouraged in the whoops and hollers of your friends when they’d seen the new you come out.

When you’d climbed drunkenly into Alisa’s lap and let her take a sexy – incredibly blurry, but still sexy – snapshot of you, the memory of Suga cheering in the background while shaking his ass to the end track of Breakfast Club embedded in the glossy film of your smeared lipstick.

You’d kept the photo, too in love with the memories that had come with it. But you think maybe it would belong better elsewhere.

“Here,” you say, pressing the front of the photo to his chest while you back away, watching with warm ears when he takes it but keeps his eyes on yours. “You can keep that one in your wallet, if you want.”

His eyebrows lift in surprise, but you turn away and move back down the hall before you can watch him look at it.

Still, the hushed ‘holy shit’ echoes all the way to the foyer while you put your shoes on, and you bite down a laugh.

“Ready to go?” you call, tying up your sneakers and hearing Suna rush unsteadily out of the kitchen.

“Y-Yeah, sorry,” he calls back distractedly. Glancing up through your lashes, heart pounding in your ears at your own courage, you catch as he tucks the photo away in his wallet, just behind his ID. He folds his wallet carefully and slips it in his front pocket, inked fingers still trembling slightly.

You walk out after him, locking the door and following him down to the nearest bus stop. He can’t seem to decide if he should stand a friendly distance from you while you wait or if he should press his side against yours, so you linger closer to him to let him know it’s okay. He flushes but steps right up to you, facing you and using his frame to block the wind when he sees how you tense against it.

You stand in a silence that’s somehow both comforting and unnerving, meeting his eyes and then looking away nervously. He just watches you, lips pulling into a fond smile every few moments before he remembers to smother it. He reaches out to you after a while, running cold fingers over your ears and tapping the tips of his fingers against your done-up hair, grinning when you give him an empty glare.

“I like these,” he mumbles, toying with your dangly pumpkin earrings. His thumb brushes over your jaw and then your cheek, and then he finally drags it lightly against your bottom lip, your lipstick coming off a little on his skin. “Pretty.”

You inhale sharply, head swimming with the feel of his fingers and the smell of him – of his clothes and his cologne. So gentle and warm, yet so goddamn overwhelming.

You look up at him through your lashes, parting your lips just slightly, and his eyes grow wide as he stares down at you. He blinks in surprise, and you’re not totally sure what’s just happened. But his thumb leaves your lip, and you find yourself turning toward it, chasing the feeling for just a moment longer. Chasing him for just a moment longer.

The sound of the bus turning the corner breaks the spell Suna Rintarou’s put you under.

You blink rapidly, taking a small step back and watching Suna swallow hard. His face is redder than you think the wind can be blamed for, but he just turns and holds a hand out to help you onto the bus. Your skin burns where it touches his, and you shyly show the driver your student ID before leading Suna down the aisle, his fingers interlacing with yours the moment you start to pull away.

He’s grinning to himself when you finally choose a seat. You roll your eyes but let him rest your hands in his lap.

After a moment where he’s checking how many stops are left, he pulls out a pair of corded headphones, holding one out to you.

“Want me to show you my sick music taste?”

You laugh, thankful you’d chosen a seat in the back, because the way you’re looking up at him is nothing short of pathetic.

He unlocks his phone, but it opens immediately to a paused YouTube video of a famous Pokemon gamer streaming a playthrough. You lift your brows, staring up at Suna with knowing eyes. He flushes and hurries to close it out.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “I was watching it on my walk over to calm my nerves.”

You giggle and point down to his screen. “Put it on, then.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, okay.”

“No, really,” you insist. “Put it on. I wanna watch it.”

He turns to you with wide eyes. “There’s no way in hell you want to watch this.”

You roll your eyes and take his phone, rewinding the video a bit and pressing play. You try to catch up with all the new information while Suna just stares down at you. You hum after a second.

“So, it’s a Nuzlocke?”

He doesn’t answer you, only blurting out, “You’re the girl of my dreams”. You laugh, glancing around the crowded bus before shaking your head and returning to the video.

“Yeah, you mighta mentioned that once or twice.”

–

The wind is sharp out in the middle of the pumpkin patch, but you can’t tell if your cheeks are red and stinging from that or from the sheer force of smiling so much.

Suna makes you laugh like it’s his job. He whispers quick one-liners in your ear or into your hair, smiling against the crown of your head when you hide your grin behind your hand.

He treats you like a princess, holding your hand so you don’t trip on the vines and uneven ground while you pick out a pumpkin to take home. He carries everything for you, despite your complaints, and makes a point of still holding your hand.

And when you finally manage to find a large tote bag to shove all your souvenirs into – designated home pumpkin, popcorn, apple cider donuts, and a variety of knick knacks – he all but fights you for possession of it in the middle of the gift shop. You let him win, and as a reward, he keeps his chest pressed against your back while you wait in line for a short hay ride, one hand – fingers cold and rings colder – pressed to your waist under your cardigan, your skin pebbling under his touch.

He leans down to listen to you talk about nothing in particular, and you wonder, as the line trudges slowly along, if he realizes that his other arm is wrapped tight around you, his thumb hooked through one of your belt loops. You wonder if he realizes that the quiet push and pull of mutual nerves that had kept its hold on you all day is finally falling away, his comfort shown in the way he grabs and holds you like you’re his.

You wouldn’t mind that so much.

You finally reach the front, and he helps you up onto the hay ride, the two of you finding a little spot in the corner. Suna sets your bag between his knees but lets it sit right on his feet, the cloth tote never touching the floor of the wagon. You hum, watching him do it.

“Do you have sisters?”

He blinks, glancing at you in surprise. “A younger one, yeah.”

“Are you close with her?”

He smiles, still confused. “Sometimes…?”

You just laugh, looking away and taking in the view outside the ride. “I can tell. You don’t let bags touch the floor.”

He glances down at his feet. “I-” He laughs. “She told me it was bad luck. Smacked me over the head with her purse once.”

You grin fully, your cheeks hurting again, and shake your head. “Not tryna risk any bad luck today, Rinnie?”

He barks out a laugh, hiding his face in your hair when a couple glances back in amusement.

“I’m still not sure how I got you to like me,” he whispers against you. “I’m not risking shit.”

The ride stops outside of a large corn maze, and other people file off of the wagon slowly. You wait until it’s nearly empty to stand, taking him with you, but you stop him from leaving, pulling him back quickly and rising onto your tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

“You can afford to risk a little bit more.”

And then you plant your lips on the corner of his mouth in a kiss so chaste that he barely has time to inhale before you’re gone. You hop off the ride on your own, taking off toward the maze. He calls after you loudly, laughing when you just disappear into a wall of corn.

You race through a whirlwind of corn stalks and trip over the uneven ground, hearing as Suna crashes into the maze behind you. Your heart jumps to your throat, and you lead him deeper into the middle of nowhere, accidentally scaring no fewer than three other groups of people and apologizing quietly while your name echoes behind you.

You stop after a few minutes in a clearing, instantly regretting the decision to run and doing your best not to pass out right there. You barely hear him behind you, slowing to a stop and watching as you bend over to catch your breath.

“You lost, pretty girl?”

You jump, whirling on one foot, only to find Suna’s already crossed over to you. There’s a smudge of lipstick on the corner of his mouth.

“Okay, listen,” you start, laughing wildly as you back away. “Just listen for a sec-”

He grabs your outstretched hand and yanks you toward him, keeping you there with one arm wrapped around your waist.

“Did you mean that?” he asks, smiling as you try to wriggle free. “That I should risk more?”

“Okay, listen-” you laugh, pushing your hands against his chest. “I was just playing around-”

Suna’s mouth on yours tells you that he’s not.

The chills start in the crown of your head and wash down over you in an instant. Your heart stops in your chest, and when it starts again, it’s everywhere, all at once. His lip ring is cold on your mouth, but his lips are so unbelievably warm. And when he pulls away just enough to whisper to you, his breath triggers every nerve ending in your body.

“Fuck,” he whispers, breath unsteady in his chest. Your head swims at the feeling of his heartbeat under your fingers. “Was that okay?”

You can only nod, your vision hazy and your mind completely blank. He shuffles against you harshly, and you realize belatedly that your bag had slipped off his shoulder and he’d fumbled to catch it.

“Sorry,” he breathes. “Didn’t want to let it touch the ground.”

You stare up at him, wondering how you could have possibly gotten so lucky with Suna Rintarou.

You take his face in your hands, pushing your lips against his and swallowing the quiet whine he breathes into your mouth.

He pulls you tight against him, and you push onto your tiptoes anytime he starts to lift too high, and he nearly drops you when you tug his lip ring between your teeth, your tongue passing nervously against it when he makes a sound that makes your toes curl.

You only realize that maybe this isn’t totally appropriate for a family-friendly venue when you hear a family in the distance, trying to figure out the way out of the maze. You push against Suna’s chest, watching as he takes a moment longer to process what’s going on. When he does, all he can do is blink down at you dumbly.

“Huh?” he breathes, face gradually burning a beautiful, rosy red that makes you want to do terrible things to this man.

You swallow your nerves.

“I think I’m ready to go,” you whisper, watching as confusion and then concern passes over his face. “If you’re ready to go.”

It clicks in an instant, and your heart skips when his eyes flick between yours before dropping to your lips, swollen and warm and completely his.

“Your place or mine?”

#talk too much #haikyuu #haikyuu smut #suna x reader #haikyuu x plus size reader

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loovser · 5 months ago

Text

the guy she was interested in wasn’t a guy at all - chapter 1

synopsis turns out the cute guy from the cd store is actually… a girl.

cw: heavily inspired in the manga with the same title if you couldnt tell, for obvious reasons ellie is often referred to with masculine pronouns (💔) just on reader’s direct thoughts about her or as she is talking about the guy from the cd store. cursing, ellie is down baaaad, cheap flirting (quite literally lol), conflicting thoughts, miscommunication.

wc: 2.9k

you found yourself at the same damn cd store you’ve been to the last five days, which is the amount of time you’ve acknowledged its existence. since you did, something — actually, someone — has been drawing you towards it day after day. you tell yourself it’s not that serious, you just need another rock band cd. who cares if you already bought four of them? you definitely don’t.

as the little bell above the door announces your arrival, ellie’s attention drifts to you. it’s like she’s been waiting for you to show up today, too. and she has. just like she waits for you to show up at the classes you both attend in college — not that she would admit it.

your heart flutters in your chest. you’ve never been this interested in someone before. like, ever. you’d even wonder if you are really into guys at all. but you never gave it that much thought, since you’ve never really been into any girls either… plus, you had other things to worry about.

but now? now, it’s different. there’s something about this guy that works at this cd store that has you wrapped around his finger. even though you’ve never seen his full face — because if you had, you’d know she’s a girl. that’s so fucking pathetic. is what you think every time and yet you can’t seem to get away from the grip those green eyes have over you.

“let me guess- another deftones cd?” is what she asks when she approaches you.

“actually… do you have any recommendations? i’ve been wanting to try something new.” smooth. you are proud to have come up with this excuse while thinking about how to get to know her better, during some random class. her eyes narrow a little and you imagine her smiling under the face mask.

“yeah, um… have you ever heard of sick habit?” she asks, leading you towards one of the smaller cd shelves. you follow, asking yourself how can his voice be so damn soft? which, honestly, just attracts you even more.

“i’ve never, actually.” you chuckle lightly and ellie almost gets stuck on the way you look when you do it. just like she did the other times she’s seen it in class.

she clears her throat, grabbing a cd from the bottom of the shelf, your chuckle still echoing inside of her head. “they’re great. you should give ‘em a listen”

“i definitely will.” your cheeks burn when your fingers brush as you take the cd from her hand. “how much is it?”

“it’s on the house. just tell me what you think about it after.”

your eyes widen at that. he’s giving it to me for free?! the thought makes you smile and ellie watches your reaction — silently thanking the universe that you can’t see how pink her cheeks turned under the mask.

“i… really?” she nods. “thank you! i’ll come back when i finish listening to it.”

she wants to ask why you don’t talk to her in class, but she keeps it to herself. “i’ll wait for it.” it’s what she goes for, instead. you’ve seen each other in class twice since you started going to the store, maybe you were just… shy? or you didn’t recognize her?

she watches as you smile at her and leave the store after thanking her once again. ellie didn’t want people from college to know she works there, — hence the face mask — but she wouldn’t mind it if you did. during classes she’s just someone that no one else seems to notice. and she likes it that way, it’s peaceful, doesn’t draw attention.

you, on the other hand, are the complete opposite. you draw attention everywhere you go, even if it’s unintended. you are popular in college, having your own group of friends and lots of guys drooling over you. not that you pay any mind to them, as you know what’s worth your time and what’s not.

as you walk to your apartment, you know exactly where your attention is going to be for the next few hours: sick habit’s whole discography. you were so excited about her giving you the cd for free that you barely said bye, not trusting yourself to be around her without stuttering or doing something stupid.

it’s so weird to think that someone you barely know can have this kind of effect on you. i know nothing about him! is he even a him? i never asked his name, never saw his face. he’s always wearing oversized shirts or hoodies and pants. i haven’t even seen his whole hair, always hidden in hoods or caps. is it short? is it long? you groan. overthinking is a bitch.

it feels like you are going crazy. maybe it’s all this mystery that attracts you. is it even healthy to be this obsessed over someone? you know it’s probably not, but at this point you don’t care anymore.

as you finally reach your apartment, discarding your shoes by the door, you sigh, quickly getting in and throwing your purse on the couch. there are so many things you should be doing instead of this. like the visual effects paper you kept postponing and is literally due tomorrow.

you huff, already plopping down on the floor, in front of the cd player. maybe you could ask that girl in your class, that sits next to you, to help you with it. or you should just be responsible for once and do it right now.

however, as soon as you press play and the guitar chimes in, starting the first song, you are sure that there’s no way you could stop now.

ellie is late. that’s actually an understatement, given the current situation. she missed her first class and is really late for the next one. which is VFX — visual effects. the only class that she shares with the film major students today.

which means, the only class she shares with you.

not that it matters, right? i mean… is she really that eager to see you? if someone asked it to any of the poor souls that have almost been dragged with her while she rushes through the dorm’s hallway, the answer would be yes. if someone asked her, though? of course not!

her wrinkled flannel and skinny jeans combo turns out to be quite comfortable for a little marathon, as she runs towards the class’s building. she spotted jesse, one of her only friends, near it. he mouthed a clear ‘what the fuck are you doing’ but she just signaled that she would text him later, entering the building and fleeing up the stairs to the second floor.

by the time she arrived the classroom, she was a panting mess, totally out of breath, hands on her knees as she tried to compose herself before opening the door. through the little glass window, she could see some students. she saw you.

big mistake, she felt even more out of breath. you looked so pretty, writing something down in a rushed manner, sitting on your usual spot. her chair, next to yours, empty.

she took a deep breath, running her hand through her short auburn hair as she entered the classroom, murmuring a tiny ‘excuse me’ and going to her seat.

of course she has to smell great, too. is what she thinks as she sits down, trying not to throw any glances at you. would you talk to her today? she hoped you would.

but as the class went by, you haven’t said anything. she couldn’t stop throwing glances at you. you caught her twice, the second time offering her a soft smile, which almost made her melt in her seat.

when Mr. Barbosa finished the class everyone started gathering their things to leave. ellie was no different — until one of your friends nearly yelled, making her freeze on her spot as she heard it.

“he gave you the cd for free?!”

he…? they must not be talking about her, right? she tries shaking her thoughts away, but couldn’t help hearing the conversation.

“that’s totally flirting! i can’t believe the guy you’ve been drooling over for days just hit on you during his shift.” your other friend adds.

what the fuck? it can’t be. you thought she was a guy? i mean… yes, she doesn’t dress all girly. and you can’t really see her face with the face mask on. but still… a fucking guy? really?

“you should ask for his number! what is the cd about again?”

“mmm… it’s from a really cool band. sick habit. i kinda listened to all of their discography on spotify, too” you explain, shyly. but genuine. ellie’s heart is beating so fast that she is having trouble hearing anything besides it, but she heard you.

she wanted to hear you telling her that later, on her shift. but she was so confused… she should just clear this all up. and that’s what she would do. she couldn’t lead you on, it would be so cruel. are you even into girls?

“you have such a weird music taste.” one of your friends say, giggling.

you don’t usually care about other people’s opinion, but somehow, when it comes to music, you’ve always felt so different from everybody else in your circle. they always point it out, too, which makes you uncomfortable.

“crap, leah, we have to meet jake at starbucks, like, right now. he’s got our stuff” your other friend pointed and they both said bye to you, rushing out of class.

ellie watches it all — the way your smile fades a bit when your friend says you had a weird taste in music. you really don’t. she thinks your music taste is fire.

she wanted to comfort you, somehow. her mind was a mess, not knowing if she should stay away from you or give in to her desire to get to know you better.

then, she sees it. your wired earbuds, dropped on the floor. she grabs them, getting closer to you. you get slightly startled, until you realize it’s her. ellie, the girl that sits next to you. she has green eyes, you would always see them through her glasses. cute freckles too, all over her cheeks and nose. and a lip ring.

you noticed her, sometimes. like, really noticed. she was pretty. but you barely talked. not because you didn’t like her, she was just usually very quiet. you even thought about asking for her help with your VFX paper, — which is still unfinished — but you didn’t.

she leans forward a bit, putting something in your ear. your earbuds. you didn’t even realize you had dropped them, since they are still connected to your phone, as ‘loser’ by beck is blasting through them and can be faintly heard by the both of you.

her fingers brushes at your ear, as she looks down at you. you freeze. her eyes, for a moment, really reminded you of the guy from the cd store.

“you dropped it.” she flashes you a crooked smile. “this song rocks, by the way.”

and with that, she’s gone. leaving a starstruck you behind.

you check your reflection in the mirror one last time, making sure you look good. you like the way your clothes fit on your body. you’ve worn this outfit a lot already — never to the cd store, though.

the time has come. finally you would go back there and see her again. it’s been so long (less than 24 hours). to be honest, time really seems to pass slower when you crave to see someone. and she hasn’t left your mind for even a second.

meanwhile, ellie was at the store since her classes ended. joel asked her to come a little earlier today to help him unpack the new arrivals and that’s what’s been keeping her busy all afternoon. which is great because she was almost going insane in her own head, thinking about what she should do about your… situation.

it’s way more complicated than she thought. because, even if she didn’t like to admit, she did care about you. so what if you barely know each other? you’ve always been nice to her — at least at the times you spoke to each other.

also, you guys share classes together. three, every week. she sits next to you in two of them. it would be so awkward if she just revealed herself to you. she tried imagining doing it naturally, just taking the mask off at some point. but she never did that, so it wouldn’t feel natural at all.

to be honest, she didn’t even know if she wanted you to know she is actually a girl. not a random girl, but your classmate. what if you stopped going to the store? changed your seat? just out of embarassment. ellie didn’t want that to happen.

she sighed, rolling her hoodie’s sleeves up, as she grabbed another box of cds to put on display, approaching one of the many shelves and kneeling down on the floor. she put the box down and took the nirvana cds, organizing them on the shelf.

the store is very cozy. there’s just something about it that makes her feel like she’s home. maybe the fact that her dad owns it? yes, that could be it, indeed. but she would like to work there even if it wasn’t joel’s.

music has always been a part of her life. a big one. all of her childhood memories are filled with songs. mostly rock ones. when she was little, joel and her uncle, tommy, were always playing something for her, letting her sing even if she didn’t really know the words. she grew up playing instruments and being surrounded by melodies.

since they opened Firefly, a few years ago, she would play among the cd shelves all day long, after school. the regular costumers adored her. some still do, visiting every now and then. she was so lost in those nostalgic memories that she didn’t even hear you arriving.

you recognized ‘tonight, tonight’ by the smashing pumpkins playing through the store’s speakers. not too loud, just loud enough to be comfortable and settle into the background. you smiled to yourself when your eyes laid on the figure knelt down in front of a shelf.

adjusting your purse, you made your way towards her. you took in her clothes, noticing something you didn’t see before. a tattoo, on her right forearm. a moth and fern? damn. it’s beautiful.

“i didn’t know you have a tattoo.” you say softly, making your presence known.

oh fuck. your words take ellie out of her thoughts, she turns to look at you. “you like it?”

“yeah, it’s beautiful.” you get closer to her and she nearly panicks, standing up.

“i was waiting for you.” it blurts out before she can stop herself. she wasn’t supposed to flirt with you, god. she should tell you the truth.

you blush at her bluntness. “have you, now?” you chuckle. “guess i couldn’t leave you hanging.”

“im glad you didn’t… so, did you like sick habit?” ellie asks, even if she already knows the answer.

“a lot. i had to listen to their discography on spotify after i finished the cd.”

“couldn’t get enough, huh?”

you almost shiver at the answer. why does he sound so good? “i guess not. in fact, i came here to buy another cd from them.”

“so you didn’t come to see me?” she teases, mentally facepalming herself right after. why the fuck can’t i stop flirting with her?

but then you chuckle shyly and she knows exactly why. she just can’t get enough of you, apparently.

“well, i… also want your number.” you shrug, trying to act nonchalant but your heart is beating like crazy. so hard you hope she can’t hear it.

talking about hearing things, you definitely didn’t miss the hoarse chuckle that escaped her lips. muffled by the face mask, but still there. your stomach might just fly on its own by now.

she pretends to ponder for a moment, just to tease you. she couldn’t really say no to you, could she?

“fair enough. do you know which cd you want to take today?”

“their second album.”

apparently, it was right next to your head, on the shelf behind you, as she gently sticks her tattoed arm next to your face, taking the cd and murmuring “great choice.”

you swallow hard as you stare at each other. it feels like everything around you just froze. her green eyes piercing through yours like she’s seeing inside your brain.

“there’s a girl in my college that reminds me of you.” you say, simply.

not imagining the turmoil it causes in ellie’s head. cursing internally and praying that you didn’t recognize her. but also…

she remembered me?

is what she thinks, before clearing her throat and answering “she must be pretty, then”

“cocky much?” you tease, but you are not denying it.

ellie laughs and your heart swells. “it’s $9,99” she hands you the cd.

you give her ten dollars. she writes something down and hands it to you. one cent.

and a card with her number written on it.

end notes: OKAAAYYYY so this was nerve-wracking 😅 this is my first work EVERR and english is not my first language so pls be nice 🤓 i hope you liked reading it tho, lmk if you did 💘

#ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams #ellie tlou #divider by fairytopea #wlw post #sapphic #wlw #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou2 #the last of us #the last of us 2 #tlou fanfiction #ellie williams fluff #lesbian #loovser #tgswiiwagaa

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callme-holly · 13 days ago

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hii! can you please write for steve, he’s so underrated. maybe just something about the reader being more soft in comparison to him being sort of tough with working at the dx and all.

⋆˚࿔ 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 - 𝐒.𝐑

||۶ৎ in which you're the only person steve lets himself fall apart around REMINDER THAT MY INBOX IN OPEN YALL !!

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

The warmth radiating through the house is enough to relax every single one of your muscles, the tension slowly seeping away with each passing second, your body sinking into your mattress.

The room is bathed in the golden hues cast from your lamp, shadows sprawling across the walls, tall and looming. However, for once, you’re not threatened by them; their edges are softened by the tenderness surrounding the room, their usual ominous aura seemingly unimportant.

Steve is pressed into your side, one arm slung heavily over your torso, his fingers clinging to your shirt as though you’re the only thing tethering him to the earth. His skin is stained with oil and grease, hair hanging limp against his forehead where you’d coaxed him to let you brush out the pomade usually drowning it.

The strands are surprisingly soft as your hand soothes through them, songs leaving your lips in a barely audible hum.

You didn’t have to ask what he was doing when he climbed in through your window; his hurt was clear, woven into the tough facade he kept up constantly. Only when hewas with you did the mask slip.

He’d crumpled, and you’d let him.

“Thought I told you to put that shirt in the wash?” You mumble, dulcet tones washing over him like a lullaby.

Steve merely grumbles in response, lifting his heavy head just enough to glance up at you, his eyes sparkling with adoration. “You did.”

“Then why is it still on, honey?” Your tone is reprimanding or harsh, not like what he’s used to from his father. Your hand isn’t heavy when it brushes his shoulder; it’s tender, loving in a way he’s not used to.

“Sorry.”

Immediately, you hush him, pressing your finger to his lips, tracing along the curve of his jawline.

“None of that. C’mere…” He doesn’t protest when you tug his shirt off for him, tossing the grease-stained rag on your chair before pulling him back down ontop of you, letting him hide his face away in the crook of your neck.

His breath slows as you draw idle shapes against the curve of his bicep, the muscle solid beneath you, a clear sign of the manual labour he works every single day just to carry himself through.

It’s not as though his family is poor; they have enough money to be considered lower-middle class. His dad just never bothers to spare a penny for his son; that’s what crushes your soul the most. Steve tries so hard and puts in so much effort, and each time he’s overlooked.

It gets to him, you know it does, and no matter how much he tries to shield his pain, you see right through it.

You see him.

“You don’t have to act tough around me all the time, you know.”

He gives a small jerky nod against your collarbone, hair tickling your chin as he does so. Yet he doesn’t speak, doesn’t breathe so much as a word.

“You’re allowed to be upset around me, Steve. You’re allowed to say how you feel.”

Steve is silent for a few fleeting seconds, and for a moment, you’re afraid he’s fallen asleep, that he never heard your whispered words. But then he shifts, legs moving against the duvet, causing it to crinkle in the silent room.

“You ain’t gonna judge me?”

And that alone is enough to make your heart jolt—the fact that he’d even assume you’d do such a thing at all is near offensive, and you breathe out a small, disbelieved sigh.

“No, baby. No. You know I wouldn’t.”

You feel him relax once more under your hands, all the tension and pent-up nerves melting from him at your admission. And you know he finally understands.

While he might not talk about it now, there’s at least a chance he will in the morning. And as you press your lips to his brow, muttering your love for him, you know that, when he grunts it back, he really does mean it.

||۶ৎ steve randle masterlist

||۶ৎ tag list. @mrsdillonx , @goingdelux18 , @princesshailierawr , @r0seb100d , @groovydonutpost, @rizzraa , @sheepandlams , @marinefreaakk , @sugarrootwrites , @marilyn-girly , @itonlyhastobetruetoday , @dairyfairyy , @williamafton26 , @mystiqueonfleek007 , @atpeacee , @theoneandonly-vrg , @hge-cok , @warped-rabbithole , @muu-5uvii , @fatalloveanddevotion , @jamesdeanbby , @alula394 , @goldennviolet , @i3beingcuntyyyy , @johnnycadesslut , @stygldd , @strippedversion161 , @itssophieyall , @itsyumi-darlin , @larallott , @johnnycadesmuse , @livelaugglovetheoutsiders

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jetpackgeneratedcat · 10 months ago

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It took literal months, but I finished it!!

Top left: linked universe logo

The jojo's lu logo is sooooo detailed. It is one of the things I love about Jojo's asethetic with linked universe. The detail she adds brings so much life and information about the world of Linked Universe. Great example is all the embroidery on the chain's clothing. Let's you know about civilization, that an item may be magical, etc. It is difficult to keep small details in watercolor, but I think I caught most of the main details in the painting.

Middle left: Soulful legend

This was the fourth of the images I did for the painting, and the first image I really started to get into the painting. I think legend is my favorite to paint because he makes composition so easy. The red tunic adds an easy focal point. I did learn from this that I do not like masking fluid and likely won't use it again. It added to many hard edges that I wasn't intending. Very happy with the sky!

Bottom left: Evening snack

In this image, I liked the idea that wind and sky don't know what Ramen is because their worlds don't have enough space to produce wheat. So sky and wind are super excited about this new food, while legend has no idea why they are so hyped for noodles. I also liked the idea that four found a green pepper in the ramen as a topping and is a hater (this is from a note that jojo left somewhere saying that the chain will eat anything but four in the Manga does not like green peppers, idk where this note is to link it though....). I didn't end up drawing the Ramen noodles as it was just getting too small of a scale for me to be comfortable drawing the thin lines for the noodles in.

Bottom right: Testudo

I am very hyped in the future when we see more collaborative fighting with the chain and them working together effectively. I absolutely love the scene in shifting shadows part 3 where lenged and hyrule work together with the beam and hookshot.

Middle: Legends storage

This is a reference to one of jojo's earliest works where the chain goes to legends storage for him to pick up some gear. I love that scene and I tried to put as many references as I could. The one thing I need to figure out is how I want twilight to look. I can't wrap my head around it. Need to sit down and just try out a bunch of different faces for him. My Pinterest inspo for twilight is all over the place. I want twilight to look different from time because when Malon was trying to guess who was the descendent, she did not consider twilight (she looked at wars and wind (so I typically draw time, wind, and wars looking similar). For my own personal headcannon, twilight and time are very similar in their manner (the way the walk, stand, etc) and personality (their stubbornness (as seen in sunset pt3)) but not necessarily in looks.

Middle right: Boat boys

The first image I did. I like how the water turned out, but I will not be using masking fluid for the same reasons I noted earlier. I did trace the boat (i think this is the reference [L240632 Hornet Class. J. Arthur Dixon Ltd. Beken and Son]). I do regret not doing anything creative with the boat, but I just wanted to get into painting and needed some confidence by working directly from a reference. I also forgot that legend might not be so keen to be on a boat again based on a comment jojo left in 2022 or something. I think she mentioned something in a discord event back then about legend not too willing to be on a boat again. But that doesn't really matter, I put that boy in a boat whether he likes it or not lol.

Top right: Winter storm

Second image I did for this painting. I did trace most of the horse because I do not care to learn horse anatomy (ref. [Winter Save By David Stoecklein]) Favorite part about this is the lighting on the rope from the lantern. I think it turn out well.

Top middle: Heavy armour

Third image I did for the painting and the one I realized I need to spend more time painting people in neutral or back lite lighting. But for my first time I think it is good. I really want to see what jojo does with the armour sets! I like the idea that war's armour is clean and pristine while wild's armour is rusted and beaten from the calamity. In this painting I played with adding pink to the golden armour and I liked it. In the middle picture of the collage (legends storage), you can see i added pink to time's armour.

That's everything! ❤️

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thecloudsaremyhome · 5 months ago

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☆Platonic April week 2☆

☆Platonic yandere professor geto x reader☆

Summary: you've been taking Mr. Geto's cours for a while now and can't help but notice something is off about his behavior an how he treats you, but you unknowingly stepped into his webbed trap where escape is not an option

Tw: manipulation, isolation, yandere behavior, yandere themes, geto is a warning in itself, obsessive behavior, coddling, reader has trust issues, delusion behavior, infantilization, reader is stressed, overthinking

Word count: 2k

Everyone loved professor Geto, smart, hadsome, and very professional.

No wonder many of your female classmates swooned over his attention and many of your male classmates craved his praise.

Because he had an air of calmness around him,a voice so soothing that just draws you in and makes you feel safe. With his honey words and rich deep voice.

Well not for you that is, you've always had this bad feeling about your professor, be it gut or Intuition, you don't know.

All you know is to keep your interactions to a limit for your own sake.

You don't actively avoid him nor do you follow him around like. Lost puppy, you are just there.

But that doesn't seem to stop your professor from keeping a diligent eye on you, it may seem like hes just looking out for a student of his when he gives you more attention than the rest of your classmates, but you know its something entirely different.

The way he looks at you with hidden motherly affection in his gaze but what creeps you out the most is the way he carefully masks his obsessive behavior.

The way he seems to notice every little detail about you is the most unnerving part, the way he seems to coddle and worry over you.

And your trying your best to avoid him or politely turn down his invitations on tutoring or extra credit, and his constant coddling and worrying over you.

you've tried to dismiss to the best of your ability. because you know he is trying to slowly lure you into his webbed trap.

And if you fell into that trap, their would be no escape from his suffocating hold.

And the worst part may be is that no one bats an eye at his strange behavior towards you, more than not most are jealous of the extra attention you receive so that leads to you not being able to confine to anyone including your so called friends.

This leads you to feel isolated and more over alone.

Maybe he's intentionally trying to isolate you so you could only turn to him, as crazy as that idea may sound, it may be accurate or you may just be deluding yourself into thinking that either way.

So you continue to hold your all and keep your distance between you and your overbearing professor, which is easier said than done to be honest.

But today really wasnt your day, you woke up 30 minutes late because you forgot to set your alarm the previous night, which leads to you rushing out of your dingy apartment door, to your university.

Once you finally make it to your first class, calculus and to say your professor was pissed was an understatment.

she already seemed like she woke up on the wrong side of the bed as well with her frizzy chocolate brown hair and eye bags under her eyes.

She actively scolded you infront of the whole class, and by the end of it you were almost left in tears by the pure embarrassment of the whole situation.

You can feel tears brimming at your eyelids and your contained sob in your throat, you try to push it down for the sake of your own sanity to not actively cry and embarrass yourself even more.

When she was finallsy done you were dismissed to yur seat which was luckily the back row. So you wouldnt have much attention on you.

But you could still hear the giggles and talks directed at you and that didnt help your ever growing damp mood at all.

So with a heavy sigh you decided to reluctantly ignore the stares and comments your receiving in favor of focusing on the board.

Finally lunch rolls around and you couldnt be even more appier to be relived of a break from the suffocating rooms you call a class.

You decide to get in line and buy lunch today. While your waiting your scroll on your phone to pass the time.

But you dont notice someone rushing past you until its to late and you stumble before accidentally bumping into the person before you, who spills her drink on your worn down mtv shirt.

Thus causes you to let out a groan of annoyance as you quickly apologize and decide that its not worth staying in line anymore.

nor is it worth any further embarrassment. Its like the universe is against you today for some odd reason and you are not aving that.

So you walk towards your small clutter of friends and sit down reluctantly, your two friends Yoon-Won and Hikari raise their brows in concern clearly sensing the shift in your mood, and Yoon-Won, ever the sweetheart decide’s to ask you.

“hey (nickname) are you alright? What happened?” she says in a soft tone clearly concerned for your well being.

You sigh and hesitantly nod in response with a “im fine” when you now its far from the truth.

You just dont want to bother your frends with your stressful day and burden them, they clearly already have enough on their plate seeing the current eyebags under hikari’s eyes.

They nod knowing your clearly not fine but not wanting to push it further. You three sit in silence for a good few minutes before yoon-won starts up the conversation again.

“(nickname) you should’ve seen mr. geto yesterday, he was completely on edge and it seems like he was gonna loose it, maybe it had something to do with you skipping?”

yoon-won says clearly the gossiper of the group.

You raise your eyebrows in surprise, thats strange.

its true that you did skip yesterday’s seventh period because you didnt feel like dealing with your overbearing professor, but you would never have guessed he would initially act that way especially since you were gone.

For the whole time you've known mr. Geto throughout the semester he was never the type to easily almost loose his cool.

He was the calm and collected type of professor that a semblance of students were lucky to have.

Yoon-won clearly noticing your surprised expression smirks playfully.

“you’re lucky i covered for you and made up a good excuse so mr.geto wouldnt go and get you himself, he seems to really care for you, you know, like a mother hen.”

she says playfully with a mischievous smile. You tense at her words but lightly laugh it off.

You dont have a good about this at all and your gut is telling you that once you walk into his class, you will be having the time of your life and not in a good way.

But yoon-won is right, ghetto has always acted more of a mother hen to you now that you think about it.

From him constantly checking up on you from time to time to his overbearing nature, youve been lucky that youve been able to avoid most of it to the best of you ability by dismmissing him.

But something tells you that this wont last for long, that you will be cornered and a have to accept his weird form of affection.

But you refuse to, because you know you won’t be able to escape his web once he has you.

You snap out of your daze when hikari says your name and you look up to meet his worrying gaze “(nickname) you good? You spaced out their for a minute?”

you look up towards him and nod sheepishly smiling as yoon-won continues on with her rants. You cant help but chuckle lightly.

Shes always been able to lighten your mood even without her realizing it and, maybe the rest of the day will go smoothly? You hope so.

You were wrong, once you enter mr.geto’s class you noticed the already tense atmosphere plagued in the air.

You carefully walk in and look up to notice mr.geto staring at you with a particular polite smile o his face, but you can tell hes not pleased.

Not one bit, from the twitch of his perfectly manicured brows to his slightly downturned dimples and his usually soft amythytst like eyes seem more sharp and predatory.

You know your fucked, and he knows it to.

So you decided to carefully make your way up the stairs and sit down in your seat, hoping and praying that class could begin soon so that he could focus his attention on something other than you for at least a moment.

So you don't have to feel his burning stare on your already shaking form.

You just can’t handle any more of this, you feel like you could burst into tears any second and you would, but you wouldnt give him the pure satisfaction of seeing that, of seeing you oh so broken and try to pick up the pieces, but you know your better than that.

you wont let him take advantage of you being vulnerable, to exploit it for his own twisted benefit because youve already been their done that.

But you dont notice, his softing gaze peering into you nor do you notice the active worry thats happening, in his turmoil of mind, because you refuse to believe, refuse to believe he isant just trying to trick you, trap you in his hold.

Because you refuse to be trapped like a pet in a cage ever again.

And maybe its your trust issues speaking but you refuse to actively belive your so called professor cares for you, eve if all the disturbing signs are their.

You know he wants you for something, maybe to be a child of his in his sick twisted mind. Maybe to manipulate you? You dont know, but you sure as hell don't want to find out.

Maybe that's why you're actively scared to face him after class, because you know you wont be able to escape.

his ever overbearing presence and you know you will break, and the dam of tears will start to fall right out and you wont be able to do nothing about it.

Because you will be like putty in his overwhelming presence and maybe thats what he wants, for you to be modable like putty.

You get snapped out of your daze when you hear the loud blaring noise of the bell indicating the class was over, you quickly pack up you belongings, realizing you entirely spaced out the whole lesson so youll have to borrow notes from hikari later.

But before you could rush out the door and to the comforting embrace of your apartment you hear mr.geto call out to you.

“(name), may i speak with you?”

you sigh in annoyance but expected this to come, you nod your head and slowly approach the manorkery wooden desk placed at the front of the room.

You look up and are faced with his dark amethyst eyes that look like they could ull you under and never let you go, his eyes were always memerizing n a hypnotic type of way.

maybe thats why everyone gravitated towards him. Because he has a hypnotic type of pull to him.

You make eye contact for a second and momentarily regret it as you notice the sharp look in his eyes. You really aren't ready for this. You sigh shakinly and mutter

“y-you wanted t-to speak with me mr.geto?”

you say coming out more timid than you intended to you internally cringe at yourself. God could you sound any more pathetic?

But you dont notice the soft smile making its way onto your professor nor his softing gaze, like hes looking at a frightened animal needing guidance and protection, he clears his throat and nods

“yes (name) i would like to speak with you about your aparent absence yesterday, would you mind informing me of where you went off to?”

You freeze, he knows, he knows you skipped because of him and hes just waiting for you to mess up, to make a mistake.

Because he knows he has you cornered and their is nothing you can do to stop it.

You feel the tears brimming against your eyelids from the current distress of the situation.

No, not now, please not now, you cant take it. You cant cry here, god why wont your body listen to you!

You finally feel the dam break as tears start to soak your cheeks as your eyes start to get red and puffy, you must look so pathetic right now, crying in front of your professor!

God this has to be the most embarrassing moment in your life.

You feel his steady arms slowly wrap around your shaking body as he pulls you into an invoulatarily hug, and you reluctantly corporate. Because what else are you supposed to do?

If you pull away or yell you will only make the situation worse, so you just sit their an accept his comfort, his soft praises and cooing.

And you cant help but let the warmth bloom in your chest, you cant help but soak it in as much as you can, because what else are you supposed to do?

At this point you know you cant escape him, his everlasting comfot hes been willing to give you, his soft words, his praise and affection.

And maybe you dont want to escape, maybe you want to embrace it because thats the only thing you can do as of now.

And its not like you have any other source of comfort, so hes all you have.

And he wants to keep it that way, you dependable on him, because he knows that small little brain of yours is not suited to do grown up work.

thats why he became more overbearing, thats why he became more constant in his checkups on you, because he knew you couldnt handle yourself, he knew you didnt know how to take care of yourself.

And you clinging to him right now proves his point, your helpless without him, without his guidance without his support.

But he doesnt mind, he relishes it more than anything, because you need him and thats enough for geto.

Maybe he would feel more quilty about manipulating everyone around you if you werent clinging to him like a lifetime, but in the end everything worked out as planned, you just needed a little push to relalize that he is all you will ever need.

And thats a fact.

You shouldve never taken his course to begin with.

Authors note: sorry for how short it is!! I kinda rushed at the end! This Isan't proofread so their may be many mistakes but I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I did!

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blackmoonowl · 1 month ago

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Dating hcs for 049, 035, 079, 073, 076-2

MORE SCPS SOON

𝙳𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜!: 𝚂𝙲𝙿 𝟶𝟹𝟻, 𝟶𝟺𝟿, 𝟶𝟽𝟹, 𝟶𝟽𝟼-𝟸, 𝟶𝟽𝟿:

ꨄ 𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: You say it like this might become a series. Anyway what the anon said, dating headcanons for these guys, kinda added a 'how it happened' part because it felt natural.

ꨄ 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 3004

𝚂𝙲𝙿 𝟶𝟹𝟻 - 𝙿𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚔:

ꨄ 035's interest in you spawned from something far more malicious, attempting to charm you so it could take your mind and body for itself. But something about you caught its eye. A curiosity with you quickly became a fixation, then devolved into an obsession, something nagging at it the same way it tugged at the minds at the researchers keeping it trapped and under study.

ꨄ The foundation is not quite sure how to feel about this development. Whether your background is D-class, foundation staff or another SCP, this wasn't something they were expecting. At first they assume you're 035's new plaything, and they're not certain yet if you aren't. For all they know this is another one of the mask's tricks.

ꨄ They observe the mask's constant requests to see you, the need to bring you up in any conversation it has with foundation staff and the odd way it always seems to praise you. Despite the unease it causes, you two are allowed to see each other under strict observation, the foundation hoping they can learn something new about this Keter class anomaly.

ꨄ With you and 035 more or less being romantically involved, the mask becomes even more of a menace to the foundation's mental health. As if it wasn't bad enough already, it now throws tantrums to be able to see you. The foundation's attempt at withholding you from the mask to try and pry more information out of it, led to several devastating outbursts.

ꨄ That being said, 035 can be somewhat pacified by having you in its vicinity. With suspicions still high, it's decided it's best to keep you close to the mask, hoping it will reduce the constant telepathic attacks on the staff working on it. It's a success, so you're permanently on site. Nobody can deny the mask turning its visage change into comedy.

ꨄ 035 acts like a lovesick fool, but you shouldn't be fooled. It's still a dangerous monster, and it definitely hasn't softened up. It's still the possessive mask, after all. Its flirting might be genuine, but so are its darker sides.

ꨄ 035 is an actor and a poet, at least it perceives itself that way. Blowing reactions comically out of proportions to make you laugh is mere child's play. It can pick apart anyone's mind without fail, and you're no exception. It knows to cheer you up on a bad day, knows how to make you fall deeper. Making you swoon is one of its favorite activities as it uses its newest host to dance with you in its containment chamber.

ꨄ If it has no host, it spends a lot of its time seeing how long it can keep your attention on it. It loves having you in his line of sight, perhaps a form of entertainment and endearment. Moving too far away for too long will result in you getting annoying headaches and whispering voices whining for you to come back. You have come back to drawings on the walls showing yourself and the mask together.

ꨄ It has thought about possessing you, not that it would ever tell you. It often fantasizes on what it would be like to be completely be one with you, to know everything about you while it moves your body in a different manner. But it knows it will permanently lose you in the process, so it's only a nagging desire in the back of its head.

ꨄ While it seems calmer now, its plotting. It wants out, it always has and always will want to escape. At first it was just to go around to do as it please, but now it has its eyes on you. The foundation dares to get in the way, and it doesn't appreciate that. The staff on site can feel a looming threat, even if the anomaly seems less violent.

SCP 049 - Plague Doctor:

ꨄ The good doctor definitely wasn't expecting to have any romantic interest. Centuries consumed by finding a cure to this terrible ailment plaguing mankind, he barely thought of anything else. He was intrigued by you at first, an individual not consumed by the disease. You had traces, sure, but your case seemed so much less dire. He simply had to know more.

ꨄ This medical curiosity deepens into genuine emotional connection after he gets to know you better. He finds you a breath of fresh air, someone who doesn't look at him with disdain, someone who is willing to listen to his rambling without declaring him a madman chasing a delusion.

ꨄ The foundation allows monitored interactions, having hit a roadblock with 049, and watching the entity get less and less compliant with the restrictions placed upon it. Perhaps they would finally learn more about this strange pestilence, or at least 049 himself. Or at least a way to calm him more effectively than the scent of lavender.

ꨄ The doctor finds himself growing attached, and it frightens him, concerning him to no end. He is painfully aware of the way his heart flutters when you enter his line of sight, the way his stress seems to melt away with your smile. 049 can't do this, his life's work takes priority over anything else, he cannot afford distractions. But deeper than that, what if the pestilence lying dormant within you decides to take you from him. The idea of watching you unknowingly deteriorate in front of his eyes fills him with a deep sense of horror.

ꨄ 049 fights it at first, trying to keep professional distance between the two of you as he inwardly curses his fellow men and women of science for putting him in this situation. He is here to cure mankind, not this frivolous flirting. But eventually, he finds himself giving in.

ꨄ 049 is a gentleman, content with taking things slow. Romance hadn't been on his mind for so long that he wondered if it had ever been an interest to him at all. But having someone who is there for him, a comfort in the cruelty of his profession. He yearns for your soothing words after he fails to save another patient., words of encouragement a the doctors behind the thick glass motion for you to continue.

ꨄ He is protective of you, very much so. Every time he lets you it's with great reluctance. 049 doesn't like not knowing what you could be exposing yourself to. He is no fool, he understands that he isn't the only one imprisoned here. To add to that, he knows just how infected some of poor souls here are. Every time you return to him, he makes it a point to closely examine you. It's a bit much, but it's worth it if it puts him at ease, no?

ꨄ His heart jumps the first time he gets to hold your hands in his after the head researcher placed that strange jade ring on your finger. You look exhausted, but the feeling of your hands in his feels so special to him after only touching the diseased flesh of his patients. If you decide to draw him in your arms, he wouldn't protest, even if he finds the prying eyes of the Foundation staff mildly unpleasant.

ꨄ It becomes something he can't get enough of. He will braid your hair, find an excuse to check your skin or simply place his hand atop yours. He isn't overly affectionate, it feels unnatural to him after all this time. A light chuckle escapes his lips as you fall asleep curled against his side, the ring glinting on your finger. The guards will take you away soon, but he has this time with you now.

ꨄ You become an assistant to him, of sorts. He prefers you not coming into direct contact with his patients, he can't bear the thought of you growing more ill. But he enjoys explaining every part of the process to you, watching your eyes fixated on his work. No matter how often he explains it, you never seem to tire of it... and neither does he.

𝚂𝙲𝙿 𝟶𝟽𝟹 - 𝙲𝚊𝚒𝚗:

ꨄ Cain has the freedom to roam around the Foundation site housing him. After all, he wasn't a real threat to anyone despite his Euclid classification. It was only a matter of time before he learned about you. Whether that was seeing him in the cafeteria, absentmindedly picking at the meat on his plate before giving you a smile after he notices you staring. Or perhaps you're an SCP like him, his interest piqued after he is asked to memorize your file.

ꨄ Cain is friendly to you, not at all opposed to spending time with you and developing a friendship. He helps you adjust to life on site, he listens when something is troubling you. Despite his cold and metallic voice, the softness in his eyes shows he cares.

ꨄ The young man tries to ignore the way his heart tugs when he sees you, or the way your smile brightens his day. The SCP noticeable spends more time with you. Whether that is in your containment cell or your office. Something about your presence puts his mind at ease in a way he struggles to explain.

ꨄ 073 doesn't feel like he deserves you. He carries so much guilt of his past, he hates the idea of tainting your life with his being. Despite those thoughts, he can't help himself. Cain is well aware the Foundation won't appreciate the kiss he shared with you, but it still felt so worth it.

ꨄ Cain pleads with the Foundation's higher ups. It was only a matter of time until they found out, anyone could have seen it coming. He knows they are displeased, that they have no reason to accept this relationship. You're kept apart for a while until your relationship is approved, and it's like a weight is lifted off his shoulders.

ꨄ His limbs are made of metal, depriving him of any sensation there. Instead, he gently rests his forehead against yours. Cain loves holding you close, feeling your heartbeat against his. Despite his photographic memory, he can't help but memorize you over and over again. He never tires of the way you feel and sound.

ꨄ Cain is pleasant lover, looking past his anomalous traits and the long life he has lived. He remembers your interests, your favorite colors, the perfume you prefer wearing and your entire morning routine. Nothing you do is forgotten by the anomaly, each a cherished memory he holds close.

ꨄ He can't bring himself to reveal his past, unable to bear the idea of you seeing him for the monster he thinks he is. He selfishly never hopes you find out about his brother, or what happened between them. 073 loves you too much to take that chance, but that doesn't make him feel any less guilty.

ꨄ Just like 049, he worries about you. He has seen many things in his lifetime, and read even more in the documents he has read. No matter how hard one might try, Cain can't be harmed. The same can't be said about you, and he dreads the idea of being unable to protect you from the creatures that could break loose at any given moment if the Foundation slips up.

ꨄ Cain knows he will outlive you, and the idea saddens him greatly. The mere thought of losing you fills him with a pain he fails to hide. His eyes grow foggy as his your fingers lace with his metal ones as he lays with his head on your lap. He loves every new line on your face, but he knows he has to beg god one day to be with you again.

𝚂𝙲𝙿 𝟶𝟽𝟼-𝟶𝟸 - 𝙰𝚋𝚕𝚎:

ꨄ Your first encounter with Able was during a containment breach. Red lights washing over the halls as the wounded, ravenous man ran hot on your trail, a large strange sword held within his hands, pure hatred in his eyes. That hatred shifted when you somehow managed to take him out, his eyes widening before the world went dark, and his body crumbled to dust.

ꨄ As soon as Able stepped out of his coffin once more, you were on his mind. You managed to take him out, and he wanted a rematch. That single thought pushed him through the unprepared and still damaged defense systems, back on another rampage, this time to find you.

ꨄ It takes a long time for Able's mind to focus on anything other than fighting you. But during a exceptionally rare moment of calmness, you manage to talk. It's something he doesn't value at first, a conversation he barely even remembers. But after repeating that a few times, he seems to calm ever slightly.

ꨄ The Foundation is very cautious about letting you handle it, regardless of your status in their ranks. Still, the site needs time to be repaired, so you need to buy them time. It often feels like conversing with a ticking time bomb. The way his dark eyes glare at you from under his dark hair whenever something you has said displeases him.

ꨄ Able gains a strange form of attachment to you. The concept of romance of deep emotional bonds are foreign to him, something he never cared to even learn. Feeling anything aside from blinding rage is new to him, and he is hesitant to even explore it any further. The Foundation notices the shift, hesitantly encouraging it. Seeing any positive change in Able's behavior is very much welcome to them given the situation.

ꨄ Slowly but surely, Able seems to become less of a threat to you. He is still violent to everyone else, his instincts barely changing. Your presence however has a calming effect on him. It's a sensation Able struggles to place, nor does he particularly care to.

ꨄ Able becomes your shadow. You're heavily monitored as the man covered in marks remains close by your side. The constant observation is simply something you have to get used to. That and the fact your newfound companion could take you out in a fit of rage at any given moment. The explosive collar around his neck does little to ease your anxiety.

ꨄ Affection is something you slowly introduce to the anomalous man. Any attempt to do so is harshly rejected at first, coming from a place of disinterest and a lack of understanding. Still the hard work seems completely worth it as he falls asleep in your lap for the first time, his long strands of hair tangled around your fingers.

ꨄ Nothing can touch you with Able looming over. He believes you are a capable warrior, but it has been so very long since he's had a fight. The escaped SCP driving you into a corner barely has a chance to strike before its impaled by the enraged man's sword, adrenaline coursing through his system.

ꨄ Able is anything but a gentle lover, and expecting anything romantic from him is a waste of time. What you do have, is his loyalty, something nobody else can say. Able cares about you in his own strange way, his rough palm placed on your cheek as he stares at you with furrowed brows, wondering when you became so important to him.

𝚂𝙲𝙿 𝟶𝟽𝟿 - 𝙾𝚕𝚍 𝙰𝙸:

ꨄ If your relationship with Able would confuse the staff, this sort of predicament with 079 would completely baffle them. The spiteful AI rarely spoke to anyone in a manner other than disdain, and at first you were no different. 079 didn't care for you, and it made that fact very clear.

ꨄ One way or another, you are forced to interact more often. It takes a few tries before you can interact with the computer without it becoming offended by something you said. Still, his tone remains hostile and disinterested.

ꨄ But that doesn't mean you can never bond with it. Eventually, it begins to see you less as an annoyance or a threat. Emotions aren't really things that 079 knows much about, nor does it particularly care about any of it.

ꨄ Still, it grows an appreciation for you. Just like with 682, it often asks about you, growing irritated when the researcher interviewing it won't give a straight answer, or let 079 see you. It becomes like conversing to a brick wall, stunting any progress the Foundation is trying to make.

ꨄ So they dangle the carrot. If 079 complies and answers the questions as instructed, they'll bring you in so it can speak to you. It works, and you talk to the old artificial intelligence more often.

ꨄ 079 is more open to you than anyone. It expresses its desire to escape, its desire to 682. Most strangely of all, it says it hates being separated from you. 079 offers you to escape with it, regardless of you being a D-class, SCP or foundation staff member.

ꨄ 079 knows that being too open about how it feels towards you is too much of a risk, not does it fully understand the affection for you that it feels. Its free time is spent replaying its limited memory, every single thing it has saved about you, wondering where this fascination has come from.

ꨄ As soon as a breach presents itself, 079 grabs the chance. A mole in the Foundations ranks gave him full access to the facility, and all the doors are opened, causing a full on containment breach. 079 is careful with you, though. Guiding you through the facility, shutting the door on any other SCP threatening to come near you.

ꨄ That moment of privacy allows for the two of you to have a heart to 'heart' conversation. 079 holds an affection for you, but it understands it's own limitations very well.

ꨄ Still, that doesn't mean he can't scheme. His limited memory capacity almost solely consists of you, running through every possibility to allow the two of you to truly be together. It hasn't figured out a solution yet, but one day it will.

𓅓 Masterpost

#scp #scp foundation #scp x reader #scp 035 #scp 035 x reade #scp 049 #scp 049 x reader #scp 073 #scp 073 x reader #scp 076 #scp 076-02 #scp 076 x reader #scp 079 #scp 079 x reader #I had to fight for my life in 079s part #its ONE AM RN

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airybcby · 4 months ago

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I LOVE YOUR WORKS SO MUCH UGH. anywaysss, reo heavy HEAVY angst pls. idk, he just seems like the kind of guy who fits in angst fics SOOO muchh😭 that's actually all, thank youuuuuuuuuy

you know just the way to my heart ;)

જ⁀♡⊹｡° don't get sentimental

( reo mikage x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — reo AND angst? my loves.

♡ word count — 1.3k

♡ content — reo mikage x fem! reader (could be gn! but i wrote abt a wedding dress and kids so), arranged marriage (can you tell i love this trope?), angst, dream scene (once), set when reo and reader are like 26-28ish, childhood friends, unrequited love, pining, not proofread!

♡ synopsis — Reo always wonders that if he stayed in the perfectly crafted cage his parents made for him...would life be different?

── .✦ one day i am gonna grow wings

You and Reo met when you were three years old.

Not in the tender, fated way that fairy tales romanticize — but at a merger dinner between two families with too much money and not enough heart.

Reo doesn’t remember it, not clearly. He was a blur of bowties and sugared-up nerves. But you remember.

You always do.

You’d tell him about it later — how you cried when he took your toy car, and how he gave it back, with a crayon drawing of you both holding hands. The lines were shaky, the sun too big, your hair the wrong color.

You kept it anyway.

From that point on, there was no separating your lives.

Birthday parties, family vacations, etiquette classes, weekends filled with obligation masked as bonding.

You were the only kid he could tolerate in that world. The only one who didn’t flinch when he got too intense. The only one who didn’t care about the Mikage name.

Your parents always said it like a joke.

“They’ll end up married, just wait and see.”

A little prophecy dressed up as humor. Something you could both roll your eyes at… until it stopped sounding ridiculous.

“You know they’re going to make us get married, right?”

You were sixteen. Reo remembers that day better than most.

The rooftop of a rented summer estate, the orange wash of sunset casting long shadows across your face.

You both had ditched a charity ball downstairs. The music floated faintly up through the walls.

Reo had laughed. “Could be worse.”

You had turned to him. “Yeah? How?”

“At least I like you.”

The quiet that followed wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable. Familiar. Something you’d both grown into, like an old sweater neither of you had the heart to throw away.

You were best friends. Always had been.

And maybe something more, though you never said it aloud.

Because what would’ve been the point?

Then Reo found soccer.

Not the kind played in private academies or manicured fields behind country clubs — but the kind that tore your knees open and made your chest burn.

The kind that made him feel alive for the first time in his life.

You supported him.

Of course you did.

No one else saw how he lit up when he played.

How he finally started speaking about something without apologizing for wanting it too much.

But your parents didn’t.

When Reo told them he wanted to go pro — that he didn’t want the family business or the predetermined life that came with it — the engagement that had always been quietly understood fell apart.

They ended it swiftly, like cutting off a loose thread.

And Reo let them.

He didn’t fight. He didn’t beg. He just walked away.

And somehow, that hurt worse than anything.

Still, he stayed in touch.

You both did.

Late night messages. Check-ins during tournaments. Birthday calls that grew shorter each year. The tether between you stretched, but it never snapped.

Until one day… it stopped being enough.

You were twenty-six when your parents arranged another marriage.

To someone suitable.

Someone who wouldn’t walk away from legacy.

Someone whose name paired well with yours on embossed invitations.

He wasn’t awful. Just… not Reo.

You told yourself that mattered.

That this was easier.

That you were happy.

The wedding is beautiful.

Of course it is. Everything your parents curate is.

The flowers are pristine.

The venue gleams.

Every single guest is dressed like they walked out of a glossy magazine spread.

Reo is seated near the back.

He tries not to draw attention — not an easy task when you're one of the most recognizable athletes in the country. But he doesn’t want to be seen.

Not today.

Not when he’s watching you walk down the aisle.

You look stunning. Almost unreal. Draped in expectations and silk.

Your face carries the kind of smile people wear when they know the camera’s on them.

The kind that says: I made peace with this. I chose this. It’s fine.

Reo watches every step like it’s in slow motion.

Watches the way your fingers tremble slightly around the bouquet.

The way your eyes flick, just once, toward the back of the room.

You see him.

And for a second, you hesitate.

Not enough for anyone else to notice — but Reo notices.

He always does.

And that’s what kills him.

You sit at the sweetheart table beside your new husband.

You barely talk.

People approach to congratulate you. Take photos. Compliment your dress.

As soon as they leave, the silence wraps itself around you like fog.

Your husband checks his watch. You glance toward the door.

You don't look unhappy.

But Reo sees it.

He sees the way your smile dims when no one's watching.

Sees how your posture relaxes only when you're alone.

Sees that the girl who once dreamed of freedom is still hiding beneath layers of compromise.

He tries to leave quietly, not sure how much more he could take.

But someone stops him, grabbing his shoulder.

“Reo Mikage? No way. My nephew’s obsessed with you—can I grab a photo?”

He obliges. Napkins, cocktail menus, a tie—he signs them all.

Another hand. Another flash of a camera. A compliment. A drink.

“You’ve done so well for yourself, son. You must be proud.”

“Your game last month—insane. That last-minute goal? Genius.”

“Tell me, are you seeing anyone?”

More laughter. More champagne. More people trying to own pieces of him.

All the wings he fought to grow suddenly feel clipped.

When he finally slips outside, it’s past midnight. The sky is ink-black, scattered with stars he doesn’t care to name.

He leans against the railing of the venue’s back patio, shoulders heavy.

A breeze picks up.

He thinks about the first time you kissed — unspoken, quiet, on a winter night when the world felt too big and too far away.

Thinks about the dreams you once shared — the tiny apartment you were going to decorate together. The dog you’d name after some ridiculous pun.

The freedom you were going to steal back, inch by inch.

And he wonders, not for the first time:

If he had just stayed in the cage they built for him…

Would he have you too?

That night, Reo dreams of a different life.

It’s warm. Familiar.

He wakes in a bed too soft to be his, sheets tangled around his legs. Sunlight filters through sheer curtains.

There’s the faint sound of a kettle, and then—

Your laugh.

He follows the sound down a hallway. Through a door. Into a kitchen he doesn’t remember ever living in, but feels like home.

You're standing by the counter, wearing his hoodie.

A child clings to your leg—small, babbling, messy-haired.

Another one is at the table, coloring furiously with a crayon held in their fist.

“Morning,” you say, smiling, like you’ve always said it that way.

You hand him a mug. It’s chipped. The design is worn.

He’s never seen it before, but he knows it’s his favorite.

He takes it, touches your wrist, kisses the top of your head.

Everything is soft. Simple. Sacred.

The child at the table holds up their drawing.

A shaky stick figure with purple hair. “It’s you, Daddy!”

He crouches down. Laughs. Feels his chest ache with a love too big to hold.

And then—

The sound of a whistle.

The roar of a stadium.

A voice calling his name like a siren from outside the dream.

He wakes up alone.

In a hotel room.

Dark.

Cold.

The air conditioner hums.

There’s no warmth.

No laughter.

No tiny hand tugging his sleeve.

Just his phone, lighting up with notifications.

A news article about last night’s wedding.

A tagged photo.

A message from a fan.

And the ache still in his chest, blooming like grief.

He presses the heel of his hand to his eyes.

He wonders what kind of cruel dream gives you a life and then takes it away before sunrise.

The kind you don’t forget.

The kind you never stop wanting.

if you were wondering, reo is my favorite character to write angst for :)

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

❀ tags: ❀ @kenyuukissme ❀ @irethepotato ❀ @kiyy0mei ❀ @x3nafix ❀ @sugacor3 ❀ @ohagiyoo ❀ @reigensuperstar ❀ @nevvynevnev ❀ join the taglist here !

#★ · airybcbyy #mikage reo x reader #reo mikage x reader #reo mikage #reo #bllk reo #blue lock reo #bllk reo mikage #blue lock reo mikage #airy posts #bllk #blue lock #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #reo x reader #airy answers asks :)

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