#I look forward to making more friends amongst people

[kryptonitejelly]

art donaldson x childhood friend reader who he hasn’t seen in a long time (whose had a crazy glow up) visits him at stanford at the same time as patrick and patrick starts hitting on her (him and tashi are in an open relationship) and art gets jealous.

(maybe she tells patrick she knows he’s in a relationship and he tells her tashi wouldn’t mind and she would probably be down to join idk)

art donaldson x reader // challengers // fluff; happy ending

a/n: i did not hit the prompt on the head 100%, but i’m not mad at it. this ended up turning into a monster i had no control off and ended up being alot longer than i expected (i haven’t done a word count, and did not mean for it to spiral into this but i enjoyed writing this very much). i am an art donaldson defender and this is my way of giving him everything he deserves (i hope you guys can see what i subtly tried to do in places - please leave comments/reblog if you see them, it would mean the world). also i typed this entirely on my phone without proofreading - you’ve been warned.

edit - as a disclaimer, i do not purport to comment on the victim/villain/any dynamic in the challengers universe. this space is purely for delusional thoughts and fiction only (see also)

-

Good luck.

Art shoots the text off to you before taking a swig out of cup of diet coke he has in hand. He leans forward, his forearms on his knees, teeth crunching on ice cubes as lets his gaze sweep across the court in front of him. It is devoid of players but already has the umpire and linesmen ready and waiting.

You’ll buy dinner if I win?

Art doesn’t expect to get a text back, so he checks his phone absently, but his face breaks into a tiny grin as he sees your reply. Most other players would have been hyper focused in the moments before a match but you, in the breezy light hearted way you always were, still had it in you to joke around.

Yes, but if you lose…

Art sends his response, the tiny grin still on his face.

I’ll feed you.

Your reply is fast and it makes art shake his head lightly a quiet chuckle dropping from his lips. He is just about to type another reply but is interrupted by the loud cheers that erupt from around him. Art looks up from his phone to see Anna Davies walk out on court in the same colour red as he had on. He claps politely with the rest of the men’s team who he was sitting amongst in the stands, in a show of support.

Art catches sight of Tashi and Patrick, both perched a few rows down from him with the rest of the women’s team both clapping and hollering in support. He notices the turn of Patrick’s head, no doubt to check in on Art but he doesn’t tilt his head or smile back in acknowledgement as he usually would - he is far too distracted by you.

Art can feel his jaw slacken slightly as you walk on court. He knows what you look like, but you in the flesh - Art thinks you are breathtaking. Your top is in a shade of your college’s colour, paired with a white tennis skirt that shows off a pair of toned, long legs. He catches a glint of metal just above your ankle, and he finds himself squinting in a feeble attempt to make out the look of the ankle bracelet that you have on. Art moves his gaze your face, taking in what he can see from his perch on the stands as you walk out towards your designated bench on the court, bright neon green bottle in hand, your tennis bag slung on a shoulder.

You had been close back home for most of your childhood and more formative teen years, and the both had kept in touch since he left for Stanford and you to your own school of choice, but too infrequently - the occasional text, more frequent reaction or comment on each other’s social media and the small conversations that spiralled from those interactions - like two planets orbiting in the same solar system, but not close enough. Life had overtaken, the excitement of moving your separate ways to a new environment, of college - tennis, academics, people, parties, it had overwhelmed you both, individually and together - made you just about forget that you had each other.

Art is transfixed. You are, lithe, glowing and with a hop in your step - Art finds himself questioning why he had never made more effort to keep you closer since you had both gone on your separate paths. He watches as you settle your bag on the bench, turning your gaze to the stands, eyes narrowing from the glare of the sun as you search the stands, only for your gaze to fix on his. Art sees you smile, lips turning up as you wink directly at him. It makes a series of heads turn to look back at him - your fellow team mates, the small group of supporters from your college who had come along, and the Stanford women’s team plus Patrick, half curious, half puzzled. Art can only raise a hand beside his chest in greeting as he remembers to breathe, letting the air he had been holding in his chest out.

He sees turn away while reaching for your phone which you had wedged in between the band of your tennis skirt and skin. Your fingers flying over the keypad briefly before you toss the phone into your tennis bag, hand fishing out your racket. Art feels his phone buzz in his hand and he looks down at the text that had come through.

Stanford still hasn’t taught you the right way to wear a cap huh.

Your text, a reference to his penchant for securing his cap on backwards, makes Art laugh, out loud, the sudden sound causing his team mates to crane their necks in attempt to look at his phone. Art swats them away as he refocuses his attention back on you, watching as you do a few hops, shifting your body weight from side to side before walking to your position on court, racket in hand. You lose the coin toss, and Anna choose to serve and yet your demeanour is one of ease, something Art can’t help but think is so stark in contrast to Tashi before a match. You aren’t smiling anymore, and yet in an unexplainable fashion, Art can feel you smiling as you bend to ready position, your hands flipping the handle of the racket around, poised to receive. He sees Anna toss the ball, her back arching, hand shooting up, before she connects her serve, and he watches you receive it with ease, your body moving in a smooth motion as you hit it back. Your strokes have their own weight and intention behind them, they are careful, thought out - but what surprises Art is he sees little calculation behind each. Instead, he watches as you let yourself feel each shot, as you let your instinct take control with each step. Art sees himself moving pieces of chess across the court when he watches replays of his game, but with your game, - Art manages to see colour, life, ease. He sees something he hasn’t seen in his tennis since he had last played with you, Art sees fun.

-

The match isn’t long drawn out, you win - effortlessly, just as each of your strokes and movement are. It frustrates Anna, as is evident from the increasing number of unforced errors she makes on her art which leads to her swearing loudly as you easily hit the last heavy, driving it quick and to the opposite corner of the court from where she is positioned. Art finds himself clapping enthusiastically along with the crowd as the umpire calls the game.

-

“You never told me you had such good looking friends,” Art feels an arm sling itself around his neck, pulling him close as he stands outside the court, waiting for you to finish your match debrief with the rest of the team.

“Shouldn’t you be with Tashi?” Art questions as he tugs himself out and under, away from Patrick’s hold. His eyes remain focused on the door of the tennis court, waiting for you to emerge.

“Some strategy meeting,” Patrick offers as explanation, “refocusing or something like that.”

Art starts to say something in response only to be stopped by the view of you walking out from the courts. You both lock eyes, not too similar from how you had with you on the court and him on the stand. Art thinks that your smile is more brilliant up close.

Neither of you say a word, as you walk up to him, hands reaching up to tug his cap off his head only for you to pop it promptly on your own head, the right way around.

“The right way,” you say in greeting, pointing towards his cap which is now sitting on your head, the Stanford red a confusing contrast to your your top, now a loose fitting tshirt in your college colours, as Art chuckles while running a hand through his hair, attempting to shake out any flatness.

“The red looks good on you.”

“Perhaps I should transfer.”

“Didn’t peg you for a traitor,” Art teases which makes you laugh.

“Do I get a hug,” you ask, both of you oblivious to Patrick who is just watching.

“C’mere,” Art says, his words inviting, but just almost slightly shy as he opens his arms to you. You step into his embrace, arms slipping around his body as Art brings his arms around your shoulders, hands bumping into the tennis bag you have on your shoulders. His embrace is familiar, and you let yourself relax into his hold.

“Could I get a hug?” you hear a different male voice chime in and you pull away to look curiously at the brunette who is standing just beside you both.

“Fuck off Patrick,” you hear Art say with no bite, but notice as he steps just that one inch in front of you in an attempt to place himself as some sort of barrier between you and the brunette.

“Patrick Zweig,” the boy says, ignoring Art as he proffers a hand to you which you shake to be polite while introducing yourself.

“Do you go to Stanford as well?” You take in his attire of jeans and a white tee, the lack of red - you would guess not but it didn’t hurt to ask.

“I’m just visiting,” he says, “I’m actually playing on tour.”

“Losing on tour,” Art corrects.

“Your tennis is insane,” Patrick comments, ignoring Art, “when will I see you on tour?”

“I don’t intend on turning pro,” you respond with the flash of a smile.

“Why?” Patrick continues the conversation, now slightly befuddled, “you’re a natural.”

You shrug with a laugh, not answering and simply brushing off his question.

“Why don’t I take you to dinner and you can tell me why.” Patrick’s statement makes Art roll his eyes.

“Aren’t you taking your girlfriend our for dinner?” Art chips to which Patrick simply shrugs not phased in the slightest and answers with a no.

“Thanks, but I already have a dinner to cash in on,” you offer Patrick a smile, before glancing at Art.

“I’m sure Art wo-”

“Nope, fuck off Patrick,” is what Art says again, not even giving the other man a chance to finish his sentence. It makes you laugh, but you follow as Art grabs your hand, tugging you off in a direction away from Patrick.

“It was nice meeting you Patrick,” you call out, turning your head towards him giving him a wave with your free hand, “good luck on the tour!”

You walk for a minute or two more until the tennis courts are out of range before Art stops. He lets go off your hand, but reaches instead to grasp the top of the tennis bag on your shoulder. You raise a brow questioningly only to have him tug again with a slight tilt of his head. You relinquish the bag to him and he hoists it on his shoulder instead.

“What a gentleman,” you joke, but with a smile on your face.

Art does a mock bow with a flourish of his hand which makes you laugh with a shake of your head.

“Your chariot awaits my lady,” he extends a hand to you, waist still tilted in a bow, but his head up and looking at you.

“Lead the way,” you place your hand on top of his again.

“My car is that way,” he says jerking a thumb towards his right as he intertwines his fingers with yours. Its the second time in the day where he’s holding onto your hand but you don’t think too much of it and neither does Art. It feels right, comforting, familiar and like it’s supposed to be - and you go with it.

-

“Sorry about Patrick,” Art says as he fiddles with the paper casing of the straw. You are both sitting in a booth, plates cleared, your drinks left in front of you. Art is leaning back but being across him you can feel his knees knocking into yours. Dinner had gone by way too fast for Art’s liking. There had been both plenty to catch up on, as well as new information to learn and yet - it had felt like no time had passed between you both.

“He’s a bit of an ass isn’t he,” you say as you lean back, a mirror of Art. Your comment elicits a bark of laughter from him.

“Girls don’t usually say that about him.”

“What do they say?”

“Well not say, but they usually fall at his feet or into his bed,”

“No,” it makes you crinkle your nose while you shake your head.

“His girlfriend Tashi,” Art says, fingers still fiddling with the wrapper, “we played tennis for her number, she chose him.” Art said referencing the tennis match between him and Patrick. His sentence is blunt, to the point, and yet manages to be vulnerable at the same time. Art surprises himself as the words slip out from his lips so easily but it feels easy to tell you, safe to let himself be vulnerable, fine to let you view him for who he truly is.

You both sit in silence for a beat or two, the only sound between you both being the rustle of paper in Art’s fingers.

“Well,” you begin, “if she made you play for her number, maybe its for the better you didn’t win.”

Art’s fingers give pause and he looks up at you. His expression is unreadable, but you don’t feel like you’ve said anything wrong - just the obvious.

“I guess you are right,” he says after a few seconds of silence, before raising his head to look at you. There is a small smile on his face that you can’t quite place.

“When have I been wrong Donaldson?” You challenge in jest as you lift a leg under the table to jostle one of his lightly. Art leans forward, managing to capture one of your legs, your calf in the warmth of his palm.

“You really want me to start?” Art questions as you wriggle your leg in attempt to get away but no no avail.

“No.”

“Let’s see, the time we were six and you thought that the way to get strawberry milk was to dump pink food colouring in normal milk.”

“Stop,” you protest, but with a laugh on your lips.

“Or the time we were ten and you were convinced that the park we passed by on the way home from school was haunted and we had to sprint past that stretch of sidewalk for 3 whole months.”

“It was creepy!”

“How could we forget the one time we were thirteen and you thought that the way babies were made wa-”

“Arthur Donaldson,” you protest, managing to wrestle your leg out of his grasp which has grown looser with each anecdote. It allows you to set your foot on the ground, body shooting up to lean across the table, your palm coming to cover Art’s mouth to prevent him from announcing any further recollections from your youth.

You can feel his breath hot against the palm of your hand as his muffled laugher fills the space of your booth.

“Art,” you huff, relinquishing his full name for his nickname again. You move to drop your hand from his face, but Art catches a hold of your wrist. You sit back down, butt hitting the seat again, but with your hand still stretched across the table, wrist still loosely wrapped in one Art Donaldson’s hand. His shoulders are still shaking, now with a silent laughter.

“Art,” you try again.

“I’m sorry, it’s just so funny,” Art exhales, trying to collect himself as best as he can. He doesn’t remember the last time he laughed like this, freely and with such reckless abandon over something so innocent.

“Your dedicated court jester, always here to serve,” you mock with a roll of your eyes.

“You’ve been derelict in your duties,” Art says, now calm, but his eyes still twinkling under a mop of strawberry blonde hair. He keeps his tone light but what he really means to say is that it has been too long. You chuckle, not really having an answer for him.

“It’s been a while,” you finally admit, both your hands now resting on the table between you, you wrist now lying upturned in Art’s open palm. You had always been close

“It has, hasn’t it,” it isn’t really a question. Art has missed you - something he hasn’t realised until today. He had let himself be distracted by the complex, focused toxicity that was tennis, Patrick and Tashi, letting himself get sucked into the whirlpool, that he had forgotten to hold on to the things that grounded him.

“Maybe we should change that.”

“We should change that,” Art corrects you and you can feel the tips of your ears burning, and the skin across your cheek bones tingling for some reason.

-

You aren’t quite sure how ended up here, but one thing had lead to another as you both made your way out of the restaurant and back to Art’s car, and the next thing you knew you were heading back to his dorm to watch reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer for some reason.

“How do you not find her hot?” You ask again for the tenth time as you both focus on the screen of Art’s laptop which is perched half on his thigh and half on yours. You are both sitting on his bed, shoulder to shoulder, both of your heads damp from (separate) showers in Art’s ensuite, and you smelling quite like him from having used his toiletries and borrowing a short and shirt set, both of which which were a baggy fit for you.

“I don’t know, I just don’t.”

“You’re rubbish Donaldson,” you snort, nudging your elbow lightly into his ribs with a simultaneous yawn.

“Tired?” Art asks, as you stifle another yawn.

“Yeah,” you accept, seeing little point in trying to hide it. You had after all, played a match today.

“I should really get back to the hotel,” you mumble, the back of your head leaning against the wall beside Art’s bed, eyes closing.

“You could just stay here,” there is a hint of hesitation in his voice because he isn’t sure if you’ll stay.

“Here?”

“My bed’s a double,” Art shrugs, “it would also be quicker for you to get to the matches tomorrow.” You aren’t playing but Art knows you would be expected to show up as a supporter for the series of matches between your two schools that continued tomorrow.

“Are you sure?” You don’t mind, after all - it’s Art, the boy you had known growing up, shared milkshakes and apple slices with after school, but you wanted to be sure he was truly fine with it.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Art moves to shit his laptop, lifting himself to bend over the edge of the bed to place the laptop on the floor, “you can take the inside.”

He flops down on the outside of the bed that is further from the wall too easily, his right hand going behind his head. Him moving forces you to move in tandem as you flop down on Art’s left, legs scrambling under the covers which Art has somehow managed to worm his way under in the flurry of movement.

Art reaches a hand over, his arm extending over you in the process to hit the light switch that he has beside his bed. It plunges you both into darkness, the only light the faint glow from the street lamps creeping in from below his curtains, and the glow of his digital clock.

You flip onto your right side, eyes closed, missing the turn of Art’s head as he observes yours features, closed eyes, lashes, nose, lips, finding his gaze lingering a moment too long on your lips.

“Stop staring Art.”

“Am not.”

“I can feel it,” you respond, lips curving into a smirk. It was a habit he had developed from the sleepovers you both had either in his living room or yours when you were both younger. You would close your eyes, just about to doze off, only to hear the faint shifting of a head against a pillow while Art turned to stare at you, his blue-brown eyes boring into you.

“Am not.”

“Go to sleep Art.”

-

“So I guess I’ll see you around,” You are standing just a distance off the side of the bus which is supposed to take you back to campus. The matches for the day had ended, with your school having won by one match.

“Yeah,” Art replies, drawing out his words as he takes you in, he finds himself think that he had very much preferred you in his clothes despite them being oversized and not as well fitted as your own. You had managed to change into a fresh set of school colours before the matches started earlier that morning, having pleaded with your angel of a roommate to help you lug your overnight bag, which you hadn’t even had the chance to unpack the night before, over to the courts before the matches had begun. She had taken one look at you in Art’s tshirt, shorts with his hoodie thrown over, and had given you the widest smirk known to man despite your insistence that nothing had happened.

“I think you are scheduled to come play next month,” you refer to the Stanford men’s team, “I’ll see you then?”

“Or I could see you next week?” Art says almost shyly as he raises a hand to rub the back of his head. Art was a walking oxymoron, easily grabbing your hand, asking you to sleep in his bed, and yet somewhat bashful in the moments in between, “the drive over is an hour, max.”

“I would like that,” your response earns you a mega watt smile, his eyes twinkling at you. You both hear voices calling Art away from the bus, one male, one female - but Art ignores them both.

-

“Yeah and I told her-” your sentence is cut off by a nudge to your shoulder.

“Stanford” you friend explains with slightly too much glee in her voice. She had seen the smile on your face after returning from your away game last weekend, and the way you had been constantly glued to your phone, grin on your face, laughter peppering your days, the name Art Donaldson a constant fixture in your notifications.

Your head swivels up and to your left to spot Art leaning against his black jeep, hands crossed loosely across his chest. He smiles when he sees you, and your face mimics his expression.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” you friend calls out as she pushes you in Art’s direction. You pull a face at her while rolling your eyes, but letting your legs carry you towards Art.

“Are you stalking me Donaldson?” You ask in jest. Art had texted you half an hour earlier, asking which part of campus your last class of the Friday was in and where he should pick you up from.

“Hundred percent,” he says as he opens his arms; you step into his embrace for a brief hug, before he turns to open the car door for you. You unload your bag from your arm, dropping it onto the floor of the passenger’s seat before climbing in. You move to close the door, but Art is in between you and the door, reaching over to click your seatbelt into place.

“Ready?” He asks, and you nod, gazing into bright blue-brown eyes.

-

“Positivism,” Art says simply at your question of what theory of jurisprudence he found himself most inclined towards. You think for a moment, the side of your face propped up with a hand, elbow on the counter of the bar you both are seated at, your body turned towards Art who is likewise, facing you.

“Positivism,” you roll the words around your tongue, “I guess it tracks,” you shrug, before raising a brow slightly, “but how does an engineering undergraduate so much about jurisprudence?”

“I read.”

“On jurisprudence?” You frown nose wrinkling as you reach your hand out to place the back of it against Art’s forehead as if to check if he had a fever, “are you alright?”

“You mean you don’t read engineering daily in between sets?” Art questions you with mock horror as he reaches up to tug your hand down from his forehead. Your hand ends up, yet again, in Art’s, which is resting on his knee.

“Why engineering, and not something with a lighter course load?” The underlying question is clear - Art had every intent of going the pro track post-Stanford, and it wasn’t that he would be making full use of his degree anyway.

“I don’t want the only skill I have to be hitting a ball with a racket,” he shrugs, “it feels good to know I can do something else.”

You hum in bother understanding and agreement as you feel Art’s thumb begin to stroke the back of your hand. It distracts you, his calloused thumb sliding across your skin.

“In another life I’m sure you would have made a darn good engineer Art Donaldson.”

Your words make Art laugh, something he found himself doing a lot with you.

-

“So, this is me,” you point towards the dormitory buildings up in front and Art slows his car to a stop, pulling the gear into park. He kills the engine before hopping out of his seat. Your hand is on the handle of the door, ready to open it for yourself but Art is faster, his hand on the outside lever, pulling the door open for you.

Art offers you a hand as you hop out of the jeep before he shuts the door behind you.

“I had fun tonight,” you find yourself saying, suddenly feeling slightly shy for reasons you cannot fathom.

“Me too,” is what Art says in response, his hands stuck on the pockets of his jeans, heels rocking in a back and forth motion. You see his gaze on you, locking with yours before flickering to your lips. It makes you bite down one on side of your lip, an action which causes Art to gulp, making the Adam’s apple on his throat bob.

“We should do-”

“Can I kiss you?” Art blurts out his question in a burst and you can see his face flush slightly as he asks, a surprising and yet apt contrast to the Art who had no qualms about holding your hand in his. You feel your heart quickening, and with the silence between you both - you almost feel as if you can hear each beat.

“Yes,” you breathe out, a small nod accompanying your response. You see Art’s gaze flicker to your lips again, but you would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about this.

Art takes a step forward, pulling his hands out of his pockets. You feel him cupping your face gently, and you tilt your head towards him. Your eyes flutter close and your lips meet.

Art’s lips are softer than you imagined. You feel his hands move, slipping down the sides of your body, circling your waist and pulling you closer. You drop your bag off your shoulder onto the floor as your hands move up, one to cradle the side of his face, and the other reaching behind, fingers weaving into soft curls as you tug him closer towards you. First kisses with someone new had always been awkward for you - teeth, lips, noses, as you each try to figure out the grooves and crannies of each other, but with Art - there was no such thing. It felt as if you both had learnt each other long ago, each in and out, the curve of his neck, and the the planes of your body.

You break the kiss first, pulling away, eyes still closed, feeling as if the breath had been knocked out of you in the best way. Your forehead pressed against Art’s, body held firmly against his.

“I hope you aren’t going to send me packing after that.” Your eyes flutter open at his words.

“You packed an overnight bag didn’t you?”

“I might have,” Art pulls you even closer, his arms wound tight around you.

“Presumptuous much?” You run a hand through the front of his hair, pushing his fringe back.

“Just good at reading the room.”

-

12 years later

The skin across your knuckles are visibly tight, your hands clenched into fists, the only sign of the nerves that have taken over and riddled your body. Your eyes are shielded by dark oversized glasses, but your pupils are darting left and right as the final point of the match plays before you. The stadium is silent, save for the pop of the ball and the grunts from the two players on court. You hear an exceptionally loud grunt, the whizzing of a racket whipping through the air, and then you hear it before it hits you - the roar of the crowd, the thundering claps, and you feel your body freeze as even the announcer goes wild.

“Art Donaldson, ladies and gentleman, our new US Open champion.”

You remain glued to your seat despite the commotion around you - family, Art’s team, cheering, jumping, excited hugs being passed around. Your eyes watch as Art runs towards the center of the net, hand raised as he waves to the crowd around. He shakes his opponents hand, before waving to each section of the stadium in thanks of their support and there he is, jogging towards you. His hair is dripping with sweat, plastered to his head, shirt clinging to his body. He extends a hand to you even before he reaches the sideline and your body reacts from habit, standing, your hand extending back towards him. A warm hand, the back of it still slick from sweat grasps yours, tugging you forward lightly.

“Hi,” is all he says as Art’s lips meet yours. Art enjoys the tennis, but he doesn’t need it - doesn’t need the tennis, the fame, the money, or the trophies - all he needs is you.

You hear the crowd go wild at the display of affection, the announcer’s voice booming over the sound system with something about Art Donaldson and his wife, but it all fades - the commotion, the sound, the people, the tennis, because all you see is Art.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[killerlookz]

Olive Green Couch | Spencer Reid

description: when your best friend drags you to a party to meet a boy she's been fawning over, you find yourself completely bored and unimpressed- good thing you've stumbled upon a strikingly handsome (yet awkward) young graduate student named Spencer who seems equally as unhappy to be there to share your misery with.

pairing: grad school! spencer reid x f! reader

content: uhh mostly fluff, drinking, reader is described as wearing a mini skirt and wearing high heels.

word count: 4,242

If I have to hear one more Weezer song I'm going to be sick. You think as the slow drums of Undone pour out over an all too expensive speaker system for a frat house.

The MIT frats were nothing like you experienced before, they were- for lack of a better term- a complete and utter sausage party. You can't remember the last time you'd seen this many men in a single room. If you weren't so bored maybe you would appreciate this as a reprieve from the usual maintaining "ratio" of the state school frat parties you'd been to. But even now you'd prefer that if it meant you wouldn't have to deal with another sloppily drunk man explaining the plot of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy to you. Rich, pretentious, too smart for his own good MIT frat guy or dude-bro, alpha male, business major state school frat guy- it didn't matter; they were the same side of the same misogynistic coin.

You look down at the shot-glass sized solo cup in your hand, staring at the clear liquid inside. Maybe just one more shot and you'd finally start to enjoy the state you were in. You hoped maybe six shots would be the perfect number of drunk to enjoy yourself. You screw your eyes shut and throw back your head as you lift the cup to your mouth. The cheap vodka burns the second it touches your tongue, and you wince as you feel it travel down your throat and to your stomach. Your body shivers involuntarily as the warmth in your belly grows.

You face forward again, looking across the living room for your best friend- the one who dragged you here in the first place. You had suggested bar hopping or trying to get into a club, you didn't buy her a fake ID for no reason. But she insisted on coming here instead. Here- to this sweaty house filled with... well... dorks. She came here looking for some guy- Michael... Matthew... Miles.... shit, you couldn't remember. It didn't matter, you were here now, and she had ditched you to fend for yourself.

You take a step forward and all the alcohol you had drank prior seems to hit you a once, "Woah" You can't help but say out-loud as you catch your balance and wait for the room to stop spinning.

You take a few more wobbly steps forward before acclimating to your new, tipsy state. You make your way through the dimly lit house, trying to find your friend amongst the crowd and rowdy conversations. Observing the bodies that populated the house you suddenly felt insecure, and insanely overdressed- why was everyone wearing jeans and a t-shirt? Maybe a mini skirt was the wrong choice for tonight.

You make your way to a back room of the house, occupied by maybe only 10 people by your inebriated brain's estimate. There's an ugly looking olive green couch in the middle of the room- it' had obviously been through a lot but and you hated to imagine what had happened on that couch over the years, but right now it looked like the most comfortable thing in the world. You walk over and plop yourself over onto the couch, the cushions having a lot less give than you expected.

The beginning riff of Someday by The Strokes plays just outside of the room, and you groan- turning to the guy who you had just realized was sitting next to you.

"Do you know who's Dj-ing this fucking thing- can you tell them to play some Britney or something?" The words fall off your tongue, sloppily.

The boy sitting next to you turns to look at you, a confused look drawn upon his face, "Huh- me?"

Shit. He's kind of cute- In a dorky sort of way. His brown hair is perfectly unkempt, and small curls form at the back of his neck. His jawline is sharp, and his hollow cheeks accentuate his prominent cheek bones. His eyes are dark, and he looks a like he hasn't slept in years- you figured with the workload MIT students probably have- it would make sense if he actually hadn't slept since getting there. Truth be told, all things combined he looked a little sickly- he was obviously lanky maybe scrawny was a better word- his button up shirt seemed a little ill-fitted for his body, and his tie poorly tied. Still- you couldn't help but notice he was hot. The first hot guy you'd seen all night.

"Yes, you, pretty boy." You smirk.

His face reads as even more confused upon your clarification.

"Oh um," He looks down at the half-drunken beer that sits between his legs, shakes his head before looking back up at you, "I-uh I don't know the DJ, and I- um, also don't know who Britney is." He responds, a small nervous tremble in his voice.

"Spears?" You let out a small laugh, "You know like- Hit Me Baby One More Time." You half sing.

"Oh-" He looks off to the side, "No" he faces you again.

"Go figure," You scoff, still, keeping a smile on your face. "Say- are you in this frat?"

He shakes his head, "Oh- no, I'm a grad student."

"A grad student?" You respond, your eyes widen in shock no shot the man you were looking at right now was any older than you. "How old are you?"

"21" He responds, almost nonchalantly- like it wasn't some insane feat. "Well," He clarifies, "I'm actually in my third graduate program, I already have a PhD in mathematics and chemistry, from Cal Tech. I'm working on my engineering one now."

"Jesus," You smile, "So what, you're like some sort of genius, huh?"

"Well, I don't believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified- but I do have an IQ of 187, and an eidetic memory, and can read twenty thousand words per-minute."

You stare at him in awe for a moment, "So, a you are a genius?"

He gives you a small smile in response, "Yeah- I guess." He nods.

You're suddenly intrigued, only twenty-one years old and already a doctor twice over.

"So what brings you here Doctor...uh..."

"Reid," He nods and presses his lips into a line. "Oh! But, don't call me doctor you can call me Spencer."

"Well then, what brings you here, Spencer?" You correct yourself with a smile.

"My friend- uh he wanted me to come with him, he's meeting some girl here and he didn't want to go alone. I kind of got dragged along."

"Well," You grin, "It must be fate that we're here together on this ugly green couch, because if you could believe it- I'm here for the exact same reason except my friend- she's uh, meeting a guy here."

Spencer takes a small sip of the beer he had been holding, wincing as the liquid touched his lips. You figured he probably wasn't much of a drinker, he probably had things much more important on his plate than getting drunk and partying.

"Not much of a partier?" You ask to confirm your suspicions.

"Mhh," Spencer hums, mouth still full of beer, he shuts his eyes tight as he swallows thickly. "No." He shakes his head violently. "What gave it away?"

"Oh!" You bite your lip... "Nothing!" You say, innocently, voice steeped in sarcasm.

"It's okay," He laughs, "I know I look like a dork."

His laugh is infectious, and you can't help but smile in response. And Damn- he's really cute.

"Oh! Don't say that," You swat your hand at him, "I'm sure you get tons of ladies."

Spencer tilts his head to one side, in obvious disbelief of what you just said,

"I don't really appreciate the sarcasm," He says, his eyes narrowing at you.

"Sarcasm?" You pout, "No- I mean it Spencer, what you're like a genius. And I mean- you're not bad to look at," You bite your lip, "Not at all."

Spencer shook his head, "I was a child prodigy in a Las Vegas public school, and until now, I've always been way younger than everyone in college- my experience with girls is practically in the negatives."

"Oooh!" You smirk, "Vegas," You raise an eyebrow.

"Mhm," He takes another sip of his beer, his face more relaxed this time.

"You think I'd make a good showgirl?" You wink

"Oh- um," Spencer is suddenly blinking rapidly as his head scans you up and down. You can't help but feel a little bad at the way you have him flustered,

"I'm kidding! You don't have to answer that." You reassure. "Negative experience with girls, hm?"

"Yeah- I-uh, I haven't even had my first kiss yet." He says, looking down at his lap, refusing to make eye contact with you.

"No?" You say, still shocked, even given his prior explanations of his experiences with women, "Well..." You start, pausing for a moment, "If you ever want that to change let me know." Maybe that last part was meant to be a joke, but truth is you kind of really hoped he said yes, right there, right now.

"What?" He looks back up at you, eyebrows furrowed, "No- I don't need a pity kiss. I don't even know who you are."

"It is not a pity kiss, and I'm y/n, I go to UMASS, the Boston campus- like 15 minutes away. I'm 20, and uhhh... Well, the rest you can find out later." You wink, "Now you know me!" You smile, perking up from your spot on the couch.

"Well- uh. Nice to meet you y/n" He gives you an awkward tight lipped smile. "Are you- um- enjoying your night."

"God no," You scoff. "Does that make two of us?"

Spencer nods, side moving his eyes to look around the room. It had gotten significantly more crowded since you'd came in here, you hadn't noticed, you'd been too focused on getting to know Spencer that you kind of forgot you were at a party to begin with. It didn't seem to matter now anyway, you were intrigued beyond belief and wanted to know more about Dr. Reid.

"So, why'd you leave Caltech? The weather is certainly a lot nicer than it is here," Your body physically recoils at the thought of having to go back outside to the brisk New England fall after the party was over.

Spencer shrugged, "You can only get so many degrees at one place before you need a change of scenery. I've been at CalTech since I was like- fourteen."

"Fourteen?" Your eyes widen, thinking about what you were like at fourteen. You certainly weren't CalTech material, that's for sure. "When did you graduate high school?"

"1993," He smiles and nods, "Twelve years old"

Spencer had a charming humility about him, he was the smartest person you'd ever met but he spoke in a way that made it feel like it was every day that someone could graduate high school at 12 and have two PhDs by 21.

"What do you plan on doing after college with that pretty head of yours?" You ask, your slightly intoxicated brain unable to stop you from instinctively reaching out and fluffing his hair. Spencer's eyes flick up towards your hand and he gives you an awkward smile paired with a small laugh.

"Well- I uhh... I've been in contact with this guy- well from the FBI, the BAU... Behavioral Analysis Unit. We came into contact after my second dissertation, he was shocked at how young I was, having done so much- he suggested I come to the academy when I was done with this one." Spencer explained, he talked in a way that made him seem unsure of himself, like he, himself didn't fully understand how it happened.

"God," You muse, "The fucking FBI? Could you get any cooler?"

"You know," Spencer remarks, "I think that's the first time anyone has ever used to word "cool" to describe me." The tone in his voice is light, it's clear he's happy about that fact, but you can't help but feel your heart break at the statement.

"Cool even sounds like a little bit of an understatement to me. But you know... I think I'm a little too intoxicated right now to think of a synonym, so cool it is!"

"Do you have any plans for after college?" Spencer asks, nervously running a finger around the rim of the glass in his lap.

"Nothing as cool as the FBI," You shrug, "Actually, nothing concrete, really. Has me feeling a little inadequate in a room full of geniuses."

"Oh trust me," Spencer scans his head around the room, "Not all of these guys are geniuses."

"Well- they're complete nerds at the very least." You giggle.

"I think I qualify as a nerd too." Spencer smiles back.

"Oh you definitely do," You say, scooting closer to him, taking the beer glass out of his hand, "But you haven't tried to talk down to me about some movie everyone's seen, or some album everyone's heard like I'm some dumb idiot bimbo yet." You huff, finishing what was left of the liquid in the glass with a single gulp. You slam the cup down on the coffee table in front of you, "And even if I was a dumb idiot bimbo- what makes them think I'd care about whatever they'd have to say about OK Computer. We've all listened to Karma Police, big deal!" You realize you're getting a little heated over this and cut yourself off, "Anyways," You smile, "What I mean is you don't seem like some self important loser."

"Oh," Spencer furrows his eyebrows, "Thank...you?"

"Do you want to get out of here?"

"Y-Yeah, Yeah we can go." Spencer nods.

You stand up from the couch, wobbling a little bit as your legs lift you up. The room, is blurry, for a moment all you can see are vague blobs of color instead of people. You shut your eyes tight, blinking them open to fix your blurry vision. You glance over toward Spencer, who's grabbing a tan suit jacket that had been draped over the back of the couch. He slinks the jacket on over his thin frame.

"You alright?" He asks, concern in his eyes. He must have been able to read the drunk all over your face.

"Y-Yeah I'm fine, lets go," You nod, reassuringly. You could handle your liquor, besides you hadn't drank that much tonight.

The two of you head for the door, wherever it is. Spencer was leading the way, and you hoped he had a better sense of direction than you did. The music is suddenly a lot louder as you exit the room you were in, and you suddenly feel a lot drunker. The sudden change in feeling causes you to stumble a little, bumping Spencer in the back. High heels and alcohol were never a good mix.

"Oh- hey," Spencer stops suddenly, turning around to smile at you, "Are you sure you're alright?"

You look around the room, at the hoard of people, the room thick with a combination of weed and cigarette smoke. You've never felt so lost in your life when did it get so crowded in here? The obnoxious yelling of frat guys mixed with the music turned to a volume you were sure would get the cops to show up is absolutely ear-splitting.

"Can you hold my hand?" You ask Spencer, needing his guidance more than you realized.

"Uh, yeah, yeah." He nods. You reach your hand out for Spencer to grab, and it takes him a few times to correctly slot his fingers between yours. You smile a little, watching him try to figure out the perfect hand-holding position. He couldn't be more pathetic if he tried- it was kind of adorable.

Spencer's hand is warm, a little sweaty against your palm. But his grip is tight and reassuring as the two of you walk the rest of the way out of the house.

As soon as the front door opens a brisk wind hits you, nipping at your exposed flesh. Goosebumps already dot up and down your skin, the only warmth you feel is Spencer's hand wrapped around yours, and you knew that warm sensation would end as soon as his hand got cold too.

With a little hesitance, you step outside to brave the cold. Your heels click as you carefully make your way down the concrete steps in front of the house. You stare down at your feat as you make each movement, fearing accidentally rolling your ankle or falling. You'd probably take end up Spencer down with you.

"Hmm," Spencer hums, noticing your trepidation, "Here," Spencer untwines his hand from yours and places an arm around your back, reaching to your other side, but barely touches your other arm, just holds firm enough for you not to fall.

You reach the bottom of the stairs, thankful for Spencer's help,

"You don't have to hold me so far away you know, you can pull me a little closer." You turn your head to look at him, "I mean it is kind of chilly out."

"Oh-uh," Spencer's arm pulls to hold you just a little bit closer, "Better?" His grip is still pretty weak around you, and you sigh.

"You know, Spence, I'm still pretty cold." You frown, staring down the suit jacket he was wearing.

"Do you want to go back inside? I didn't even have a full beer the entire time I was there- I can go get my car real quick and drive you home if you want. It's only a block or so away." Spencer responds, his voice quick, and nervous- it was obvious he was eager to solve the problem of you being so cold.

"No," You laugh, shaking your head, "I'm cold is kind of girl-code for, you should give me your jacket."

"Oh!" Spencer laughs, "Oh- I'm sorry, yeah- here, here have it." Spencer speaks earnestly as he slips the jacket off of his shoulders. He shivers as the loss of the fabric leaves him in only a thin button up and you can't help but feel a little bad for asking him to give it to you. But he hands you the jacket with a smile on his face, which lingers even after you put it on. It provides a marginal amount more of warmth than what you felt prior.

"Better?" Spencer asks.

"Mhm," You nod, "Thank you."

Spencer only gives you a tight lipped smile and a nod in response.

"So," Spencer starts as the two of you begin walking, his hand slipping into yours almost instinctually, it catches you a little off guard, and you feel your cheeks run hot at the gesture. "Where are you headed?"

"Oh- uh, back to Boston I guess," You squint your eyes, thinking, "I usually take the bus, the stop is up that way." You point up ahead in front of you.

"Let me go with you," Spencer says quickly, "I mean- not to your place, but let me ride the bus with you, I don't want you going by yourself."

"Why not? I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself." You retort, trying to hide the fact that secretly, butterflies are growing in your stomach at his eagerness to take care of you.

"I just want to make sure you get home okay." His hand grips yours tighter.

"Okay," A small smile draws at your lips, you don't want to fight him on it anymore, truth was you'd love nothing more than to spend a little bit more time with him, even if it was a short bus ride.

The streets of the city are utterly dead, not a sound to be heard except the whistling of the wind and collision of your high heels and the pavement. You wonder what time it even is, how long had you even spent at that stupid party?

The bus is just as empty as the rest of the city. When it arrives, nobody but you and Spencer are on, the two of you sitting patiently under the bright fluorescent lights for the bus to move. The lights are straining on your eyes, and the horrendously carpet-patterned seats might hurt your eyes even worse.

"What stop do you get off at?" Spencer asks, being the one sitting the closest to the button to let the driver know when it's your stop.

"University Drive."

The lights dim as the bus driver pulls away from the stop you'd been picked up at, and you're able to relax your eyes once more. You let your eyes relax until all of a sudden they're closed and then-

"Hey," You feel your head being jerked, "We're here."

"Hmm?" You grumble, slowly opening your eyes.

Your stomach drops, and you're absolutely mortified to see your head is rested on Spencer's shoulder. You whip your head off from where it laid and quickly stand up from the seat.

The bus ride was fifteen minutes, you couldn't believe you fell asleep. Much less fell asleep on some guy you barely knew. You're a mess of worry as you exit the bus, thinking about how awkward you probably made Spencer feel. You're so caught up in your thoughts you barely notice how cold it is as you step outside.

"Hey, look, I'm right over there." You say, pointing to the large dorm building behind you.

"I'll walk you to the door." He smiles, and your panic immediately slides away.

You walk with your head down, looking intently at the sidewalk under you as you head forward to your building, trying your best to keep in a straight line. You had to admit, you were pretty upset your time with Spencer would be ending in just a few short minutes from now. You tried to scheme up a plan to get Spencer to stay longer, but no ideas would stick to your brain. You sigh, crossing your arms across your chest as you approach the front door.

You whip around to look at Spencer who's trailing just a few inches behind you.

"Well," You sigh, "I guess this is it." You pull your mouth to one side in a small pout.

"Yeah- I-uh, I guess so," He shrugs, "I had a nice time tonight, thanks for, making my first party experience a lot better than i was expecting." Spencer's hands are shoved into his pocket, and he rocks back and forth while he talks, unsure of himself as his eyes dart all around you.

"Of course," You grin, letting your hands drop down at your sides, "Say," You cut yourself off, and shove your hands into the pocket of Spencer's coat, fishing, until you find what you were hoping for. You pull out a pen from one of the coat pockets, and grab Spencer's hand. "I want to see you again before you become some big tough FBI agent." You smile, scrawling the digits of your phone number on the back of his hand. "Call me sometime?" You hold his hand up for an extra moment, before letting it drop back down.

"Mmmhm, yeah," Spencer bobs his head up and down vigorously.

"Okay, good. Goodnight Spencer," You smile, giving him a small wave.

"Goodnight y/n" He smiles back, as the two of you turn around to go your separate ways.

You notice as you turn back around that you're still wearing Spencer's jacket, part of you has the urge to call out to him to give it back, the other part of you wants to keep it- if he wants to get it back, he'll have to come see you again.

"Wait! Y/n!" You hear Spencer from just behind you. You frown a little, thinking your plan to keep Spencer's jacket had been foiled and he was calling to get it back from you.

"Yeah?" You whip your head back around.

"Did you mean it when you said to let you know if I wanted to have my first kiss- and that you'd change that I've never um-"

"Uhh..huh," You responded, a little to eager as an uncontrollable smile began to tug at the ends of your lips, "Are you asking me to kiss you Spencer?"

"Maybe," His voice breaks, unable to look you directly in the eyes.

You raise one eyebrow, "Maybe?"

"Ahem. Uh- I mean- yes."

Before you know it, you're tugging at his tie, pulling him close to you. Your lips are on his, just a peck at first, Spencer is hesitant. He is unsure of what to do with any part of his body, his lips move carefully, his hands unsure of just where they should be, they rest on your hips- before they move right under your shoulders. You make the decision to tilt your head and deepen the kiss. Spencer's lips are soft with inexperience, he has absolutely no clue what he's doing, yet you can't get enough.

The two of you pull away slowly, neither one of you wanting to give up the kiss- but you eventually have to surrender to the night and to the cold. You place one final peck on Spencer's lips.

"Now you have to call me." You giggle, unable to hide your excitement.

"Yeah-yeah," Spencer nods, eyes wide, his lips are shiny and his cheeks a pretty shade of pink. "Absolutely."

"Goodnight Spencer." You say once more, before turning around to head inside.

A/N: whew! when I tell you I spent all day writing this i mean all day! that's okay though... im obsessed with grad school! reid. anyways..... thinking about making a (potentially smutty) part two to this ;-)

[verinarin]

Drunken mind, sober thoughts

fluff | slightly suggestive | Rafayel’s low tolerance towards alcohol has left you in a little bit of a problem, his drunken mind spoke his truest thoughts

a/n this is my first time writing for Rafayel to combat my writer’s block ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´Д｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡, but don’t worry Veritas Ratio lovers I would come bearing gift in the near future, NOT PROOFREAD !

The night’s at its prime and so does Rafayel, he lavishes himself in fruitless conversation amongst people with different ulterior motives, his lips curves into a mischievous smile as his lips touched the rim of his liquor filled glass

As a result of his carelessness in indulging alcohol as well as his low tolerance, a hue of crimson painted his face. The colour contrasts beautifully with his pale skin, leaving both men and women mesmerised whilst talking towards him

This however does not bode with you, Thomas knew that Rafayel would mindlessly quench his thirst with alcohol that’s why he specifically made a curfew for Rafayel and well the night must come to an end for the charismatic painter

With a sigh leaving your body you leaned down towards his neck, “Rafayel, you have an important interview tomorrow. You need to go home okay ?,” you whisper softly, not wanting to upset the visibly drunk man

With a huff he swiftly finished his glass, he flash an apologetic smile towards his ‘friends’, he quickly stood up from his seat and bid the crowd farewell, you could feel multiple pair of eyes glaring at you silently cursing you from taking Rafayel away from them

“Miss bodyguard, I’m still bored. How do you plan to fix that hmm ?” Rafayel pouts as he try to steady his steps, you let out a small groan before intertwining your fingers with his, letting his weight slightly rest on your body for support, “You can’t even walk straight,”

“Ah that’s true !, but once we’re at the hotel room we could still play something don’t you think ?” he looks down towards you with that trademarked smiles of his

“You need to sleep Rafayel,” you huff as you tap the room’s key onto the censor, you carefully lead Rafayel towards the bed, but with him being stubborn you could only manage to seat him on the couch

“Rafayel you’re flushed red right now, it would be better to sleep now to minimise your hangover in the morning,” you kneel before the man, the soft yellow glow of the moon illuminates his skin, his lips curves into a pout as he defies your order

“Can’t sleep, don’t want to,” he huffs as he fold his arms and look away, you can’t help but to chuckle seeing the man before you acting like a child, “Alright let’s make a deal then,”

“I’m listening,” he turns his head back towards you, your hand reach forward to gently caress his cheek, the skin burns warmly against your nerves, “I would give you a reward you can redeem now, whatever it is you want I’ll give it to you in exchange of you sleeping afterwards,”

“Deal, I want you to sleep beside me, hold me close and keep me safe during the night,” he replies without much thought, it’s like he already has this request at the back of his mind waiting for a chance to come to fruition

It took you a couple of seconds to weigh in the pros and cons, well his request is pretty effective in keeping tabs on him so you simply nodded and with that somehow the man before you gain a foothold of sobriety for just a second to drag his own body towards the bed, “I’m stuffy in this shirt, can you change my clothes please ?,”

In a normal day you would probably hit his head for requesting that but in light of his current predicament and the fact that you’re too tired to argue you simply rummage through his baggage and bring back a pyjama set for him to wear

“Here you go, now I want to change too so I expect you to finish changing once I’m done,” you set the clothes beside him before taking your own fresh clothes and change into a more comfortable clothes, once you exit the bathroom you could only see Rafayel waiting for you like a loss puppy

“Why aren’t you in your pyjamas yet ?,” you sigh before setting down your dirty clothes and walk towards him, “I can’t reach my leg, can’t wear pants,” hearing that you ascertain that this man is dumber than usual becomes there’s no connection between his leg and dragging his pants down

“Well I guess you’re sleeping in that outfit then,” you shrug as you walk away from him, but he prevented you by grasping your wrist, “Please change my clothes for me, I don’t like feeling sticky,” he whines and of course whatever he wants he’ll get

You steel yourself as you kneel down before him and start to slowly unbutton his shirt, you could see his chest heaving up and down as you carefully undress him, “Y’know I feel like your mom, because this is not in my job description,”

“It would be,” Rafayel replies calmly, shutting down your small chuckles. “What do you mean by that ?,” you ask as you drag the shirt off his shoulders

“Well in the future you’ll be my lover so this would also be a reoccurring task,” he smirks as he took his shirt off and bringing the pyjama shirt on to your hand, your merely laugh at his drunken mind not knowing that it’s his sincerest wish

“Yeah yeah I’m sure it’ll be delightful to have you as a boyfriend,” you tease as you button up his shirt, now this part is tricky, his pants. “Can’t you undress your pants by yourself?,”

“What are you shy ?,” he chuckles as he leans down and hold eye contact towards you, “It’s inappropriate for me y’know,” you roll your eyes, hoping that he would not sense your embarrassment

“Why would it be inappropriate ?, you would see what’s underneath it when the time comes,” he winks and with that you quickly stood up, he whines and apologises. He quickly change his pants by himself why you stare at the wall waiting for him and at the same time trying to calm your breath

And with that you’re now laying on the bed with Rafayel resting his head against your chest, his arms wrapped around your waist like a vice, “So soft and warm,” he mumbles, you can’t help but to find it hard to maintain your composure when there’s a thin line that Rafayel is crossing,

“You didn’t mean what you say, you’ll forget it in the morning,” you huff as you pet his hair, you could feel his displeasure at your sentiment since he nuzzled his face deeper into your chest, not wanting to look at you, “I won’t forget it and even if I do, everything that comes off my mouth is sincere and true,” he mumbles

“Drunken mind is often filled with sober thoughts,”

[babydollmarauders]

IN THE LIGHTS — JACK HUGHES

jack hughes x fem!reader

12 DAYS OF KINKMAS

summary: in which y/n and Jack are decorating the tree, and he finds another use for the christmas lights

warnings: fluffy cheesiness in the beginning, NSFW CONTENT, bondage, p in v (unprotected), fingering, degradation, praise, spit. (4k words)

notes: welcome to day 7 of the 12 days of kinkmas! where i wrote this smut in…not at all at christmas time! it’s no surprise to me that this is my favorite one because… it’s Jack.

“please, Jack?”

i’ve been begging for a week. pleading with my boyfriend to finally decorate our christmas tree.

usually, when i was back in my own apartment, i would make a fun night out of it with my friends. all of us getting together to listen to christmas music, drink spiked hot cocoa, and decorate my tree before hunkering down for holiday movies with big bowls of popcorn; that were meant to be used to make garland, but somehow always ended up with more in our mouths than on the string. but now i live with my boyfriend and his brother, and i had hoped we could decorate the tree together; starting a new tradition.

Jack seemed to love the idea when i brought it up, knowing how excited i get around the holidays and how much i loved the season. but with his hockey schedule being so busy, we haven’t exactly had the time to decorate it amongst roadies and the various home games and practices.

but now it’s December 20th, five days away from christmas, and he has a rare free night at home.

logically, i know Jack is probably dreading the decorating. my tidy boyfriend will surely hate the various boxes of ornaments around our living room and the sparkly tinsel that always seems to shed onto the floor. i know he’ll probably complain about my putting on the chipmunks christmas album, and the fact that i’m so anal-retentive about the placement of the ornaments and how the lights are spiraled around the tree.

but i also know that he’ll do it to make me happy. i know that although he’ll complain about some things, he’ll smile when i bring out the christmas cookies, and he’ll tease me about how the stockings have to be hung just right on the entertainment center or i’ll get chills and have to fix them while he sleeps.

which is exactly what i’m banking on to persuade him to say yes to giving up his relaxing night of sitting on the couch and watching hockey in order to help me decorate.

Jack looks over at me, situated under his arm on the couch, my cheek pressed to his shoulder as i make my best puppy dog eyes up at him.

“yeah.” he finally sighs, shaking his head as a bright grin breaks out across my face.

“thank you!” i squeal, quickly shifting from his hold. i sling a leg over him, straddling his lap and cupping his face in my hands. i pepper kisses all over his cheeks, forehead, and nose.

“alright, alright!” his face turns pink as he giggles, playfully trying to push me away.

i pull back just long enough to give him some reprieve before swooping back in and pressing a kiss to his lips.

“i love you.” i remind him sweetly, winding my arms behind his neck.

“i love you too, kiss monster.” i laugh at his teasing nickname, leaning forward to press my lips against his once more.

his hands come up to hold my ass and he chuckles into the kiss as i squirm a little at his touch.

“oh, c’mon guys, really?” our moment is broken by Luke’s voice, and i pull back to find my boyfriend’s brother walking through the living room, pulling a hoodie over his head. “other people live here, you know? i don’t wanna see my brother fondling his girlfriend in our living room.”

Jack’s head tips back in laughter, “fondling?”

“yeah, you know, what you were just doing?” Luke raises his eyebrows, pointing at his older brother’s hands that still rest on my butt. “i know you didn’t go to college but that’s like a fifth grade level vocab word, dude.”

“get outta here, you cock-block!” Jack huffs, one hand leaving my body in order to give Luke the middle finger and then shoo him off.

the younger boy shrugs, snagging his coat off the hooks by the front door.

“oh!” i pipe up before he can leave, garnering his attention. “where are you going? Jack said we could decorate the tree tonight! do you wanna join us?”

Luke’s eyes flick from me to his brother, and i look back at my boyfriend to find him looking at his younger sibling with the ‘be nice or i’ll convince Nico to make you skate extra laps’ look.

it’s a pretty oftenly used facial expression between the two, ever since Jack found me crying in our closet early this year because i thought Luke hated me after i moved in. that was also when i learned that Luke doesn’t dislike me, he’s just an extremely blunt person.

“i’m sorry, y/n/n, i have some friends from U of M in town for a couple days. we’re gonna hang out and catch up.” Luke explains nicely, obviously trying not to hurt my feelings. “i look forward to seeing it when i get home though! Jesper said your tree designs are legendary.”

“okay.” i give him an understanding smile, nodding my head. “have fun! and be careful!”

he gives me a thumbs up, heading out the door. as it clicks shut, i look back at my boyfriend, who’s already looking at me with a pitiful smile.

“i’m sorry,” he starts, rubbing a comforting hand up and down my back. “i know you wanted it to be all three of us.”

i shrug, “it’s fine. he should catch up with his friends.”

“it’ll be just us then.” Jack smiles, “a new tradition for us.”

“a new tradition for us.” i repeat, grinning as i lean forward to peck his lips.

**

it took another couple hours for Jack and i to finally get up and drag out all the decorations i had brought when i moved in; the boxes being stuffed in the back of the storage closet.

“jesus, babe.” he huffs, setting the final box down on the coffee table. “i knew you brought a lot, but six boxes?”

i shrug, already pulling the first box open, finding a wide array of ornaments inside.

“a box for everything.” i explain to him, pulling open a second box. “two boxes of ornaments, a box of lights, a box of tinsel, a box of stockings and their hooks, and a box of all my stuff for garland making.”

Jack rolls his eyes, pulling open another box. he reaches his hand in, pulling out a red and white knitted stocking with an embroidered ‘J’ on it.

“is this… for me?” his voice is soft as he looks at me in questioning.

“yeah! i made it after you asked me to move in!”

“you made this? just for me?” he steps in closer to me, a prideful smile on his face. “my girlfriend is magical with her hands.”

i chuckle, pulling the stocking from his grip.

“oh, don’t act like you didn’t already know that.” i wink and he pulls me in by my hips, pulling me flush against him.

“oh trust me, i knew it.” his words drip with lust, his head dipping down to capture my lips in a kiss, but it’s in that moment that the christmas song that fills the air switches, now playing ‘The Chipmunk Song’.

Jack groans, pulling away. “even the music is cock-blocking me tonight.”

the laugh that slips through my lips is quickly followed by a snort, which makes my boyfriend grin, crinkling his nose.

“let’s just start decorating.” he nods at my statement, letting me step away from his touch.

as i begin fluffing the tree branches, making sure they’re nice and spread for the decorations, Jack opens the last few boxes. i glance over for a second, watching him pull out two more stockings, matching his, these ones with Luke and i’s initials on them.

the corners of his lips quirk up as he sets them on the entertainment center, more than likely not wanting to risk hanging them without my guidance.

i finish fluffing the tree, pulling a can of spray snow from the tinsel box, and Jack throws me an odd look as i begin spraying the tree.

“what’s that?” he questions, coming over to join me by the tree.

“it’s spray snow.” i tell him as i continue spraying. “see how it gives the tree a white dusted look, as if it’s been in the snow?”

he nods, his brows still threaded together as he watches. i can feel his eyes on me as i bend over to spray the bottom branches of the tree, making sure no spots are left bare.

but when i stand back up, my boyfriend is stood right behind me, his hands coming down on my waist and pulling my ass against him.

“you know what you’re doing.” he hums, and with the feeling of his semi-hard bulge against me, i have a feeling he doesn’t just mean with the tree.

“Jack.” i scold playfully, turning around in his grip. “the lights please?”

he sighs, letting his hands fall back down to his sides as he steps back.

“right.” he huffs, turning back to the boxes and pulling out a string of perfectly untangled lights, thanks to my storage hack of wrapping them an empty paper towel roll.

he begins unraveling the lights, and once he has the entire string of them into his hands, he sets them to the side.

turning back to me, a smirk is glued to his lips, a dark look in his eyes. i squint at him, crossing my arms over my chest.

“what are you thinking?” i ask suspiciously, scanning him up and down. but he just shrugs, feigning innocence.

“who? me? i’m not thinking anything.” he could possibly be convincing, if i didn’t know that exact look all too well.

he’s been horny ever since we were on the couch, and this is his ‘i just got a dirty idea’ face.

“i’ll tell you what,” i start, holding a finger up to stop him mid-step forward. he hums, urging me to continue.

“you’re horny, i’m horny, we both want sex right now. but, you know how much doing the tree means to me. after we finish the tree, we can do whatever dirty little thing just popped into your head. but first, i want the tree done.”

Jack nods rapidly, “deal!”

i giggle at his excitement, watching as he turns back around and grabs the lights again, walking over to the tree.

“alright, how do we do this?”

i guide Jack through plugging the lights in before spiraling them around the tree, from bottom to top. once that’s done, Jack lifts me up, letting me place the topper on the tree.

“what’s next?” he asks me, standing in front of all the open boxes, his hands on his hips.

“draping the tinsel.” he groans at my words, pulling the tinsel out of its box.

we work together to spiral it around the tree, making sure it doesn’t cover the lights, before we finally start on ornaments.

with the two of us, it doesn’t take too long, but i can tell my boyfriend is getting impatient. especially with the way he keeps having to lift me up to put ornaments on the top branches, my body pressed against his as he does so.

the last thing we do is the stockings, me guiding Jack on how to space them out so that they’re evenly spaced at the front of the entertainment center.

when we finally finish it all, about an hour and a half later, i stand back, looking over our finished project with a smile.

Jack stands behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist, my back pulled against his chest.

“it looks great, baby.” he compliments, pressing a kiss to my cheek. blood rushes to my face, biting my lip. “Jesper was right, you really are legendary.”

“thank you, love.”

he wastes no time, squeezing my waist tighter as he speaks up again, “so…”

“yes, Jack.” i laugh, nodding my head. “now we can do whatever you thought of earlier.”

he excitedly pulls away, spinning me around and gripping my chin, making me look up at him. his eyes are dark, his voice low as he speaks.

“go to the bedroom, i want you naked and on the bed when i get in there.”

i nod, speeding off to the bedroom. as soon as i step through the threshold of our room, i’m tearing my sweater over my head, letting it drop to the floor. as i walk over to the bed, i unclip my bra, throwing it to the side as well. i stop at the edge of the bed, peeling my jeans down my legs, along with my panties, leaving me bare as i crawl to the middle of the bed.

i sit quietly, my legs tucked under me and my hands clasped on my knees.

the soft flow of christmas music from the living room stops, and i can hear Jack’s footsteps down the hall, getting closer and closer. i squirm a little in excitement, shifting my weight around and squeezing my thighs together.

he steps into the bedroom, one hand behind his back, smirking when he sees that i did what he told me.

“good girl.” he gruffs, stepping up to the edge of the mattress. “give me your hands.”

i hold my hands out, and it’s then that he brings his own out from behind his back, a spare string of lights in his grasp.

“what are you doing?” i ask, but my question is answered by his actions.

he grips my hands in one hand, pressing my wrists together, and begins wrapping the lights around my them.

“is this okay?” he asks softly, looking me in the eye as he speaks. i smile at his care, grateful to have a boyfriend that makes sure i give explicit consent to what he’s doing.

“yeah.” i nod, “this is okay.”

“you remember your safe word?” he finishes tying the lights around my wrists, not too tight, but just enough that i can’t slip my hands through.

“assist.” i tell him, and he smiles in confirmation.

“good.”

and like a flip of a switch, the soft and gentle Jack is gone, replaced by a dark and dominating one.

he allows me to watch him pull his hoodie cover his head, bringing his t-shirt with it, before he pushes me back on the bed. he crawls slowly over top of me, pushing my arms above my head and dipping down to lock his lips with mine.

the kiss is rough and dominating, his tongue pushing past my lips to tangle with mine. he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth, pulling back with it caught between his teeth before letting it pop back into place.

he trails hot, wet kisses down my jawline, sucking gently at my neck as his hand grips my breast harshly, pinching my nipple between his fingers and pulling.

my back arches, pushing my breasts up towards him, a moan sounding from my throat.

“Jack.” i whimper as his hand begins to trail down my abdomen, getting closer and closer to where i need him.

i can feel him smirk against my skin, dipping his fingers down to find my clit. my hips buck against him, my hands pulling against the lights in attempt to separate so i can grip his back, and i whine when they can’t.

he begins to circle my clit with his thumb, rubbing in figure eights, and the high pitched sounds escaping my lips bounce off the walls of the bedroom.

my eyes squeeze shut, my chin tipping up towards the ceiling, and Jack pulls his lips from my neck, staring down at me and admiring my blissed state.

while his thumb rubs, he runs a finger through my wetness using it as lubrication to slip one finger into my heat.

my walls clench at the intrusion, my eyes rolling back as he crooks his finger inside of me.

“Jacky, please.” i breathe out, grinding myself down upon his hand. my own hands grip the pillow above me, the only thing i can think to do with them restricted.

“such a slut. you wanna come so bad, don’t you?” he spits out, “wanna make a mess all over my hand.”

i whimper, nodding my head rapidly as he slips a second finger into me, thrusting and curling them to push against my g-spot.

pressure builds in my stomach as he continues fucking me with his fingers, stretching me with a third digit. my toes curl, my walls clenching around him, and i know he can tell i won’t last much longer.

“you wanna come? say it.” Jack leans forward, whispering in my ear. “say you wanna come on my fingers like a fucking slut.”

i gasp as he thrusts his fingers in again, my orgasm quickly approaching.

“i’m a slut.” i squeak, a moan falling past my lips. “i wanna come on your fingers like a slut.”

i pry my eyes open, my boyfriend hovering his face above mine, and he nods.

“come.” he commands, and as if he summoned it out of me, my climax hits, my breath catching in my throat as the knot in my stomach disperses, my eyes rolling back and my hands struggling against their restraints.

Jack’s fingers still, only his thumb continues moving against my clit, and he leans down to kiss me. pulling away once my orgasm is done.

he sits back, pulling his fingers out of me and leaving me clenching around nothing, feeling empty. his hand smacks my thigh, and i open my eyes again to look at him, watching as his hand rises to his lips, sucking his fingers clean of my release, one at a time.

i release a shaky breath as he hums, my eyes falling down to find his erection straining against his sweatpants.

“you taste so sweet, baby.” he whispers, bringing my attention back to his face. “you want a taste?”

my lips part, nodding, and he smirks; but instead of pushing a finger to my lips, he dips down to eye level with my pussy, his tongue darting out as he starts licking through my arousal. my hips wiggle, bucking up against him, and he pushes them down before pulling away.

he crawls back over top of me, squeezing my jaw open, and spits, letting a slow string of my cum drip down onto my tongue. he closes my jaw, raising an eyebrow at me, and i swallow before opening again, sticking my tongue out to show him.

“such a good girl for me.” he praises.

my arms ache, and i contemplate asking him to untie me, but instead i wait for him to crawl off of me before i lower them back down to my stomach.

i watch with baited breath and a bitten lip as he drags his sweatpants down his hips, his boxers going with. his cock springs free, slapping against his lower stomach as he kicks his bottoms to the side.

my whine echoes through the room at the sight, longing to feel him in my hand, and Jack finds amusement in my torture, slowly walking back to the bed.

“you want my cock so bad, don’t you?” he pouts, mocking me. “you want me buried in your tight little pussy, filling you up?”

i let out a strangled whimper, nodding my head.

“please.” i beg, already knowing where this is headed. “please, Jack, i want you. i want you to fuck me so bad.”

he climbs onto the bed, cupping my cheek as he settles over top of me.

“you made me wait, maybe i should make you wait too.” he teases, beginning to pull back, but i quickly lock my arms around his neck, holding him in place. my tied up wrists helping in my endeavor. i shake my head.

“no, please. i’ll be good.” i plead. “i’ll be so good, just please fuck me.”

Jack nods, pressing a kiss to my lips. “okay.”

he uses his knee to spread my thighs further apart, one hand wrapping around himself, guiding his dick through my folds. my legs wrap around his waist, my back arching as his tip rubs against my swollen clit.

“you ready?” he stares down into my eyes, raised brows as he questions me.

“yes,” i start, “plea-”

i don’t even get to finish my words, cut off as he thrusts deep into me. i squeak, my eyes rolling back as he wastes no time; pulling almost all the way out before harshly snapping his hips against mine again.

“shit!” he curses, and i blink my eyes open to watch his head tip back in pleasure. “squeezing me like a fucking vice, baby.”

his voice is strained, and my hands grip his back to ground myself, my nails digging into his skin, surely leaving crescent shaped indentations.

his strokes slow before speeding up again, getting rougher with each thrust. my breathing quickens, and i use my arms to pull his lips back to mine.

our lips move in tandem, his tongue poking through to taste mine, our connection occasionally broken for a moan or a breath. i trail away from his lips, dragging the tip of my tongue along his jaw until a reach the end, placing an open mouthed kiss below his ear.

he groans, my hips bucking up to meet his thrusts, and i suck his earlobe between my lips before i go back to his.

our kisses are messy, teeth clashing with our rushed movements, but it fits the scene perfectly. his hand comes down to cup my breast, pinching and pulling my nipple as our skin slaps together.

the pressure begins to build again, a knot tying in my stomach, and my abdomen tightens, my walls clenching around him.

i’m still oversensitive from my first orgasm, and i can feel my second rapidly approaching.

“fuck, you gonna come on my cock?” he grunts, and i shake my head ‘yes’, speechless at the feeling that’s washing over me.

“do it.”

my body tenses, the sensations of him thrusting inside me while playing with my nipples throwing me over the edge. my nails dig deeper into his back as i finish, and his thrusts become sloppier and hurried.

within a minute, his hips stutter, his body tensing just like mine had moments ago, and he quickly pulls out, ropes of cum painting my stomach as he finishes.

our heavy breaths are the only sound left in the apartment, Jack bowing out from under my arms and flopping down on the bed beside me.

we take a few moments to replenish the oxygen in our lungs and Jack gently unties my wrists, pressing kisses to the skin there, despite them being perfectly fine.

as soon as my hands are free, i’m swiping a digit through his release on my stomach, looking over at him as i lick his cum off my finger.

“fuck.” he drags out, lust rejuvenating in his eyes. “baby, you’ve already had 2 orgasms, don’t make me wanna give you another.”

i bite back a smile, shrugging my shoulders, and he gets up, stalking into our en-suite bathroom, coming back a second later with a wet washcloth. he kneels on the bed, wiping my stomach clean before disappearing again.

when he reappears, he holds one of his t-shirts from our closet in our en-suite. he pulls on some clean boxers from his drawers, pulling another pair out, before coming back over to me. he helps me into the extra boxers, before i sit up.

“arms up, baby.” i follow his directions, letting him slip the t-shirt over my head before snuggling back into my pillow.

he climbs back into bed, pulling me closer until my head rests on his chest, and i mellow, listening to his heartbeat.

“so, is that part of the tradition too? or just the tree decorating?” he jokes, making me giggle in amusement.

his arms tighten around me as he places a kiss to my hair.

“check back next year, i’ll decide then.”

[heavenlyhischier]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞

word count: 6k

summary: The moment you met Nico, every interaction you had left you throwing pennies in the wishing wells of your mind.

warnings: platonic!jack x reader, unrequited love (?), sorts angsty, drinking, slight jealous nico, trevor x reader implied but for like literally a second, unedited

note: this is very prologue-esque and more of a background to the actual story so yeah. questions, comments, concerns are always welcome

series masterlist

Being five years old and one of the only kids on your street wasn’t exactly fun, but when the Hughes family bought the neighboring house and your mom told you that they had three sons, you were over the moon. You didn’t care that they were all boys, you were just glad to have potential friends that you could play with, even if it meant learning how to play a sport. However, no one ever expected you to become attached to the hip of Jack Hughes, and him to yours.

From the moment you met, he was your best friend. He included you in everything, taught you how to play street hockey, and he even yelled at his brothers if they were being a little mean to you. People often told the two of you that you were destined to get married, but neither of you agreed. You both knew you were always going to be by each other’s side, just as best friends, for as long as you lived. Even years later, and a few relocations, the two of you were never far from each other.

OCT 2019

“Jack, are you sure they don’t mind me coming,” You asked for what seemed like the hundredth time that night, “I don’t want to intrude on your team thing.”

You leaned forward over the center console so you could look at Jack, ignoring Ty’s quiet chuckles as he drove to his teammates house. Nerves crawled across your skin as the thought of meeting his teammates slowly inched closer to reality. This was different from meeting his friends from World Juniors; these were professional hockey players making more money than you could ever dream of. Your eyes were wide and swimming with worry as Jack turned to look at you, his lips turned up in a smile as he shook his head.

“It’s fine,” He said your name through a breathy laugh, “I promise. Besides, they all really want to meet you.”

“And see if he’s lying about you not being his girlfriend,” Ty added, casting you a playful wink before turning back to the road.

“Yeah, that too,” Jack feigned annoyance as you rolled your eyes, “But mostly they just want to meet the person I talk to all the time.”

With Jack’s reassurance, you leaned back in the seat and closed your eyes, trying to bring your heart rate back to a normal speed. The sounds of the city faded into a hum as you relaxed into the cool leather of the Range Rover, trying to clear your mind of the anxious thoughts that plagued you any time you were to meet new people. Jack being by your side brought comfort, but that unfortunately didn’t stop the knots from twisting in your stomach.

What if they didn’t like you? What if you embarrassed yourself in front of them? What if Jack stopped talking to you because you didn’t fit in? That thought alone made you want to hurl in the backseat of the car, but the feeling of the car stopping followed by seatbelts unbuckling tore you away from the insecurities and back to reality.

Ty and Jack shared a look with each other as you stared at the house, gripping the edge of the seat like you were about to fall out of it. Ty hops out of the car and makes a beeline straight for the house, while Jack opens your door and gently grabs your wrist, tugging your body out of the car. He’s known you long enough to know that you would talk your way out of going inside if he gave you the opportunity, so he didn’t.

“C’mon, they’re gonna like you, I promise,” He tried as the two of you walked towards the door, “Plus, they probably want to ask you how you’ve put up with me for so long.”

You swallowed the growing lump in your throat, pushing back the feeling of being a foreigner amongst hockey stars and their girlfriends. You didn’t want to ruin your only chance at a first impression because you were nervous, so you put up the best facade you could as Jack pushed the door open. He glanced at you one last night, jerking his head as a signal for you to go before him, and you did.

People you’ve only seen in pictures were scattered across the house, only a few of them breaking conversations to glance at you. Those who did, were instantly on their feet and making their way towards you with beaming smiles and a teasing glint to their eyes. You forced yourself to let go of the fabric of your dress that you had been crumbling between your fists, extending your hand to meet who you knew to be Andy, thanks to what you’ve seen on twitter.

“Hey guys! You must be Y/N,” He greeted, carefully shaking your hand, “It’s nice to finally meet you! I’m Andy and this is my wife, Rachel.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” You grinned as you swapped his hand with his wife’s, hoping that your own wasn’t damp with sweat, “Thank you so much for including me.”

“Any friend of Jack’s is a friend of ours,” Andy stressed the word, brows slightly lifting as he glanced between the two of you.

“Well, I truly appreciate it,” You laughed, “Jack’s more like an annoying brother, so it’ll be nice to know other people in the city.”

Jack stayed close enough to your side as some of his teammates slowly filtered towards him, greeting them in their own ways before they moved to introduce themselves to you. You slowly felt the weight lift from your shoulders as they treated you with nothing but kindness and like you were no different than them. You’d barely been able to move from the door since your arrival, too busy making introductions and brushing off comments about Jack being your boyfriend.

Then, you watched as a guy who was easily the most attractive person you’d ever seen in your life approached you with kind eyes and a gentle smile. He had his hair tucked underneath a backwards cap, his body clad with dark jeans and a tan shirt that hung loosely over his frame. You forced yourself to look away, eyes darting to the floor as you, once again, grasped at the fabric of your dress. Jack takes notice to the way your body language shifts, and a coy smile toys at his lips, but he knows now isn’t the time to tease you.

“Hi, I’m Nico,” He reaches his hand out to you once he’s standing right in front of you.

His eyes were brown; the kind of brown that reminded you of fresh soil in a blooming garden. His voice was deep and accented in a way that enveloped you like a warm and comforting blanket. His touch made your heart race and nerves bubble in your chest as you take his hand in your own. It was weird how quickly you felt yourself become attracted to someone you quite literally just met, but you were going to keep it to yourself for as long as you could.

“Hi,” You shyly introduce yourself, the hair on your arm raising, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” He smiled, dimples denting his cheeks in a way that almost sent you to your knees.

You dropped his hand, your own falling to your side, and you swear you saw Nico drag his eyes up and down the length of your body. Suddenly regretting your outfit choice, you cleared your throat and turned away from him and towards Jack, who had been watching the interaction with an amused smile. You narrowed your eyes at him, earning a laugh as he shook his head.

Your head snapped towards the large group of people when you heard your name being called, “Why don’t you come tell us how you’ve managed to put up with Jack for so long?”

NOV 2020

Going back home for American thanksgiving was thrown off the table the second Toronto had one of its biggest storms in years. The airport, and many surrounding others, were shut down with an undetermined date of reopening due to so much damage. With your mom being American, your family celebrated both Canadian and American thanksgiving, but your school schedule only allowed you time to go back home in November, and you’d been looking forward to it for months. The second your mom called you with the news, you couldn’t help but deflate in disappointment.

When Jack found out you were missing the holiday with your family, he immediately extended an invite for his team party to you. It wasn’t going to be much, he had said, just some of the wives and their girlfriends, including his own, having dinner. You initially declined the offer, telling him you didn’t want to third wheel, but it wasn’t until Jack’s girlfriend showed up at your apartment door to get ready with you that you truly realized how badly you wanted to go.

“Thank you,” You said for the hundredth time, smoothing out the wrinkles in your shirt before following her out the door.

“Stop thanking me,” She playfully rolled her eyes, “No one should have to be alone on Thanksgiving, and Jack agreed when I suggested I come over and “make” you come with us.”

Knowing that she came on her own accord made tears line your eyes, and it made you feel welcome. Out of all of his previous relationships, none of them ever made you feel comfortable like she did. They all tried to force you out of his life because they were convinced you were in love with him or vice versa, but not Ava. Ava was gentle and she was kind, and you had no idea how Jack managed to pull her.

You followed her out of your apartment building and to the parking spot Jack’s car was occupying. You slid into the backseat, responding to Jack’s greeting with one of your own as Ava put all of her stuff in the trunk. Once everyone was buckled in and ready to go, Jack set off to whoever’s house the dinner was being hosted at and the three of you fell into natural conversation, making the drive there fly by.

You helped them carry the food they brought inside, poking fun at Jack because you knew he didn’t cook any of it. He insisted he was actually a phenomenal chef, but you were quick to remind him of the undercooked chicken from the week prior, and he went silent. When you walked inside, you were shocked to see so many of the guys and their significant others spread throughout the house. Most of them weren’t from the states, and you fully expected them to be home, but you supposed they couldn’t pass up the bonding opportunity.

You followed the couple into the kitchen, listening to Ashlee’s instruction of where to set the tray of desserts in your arms. When you turned to follow after Jack and Ava to go mingle with some of the others, you ran straight into the chest of the one person you didn’t want to be alone with.

Nico’s hands carefully grasped your biceps to keep you steady as your hands instinctively flew to his chest. The feeling of his calm heartbeat underneath your palms was a stark contrast to your own as it slammed into your ribcage and your thoughts became hazy underneath his heavy stare. You swallowed thickly, slowly craning your neck to meet his eyes. He had a smile plastered on his face, his facial hair reduced to nothing but stubble now, as his dark eyes gazed into your own.

“Careful, ” He teased as his thumbs rubbed subtle circles against you, making your skin light on fire.

“I didn’t know you were right there,” You mumbled, your cheeks growing warm at the unfamiliar nickname as your fingers slightly scrunched the fabric of his shirt.

“I could tell,” He laughed, “I didn’t know you were coming today. I figured you would go back to your family.”

You couldn’t help but let your shoulders slump at the mention of your family, your eyes falling to the ground as you dropped your hands and pinched at the hem of your shirt, “I was supposed to, but the weather is too bad for planes right now. So, I stayed here instead.”

Nico, noticing the shift in your demeanor, dropped his hands down to your elbows, squeezing them gently as he spoke, “I’m sorry. Being away from family is not easy, but helps to focus on the people around you. That’s what I do when I miss home.”

You tried to cover your pathetic sniffle by clearing your throat, but he picked up on it anyway. Nico was quick to pull you into his chest, his arms wrapping around your upper body as you instinctively wrapped your own around his waist. His embrace was warm and it was safe as silent tears slid down your cheeks, your hold tightening ever so slightly.

While you wouldn’t say you were the closest with Nico, he had grown to be someone you considered a friend during your time in Jersey. He always treated you with nothing short of kindness and respect, and that didn’t help the ever growing crush you had on him. You occasionally let yourself believe that his lingering touches and flirty comments meant something, but you were always quick to slap yourself out of it. You knew better, or you thought that you did.

“Let’s go out there and enjoy the dinner,” Nico suggested as he pulled away from you, voice soft and gentle, “You can sit with some of us at the “singles table”.”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” You shyly smiled as you wiped at your cheeks to get rid of the any evidence of your sadness.

You sit with Nico and a few others at what he dubbed the “singles table”, which was really the couch closest to the door, mingling and laughing as they talked about whatever came to mind. Though, it was a little hard for you to focus with Nico’s thigh pressed against your own and his arm slung across the back cushion behind you. To make matters worse, every time he leaned forward to grab his drink, he would delicately place his hand on your knee, and it made your body light on fire.

Jack noticed the two of you walk out of the kitchen together, subtly elbowing his girlfriend as he watched you sit on the couch. She watched with wide, adoring eyes as gushing whispers of how cute the two of you would be filled Jack’s ears. When he met your gaze, he passed you a teasing wink, laughing when your face flushed and shook your head, forcing your eyes away from his own.

When it was time to eat, everyone filtered over to the multiple plastic tables that had been pushed together to make one long one. You made sure to take the seat next to Ava before anyone else could, and Nico took the spot on the other side of you. You ignored her stifled giggles and the way Jack raised his eyebrows, choosing to keep yourself occupied with passing along the various items being handed across the group of people.

Loud voices filled the room as a few of the guys brought the food out, setting the large turkey in the middle of the table with sides surrounding it. You fawned over the mashed potatoes with Ava, but Nico pulled your attention away when he pointed at the green bean casserole with his face twisted in disgust and asked what it was. She subtly elbowed you in the side, silently teasing you as your face flushed and your eyes brightened the moment you looked at him.

“It looks,” He paused, his eyes flitting down to you, “Unappealing.”

“Don’t worry,” You laughed, as you smoothed the napkin in your lap, “I don’t like it either, but it’s unfortunately a staple for the holiday. You should try it. It might surprise you.”

“Maybe. That’s happening a lot lately,” His voice trailed into a whisper, his eyes darting to his plate in front of him as he shifted in his seat.

You tried not to read too much into what he said or his actions following, choosing to instead fall into conversation with the others around you. Everyone ate, joked, and told stories of their life before Jersey, and it made the time fly by. Before you could really grasp it, everyone was packing up their things and helping clean the house before they departed for the evening. You and Ava assisted a few of the wives and girlfriends with the dishes, wanting to get them done so Ashlee didn’t have to worry about them tomorrow.

Once the house was cleaner than it was when everyone arrived, people started to filter out the front door after bidding those still present a goodbye. A few still stood off in corners and mingled with each other, waving at those who called their names as they slipped out of the door. You held a small container in your hand as you followed Ava out of the kitchen, passing everyone smiles and side hugs as you went. Jack’s hovering near the door with a few of the guys, Nico included, waiting for the two of you.

“Ready,” Jack asks as he slings his arm across Ava’s shoulders, “We’re going to go back to mine and Ty’s place and hang out if you guys want to come.”

You watched the way Nico’s body stiffened, his eyes avoiding your own as he nervously cleared his throat, “I already have plans, but maybe next time.

“Yeah, he’s meeting up with Mia,” Miles dragged out her name, clapping Nico on the back as he teased his friend, “I’ll swing by though. I’m not doing anything.”

Ava and Jack didn’t miss the way your entire body sunk, your gaze falling to the floor as your hands tightly grasped at the container. You felt stupid for being so upset by the news, but you should’ve known better than to let yourself think that Nico’s flirting meant anything. You’d been surrounded by hockey players almost your whole life, you know that it was all fun and meaningless for them, and he was no exception.

“Alright,” Jack spoke, trying to shove some of the newfound anger towards his teammate down his throat, “We’ll meet you there. See you later, Nico.”

Nico couldn’t help but let his eyes land on you again, and it wasn’t hard to notice the way your demeanor had changed. The brightness in your eyes and smile were faint now as you waved goodbye to everyone behind you. Jack and his girlfriend didn’t bother to spare a second glance at him as they walked out of the house and out into the frigid New Jersey air, and neither did you.

SEPT 2021

With Jack finally moving out of Ty’s apartment and into his own this season, he decided to have his own version of a house warming party. He and Ava had broken up before the summer, neither of them wanting to do long distance since she was moving across the country for her new job. That left the decorating and most of the party planning to you, which you preferred anyways. If it was up to Jack, he’d slap a keg in the middle of his apartment, buy one bag of chips for everyone, and call it good.

The two of you spent the better part of the day cleaning his apartment and getting what little furniture and decorations he had put up around his place. He did, however, listen to your advice a lot better than you thought he would’ve, but you knew it was only because he was nervous about having everyone over in what was his first place to himself. He even went out and bought a few random decorative pictures to hang on the wall because he felt like it was too bland, but you replaced them with pictures he had of his family and friends, and of the team.

Hours later, Jack’s apartment was littered with people he’d met during his time in Jersey. Most you knew, some you didn’t, and others you didn’t want to thanks to their nasty sneers when you would talk to him. Being ridiculed by Jack’s relationships, a term you used very loosely, seemed to increase tenfold now that his fame consistently grew. For the most part, it didn’t bother you, but you did have to delete your original instagram account and start a whole new, private account to keep yourself a little sane.

You were in the kitchen getting yourself a new drink when you felt a presence weigh on your chest, and you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Ever since Thanksgiving last year, you avoided interacting with Nico unless you had to. It was over dramatic on your part, a fact Jack often reminded you of, but you were trying to shake off the feelings you had for him. You wanted to be able to act normal around him, and every time Nico even spoke to you, you were thrown back to square one.

“Hey,” His voice was right behind you, “How was your break?”

You spun on your heels, your shoulder brushing against his chest because he was that close to you, and nearly stopped breathing the moment you met his stare. He’d cut his hair over the summer and let his beard grow up more than usual, and the sight made you want to melt. Guilt pitted in your stomach as you reminded yourself that you shouldn’t think about him like that anymore. It wasn’t fair.

“It was nice,” You mumbled, internally pleading with yourself to step away from him, “How was yours?”

“Yeah, mine was nice, too,” He lightly chuckled as his danced across your face, “So, I was wondering if you—”

“There you are,” Jack shouted as he pushed into the kitchen, stopping in his tracks as his eyes darted between the two of you, his eyebrows raising, “Matt just got here. He’s looking for you.”

Your mouth dropped open to respond, but Nico’s voice smothered your own, “Who’s Matt?”

The air in the kitchen thickened with an unknown tension, Nico’s stare returning to you as he watched your chest rapidly rise and fall. Your eyes were wide, pleading with Jack who looked just as lost as you were after he walked in on his best friend and now captain only centimeters apart. Swallowing thickly, you close your eyes and side step away from Nico before letting out a deep sigh.

“He’s my boyfriend,” You mutter, quickly walking away from the two men to go find the aforementioned boyfriend.

“What was that about,” You heard Jack ask, his tone slightly accusatory and clipped.

“Nothing.”

The rest of the night, you stayed glued to Matt’s side, letting him gush about how he was surrounded by his hometown hockey team. You found yourself searching for Nico more often than you cared to admit, but what was shocking to you was that he was already looking at you every. single. time. The moment your eyes would meet his, you willed yourself to look away from him and focus on the guy whose arm you were tucked under, but you couldn’t. He had you locked in.

To make matters worse, when the two of you managed to finally end up in the same circle of people that Nico was in, he was anything but nice to Matt. His usual gentle tone was replaced with short, harsh cords anytime he spoke to your boyfriend. It shocked you enough that you wanted to leave the party entirely, but Matt didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just didn’t care.

“Thanks for having me, man,” Matt expressed, his face bright with excitement, “Hopefully I’ll see you guys again sometime soon!”

You broke up with him a week later.

DEC 2022

This last year was eventful, to say the least. You were in the hardest year of college, spending more time stuck in the library with a new group of friends as you all studied until your brains were fried to even pass junior year. When summer came, you went to Michigan with Jack like you always did, and you even had a very short and meaningless fling with Trevor. Though if Jack were to ask, nothing happened.

When you returned to school that September, you had an entirely new outlook on life. You were tired of trying to have a plan for everything, you were tired of holding on to things that weren’t good for you. You were going to lead your life with the intention of taking care of yourself, building yourself up instead of tearing yourself down because of others.

The moment Jack had called you to ask if you would be interested in tagging along with a few of his teammates for New Years Eve, you instantly agreed. The semester was a little stressful, yet still nothing compared to last year, and you hadn’t had much time to see Jack let alone go out. So when the opportunity presented itself to you, you were more than happy to oblige.

The bar was loud, the air sticky and damp as bodies pressed against each other and alcohol spilled onto the floor. You held on to Charlie’s hand as you shoved your way through until you could see the group of boys that were shoved in the same corner they always were. They were huddled in a circle, some of their bodies shielding you from seeing who all was there, but you knew you’d find out who was there soon enough.

“Hey guys,” You yelled over the mixture of loud music and voices, earning the attention from those in the group.

Jack was immediately pulling you into his chest as everyone called out your name in a greeting, tipsy smiles and slightly glazed over eyes already adorning their faces. When you finally escaped the arms of your best friend, a few of the others replaced him and tugged you into their side as you introduced Charlie, who looked slightly overwhelmed, to everyone. You were relaxed and carefree as you fell into conversation with the others, and then you saw him.

You hadn’t really spoken to Nico over the last year, only really speaking to him in formal pleasantries and passing comments about Jack. After his treatment towards your boyfriend ultimately led to you breaking up with him, you withdrew your affections and excessive kindness towards him. You treated him the same way you treated all of Jack’s other teammates, maybe even a little less kinder if you were being honest, and he didn’t even seem to notice.

His lips turned upwards into a careful smile as he tipped his drink towards you in greeting. You gave him a small smile in return before you forced your attention back to Charlie, but you still felt his gaze on you. You could always tell when it was him because it made the hairs on your arms raise; it made your heart rapidly beat inside of your chest even before you even knew it was him.

He didn’t try and approach you at all during the duration of the night, but you hadn’t expected him to. You stuck by Charlie’s side most of the night, not letting her too far out of your sight, and one of the guys was never too far behind either of you. Jack made sure that either himself or his teammates had an eye on you at all times, knowing that the holiday caused people to act out, and he didn’t want anything to happen to you.

It was five minutes till the clock would hit midnight, and you were huddled in the corner with everyone after dancing for what seemed like hours. You had a new drink in your hand, Dawson’s arm slung around your shoulders, and a tipsy smile on your face as everyone mingled with each other. Jack had snuck off with Charlie somewhere a while ago, and you were not naive enough to go searching for them, so you stuck by the group of hockey players and their partners.

Despite Nico not uttering a single word to you the entire night, you felt the burn from his stare almost the whole time. You avoided looking in his direction, knowing that you would fall back into the enchantment that was Nico Hischier after working so hard to break free from it. You were focusing on things that brought you peace, and Nico brought you anything but.

“Guys, a minute left til midnight,” Shara shouted over the music, “Where is Jack?”

“Occupied,” You and Dawson called out at the same time before falling into laughter.

Those with partners pulled them closer to them, smiles on their faces and giggles falling from their lips as the music cut out and a countdown started. You accidentally met Nico’s eyes as your gaze wandered, and the way he was white knuckling his drink made confusion settle in your chest. Though, you didn’t have much time to dwell on it when you heard Dawson’s soft voice call your name.

“What do you say,” He raised his eyebrows, asking the question bouncing through his brain without outright saying it, “Just as friends, of course.”

With the crowds of people counting down from ten around you, you playfully rolled your eyes, but turned your body more towards him anyways. Kissing Dawson was not going to mean or change anything between the two of you, so you figured there was no harm in doing it. The moment the clock hit one second, you stood on your toes and pressed your lips against his until an eruption of cheers filled the bar.

It was short and simple, both of you pulled away from each other when laughter escaped through your lips. You let him pull you back into his side while everyone was pulling each other into hugs or clapping each other on the back. However, you were so focused on everyone else around you, that you missed the way Nico was glaring daggers into his younger teammates skull.

A few days later, you’re sitting at the counter of Jack’s apartment after his practice earlier that day. He was rambling on about their upcoming game against the Red Wings, shuffling through his fridge in search of food. He pulled out a small container of what looked like leftover pasta, his hands flying around him as he spoke.

“You want to know what’s weird, though,” He called over his shoulder as he opened the microwave, “Nico’s been kind of a dick to Dawson since New Years, and no one can figure out why. It’s kind of messing with Mercs, too.”

You nearly choked on your coffee with the new information, your eyes widening as you attempted to catch your breath. Jack’s brows shot up as he watched you stumble over your words, your hands clawing at the counter top as you coughed. You tried to not let yourself get too hung up on the possibility that Nico didn’t like the fact that you kissed Dawson, that maybe he was jealous. You couldn’t let yourself dance back into that dangerous territory again.

“You good,” Jack asked, leaning forward to give you a curious look, “You know something I don’t?”

“No,” You rushed out, shaking your head, “No. I mean, I don’t think this would matter to him, but I did kiss Dawson that night at the bar.” The second the words left your mouth, Jack doubles over in laughter as if he knew something you didn’t

APRIL 2023

The air was calm and cool as you sat outside some coffee shop, waiting for Jack and Nico to come back with the drinks. You were scrolling through your phone, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you read through your twitter feed. You were so far deep into a thread that you hadn’t even heard the two guys take their seats at the table, or the way they snickered to each other when you didn’t budge as your name was called.

It took a careful kick to your shin from presumably Jack to break you away from your trance, your head snapping up as the device clattered on the table. They were looking at you with raised brows and small smiles as you awkwardly cleared your throat and straightened your back, grabbing your drink from Nico as he slid it across the table.

“Took you guys long enough,” You playfully mumbled, bringing the cup to your lips.

“I’m surprised you even noticed we were gone with how invested you were,” Nico teased, his voice light and airy as his eyes stayed trained on your face.

Over the last few months, you had grown closer with him yet again, but this time it was on the premise of you only treating him as a friend. He had approached you one evening after a night out, apologizing for his distance and lack of effort in conversation, nearly whining when he asked if you two could start over. While your crush was still very much present, you agreed on the reset and opted to treat him the same way you treated everyone else as a way to protect your own heart.

“Shut up,” You rolled your eyes as a light blush decorated your cheeks.

Jack calls your name as he glances up from his own phone, setting it down in front of him as he leans forward, “You’re coming to the lake house right? I know you’ve got most of the summer off from work.”

“Eventually,” You tear your eyes away from Nico, “Charlie’s wanting to go travel somewhere in Europe this summer for a little over a week, we just haven’t decided where.”

“Summer is in like, a month,” Jack points out, shaking his head in amusement.

“Yeah, trust me I know,” You groaned, throwing you head back in slight frustration, “I keep telling her we need to choose soon but she’s not sure where to go. She just knows she wants to go.”

“Come to Switzerland,” The words leave Nico’s mouth before he really registers he said it, though he doesn’t regret it either way, “I can show you around.”

Your eyes widen, snapping over to him as your jaw goes slack and your heart rate increases. You’re searching his face for any sign that what he said was a joke, that he wasn’t being serious, but all you were met with was his soft eyes and small smile that he always had. The fact that he appeared genuine in his suggestion made you nervous, it made your mind hazy and cloudy with mangled thoughts.

“Oh that’s a good idea,” Jack’s voice raised, a bright smile on his face, “I think you should do that. I know you’ll be safe with Nico, and I won’t freak out if you don’t text me back after ten minutes.”

“You still will,” You lightly laughed, “I mean, it sounds fun, but only if you’re sure? And I’ll have to ask Charlie, but I don’t think she’ll mind.”

“I’m sure. I’d love to show you around my home,” He beams, his leg slightly shifting so his calf brushes against your own.

Jack’s immediately rushing on about how he’ll call Charlie, and typically you’d tease him about that, but you were too focused on the man in front of you. The sun was hitting his face in a way that made his dark eyes shine brighter than anything around him, bringing you nothing but a warm blanket of comfort that overshadowed the rays of sun by a million miles. The effect Nico had on you slightly terrified you because you’d never felt this way towards anyone, but you were determined to keep that a secret for as long as you could. All you could do was hope and pray you could keep that up on a week long trip in his home country, the one place he truly felt relaxed and like himself.

next part

[factual-fantasy]

I have to let you know something very important.

I already said this when reblogging stuff, but I don't care.

I NEED CAPTAIN SEAFOAM AND BLUE BEAUTY TO BE IN COOKIE RUN.

They are so cute, and I love your lovey relationship, it is so friggin cute and precious from what little we've seen, and I love them.

I also love pinwheel sandwich cookie. She'd be best friends and/or dating avocado cookie, and nobody can change my mind.

Coconut cookie deserves all the hugs, she looks so soft and so huggable. That probably doesn't make sense but I have no other words to explain my emotions for her.

Please keep making memes to explain their relationships and personalities, I love em so much.

AAAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! IT MEANS A LOT TO ME THAT YOU LIKE MY LITTLE CRETAURES!!

I'm really glad people seem to like Seafoam and Blue, they're some of my favorites amongst the crew! I'm trying to build a story/relationship for them with what little game lore I have- rn I'm thinking that they're in love but neither one has properly stepped forward and declared it..?? <XDD They'll get there eventually-

And upon doing some digging, Avocado cookie sounds AWESOME! She has a wonderful personality. I don't think Pinwheel would date her- but she'd totally be up for being best friends forever XDD

AND AAAA THANK YOU FOR THE COMPLIMENTS TO COCONUT!! I'm glad she comes off as somft. She's supposed to be this cool/tough lady pirate when she needs to be, but also is kiiind'a intended to take the role of Red's adoptive mom..?? Kind'a?? She has a real soft spot for Little Red and always accepts hugs from him XD So the fact that she easily reads as huggable is very good to me! XD

Once again thank you for all the compliments to my lil guys! I'll be sure to draw more of them! XDD

[brayneworms]

shoot it up (straight to the heart).

featuring. childe/reader

word count. 5.7k

content. merc!reader, drinking, kissing, masochist!childe because i am not immune to that agenda, sparring, gender neutral reader, childe is a little shit, blood, finger sucking, biting, handjobs, hair pulling, one instance of degradation (whore), light begging and light crying.

synopsis. childe has always found you fascinating; now that his stint in liyue is up and he's scheduled to return to snezhnaya, he takes the opportunity to get something from you he's wanted for months.

notes. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, i check the notes and you will be blocked.

"Ahh, the scourge of the complacent! Fancy seeing you here on a night like tonight."

You tip your eyes up to the ceiling of the inn; his voice rings out clear as bells over the chatter and rowdiness, and maybe it's a mark of your attunement to his specific brand of irksomeness that you hear the bounce of his footsteps approach over the general cacophony of laughter and drinks slamming.

There are four empty stools at the bar. He takes the one right next to you, sliding home with a boyish grin. You scratch at your forehead with all the fatigue of a working mother-of-five, catch the bartender's eye, and silently flag down another drink.

Tartaglia whistles as you raise the cup to your lips, making you pause; mead sops against your mouth, burning against raw picked skin. "I see even the alcohol of Liyue is no match for you, scourge."

"Don't call me that," you say flatly, and knock the cup back. There isn't enough booze in this whole tavern to make this a bearable conversation, but at least you could soften the edges. If you got drunk enough, you might be able to pretend he was nothing more than a lurid ginger mosquito buzzing around your head for attention.

Attention you always seemed to grant, no matter how much you swear you'll ignore him.

"Your lovely friend at the funeral parlour told me I might find you here," Tartaglia continues talking even though you're staring at the ceiling praying for patience. "She's pretty fond of you, huh? Can't imagine why, with your prickly attitude—oh, barkeep, I'll have what they're having, please." He flashes a pearly grin at the bartender, who pours him a cup of mead.

"Did you come here just to bother me?" you grit out, staring at the dregs in your cup; it sloshes darkly amongst the dull silver, and you can see a glimmer of a reflection, your eye staring back at you.

"What an ego you sport!" Tartaglia sounds righteously offended. "I came here to drink." And as if to prove his point, he raises his cup to his lips and takes a deep gulp. You can see his pale throat flex as he swallows, the bob of bones beneath papery skin.

He coughs a little as he sets the cup back down, empty. You try not to let your surprise show on your face.

"Liyue mead has quite the burn," Tartaglia comments. "You'd think I'd be used to it after being weaned on that Snezhnyan paint-thinner, but what can I say? This place has a kick."

He leans back on his barstool, a vaguely soft, wistful look passing over his features. Then he says, "I'll certainly miss it."

The cup slips from your fingers, and you curse yourself. "You're leaving?"

Tartaglia smiles, a little sadly. "The Tsaritsa summoned me back. I'll have to take off by the end of the week."

"No shit?" Tartaglia's been posted here and bothering you for way longer than you arrived to act as a temporary guard for the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour. You weren't sure why such a place needed extra beef with security, but it paid well, and Hu Tao and Zhongli were well-meaning employers and good company, so you could hardly complain. That was the beauty of freelance, after all.

"Oh? You sound disappointed." Tartaglia leans forward, cupping his chin in his hand; his eyes find yours, gleaming in the low light. "What? Don't tell me you're going to miss me?"

You glare at him. "Do people miss the mosquitoes they swat when they're buzzing around their head?"

"You always act like I'm vermin," Tartaglia pouts. "Still, you're having a drink with me—I consider that a victory."

"One of your few," you toast, raising your cup, and Tartaglia's playful expression sullens a touch, like a cloud covering up the sun. "Oh, don't get all kicked-puppy on me. Thought you could take a little pain."

"Better than you know," Tartaglia says with a stunning return to form and a coy grin. You must be just tipsy enough to entertain him, because you don't seize a handful of his bright hair and ram his face into the bar like you briefly consider doing. There wouldn't be much in it for you beyond the satisfying crack of bone and yelp of pain. As for Tartaglia, he'd probably get off on it.

You both down another cup, and now the lines that make up the tavern are starting to blur pleasantly. There's a soft, fuzzy feeling filling you up, like you're made of cotton instead of flesh and blood and magic. A faint flush has made itself known on Tartaglia's cheekbones, lurid against his hair, illuminating the scatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose. He's surprisingly lightweight, for as hard as you known Snezhnayan liquor to be.

"Would you walk with me?" Tartaglia holds your eye like he's making a promise, though not to you. He says half the things he says like he's talking to someone else, someone you cannot see. He holds out a gloved hand, grinning. "C'mon. I want to show you something."

Your brows knit up, suspicious. "Why me?"

"I'm currently not speaking to any of my other friends," Tartaglia says haughtily. "Sneaks and liars, all of 'em. As, uh, disarming as you are, scourge, at least you're honest. So... c'mon. Humour a man's last wish."

"You're not dying," you say acidly, but you get up. Tartaglia grins, delighted, sweeping up his coat from the barstool and paying out. You follow him out of the tavern; Liyue comes alive at night, you think, the harbour glimmering with a thousand lights, the water lapping at the chalky walls. Tartaglia takes your hand as the tavern door swings shut behind you. He runs warm, and you can see freckles spiralling up his wrist, and before you can protest he's started a brisk pace away from the water.

"The hell?" you mutter, making a weak attempt at taking your arm back. "Hey. Tartaglia. Where are we going?"

"So formal," he calls over his shoulder. "You can call me Childe, you know."

"Like that's even your real name," you roll your eyes. "What difference does it make?"

"Hm. Tartaglia feels more like a title. It's the name I use when I want to intimidate, you know?" He looks over his shoulder at you, the dull blue of his eyes catching in the moonlight. "I'm not foolish enough to think I could ever intimidate you, of all people."

And when he says that, it feels like a compliment. You curse the hot prickling you can feel at the backs of your ears as he leads you through town, up near where the mountains crest. It's all rickety ladders and bridges for a while before you come to a plane nestled between two great rocks. Grass and gravel spill out beneath your feet; in the middle of the wobbly circle is a wooden training dummy with chunks carved out of it. Torches bracket the space, filling the night with shifting bronze light.

It occurs to you briefly that Childe could be luring you out here to kill you, but just as easily the notion flees. He might be Fatui, and he might be insufferable, but the two of you have no real grievances as far as you know.

Besides—you're stronger. And the both of you know it.

You sweep a flat look around the circle and raise a brow. “Homey.”

Childe giggles. “You’re always so sharp-tongued, scourge. I’ve been reflecting on my stint in Liyue in light of everything, you know? What with my leaving so soon. I remembered the first time I saw you fight.”

Your brows draw up, taken aback; this is not a sentiment he has shared with you before. He paces as he talks, starts gesticulating like he’s trying to stir up a wind, though the night is virtually breezeless. Warm and damp and encapsulating. A line of sweat encroaches under your collar. 

“Some treasure-hoarders, they made a chokepoint out in the Guili Planes to intercept traders going down the road,” he tells you, as if this is news. “Zhongli asked me to deal with them myself, ‘cause they were stopping import to the city. But as soon as I got up there to scout it out, I saw you. What you’d left, anyway. This… trail. Like this—this big patch of carnage and you just in the middle of it, going blade-to-blade with this monster of a thief twice your size. Would you believe I was almost arrogant enough to think you needed my help?” His eyes shine feverishly, the moonlight catching off dead-fish-blue. “You brought him to heel like a misbehaving dog. He gave you a bloody nose and you just—just wiped at it like it was nothing. Didn’t it hurt? Always wanted to know if it hurt.”

“It hurt,” you manage, frozen with shock. He’s getting entirely too het-up too quickly, feverish in his excitement, pale cheeks flushed wine-red, and he moves closer as he waves his hands, eyes locked onto you like he’s a dog and you’re his master. It makes your blood feel too thick and too hot in your veins. 

“Thought so,” he breathes. “Thought it must’ve. It kinda… it sings, though. Doesn’t it?”

Stuck, you nod, though you only half understand what he’s talking about. 

Apparently satiated, Childe rubs the back of his neck bashfully. "Hah, sorry. You really get me talking, scourge."

"Don't give me the credit," you mumble. "It's one of your natural talents."

"Wanna see another one of my natural talents?" Childe grins; at your sharp look, he raises his hands placatingly, smile stretching ever wider. "I meant fighting, of course. C'mon. Truthfully, I've been thinking about it ever since that day. Fighting you."

He says that—fighting you—with the same sort of soft reverence one might reserve for making love or worshipping a deity. Like it's the centre of his world, the cell his heart was born from. You wonder how long it's been since Childe's days were anything but fighting, then reckon that that's probably a deliberate choice.

When he holds out a blunt wooden training staff out to you, his hands are perfectly steady. You heft it in your grip, getting used to the weight and balance. You're more accustomed to knives and swords, and small blades you can slip into your boot or belts, but you're not unfamiliar with polearms, exactly.

"Feel good?"

You jump; Childe's pressed closer to you in the time it took to examine your new weapon, and his words are accompanied with a brush of warm air across the back of your ear. "It's okay."

"Good! I want you at top form for this." He slopes off, twirling his own staff between gloved fingers obnoxiously. It makes a faint whistling sound against the warm night air. "Think you're ready?"

"Ready?" You can't help but sneer. "I don't need to be ready to fight a pest. I just do it."

Childe's grin is so wide that the flushed apples of his cheeks turn pointy. "Alright, killer. I've been looking forward to this for a while, and, y'know, I dunno when the next time is I'll meet someone as interesting as you... so don't disappoint me, yeah?"

The first crack of your staffs together sings.

It's an old melody, one you're attuned to, one you think you were born with. Impact shivers up your bones, disturbs the skin in a railroad of gooseflesh, sets your teeth on edge. There's the anticipation, the moment right before the new sensation turns uncomfortable or painful, like pressing down on a bruise, the moment before it starts hurting. The staffs gnash together like wooden teeth.

"You're quick," Childe says approvingly as you draw your arm back to your side, circling him in short steps. His eyes follow the lines of your body like he's trying to set you alight. You're not sure why you're doing this, actually—your relationship with Childe has been nothing but tepid the whole time he's been stinted in Liyue. From your end, anyways. He tends to sort of follow you around like a lost puppy when he has free time. No matter how many times you smack him and send him reeling, he always comes back with a bone clamped between his teeth, looking for fun.

A drink, a fuck. A fight. Maybe it's all sort of the same to him.

Your fight is a dance; Childe is undeniably skilled, and polearms aren't your first choice of weapon, so it's a fairly even fight despite your strength. Several times he moves far too quickly for you to comprehend—like you blink and he's shifted with the moonlight, gone from in front to behind you in a second. Laughing, poking, teasing until your blood is boiling despite the cold.

When you finally land a hit on him, it's sweet. Your staff cracks across his jaw with all the force of his annoyance to you over the last months, and Childe barely has time to widen his eyes before he crashes to the dirt. He lets out a pained grunt as he plants into the earth, and just as you're opening your mouth to gloat—

"Again."

It cracks into the night air like the crash of your staff against his jaw, pursed between wheezing breaths. His voice sings like cut piano strings, dissonant against what is happening. You stand over him, breathing hard, brow cinched as he sprawls in the dirt.

He's got chalky soil all over his pretty light uniform. He doesn't seem to care. Dull blue eyes blink up at you, round as pennies; you can see an angry welt raising on his jaw where your blow had made contact, flaring up scarlet against the pale skin. No doubt it will have flowered into a nasty bruise tomorrow, something the colour of overripe lavender melon.

But Childe grins.

You stumble back, frowning hard, and Childe makes a noise at the back of his throat as he sees you retreat. He scrambles messily to his feet, brushing dirt carelessly from his clothes.

"What?"

Childe cradles his jaw with a hiss. "You pack a punch. But I'm not done yet."

"You said again." You eye him warily, arms still not raised. "What did you..."

He huffs a laugh with a return of that boyish grin. "Ah, caught that, did you? I guess you could say I have a certain admiration for people who can land a hit on me. It's impressive. You're impressive."

Before you can decide whether he's swelteringly egotistical or just a pervert who gets off on pain, Childe lunges, swinging his sparring spear overhead; you shriek and parry it last-minute, your grip faltering enough that the wooden shafts collide with a harsh thwack; you don't fend the blow off completely thanks to your shoddy reaction time, but you manage to avoid getting struck in the head.

"Asshole," you grit out, stumbling left a few paces to get your bearings again; Childe circles you, twirling his spear between deft fingers with a sharp grin.

"I sensed your attention wandering," he shrugs. "You think you can hit me again?"

Your chin juts out, indignant. "Yeah. I'm stronger."

Beneath his lurid red hair, Childe's cheeks colour faintly. "Prove it, killer. Lemme feel it. Hit me—"

And he lunges, spear cracking through the air; this time, you're ready for it, seeing the telltale twitches of his body getting into formation before the pounce. You dodge his first hit, sending the tip of his spear sinking into the dirt, and whilst he's distracted with pulling it out you sweep the shaft of your own against the back of his knees. He buckles with a grunt, staggering, and you use his surprise to barrel your full body weight into his side.

He slips into the dirt, head thudding against the packed earth with a dull thud, and in your momentum you follow. By the time he's blinked the stars out of his eyes, your dagger is pressed up against his throat, nestled amongst the pale skin.

He breathes fast and sharp, a distinct contrast to his general collectedness. Your thighs cage his hips, and even from here you can feel his strength; his skin is shot through with sinew and iron. He could reach up, tussle, throw you off, put up a good fight. But he doesn't. He lays limp like a puppet with its strings cut, looking up at you with big, starry eyes—waiting for you to make the next move.

You come to a rather grim hypothesis.

The blunt tip of the dagger encroaches his skin, pushing in hard enough for blood to bead around it. Childe draws in a ragged gasp.

"Gonna kill me?" His tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip. He says that like it's an act of worship, like carving his throat out with a cinquedea is akin to leaving incense at a shrine for a far-flung god. Like his blood would be spattered amongst the stars if only you spilled it. Your breath catches; you hadn't been ready for the rush of power Childe's perversion would give you. You can feel it nestling under your skin like a heartbeat.

"I think you could, if you wanted," Childe whispers, and then he shudders at the thought, pretty eyes fluttering closed. He looks like he isn't sparing two thoughts to your hand holding a knife to his throat; skin breaks, and blood makes a thin rivulet down his pale skin. "Mm. Maybe I'd—I'd even let you. You could ask real nice."

"You're hardly in a position to be making demands," you murmur, feeling quite frozen. "Why don't you just be quiet for once?"

At once, Childe falls silent.

His bottom lip has split; probably why he was tonguing at it earlier. Now, with nothing to stop it, blood makes a languid trail down the slope of his chin. With your free hand, with the curiosity of a child petting a stray animal for the first time, you swipe at the trail with the pad of your thumb. You track it up to the seam, the cut, the split, press down hard until the surrounding skin of his lip turns white. You can feel the short, hot shocks of his quick breath against the skin of your nail.

The flash of his tongue surprises you, sliding over the bloody pad of your thumb, cleaning up his mess. A dog licking at its own wounds. Your breath catches, but you've never known when you're wading too deep. It's your one weakness as a fighter. You always think you can take more than you can.

So you press deeper. Your thumb sinks into his mouth up to the knuckle, and Childe lets out a faint groan. There's the ghostly scrape of teeth before his lips close over the skin, tongue swirling over the mess of blood and chalky dirt on the blunt tip of the digit.

Somewhere in the back of your head, you register faintly that this is not normal. Your interactions with Childe have been limited, so far, to snarky deadpans, irritable smacks, and the occasional drink. If you have occasionally caught his eyes lingering on the collar of your shirt, or following you when you enter a room soaked in hilichurl gore, you've made no comment. You'd assumed it would fizzle out, anyway. He's Fatui. They're hardly known for staying in one place a significant portion of time—they're dark-dressed ravens, flocking from place to place and bringing suspicion and misery for a while before taking to the sky again.

But Childe is not scoring the horizon. He's in the dirt with your finger in his mouth, and it looks like he's right at home there.

He releases you with a wet pop. Saliva and blood make a diluted trail down to his chin, and his eyes have peeled open again—heavy and half-lidded, blue slate stone, scoring deep into you. Your body feels hot and too full.

He cracks a lazy smile. "Never seen you speechless before, scourge. Does this mean I win?"

And something snaps.

In a fluid movement, you grab both of his wrists and pin them to the ground beside his head. Childe grunts a sound of surprise as your fingers tighten on his wrists, back instinctively arching from the sudden pressure; one of his legs slips in the earth and knocks against your ankle. He blinks up at you, eyes practically bioluminescent in the night.

"You don't look much like a winner," you snarl.

"Depends on your position."

"You're the Tsaritsa's bitch," you spit. "And if not hers, Zhongli's, or was it Signora who was the last one to get one up on you? Really, you've been failing upwards so much lately it's getting hard to keep count."

Childe's eyes narrow, the first glimmer of defiance sparking in the blue. For the first time you feel him throw his weight behind his halfhearted squirming—he raises his hips to try and buck you off, tugs at your grip on his wrists with renewed vigour. His fighting back shouldn't spark something in you—it shouldn't—but you can feel yourself growing excited.

The thing is, you sort of like killing. People don't get into your line of work if they don't. There's something about holding something down and winning through nothing but sheer strength that makes you feel strong, like you've earned a place on this earth. Watching Childe's jaw tick in frustration the longer he goes without unseating you is making all sorts of dangerous ideas brew in your head.

It's just—maybe it's the drink, or the fight, but the world is still pleasantly pretty and still. And Childe looks sort of gorgeous with his brow all scrunched up like that, the hint of icy anger in his eyes, the gritted teeth. His neck is strained in such a way that bares every jut and bone to you, and you can see his pulse fluttering away under the taut skin, the bob of his adam's apple.

You want to bite it.

Some sort of magnetism pulls you down, nosing at the skin of his neck. Childe grunts, half-frustrated and half-confused when he feels your lips brush over his throat. He smells like salt and mead and copper, labour smells, but his skin here is smooth like it's never seen a day of wear.

"What're you—" Childe huffs out, but his mouth drops open with a choked noise when you seal your teeth in a ring over his neck and bite down. Not quite enough to hurt, you don't think, just enough to satisfy the weird part of you that's sparking for the urge to maim. "Archons, scourge."

Oh dear. His voice has gone all strangled and weak. You dare to release one of his wrists to cup the back of his neck, holding him still, brushing the feathery down of hair on his nape. Automatically, his free hand flies for you, but it stops short, hovering as if unsure.

You can almost feel him weighing his choices in his mind. He has a hand free, and you're not even looking at him. Even if he can't beat you outright, he'd do alright with the element of surprise. He could definitely knock you spinning and flee before you get your bearings.

You wait. Count the fast thuds of Childe's pulse against his neck. The muscles in his free arm go limp, and he wraps it around your waist to pull you closer.

Figuring you're done pretending, you skim your lips up his neck and jaw before catching his mouth in a hard, bruising kiss. Childe moans, softly, into your mouth, hand clenching hard over the fabric of your waist before sliding under. His fingers span out over the small of your back, worn leather and warm flesh, and you shudder despite yourself.

His lips are chapped, and you can taste blood still oozing from the split in the plush lower one. "Someone's sensitive," you gloat, and he huffs. "Not had time to get laid here?"

"What can I say?" Childe's breezy tone would be more believable it it wasn't coming out so strangled. "Been a busy guy. Don't seem to have time for m-many... simple pleasures."

"You always seemed to find time to annoy me, though," you say darkly.

"Less of a luxury, more of a need," Childe breathes. "You make just the most interesting faces when you're irritated."

"Yeah? That get you all wet?"

Childe laughs weakly. "Scourge, please. I'm but a blushing virgin. You'll burn my poor ears off."

You shoot an obvious glance down to the tent straining against Childe's slacks. "I can well believe that."

He squirms in embarrassment, the tips of his ears lighting up scarlet. His eyes blink up at you, the usual lusterless blue fleeing in wake of reflecting the thousands of stars above you, and he seems to glow from the inside out, for a moment. The coppery blood on his face catches the moonlight.

A tongue flicks out to wet his lips, a dog wetting its snout. "Won't you take pity, scourge?" he pleads. "You got me well and truly at your mercy. You win. So..."

Before you can stop to consider the ramifications of your actions, your free hand has already scrambled to his belt buckle. Childe's breath catches, eyes widening as he registers your movements as the brass clinks in the silence. For a moment there's nothing but the hasty shuffling of clothing as you shuck Childe's dirt-streaked trousers down his thighs, his hips lifting to assist. There's a small furrow between his brows, his cheeks alight with a blush that makes his freckles sing against his skin.

The skin of his thighs catches, milk-white in the moonlight. Even here, scars have made their home, pink or bruise-dark, crisscrossing over the flesh in railroads. You get his trousers down past his knees before you stop bothering; he's left in dark underclothes, erection so stiff it's pulling the thin fabric taut, and the slit in his shirt that you've always found obscene betrays the quick, shallow bursts of his breath.

His throat flexes when he swallows. "Are you really going to—mmmgh!"

Childe sputters to a halt with a rather embarrassing high-pitched noise as you cup him through his boxers. You roll your palm experimentally over the tip of the tent, and his eyes flutter shut, rolling back against his skull with a pretty, desperate noise. This side of him is so foreign, but so familiar, so obvious, you wonder why you didn't think of it before.

"Ah, fuck," Childe swears, already sounding breathless. With how obvious he's always been, the lazy slide of his eyes, you'd assumed he had at least some experience—but maybe your teasing just a moment ago was a little more on the nose than you'd anticipated. He's unusually sensitive. "Scourge, I don't—"

"Stop calling me that," you mutter, pulling the fabric of his underwear till it strains against his cock, and he swallows back a gasp, spine arching against the dirt. "Did you want something?"

"You're so cruel," he whines. "Y/n, Archons, please—"

"Alright, alright, you big baby," you sigh, shedding his soaked underwear. Childe shudders, thighs tightening under you as he hits the cold air. The strain of his arousal and the chafing fabric is obvious; pre drips eagerly from the reddish tip, and he fits neatly into your palm when you swipe over the leaking hands before wrapping your fingers around him. Childe jolts into the touch, cursing under his breath, and as you start to jerk him off his lashes flutter. His blue eyes roll to the heavens and his head thumps against the earth with a long, shaky moan.

The night fills with noise, somewhere between what you find obscene and what sends heat rushing between your own legs as your fist pumps lazily up his length. Childe is more receptive than you would've put money on, gasping and swearing, hiccuping small, wounded noises in the back of his throat. His brow is scrunched, lips slack and wet with saliva, eyes screwed shut. His hips jump like they have a brain of their own.

You squeeze, prompting a panicked noise; Childe's eyes fly open and find your sly smile. "You look pretty," you tell him. Childe goes scarlet.

"W-wha?" he dredges up intelligently, frowning. "Why'd you—what?"

You find it funny that you've literally got your hand around his cock, but calling him pretty is apparently what crosses the line in flustering him. You cock your head, grinning.

"You don't think?" you coo. "I think you're lovely like this. I never realised how attractive you'd be once you shut your mouth. Maybe I should beat you in a fight more often."

"W-wouldn't complain," Childe pants, still alight with a feverish blush.

"I'm sure," you say noncommitally. "You fucking whore."

Childe moans, loud and shameless, and his free hand flails to scratch his nails down his own skin. "D-don't stop, fuck, don't stop—"

You stare at the scarlet railroads left on the pale skin of his stomach, and with your free hand yank up his shirt to his chest. Childe lets out a startled sound, looking at you with round, surprised eyes. His torso is littered with scars, raised and pale and dark against freckled skin. He is pretty. You love the marks of his exertions and pains, a history of his losses mapped out over his body. One of his nipple has a healed slash running right through it; when you reach up and tweak it, Childe shudders.

"Anyone would think you like losing," you murmur.

Childe looks at you weakly, crying out when your hand resumes at a faster pace. "Like it when—hnn—when it's real. I like it when they don't hold back. 'S why I'm just—hah!—e-enamoured with you, I guess."

"'Cause I'm ruthless?" you quip.

Childe flutters his lashes. "Nice enough to let me come, I hope," he says sweetly, and it makes your cheeks burn momentarily with embarrassment, the brazenness of his statement. "I'm not above begging."

"I liked you better when you were quiet," you mutter, and swipe your thumb hard over the slit. Childe yelps, muscles melting like butter, and when you start rubbing cruelly like you've found some sort of button his face flames, his mouth drops open, and he lets out a wailing noise, legs thrashing.

"Archons," he keens, but with your free hand you seize and handful of his hair and pull, hard.

"No Archons," you snarl. "Just me."

Tears prick at the corners of Childe's eyes as he rolls his hips to meet your unrelenting strokes, whimpering. "Y-yes, yeah, just you, just you, do that again."

You oblige, dig your fingers into the red hair so deep your nails scrape his scalp, and tug. The tears spill over Childe's lashline as he chokes on the moan that bursts from him at the movement.

"Keep it there," he begs, thighs shaking. "Pleasepleaseplease—"

"You close?" you ask innocently. "Already?"

There's no more pretence; the fine line of pleasure and pain seems to have wrought Childe down to only basic instincts, as his hips roll against your hand as you fist his length rough and quick, head tipped right back against the ground, exposing the heaving column of his throat. The toned concave of his stomach flexes with each punched-out breath, the scars coiling and elongating respectively.

"Please," Childe sobs in answer. "I'll be good, be real good, I'm close..."

You surge forward, digging your face into Childe's neck as you speed up your pace, and sink your teeth into the soft skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Hard enough for blood to bubble under your lips, hard enough for Childe to let out a strangled scream as he comes all over your hand, spilling over your fingers and his stomach in pearly arcs.

He's panting when you pull back, winces as you dislodge your teeth and unwind your fingers from his hair. He touches the bite mark with a wince and hiss, examining the blood on his fingers with light interest. It really shouldn't surprise or arouse you nearly as much when he dips them into his mouth and licks them clean.

"Degenerate," you tell him. Childe smiles crookedly, the flush on his face still stark red.

"There's this old saying about a pot and a kettle," he says, voice still weak and shaky.

The bite mark is leaking. As he reaches for you, you get the fleeting thought that it will leave another scar to add to his masses, another permanent trophy of another loss.

A loss to you.

And you smile.

[livelaughloveloak]

⌗🌬️ TATTOO ᩡ𖧧

⋆ pairing :: Neteyam x Navi! Reader

⋆ summary :: Neteyam spent his days telling his new metkayina friends about the special girl that took his heart back in his old clan. What was the one thing he kept mentioning though? Your tattoo.

⋆ word count :: 1.2k words

⋆ author's note :: this fic was based on the song "girl with the tattoo" by Miguel. Reader uses she/her pronouns. It's pretty short but ugh I loved writing this 🤭

If they only knew

The girl with the tattoo

"Teyam look!" You said while showing the new tribal tattoo swirling up your upper right arm. Neteyam looked in awe at how pretty it turned out to be.

You came from a more spiritual clan but soon moved to the forest, where Neteyam lived after the sky people destroyed your home. 

You didn't know much about your clan because you moved when you were still young but one thing you did know and wished to do was to get a tattoo once you turned 15. Amongst your clan the woman would get this as a sign of them entering adulthood just like a coming of age ceremony. 

"My girl, you look so pretty " Neteyam cupped your cheek, earning a grin from you. It was night and the people of the Omatikaya clan were still feasting at the bonfire.

You and Neteyam decided to leave early and ride your ikrans to a secluded mountain where you guys would spend your free time, or as some liked to call it, a “date”

Your bioluminescence freckles glowed in the dark, as well as Neteyam's. 

He pulled you into a hug, inhaling the cool night air, enjoying his time with his beloved.

"Even under the night sky she always seemed to shine brighter." Neteyam reminisces on his days back in the forest where he had you always by his side. 

"Forest boy is in love." Aonung gagged seeing how lovestruck Neteyam was, making Lo'ak and rotxo laugh. 

"Be quiet Aonung! I think it's cute." Tsireya tried to defend Neteyam but got drowned in by louder laughter coming from the boys once again.

She rolled her eyes and put her attention back to Neteyam. "She seems sweet, Neteyam."

 Neteyam nodded agreeing with the Metkayina girl. You were the kindest person he had ever met. 

You always did your own thing, not following anyone's expectations or caring if anyone was staring. Some older Navi would tell him that you were way too “independent” for a girl as most Navi women follow their parents' rules until they get a mate, which then they would follow their mate's rules. But that's why he loved you, he would always tease you and call you ‘miss independent’

With your unbeatable beauty and sweet fruity scent, your glowing and silky skin, as beautiful as the jewelry you wore which were gifts made by him. Your golden like eyes which glowed as bright as a star. You enchanted everyone you met, but Neteyam always thought you hit him the hardest.

Aonung stopped laughing and leaned forward from the tree trunk. “So where is she?"

"Huh?"

"You know, your beloved tattoo girl, did she not come with you guys?" Aonung asked nonchalantly as Tsireya leaned closer, also curious.

Neteyam's mouth shut, forming into a straight line, thinking about what to say. 

Lo'ak and Kiri looked at their brother in a sympathetic way, as Tuk sat beside him, leaning on Neteyam's side, listening into the conversation.

Yeah, I see you baby

Just don't lose yourself along the way

"Neteyam I am coming with you." You walked behind you, demanding that he brought you with him and his family. Neteyam was walking around his tent, packing his stuff up as they would depart soon after the ceremony. 

Neteyam huffed and looked behind him, where you stood. "No, you stay here and be the clan's Tsahik, without your talent the people will have no one when my grandmother passes." 

You furrowed your brows, of course you knew that you had to give up the role as future Tsahik, but what good would a broken hearted Tsahik be? If she couldn't heal her own heart, how will she heal others? 

Neteyam was gonna be your mate as soon as you two turned 18. He was next in line for the role of Olo'eyktan.

"I'm coming with you and that's final." You turned around and started walking out of the tent, heading towards yours so you could pack your own stuff. Before you could even exit Neteyam grabbed your hand. 

He took a hold of them, holding your hands in his own. "Please, I can't have the sky people hunting you down too."

You looked down, staying silent. It was true and you couldn't deny it, the clan was bound to get attacked at least once more. The current Tsahik, Neteyam's grandmother, also known as Mo'at would not be able to heal everyone even if there were other healers in the clan.

Mo'at taught you more advanced stuff as you were more skilled, which is why she had picked you as the next Tsahik.

You hissed in frustration and yanked your hand back from him.

 "I will come with you, maybe not at the same time but I will be there. Of course there's consequences but I'm willing to take them." 

And with that you ran out as fast as you can, leaving Neteyam in the dust.

Cause you're doing what you're doing

Just to get to where you're going

"If we took her she'd be in danger too." Lo'ak spoke up for Neteyam after seeing how quiet his brother had gotten. The others nodded understanding the reasoning behind it, as they didn't want to push into the conversation even further.

Kiri sighed and patted Neteyam's shoulders as an attempt to comfort him. 

"Do not worry too much brother, you too will reunite someday."

As night fell in the reef, the group parted, walking in opposite directions towards their own shared Marui. The Sully siblings had a quiet walk back to their Family's home. The most noise they had was Tuk yelling at them to slow down so her tiny legs could catch up. 

As soon as they entered through the makeshift flap they all went to their hammocks after greeting their parents. 

Neteyam laid silently, swaying side to side as his family were conversing with each other about their day. 

The uncommon silence from Jake and Neytir's oldest child set an unsettling feeling in them.

Neytiri turned to the other kids looking for some explanation.

With a sigh Lo'ak spoke up when he heard his brother's breathing slowing down signaling that he was finally asleep. 

"He was talking about y/n again."

But I knew

The girl with the tattoo

"Teyam!!" 

The young warrior looked up from sharpening his fishing spear only to find his youngest sister running towards him with a bright grin on her face. He suddenly noticed the loud noise coming out of a shell, signaling the clan that someone new arrived on shore. Neteyam peered down at Tuk in curiosity. "What is it Tuk?"

"Please Teyam you need to see this."

The young girl grabbed her brother's hand and dragged him towards the crowd of people forming a circle around someone. It reminded him of the first time his family arrived. 

Neteyam heard a familiar loud roar. It was an ikran

He hurriedly walked closer to the crowd, pushing some people aside to get a better look. 

His eyes traveled to the darker blue skinned female with long braided hair. He noticed the unique clothes she wore that complimented her other features. He noticed how crystals decorated her hair and how a single colorful feature was nearly placed in one strand.

His heart skipped a beat as his eyes landed on the black ink swirling around her upper right arm.

He watched you squint your eyes, scanning through the crowd to get a closer look at people, finally stopping once your eyes landed on him.

"Neteyam?"

Oh how he loved hearing you say his name again.

Oh yeah, I knew

The girl with the tattoo

[raygirlramblings]

OH

I just realised something about Laserhawk Rayman which I've been saying about Rayman for DECADES.

So what is Rayman's defining goal which powers him throughout all his games? It's gonna sound corny, but it's FRIENDSHIP.

And you'll say 'oh that's not uncommon, most videogame protags do stuff for the sake of their friends', but it's kinda more than that.

Rayman LIVES AND BREATHES through the love and support of his friends.

Rayman is a strange little freak guy, one of a kind even amongst his own species*, and instead of being shunned and alone he is held up and supported by his friends and propelled forward by the power of friendship. This is more of a driving force in his life than a romantic interest, a prized possession, or any kind of praise.

(*I still use the logic of Rayman 1 that other limbless beings like Rayman exist but were not created by magic. Hence why Rayman has immortality)

On the surface you have his friendship with Globox as a clear example of his devotion. Despite their differences the two are like brothers and bond through various games in different ways. saving and being saved by Globox is a big part of Rayman 2. Curing Globox of Andre is literally the driving force of Rayman 3.

When Rayman is trapped by the pirates at the start of Rayman 2 he is absolutely distraught, powerless and unable to escape on his own. Without Globox risking his life on the vague chance he'd get put in a cell near Rayman to give him a silver lum, Rayman might never have escaped the Buccaneer. Rayman's friendship with Globox trumped Globox's absolute fear of the pirates.

Rayman's friends are always the ones giving him support and gifts and powers to help him save the day, not in a 'you suck lets hold your hand as you go through the game' way but in a 'we have absolute faith in you, friend, anything we can do to help we will!' way. And in turn Rayman returns that love through his actions and compassion. Rayman is who he is because of the love and acceptance of his friends. Hence why he is always seen relaxing with them, chilling with Globox and Barbara and Murfy and the Teensies.

And it's Rayman's willingness to befriend others and turn the other cheek that betters him overall. Mosquito, Inspector Grub, the Rabbids, they have all been part of his journey despite being antagonistic to him at the start.

When Rayman is separated from his friends, or unable to make new friendships, he kinda falls apart and struggles by himself. He gets lonely, realises how small he is in the world. If he doesn't have a focus to find his friends and help them he is lost.

Which makes perfect sense when you see a version of him in Laserhawk.

Rayman is the most popular mascot in Eden but HE DOESN'T HAVE FRIENDS.

The closest connection he has is to the Counsel who run Eden and even they keep him at arm's length from what we see in the show. They are not his friends, they are his abusive, neglectful bosses that dropped him the minute he stepped out of line, and without them Rayman has NO ONE ELSE in the city he can rely on.

No wonder he's a complete mess even before the show starts. He has no one to confide his fears in, no one who understands his unique perspective. He probably has yes-men and people willing to lie about how great he is, not to mention adoring viewers and a whole fanclub of kids, but even Rayman knows that's fake. They are not his real friends. He's the picture of the lonely celebrity in an ivory tower.

You can see it in Rayman's face when he meets Bullfrog, and Bullfrog VALIDATES his feelings of betrayal and anger against Red and the Counsel. Finally he has someone showing him genuine compassion but also not mollycoddling him. Someone who is honest with him and not freaked out by/judgemental of how he looks. He's scared and angry, but there is a light at the end of the dark tunnel before him.

This and being replaced by Eden is the breaking point that causes Ray to become Ramon and fight back. He now has an end goal, take revenge on the Counsel and save Bullfrog from the electric chair. He has multiple reasons for doing this ranging from his belief in protecting hybrids in general to protecting his image to taking away some of Eden's power at gunpoint...but I also like to think he did it because he put his faith in Bullfrog.

Because as well as being one of the only people in Eden who might have an idea of what's going on behind the veil, he's probably the only person Rayman could consider a friend.

[heavyhitterheaux]

Notice Me

AN: We're going to pretend that Latto was the headliner on day one because SZA is the face claim lol

Synopsis: While at Gazebo Fest with your best friend, you happen to meet Jack, and the two of you quickly take to each other. Once you part ways, you are heavy on Jack’s mind, and he's determined to see you again

Pairing: Jack Harlow x Reader

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

“Why is it so got damn hot out here?!” Your best friend Kayla asked as she was digging through her clear backpack to find something to fan herself with.

“You do realize that it's the end of May and almost June, right?” You replied as you laughed at her and took a sip of water.

The two of you were in the VIP section of Gazebo Fest and couldn't wait to see all the different performances throughout the entire weekend, but you were most excited to see your celebrity crush for as long as you could remember, Jack Harlow.

You had gotten there two days before so that it could give you some time to explore Louisville before having to go to the festival. You and Kayla had gone to Churchill Downs, Morris Deli, and to see his Hometown Hero banner. Before the two of you went home, the goal was to hit up Barrels and Billets to make your own bourbon to take back home with you.

Glancing at the time, you quickly opened the Gazebo Fest app on your phone to see who would be performing next and got excited when you saw that it was Paris Texas. As you were sliding your phone in your back pocket, Kayla started hitting your arm repeatedly.

“Ow! What is your problem?!” You exclaimed while turning to look at her.

“I spy a mullet and that can only mean that it belongs to your man. Look to your left. Okay slowly turn and look. I see Clay too!”

Doing as you were told, you quickly saw him and you felt your heart skip a beat. Kayla liked Jack and his music, but she was more so here for Vince Staples as well as the younger Harlow.

“Maybe you'll get a marriage proposal before we leave on Monday.”

“Kayla, as much as I would like that… shut up.”

“Hey, stranger things have happened.” She replied while holding her hands up in defense.

Once Paris Texas set was over, the crowd dispersed and only a few of you were left at the barricade talking and mingling amongst each other when Kayla leaned over and whispered in your ear.

“I need to pee.”

“What the? Why are you whispering? Is that supposed to be a secret?”

“I don't want to go by myself and the girl next to me told me that she would save our spots.”

“Come on then.” You said as you went and grabbed her hand.

The two of you started walking to the VIP bathrooms when your breath hitched in your throat as you saw Jack was sitting in the driver's seat of a golf cart surrounded by people on his team.

“Sike! I don't have to pee, but go over to your man! He's looking at you and smiling!”

“Kayla…” You said through gritted teeth since you knew that she knew how shy you were. 

All she did was slightly push you forward as Jack waved you over to come to him.

“Hey pretty girl, enjoying yourself so far?” Jack asked you as you had finally worked up the nerve to approach him. Your heart was racing a mile a minute.

“So far, I have no complaints so my answer is yes.” You responded while smiling.

Your only goal was not to look absolutely crazy in front of him. But you were going to kill Kayla later. 

“Is it your first time here in Louisville?”

“No, I've been here before, but this is the first time that I actually got to explore the city. I was here for every NPLH you had.”

“Where are you from?”

“The DMV. Maryland specifically.”

“The D stands for Delaware right?” Jack curiously asked, but you immediately shook your head no.

“Do me a favor. When you go there again, do not let anyone hear you say that. It stands for D.C. Now Delmarva is Delaware, Maryland, and Virginia.” You answered while trying not to laugh.

“Then it's a good thing that I asked you, huh?”

“Yes, because somebody would have taken offense to that, believe it or not.”

“What song do you want to hear me do tomorrow?”

“I… How am I supposed to do just one?!”

“Fine. Give me your top five.”

“I need you to do every song you've ever recorded, but five does give me a little more wiggle room. Hmm, Heavy Hitter, Ghost, Sundown, Eastern Parkway, Dark Knight, and I NEED Smells Like Incense because you've never done that one live.”

“Oh, I got a day one in my presence. And that was six songs by the way.” He replied while giving you a boyish grin.

Jack was captivated the first time he laid his eyes on you earlier that afternoon from behind the Gazebo stage as he saw you and Kayla at barricade. 

“I told you that it was hard for me to choose. You're lucky I didn't say Power Tools.”

“Damn, not you going back to The Handsome Harlow.”

“Have to admit it's one of my favorites.” You replied as you shrugged.

“I don't want to keep you from your friend all day, but I'll look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

Hearing him say that made you feel as though you were going to burst from having so many butterflies.

“You won't have to look far either. I'll be barricade.”

The rest of the day you and Kayla made the most of it watching all of the performances, getting drinks, and taking pics with Urban as well as other members of Private Garden.

The next morning, both of you woke up when your alarm went off at 8 ready for the day ahead. Both of you started off with mimosas and quickly moved to taking a few shots before it was ultimately time to get ready.

What stopped you in your tracks was a notification on your Gazebo app saying that because of the weather, the doors wouldn't be opening at 1 and to stay close to your phone to keep up with the alerts.

“You can't be fucking serious. We need to get barricade!” You said as you ran to the window to look outside at the weather. For right now, the sky was simply cloudy and gloomy. Not a raindrop in sight.

“What's wrong?” Kayla asked as she opened a bag of doritos and began stuffing them in her mouth.

“The opening of the gates are delayed.” You replied as you rolled your eyes.

“Until when!?”

“I'm not sure, it didn't say. I guess they'll send out another update so we can know.”

Kayla then grabbed her phone to pull up the weather app and simply shook her head.

“Babe, I don't know. I think we just might be under a tornado warning.”

“A WHAT!? NO! WHY TODAY? CAN IT WAIT UNTIL TOMORROW?” You exclaimed while running back towards the window.

“Apparently not.”

“Let's just pray that they don't cancel it. I know you have a date with your baby daddy later. I saw mine yesterday.” 

“He is literally the entire reason I came this weekend and now that might be ruined.”

“Let's just try and stay positive. We don't even have a concrete answer yet. Things could always change. But let's get our outfits together so we can be ready.”

It was now around 4 PM on Sunday and Jack was stressed. He had put so much time and effort as well as money into this and all he wanted to do was bring a music festival back to his city while having some of his favorite artists perform. He was trying not to sulk, but it was looking more and more like day 2 of Gazebo Fest wasn't about to happen.

“At least we had a good first day. You can't be mad at yourself for that.” Urban said as he sat down next to him.

“I know. I just don't want to compromise anyone's safety. People are going to be pissed.”

“They'll be pissed but they'll be alive.” He heard Clay say as he walked into the room.

“Then I need to call it.”

After he posted to his Instagram story the sad news of it being canceled, his thoughts immediately went to you.

“SHIT!”

“What? What's wrong?” Both Clay and Urban asked as they looked at him.

“The girl I was talking to yesterday.”

“You talked to a lot of girls yesterday?” Clay responded, confused as to what he was getting at.

“Not as long as I did her! The one with the curly hair!”

“Oh in VIP?”

“Yeah, and I totally forgot to ask her what her name was. Fuck.”

“Yall got a date or something we don't know about?”

“I was going to ask her when I saw her today, but now that's damn near impossible.”

Now not only was day two not happening, but he wasn’t about to see you either, until an idea came to him.

“Do you two remember what she looks like?” He asked both Urban and Clay as they nodded their heads.

“Okay, this might be a long shot, but maybe we can find her on instagram?”

“What the? How the HELL are we supposed to do that?” Clay asked, looking at his older brother in disbelief.

“The gazebo tag.” Urban answered for him and Jack simply nodded.

“Let’s get to it then.”

The three of them had been searching for a total of two hours when Urban had finally found you. He took a quick screenshot of the picture that was posted on Kayla’s page and cropped it before handing his phone to Jack.

“Found her!” 

“Let me see!”

As Urban was handing Jack his phone, it slipped out of his grasp onto the carpet below and Jack quickly dove for it, but it was too late. The screen had hit the home button on the app and everything had refreshed.

“You cannot be fucking serious! It refreshed your feed!”

“Wait, I got a screenshot!”

Urban quickly took his phone back and pulled it up in his gallery to show him as Clay was now looking over both of their shoulders to see what was happening.

“But you cropped it! It doesn’t have the username anymore!” Jack said before sighing and defeat was quickly washing over him.

“Hold on, now I have an idea.” Clay said while smirking.

Jack eyed him and motioned for him to continue.

“Post the screenshot and ask your followers on instagram to find her for you.”

You and Kayla had been in your hotel room sulking for hours at the fact that Gazebo day 2 had been canceled. So the two of you quickly decided to watch Jack’s interview along with WMCJ to pass the time, until Kayla screamed at the top of her lungs while looking down at her phone.

“BITCHHHHH!”

“Leave me to sulk in peace.” You replied while putting the comforter over your head.

“I don’t think you’ll be sulking too much longer. Jack is looking for you.”

“Excuse me?” Now this caught your attention and the comforter was now lying beside you as Kayla shoved her phone in your face as you saw his post on instagram.

Liked by urbanwyatt, claybornharlow, gazebo, quiiso, taylorrooks, and 1,284,096 others

jackharlow: I need a favor. Someone find the girl on the left for me.

When you were done looking at it, you handed Kayla back her phone and laid back down.

“Bitch, what the fuck are you doing? Your HUSBAND is looking for you! Respond to this man!”

“But… I don’t know…” You said while playing with the ends of your curly hair. 

“You don’t know what? He obviously wants to talk to you again so what’s the problem?”

“What if this isn’t even what we think it is?”

“Y/N, he made an instagram post asking millions of his followers to find you. I think he’s making it pretty clear that more than likely he wants to date you.”

“I… now I know your ass is delusional.” You said while looking at her and shaking your head.

“Well, what do YOU think the reason is? Because I KNOW my ass is right. Just respond and see what he says. It can’t hurt. You didn’t get to see him perform today so this is the next best thing. You have to learn to take chances and not be so scared all the time.”

You sat there contemplating what you were going to do when you noticed that Kayla was staring at you.

“What?”

“If you get to fuck Jack Harlow, I want a five page research paper with sources and a title page in APA format when we get back home.” 

It had been around six in the evening when you had seen Jack’s post and still hadn’t thought of a way to creatively respond to it. It was now ten at night and you and Kayla were getting ready to go to an after party that Ace Pro was hosting not too far from where your hotel was when you had gotten the perfect idea once you were settled in Kayla’s car. You had quickly explained to her what the plan was and it seemed as if she was more excited than you were about you finally responding to him. 

“I knew what I was doing when I picked out that outfit for you! He is bound to see you in this and rip it off the second that you two are in person.”

“KAYLA!”

“What?! Just telling the truth. Now pose so we can get a good one and post it.”

Liked by mahkaylaaa, jackharlowsource, urbandjack26, gazebo, and 348 others

barricadebaddie: word on the street is that jackharlow is looking for me. Is that true?

Your location was set to Streets of Louisville and you were hoping that he would see it and respond.

You just hope that you didn’t take too long to answer him. 

It took less than fifteen minutes for a notification to pop up on your phone saying that you had a new message on instagram.

1 New Message from jackharlow 

“KAYLA HE SENT ME A MESSAGE!” The two of you had just pulled up to the club that the after party was going to take place in when your heart started beating a mile a minute once more.

“WELL OPEN IT!” 

jackharlow

I meant what I said when I told you that I looked forward to seeing you today. I wanted to meet up with you tonight if you were up for it.

You

Of course I’m up for it

jackharlow

If you’re at Ace’s party I’m on my way there

You

See you when you get here

jackharlow

Then I was hoping we can go somewhere by ourselves

Your eyes went wide as you shoved your phone into Kayla’s hand who quickly took it and read the message.

“Oh yeah, yall fucking later. If you need condoms, I got you.”

“I swear I can’t take your ass anywhere.”

“Look, don’t get mad at me for being prepared.”

You

I’d like that and I’m definitely up for it

Jack had liked your message before you saw that he quickly followed you. 

You and Kayla went inside and had gone all the way in the back in the far left corner as the two of you ordered drinks and simply waited for Jack to arrive. A lump felt as if it was growing in your throat that you quickly swallowed back down knowing that it was your nerves getting the best of you.

As shy of a personas you are, many times you thought about leaving and heading back to the hotel, but Kayla was right. You needed to stop being scared of your own shadow and live out of your comfort zone.

It was around 11:30 when a lot of commotion was happening near the entrance of the club, and that could only mean one thing.

Jack was finally here. 

You quickly opened instagram to shoot him a message letting him know where you were and simply waited until he made his rounds as he was speaking to different people and also got into the DJ booth with Ace. When he finally glanced down at his phone, your guess was that he was reading your message and he quickly looked to his left and spotted you. A small grin came across his face as he slid his phone back into his pocket and made his way over to you. 

“Have fun, I’m going to get another drink.” Kayla said as she saw Jack headed over towards you and quickly got up to make her way towards the bar before you could protest.

Once Jack had finally reached you, he leaned down to embrace you into a hug and he lightly pulled you into him, making you stand all the way up before leaning down and whispering in your ear. 

“For a minute there, I thought you weren’t going to respond to me.”

“Hmm, I admit I was hesitant, but I figured why not? You obviously wanted to find me for a reason, so here I am.”

“When I see something I want, I’m persistent until I get it.” Jack replied as he played with the ends of your hair and you just knew for a fact that you were about to faint right then and there. 

“And after all of that yesterday, I forgot to ask what your name was.”

“It’s Y/N.” You responded while laughing, having not even noticed that you never told him your name.

“Well, Y/N, you ready to get out of here?”

“On one condition.”

“And what’s that pretty girl?”

“A private show.”

“Hmm, of my songs or were you thinking about something else?” He asked as he leaned down to whisper in your ear once more, but this time kissed the shell of it.

“I’ll take both if you’re up for it.”

“It took me all damn day to find you, so I’m definitely up for it.”

[amuyyi]

venus .

synopsis; you're going on your third year of university, and your friend kazuha invites you to an end of the year ball. parties have never been your thing, but for her? youll make an exception.

trope; non-idol!kazuha x f!reader, friends to lovers, fluff, suggestive, kinda smut? ball/fancy party ! university au!

wc; 6.3k

cw; kinda suggestive, kinda smut? cursing.

a/n; i decided to try writing something suggestive for the first time and next thing u know im 6k words in and i started going thru burnout near the middle/end >< apologies, just wanted to get one last fic out before i disappear to china for 2 weeks!

Your eyebrows knit together with immense concentration as your eyes shift between the notebook on the picnic table and your laptop propped up in front of it, your hand gripping your pen with an unbreakable grip. It was a wonderful day out on the university campus quad, with perfectly warm but not too hot temperatures and a light breeze, and you decided to take advantage of the perfect study environment to finish up the last homework assignments you had. You could see people from the corner of your vision, some were walking with friends, others lounging within hammocks they propped up between trees, you could even spot a group of boys playing pickleball. There were squirrels either digging within the dirt or rummaging through nearby trash cans, and birds singing from the trees. These were perfect conditions to allow for optimum problem solving. You look back at your work. Now, if you just had the correct formula and numbers, the answer should be…

“y/n!”

Before you could even process who had ripped your focus away from solving your chemistry homework, a colorful piece of paper was shoved directly into your face. With the way it was aggressively being waved around and how close it was, you could already tell who the concentration-culprit was.

“Kazuha, what am I looking at?” You ask aloofly, trying to move your head away so you could actually read the parchment. As you make your futile attempts, you catch a quick glimpse of the Japanese girl, seeing that she's made her way to sit on top of the picnic table instead of on the actual very much open seat with her long legs crossed as she beams at you.

“Can’t you read it?” Her voice was sweet and upbeat, as if the answer she was expecting was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Not when you have it literally 2 inches from my face and you won’t stop shaking.”

You can see Kazuha roll her eyes playfully as she pulls the parchment away, placing it on top of your notebook to allow a proper view of its contents. “It's a ball!” You hear Kazuha say excitedly as you skim over the information on the page, “The university’s hosting it as a sort of end of the year celebration. It's gonna be at this fancy castle place that rich white people used to hold masquerades and all that kind of stuff at back then.”

“No.” Your response was almost instantaneous, and you can immediately see Kazuha’s face turn into a frown and then a pout as she whines, leaning forward above your laptop screen, “Whaaaatt? Why not?”

You cross your arms and shrug, shifting your gaze over to the other students enjoying the weather as you speak, “Parties just aren’t my thing, Zuha. They’re loud and cramped, and more often than not I somehow always end up alone.” The way you spoke would’ve sounded quite pitiful if you weren't so firm with your words. What you said wasn’t some opportunity to gain pity from your friend, it was merely fact. Whenever you went to any sort of party or dance with your various groups of friends throughout the years, sooner or later they would break into their own little mini groups, and you were left floating amongst their conversations, left out. You simply didn’t want to relive that experience again with your current college friend group.

Kazuhas frown deepens as she closes your laptop, crawling closer to you from the top of the picnic table as she puts on her best puppy eyes, “come onnnn… Please? The girls already bought tickets, and it's almost our last year of uni! ” She begs, and you try your best to mask the smile that's threatening to form from the corner of her mouth as you repeat your answer, “no.”

She inches closer to you, grabbing you by the shoulders as she lightly shakes your body back and forth, as if that would help get her words from her mouth into your brain and into your heart. “It won't be the same without you!! Yunjin and Chaewon will likely end up hardcore drinking the whole night together, and Sakura is gonna be babysitting Eunchae the whole time!!! You’re the only person I’d genuinely want to spend all night with. I haven’t even bought my tickets yet because I’ll only go if you go!! ” You bite back laughter as she continues to whine, words spilling out of her mouth at rapid speed.

“It’ll be just like prom!”

“I didn’t go to prom.”

“Exactly!”

Hiding your grin was starting to become pretty difficult. Frankly, it felt nice to be wanted. Especially by Kazuha. She's always been so kind to you ever since freshman year, and has always tried her best to include you in social events with her friends. Even so, despite her quite literally saying she wants you there you still can't shake off the feeling that you’d end up alone just like always. You look back at Kazuha and see her desperately trying to win you over, her eyes almost sparkling with a cartoonish glint as she frowns… Still, you’d hate to be the reason why the other girl doesn’t go to an event she is so explicitly excited for.

Letting out a defeated sigh, you rub your temples as you give in, “Fine, I’ll go.”

You watch as Kazuha immediately lights up at your response, pulling you into an all too tight hug as she gleams, “Yes!!! You’re the best!”

“But! Only on one condition,” You pull yourself away from Kazuha and stick up your index finger in her face, forcing her back as she looks you in the eyes, nodding to indicate she was all ears. “You won’t leave me alone.”

The taller girl rolls her eyes as she scoffs, swatting your finger away dismissively as she speaks, “That was already part of the plan, silly. You wont leave my sight the entire night.” The gives your nose a light tap with her finger as your face scrunches up, not appreciating the gesture before shaking your head, beginning to shoo her off the table and onto her feet.

“Okay, okay. Now go away, I need to finish my work.” You allow yourself to smile fully this time, unable to truly keep up the cold and dismissive persona as she winks at you, “Meet me at my place on friday, we’re gonna go dress shopping!” You watch as she spins on her heel and merrily walks down the quad, chuckling at the sight before you return to your work.

…Did she turn off your homework program when closing your laptop?

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Soon enough, Friday had come and you swiftly made your way to the front of Kazuha’s apartment. You had decided to wear a simple white tank top and skirt paired with a bolero top to make changing a quick and efficient process. In all honesty, you were both a little bit excited for this experience but also dreading it for multiple reasons. On one hand, you really didn’t want to go to this ball. The idea of a majority of the university being put into a castle where you could easily get lost and lose sight of your friends was not an ideal situation. On the other hand though, Kazuha did promise you that you wouldn’t be alone this time. The idea of her having all of her attention on you throughout the night didnt sound all too bad…Plus, you did enjoy dressing up and feeling pretty. You sigh as you quickly send Kazuha a text.

Y/n [14:05] – Here.

Zuha [14:05] – come in ^w^ im still getting ready

You laugh a little to yourself at the text, Kazuha was always so punctual until it came to you. You didn’t take any offense to it though, you soon learned over the years that it was a sign that she felt comfortable to take her time with you.

You open the door and you’re greeted with a welcoming living room, ambient light illuminating the sight as you take it in. Kazuha most definitely pays a fortune in rent for this place, the walls lined with large bookcases and a generously sized couch pressed up against the wall. The interior of the apartment was various shades of gray and white, yet somehow still managed to exude a comforting warmth despite the cooler tone. There were blankets and pillows scattered charmingly on the couch and the bookshelves not only held actual books, but also little trinkets of all kinds, including rocks, figurines, and origami figures. The kitchen table had a bowl of fruit freshly put out, and you take notice of a pair of ballet shoes placed next to the door. There have been many nights spent here with the other girls before, whether it be movie nights or drinking, and you can appreciate Kazuha in keeping the space clean for your arrival.

You immediately make your way to the couch, the plush fabric giving into your weight as you get comfortable. A few minutes of aimless scrolling on your phone pass before Kazuha emerges from the nearby hallway, her long black hair ruffled in an intentional way as she wore a black tank top and jeans with a matching jean jacket that slightly slipped off her shoulders, exposing them. You find yourself staring a little longer than usual, taking in the sight before you. Of course, Kazuha was always beautiful— all of your friends were, but something about her outfit and hair and light makeup she put the effort into doing for a simple girls day out with you made your throat unexpectedly run dry.

In all honesty, ever since you first met Kazuha you have always thought she was incredibly attractive, and her kindness and bright personality that came out as you two got closer made her even more desirable; but the idea of ruining the first friend you made in college with a dumb crush immediately steered you away from making any moves beyond platonic. Most of the time you can forget that you even felt anything towards her in the first place, with schoolwork often taking up most of your brainspace— but not this time, apparently. You try to not let your eyes linger on her for too long before she speaks up.

“You ready?” She asks, snapping you out of your trance as she smiles, twirling her car keys along her index finger. You get up from your seat, clearing your mind from your previous intrusive thoughts as you nod, following her out of the apartment and into her car.

The ride to the boutique was enough to completely make you forget about whatever ideas you had before, the pair of you singing all kinds of songs as the world seems to pass you two by on the road. Kazuha had an impressive roster of j-pop music queued up for the ride, and you found yourself silently admiring her as she loudly sang the lyrics out the window as she drove, giving the sky a performance that could never be replicated.

You always seem to forget that the girl was practically born for the arts— from dancing to singing or just general charm, Kazuha was a perfect candidate to become a celebrity or the other. She was beyond good at what she did. It was only reasonable for her to pursue a performing arts major, and you were certain that after graduation you’d see her on the big screen, dancing and singing for the whole world to see. You could only hope that out of everyone in the world who would listen, she’d still find you. You try to follow along with her singing, but you don't know even a fraction of Japanese, and Kazuha can't help but laugh at your efforts. Smiling, you look out the window to try and hide your blush.

Once the two of you arrive at the boutique off campus, Kazuha was quick to drag you towards the wide variety of dresses lined up on the walls, “so… what kind of dress are you thinking?” She asks excitedly, already rummaging through dresses while constantly looking between you and the rack, “I think you should go for something that's gonna enunciate your curves, you got a hot bod.” The comment was so lighthearted and so painfully platonic, yet it still made your cheeks warm. You can’t be feeling these things right now. You dismissively wave your hand as you respond, “don't tease me, Zuha.. besides, aren't you supposed to be looking for dresses for yourself?”

The taller girl furrows her brows as she grabs your forearm, giving it a firm squeeze, “I’m being serious y/n, you’re crazy hot. Give yourself some more credit!” She shifts her attention back to the dresses and her eyes catch sight of a bundle of blue fabric, pulling it off the rack she shoves it into your arms and guides you to the dressing room, “try this on, I’m gonna find some more dresses for you!!”

You were left dumbfounded by Kazuhas words within the changing room for a moment before you pat your cheeks, forcing yourself to focus on the task at hand before trying on the dress. The way she spoke to you felt way too much like a girl talking to another one of her “girl friends” and it made your stomach churn, but you repressed the feelings as you slipped on the blue fabric. It took a bit of effort, but after fighting the tightness you were able to get the dress on. It definitely hugged your body well, being a bodycon style and all, but you felt like a ball at a castle calls for a more dramatic and elegant look.

You step out of the changing room, looking around for your friend as she quickly shuffles her way back, her face partially masked by the comically tall tower of clothing she carried within her hands. Her eyes scanned you from top to bottom, eyebrows raised as she takes in your appearance, smirking a little at how shy you become. “I�� don't think this one is good for the ball, it kinda feels like I’m going to the bar?” You sheepishly comment, suddenly shrinking and trying to hide your body from your friend as she places the dresses on the bench nearby.

She places a finger on her chin and her other hand on her hip as her eyes glaze over you again, deep in thought as she nods. “Yeah, youre right… but you still look great, you should wear something like that for my birthday,” she smiled mischievously, but you could tell she was being serious with her words. You try to stop your heart from practically racing out of your chest as you quickly grab another dress from the pile, disappearing into the changing room as Kazuha giggles.

Soon enough, you and Kazuha are practically going through a real life movie montage, with you trying on every dress she suggests and her sitting down and giving you her opinions. You had tried on a flowy red dress that was off the shoulder, and the color was great but Kazuha wasn’t much of a fan of the shape. There was a champagne dress that was very princess-like, but was just simply too much. The layers and the itchiness and overload of glitter made you want to die. This continued on with just about every color and style of dress until the ravenette hands you a long white dress, throwing you a thumbs up and a wink as you disappear back into the changing room. Honestly this was all fun, but if this wasn't the piece for you after going through what felt like thousands before, you were just going to show up in a t-shirt and shorts.

As you slip on this dress, you notice the amount of detail put into it. It was an off the shoulder dress with a leg slit in which the fabric twists around your hips almost like if it were a flower. It hugged your body well, but it wasn't suffocating whatsoever, and the fabric was surprisingly comfortable with a shimmery sheen on top. It was beautiful, but you couldn't manage to zip up the back of the dress by yourself. You poke your head out and meet the gaze of Kazuha, waving your hand to beckon her over and into the room with you.

You couldn't help but notice the way her eyes widened when she saw you, and how they eased over every part of your body for just a little bit too long. You let out an uncomfortable yet soft cough and she snaps her attention back to you, “This.. This might be the dress!” She says, putting on a smile as you laugh at her response, “yeah? You think so?” And she nods, shooting you a comical double thumbs up as you continue, “I need help with the zipper, though. Do you mind?” You turn around and expose your bare back to the other girl.

You try to keep your gaze downwards as you feel her fingers trail down your back, all too scared to accidentally make eye contact with her while so vulnerable. Still, it seemed like the harder you tried to not do it, the more prompted you were to do so. Sparing a glance into the mirror it's nearly impossible to notice how Kazuha bites her lip, her fingers shaking as she zips up the dress for you, almost as if she was scared to touch you. You can feel her breath on the back of your neck and you shiver, realizing she's gotten closer. Her eyes dart up to meet yours within the reflection, and you’re left there frozen like a deer in the headlights. Her hands slowly trail down your sides and firmly land on your hips as she once again drinks in the sight of you, but this time, there's nowhere to go.

All of a sudden it became very very hard to think. For the first time, you see Kazuha’s eyes darken, and you cannot figure out what could possibly be going on in her mind. Hell, you can barely figure out what's going on in your own. She still hasn't broken eye contact with an unreadable poker face as she wraps her arms completely around your hips, pulling you closer and completely pressing your bodies together. You gasp at the sudden contact, feeling heat shoot through the entirety of your body, your ass pressed up against her core. What is she doing? What are you doing? You close your eyes, unable to look at the vulgar spectacle before you. She leans down and gently places her chin on your shoulder as she leans into the cook of your neck, and you feel the ghost of her lips hovering over the sensitive skin, waiting. The sensation causes the quietest whisper of a whimper to escape your lips.

And just like that, it was as if a switch flipped. “You look so pretty!~” she cooes, squeezing your body and rocking the both of you side to side in a playful (and very platonic) embrace as she grins, “You’re going to catch so many eyes at the ball. I’ll let you change and we’ll buy this dress then head out, yeah?” The words flow out so fast, Kazuha manages to slip out of the small changing room before you could even process what happened.

As soon as you hear the sound of her footsteps fading, you press you back up against the cold mirror, hand on your chest as you feel your heart threaten to give in. You squeeze your thighs together as you try to calm every nerve in your body that was working over time (it was all of them.)

Sweat forms on the top of your forehead as you shakily breathe out, “fuck…”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

The next few days following the “dress incident” as you very originally named, went by painfully slow. Seeing as it was the end of the school year, you had already finished all of your finals and you were simply left sitting alone in your apartment trapped within your thoughts as the days passed. There isn't any more schoolwork to keep you distracted, but frankly, you dont think even all the assignments in the world could keep you from thinking about what happened in that dressing room. You haven't texted Kazuha since. How could you? What even was that? There had to be a logical explanation for… whatever that was, surely. You’ve known Kazuha for around three years now, and not once has she ever done anything to show you she may like you more than platonically.

The situation left you so distressed, you sought out solace in the form of your roommate, Sakura. You’re left restlessly pacing the living room, biting your nails as you retell the story, the older girl’s eyes following your every move. After seeing you do about 30 rounds around the coffee table, Sakura finally decides to speak up. “Y/n… you do know Kazuha has always treated you differently than the rest of us, right?”

Almost comically, your neck snaps towards your roommate as you dash over to her, grabbing her firmly by the shoulders as your eyes widen, staring her down with a stress driven craze, “what.”

Sakura immediately raises her hands in defense, dropping her phone as she is practically pinned against the couch by your unexpected strength. “I-I’m just saying..! Kazuha has always been a pretty shy and reserved person. I mean, she can hold conversations well with just about anyone just fine. But with you? I've never seen her so outwardly affectionate to anyone. She's always touching you and being… silly? I don't know. At least with me, she’s upbeat sure, but she's usually so much quieter, never latching onto my arm, whining, or always trying to get my attention in any way… I'm sure it's the same for the others too…”

As the older girl’s words trail off, your grip on her loosens, and you can see her sigh in relief as you collapse on the couch next to her, lost in thought. Did Kazuha really treat you differently? “But I thought she was just, I don't know, treating me like one of her girl friends? Gal pals or whatever?”

Sakura simply shrugs at this response, “Maybe to her, you’re more than that.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

You sit in the passenger seat of Sakura’s car as you wait in front of Eunchae’s dorm building. Alongside the dress from the store, your hair was tied up into a low bun held in place with a white floral hair stick and accented with a gold arm cuff and necklace that crawled up your body nicely. Sakura had a light pink mermaid style dress on with pearl accents, and you can catch a glance of Eunchae waddling her way over, her hair in an adorable high ponytail to match with her puffy blue dress.

You exchange pleasantries with the younger girl before turning your attention to your phone, nervously nibbling on the pad of your thumb as you quickly send a text to the girl whos been driving you crazy.

Y/n [19:56] – Kkura, Eunchae, and I will be there in five.

Zuha [19:56] – yay!! can't wait to see you in that pretty dress <33

You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling the blush rush to your face.

Y/n [19:57] – What dress are you wearing btw? I didn't see you buy one at the boutique.

Zuha [19:58] – its a surprise～～ (^з^)-☆

“Who are you texting??” Eunchae’s voice rings out, and you immediately shut off your phone in a mild panic as she leans over your shoulder, frowning at the black screen before her.

“Just letting Zuha know we’re on our way– and put your seatbelt on.” You realize how much you sound like a mother in that moment, and it shows on your face, cringing at yourself as Eunchae snickers, returning to her seat as you make your way to the castle.

To describe the venue as grand was an understatement. Your eyes are met with towering spires that stretch dramatically into the sky. The castle was constructed entirely of stone, its walls weathered from the centuries of its existence, dark green ivy leaves crawling up its exterior, giving the fortress a sense of timelessness and majesty. “Wooaaah!! This looks even prettier than the pictures!! They must’ve paid a fortune for this place,” Eunchae’s upbeat cheer interrupts the serene experience as you and Sakura look at each other, laughing as you guide the younger girl down the cobblestone path and toward the crowd.

It felt like all of the university was here at the castle, the courtyard becoming a hive of activity as people shuffled their way in and out through the main doors and from the main hall. The dimly lit grandeur of the hallway before you left you awestruck, casting long shadows that helped illuminate the faces of the individuals passing you by. You spot Kazuha almost too quickly within the crowd, her hair placed elegantly along her bare shoulders as you finally get a look at the dress she picked out for this occasion. She chose the color black for her dress, almost as if to intentionally match your own. The dress was strapless, showcasing her shoulders with a sweetheart neckline that had a hypnotic type of allure to it. The top was fitted, hugging her body and torso to excellently showcase her slim figure before flowing out into a multi layered floor-level skirt. Alongside this, she wears a pair of long black gloves and a pearl necklace that enhances Kazuha’s beauty tenfold, her aura emitting a sense of timelessness and grace. She looked beyond gorgeous, like a black swan. You feel your ears grow hot and your stomach do flips as Sakura gives you a reassuring squeeze on your hand, smiling softly as she guides you and Eunchae towards the group.

Yunjin and Chaewon hold Kazuha in conversation, and you can see a small smile form on her lips as she listens to the duo intently. As the three of you approach, you lock eyes with Yunjin, who grins at your arrival, playfully moving past Kazuha and Chaewon as she wraps her arms around your neck, pulling you into a warm embrace. “y/n!! You made it!!” You get a whiff of her perfume and are immediately hit with a woody scent with a mix of citrus, which you think is fitting with her short green dress and bright orange hair. You laugh into the hug, giving her a light squeeze before looking over at Kazuha.

You swear you see her eyebrow twitch for a millisecond before Yunjin glances at the other girl. Giggling, she leans in and whispers into your ear, “She’s been talking about you all night, by the way.”

Cheeks now embarrassingly flushed, Yunjin pulls away, and you can see Kazuha glaring daggers into the back of Yunjins head as Chaewon sighs, pulling her partner away from you and linking their arms together. The bob-haired girl wore a blood red maxi dress, with matching stiletto heels to boot. She had an authoritative energy to her tonight, and if she wasn’t your friend, you think you would’ve been a little intimidated. “Let the girl breathe, Jen.”

You sheepishly smile as Yunjin sticks her tongue out at the shorter girl, beckoning for Sakura and Eunchae to join as they chatter amongst themselves, leaving you and Kazuha off to the side. After exploding Yunjin with her mind, Kazuha’s gaze softens as she walks up to you, her breath hitching as she opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. You giggle at the sight as she grabs your hands with her gloved ones, looking you in the eyes as she speaks, “you look stunning tonight, y/n,” and the words held a completely different meaning this time. She’s complimented you before– countless times really, but they held a different weight now. It was different now that you could feel an unseen electricity between you two. It was different now because of what she did (or didn't do) to you in the changing room that day.

Blushing, you squeeze her hands, “You look beautiful as well, Kazuha.” Your words were breathless and shy, and you think about how embarrassing it is to say that she quite literally took your breath away with her look tonight. You’re not too sure how long you and Kazuha stood there in the middle of the hall, simply staring at each other as the world seemed to no longer exist around you, but the sound of a cough brings the both of you back down to reality.

“Wanna go to the dance floor? They also have food and drinks,” Chaewon suggests, already leading the group as you can now clearly see how flushed Kazuha’s cheeks are, and you melt at the sight, intertwining your fingers with hers as you follow the group onwards.

The rest of the night was spent dancing and enjoying your time off with your friends. Eunchae was socializing with just about any person who crossed paths with her, Sakura having to hold her back to ensure she didn't get lost. As expected, Yunjin and Chaewon had actually already pregamed the event, but still had more alcohol hidden within their dresses. They offered you a shot, but you declined (much to Yunjins dismay.)

Despite Kazuha being rather introverted and soft spoken most of the time, she definitely had more friends than you realized. Almost every five minutes she would be approached by some group of girls or a lone guy and she’d end up in a conversation that would leave you off to the side. Despite this, Kazuha was an expert at staying true to her word. She always held your hand within hers, sparing glances back at you and playing with your fingers while socializing, almost as if silently saying, “I’m still with you.”

The gesture was sweet, and you really did appreciate it all. But as the night wagered on, you couldn't help but feel that familiar prickling feeling creeping up on you once again. The amount of people brushing up against you made your skin crawl, and the music seemed to be all consuming and suffocating despite the large size of the room you were in. Even holding onto Kazuha's hand was beginning to feel like too much. You frown.

You watch as Kazuha chats with a girl you recognize as Danielle, and you tug a little bit on her arm, catching the taller girl’s attention as she leans over to you, offering an ear as Danielle continues to ramble on. “I think I’m going to get some air!” You try to speak over the music, and it takes a moment for the words to register in her mind, “Do you want me to come with you?” She asks, her eyes caring as she looks into yours, and you want to say “yes, always,” but the rhythm from above begins to shift, and you watch as Danielle’s eyes light up as she grabs hold of Kazhua.

“Oh my god. I love this song, we HAVE to dance, come on!!”

Soon enough your hands break away from one another, and you try to give a reassuring smile to Kazuha who tried to make her way back to you, but ended up getting swept away by Danielle into the sea of people rotating to the dance floor. The smile on your lips drops as soon as she is no longer in sight, and you take a moment to look around. The other girls were nowhere in sight, and there were only strangers surrounding you as you awkwardly mumbled half hearted apologies, desperate to be anywhere but here.

After running through what felt like endless hallways, you burst through a set of wooden doors. Your face is hit with a cool breeze and you finally feel like you can breathe.

You sigh and rub your head, taking in the cold night air as you try to calm yourself down. How ironic. You were so insistent on not being left alone on this night, and when you get what you want, you choose to return to the familiar feeling of solidarity.

Taking in your surroundings, you realize you have ended up on an unused balcony, the stone flooring facing out into the forest beyond. The faint flickering of fireflies emerge from the darkness, and you take a moment to simply just take it all in— to ground yourself. The muffled booming of music from inside lingers, and you close your eyes, leaning over the balcony in contentment.

“Y’know, I don’t think we’re allowed here.”

Kazuha’s warm voice rings out, and you twirl around, finding the taller girl smiling at you softly. She joins your side, staring off into the forest before looking back at you. “Are you okay?”

You hum in response, nodding as you breathe out, eyes focused on the fireflies ahead. “yeah, it was just getting really overwhelming in there…”

Kazuha stays silent, also staring off as a comfortable silence drapes over you two. You can't help but let your mind linger again to the changing room instance, and you look back at the ravenette. She seemed completely unphased by the situation, and you start to wonder if it even happened at all. You open your mouth, wanting to ask what exactly you two were, but the sound of the music inside slowing down catches Kazuha’s attention.

Her ears perk at the tune, and she shifts her gaze back to you, offering her gloved hand just like she did at the very start of this night. “May I have this dance?”

The question catches you completely off guard, and you can't help but laugh, all tension within your mind and body letting loose. “What?? Right now?”

Kazuha gives a gummy smile, “yes. I’d like to dance with you. Right here, right now.”

Your laughter continues and rings out into the night, it’s a wonderful feeling. “Zuha, you know I can't dance,” you chuckle, and despite this truth, you still allow her to take your hand in hers.

“Then just follow my lead.”

You’re pulled into her body, and its a softer experience than before. She guides your free hand onto her shoulder before she places hers on the small of your back. You ease into her touch as she leads the way, taking the first steps and guiding your body to follow. It was clumsy and messy at first, with several instances of you stumbling on your feet and needing Kazuha to keep you up, but it didn't matter at all.

How could it? How could anything else matter in the world right now when the moonlight above framed her face so perfectly? When the shine of the fireflies are dull compared to the woman before you right now?

The both of you laugh as she twirls you in sync with the muffled tune of the song, and you can't help but let out a surprised yelp as she dips you, your hair flying back as you are given a clear sight of the canvas of stars just above the two of you. It was stunning, romantic, even. Kazuha lifts you back up, and suddenly your lips are centimeters apart. You feel her hot breath against your lips, and you suddenly feel like you’ve been transported back to that cramped room.

You feel Kazuha hesitate, before she asks, in barely a whisper, “C-Can I…?”

You would have laughed at the question, the words being so upfront yet so scared coming out of her lips if you didn't so desperately want it as well.

“Please.”

Kazuhas lips immediately press against yours, and it's sweet. It's intentional and tender, full of pent up emotions that threaten to overflow, but the need in the way she tightens her grip on you is strong. She's waited so long for this, and she wants to enjoy it all, but she's holding back, scared that you'll slip away again. Her lips taste like cherries, and it's a wonderful flavor. A flavor you’ve waited three years to taste. You find yourself licking your own lips as you pull away, your arms wrapped around her neck as your faces remain close.

“Is this what you wanted to do when you cornered me back at the boutique?” You whisper, your lips teasingly hovering over Kazuha’s, pulling back when she tries to meet them. You smile mischievously as you see her grow impatient.

“Something like that.”

She's suddenly latched onto you again, lips pressing against yours with more pressure as you gasp, your hand instinctively flying to her hair as you dig your nails into her scalp. A sound you’d never expect to ever come out of such a quiet girl erupts from Kazuha’s throat.

A growl.

You feel that all too familiar heat shoot throughout your body once again as the taller girl pushes you against the stone railiing, her lips trailing down your jawline and onto your neck. Her teeth graze the skin and you cant help but let out a moan, your voice egging her on even more as she begins to mark your neck.

You really should stop her. You’re still out in public, and there was no way you would be able to cover any hickeys she may leave on you with a dress that was very much made to remain off your shoulders. But when she presses her knee in between your legs through your dress and her hands find their way to your chest, who are you to stop her?

Kazuha was nowhere near finished with you.

[orbitariums]

warmth | patrick zweig, art donaldson + black fem reader (pt. 1)

you guys really liked the snippet i posted so it's finally here! this will probably have a second part <3 (let me know if you'd like to be tagged for that!)

content: smut (oral f. receiving, fingering, handjob), childhood best friends trope, patrick and art are acting like high schoolers again, reader is rich bougie conniving hippie writer hybrid ...

reader, patrick and art are childhood best friends who conveniently were all in love with each other, or at least had enough sexual tension to make it feel that way. fast forward almost a decade later, and reader has made it onto the red carpet with her fantastic pen, and patrick and art have gone pro. when she invites them to her house for a star-studded friendsgiving, tensions rise and old doors open, springing forth new possibilities. this is only the beginning.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

warmth

“We should just turn around now, save ourselves the embarrassment.”

Patrick paid Art no mind, rolling down the window and leaning out of it, pressing the buzzer as you had dutifully instructed them in your email invite. 

“Too late now. Already threw away about a gallon of gas just coming up the hill to this place,” he replied, the sense of ease in his voice only egging Art on even more. 

“Exactly why we should leave. I mean, fuck. Does she have to live on a hill?”

“Residence of [last name], to whom am I speaking?” a male voice rings on the other end. 

“Uh…” Patrick starts, Art reaching up over him, 

“Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson?”

A silence filled the air. Patrick swatted at Art, forcing him back in his seat. 

“Why’d you say it like a question, dumbass?”

Art stammered,  already starting to get red in the face,

“I was --”

The gate swung open and both the boys let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you!” Patrick chimed, smirking over at Art, who seemed to be sinking in his seat. 

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Meanwhile, you were inside the mansion that you call home, flowing around the kitchen like there weren’t about fifty people milling about and mingling amongst one another. It smelled like something out of Hansel and Gretel -- from the fragrant brown roasted turkey sitting in the oven, to the gourmand scent of perfectly caramelized candied yams, to the vanilla musk perfume you dotted on your wrists. A black mini Schnauzer nipped excitedly at your feet as you added half a cherry tomato to the giant bowl of salad you’ve been prepping for the last twenty minutes. You look like a pro, like a party of this magnitude is no big deal to you.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

“Do we ring the doorbell? Or maybe… should we knock?” Art questioned, hands tied behind his back as he glanced up at Patrick for answers. 

“It’s open,” Patrick retorted, but he too stood stupefied at the door like a weary traveler wavering in horrific awe before the mouth of some epic beast. 

“On three?” Art suggested, and when he didn’t hear a response, he started to count, “one… two…”

Patrick stepped in before Art could get to three. Art scoffed, but followed behind him anyway. 

The both of them stood there silently, taking the grandiosity of it all in — the sky high dome ceiling, two grand wooden staircases directly opposite one another, the shiny verdant porcelain flooring, the Basquiat painting hanging above the wide bookcase directly in front of them. Mouths open, they looked like they were ready to catch flies. 

“Fuuuck me,” Patrick breathed out heavily. Art’s head was stuck staring up at the ceiling, so high he thought it’d never end. 

“You made it.”

Both Art and Patrick seemed to stand straight at the sound of your voice, like soldiers at attention. You almost laughed, but instead, you stood there coolly, smiling at them both with your lips and your eyes— in them, a look that was almost knowing, wise beyond your years. It seemed like a lifetime before either of them would speak. They spent half of that lifetime practically gawking at you, drinking you in. And how could they not, when you were practically draped in that baby blue silk dress, the flowy bottom dancing above your ankles. You looked more beautiful than they remembered you, calmer, secure — of course, they hadn’t seen you since they were teenagers. Now there was this air of timelessness about you that was only just poking at the surface when you were in high school, now it surrounded you. Something mystic encompassed your entire spirit, dripping from your head to your feet. They’d spent years seeing you from behind a screen, being interviewed on live TV, attending red carpets for award shows, blending in with the Hollywood mecca — another beautiful twentysomething industry talent. But the glow of the television that seemed to give everyone a perfectly filtered sheen was nothing compared to your beauty here. 

“It’s so good to see you,” Patrick broke the silence first, practically lurching forward with open arms to embrace you. His beard scratched against your cheek. You could smell the cologne that was beginning to wear off, mixed with a hint of cigarette smoke. His arms nearly sucked you in. 

When he pulled away, you couldn’t help but chuckle at the way he smiled at you so fervently. 

“Good to see you too, Patrick…” you glanced over at the mousy boy who didn’t seem to have changed much since high school. “C’mere, Artie.”

Art chuckled: a nervous huff of relief, inching forward into your open arms and nuzzling his chin into your shoulder, closing his arms around your midwaist. You could smell the aftershave that clung to his jaw, and the detergent still fresh on his clothes. 

You pulled away, but took one of each of their hands, squeezing. 

“My two boys. Man, how long has it been?”

“Oh, just a while—”

“Seven years,” Art interjected. 

“Who’s counting, right?” Patrick grinned, making all of you laugh. 

You looked at them almost expectantly, eyes wide like a doe, the slightest smile playing at your lips. They looked back with bated breaths. Always, you were in charge, always. It had been like this since the scabby-kneed days of childhood. If you wanted to play on the swings, they were there on either side of you. You were the queen of the sandbox. In middle school, they snuck extra cookies for you from the lunchroom, and they fought over who got to surprise you with the treat every day. Senior year of high school, in the hotel room in London, when you had them perched on either side of you like baby birds waiting for mother’s return— when you had both your hands on each of their thighs inching further and further up, their lips ghosting against your soft skin, had them panting like puppy dogs, only to leave the minute you heard “lights out.” 

It had been seven years since then and still, it was the same. Only this time, you were stupidly rich, thanks to the soaring success of your two psychological thriller books turned TV series. It wasn’t that you’d forgotten about them, or didn’t care about them now that you were rich and famous. You’d gotten accepted to study creative writing at Brown, Art went to play at Stanford, and Patrick went on his path to go pro. It was just the process of growing up. You were delighted to see that they were only a click away thanks to the internet, just one click away from reintegrating into your life. Your childhood best friends. 

“C’mon, lunch is almost ready.”

Friendsgiving. Who didn’t love the concept? It was a readily welcomed, wholesome idea — friends of all ages and backgrounds coming together to rehash their Thanksgiving with leftovers, stories from the year, and maybe a game of cards. Except your friendsgiving was attended by A-list actresses, Cannes festival attending screenwriters, and the odd Grammy nominated artist. And your friendsgiving was not at all an intimate affair — it may as well have been a club party. Most people were outside, dancing, shrieking with laughter, drinking, and skipping their way to their seats. Your backyard was vast and verdant green, with a pool in the center, the perimeter lined with lemon and peach trees, and miles to explore. 

“This is fucking insane, is that Dakota Johnson?” Patrick scoffed. He and Patrick had been left to their own devices yet again, while you flitted around being the hostess with the mostest, easing and gliding about. A laugh here, a clink of glasses there, and a coolness to you that stood in striking comparison with the warmth that stirred deep down inside you. A warmth that could be served with a ladle into goblets, like some elixir with magical properties only you possessed. 

“No, you idiot, that’s— oh shit. That might be Dakota Johnson.” 

Clink clink clink. 

“Everybody, hi, hi! Thank you for coming, please, sit down,” you called out, clinking your glass to get the attention of your guests. Patrick and Art scrambled to find seats, ending up at a table with people who might have been minor celebrities or art critiques or designers -- at least one of those options. 

“I wanna thank you all so much for coming, this really means a lot to me. I know these sorts of things can be really hectic, but you guys make this house feel like a home. I’m glad that some of you will be staying with me for the next few days, there’s always room for more,” you glanced over at Art and Patrick. “Some of you are new friends, some of you I’ve known for far too long. But I think it’s incredibly fucking cool that we’re all here together now in this moment, just enjoying each other’s presence. I do this every year, and every year I meet even more amazing, talented, fascinating people and you all are so dear to my heart. And now, what we’re all waiting for… lunch is served!”

A cacophony of cheers rang out as staff rushed about to place plates in front of everyone. You stood giggling, basking in all of it. 

The rest of the afternoon Patrick and Art spent attempting to blend in as best they could. They were pro tennis players, but this was another level of stardom that they couldn’t quite fathom yet. They watched you ruthlessly the entire night, unable to squash those rising feelings of attraction and yearning for you that had never quite simmered to begin with. You’d always been cooler than them, but watching you now there was a certain air to you that belonged to a grown woman, someone comfortable and confident and in their element. You were positively swimming in the sunlight the entire afternoon. It was like you had this sort of magnetic pull to all things good, rich, and warm. People wanted to be around you. And god, did this prove that. 

By night time, people were finally starting to leave. The sun hung low in the darkening sky, making the fairy lights glow stronger now. The few people that were staying with you for the rest of Thanksgiving weekend had disappeared to their rooms. Besides the waitstaff still milling about, it was just you, Patrick, and Art. The two of them hadn’t meant to stay so long, really. It wasn’t like they were forcing themselves to stick around and be acknowledged by you in a way that felt meaningful. Sure, you’d had your small talk and cracked a few inside jokes, but as much as neither of them wanted to admit it, they needed more. If it was hard to get your attention before, it was nearly impossible now. They were surrounded by so many people who all wanted to network and talk and introduce themselves, they found themselves mingling with your friends, some of them people who they’d seen on screen in the past year,  more than you. They’d been dragged onto the dance floor multiple times by multiple acquaintances, only to gawk at you swaying your hips rather than actually dance themselves. It became overwhelmingly clear, in the midst of their increasingly present desperation, that they should’ve accepted your offer to stay in this castle of a house for the weekend. Neither of them had packed a bag. 

“This is awkward, we’re the only ones left,” Art sighed, still sitting at their table. 

“Let’s just… wait, okay? She might come back out."

"And give us a little speech?"

"Yeah, asshole, maybe she will."

At that very moment, you appeared again, this time clad in a two piece linen pajama set. You didn’t miss the way both their eyes trailed up your legs as you stood in front of them, arms crossed, smiling expectantly. 

“I was hoping you two would still be here,” you said. You glanced between the two of them, that awkward silence filling the air once again. “C’mon. Let’s talk.”

You turned and walked back inside, the two of them trailing behind you.   

"Your house is fucking sick by the way. I mean holy shit," Art blurted once you got to the main entrance hall.

"Feel like I just walked into a page of Architectural Digest," Patrick added on.

You led them up the stairs. Both their eyes dropped to your ass, which poked out just a bit from under the pair of shorts you wore. Silently watching the way your body curved as you walked.

"Ha, thanks. I think I did pretty okay for myself," you replied. 

You led them to the den on the second floor and sat criss cross apple sauce on the lush green couch. Art sat on your left, Patrick on your right. Patrick spread his legs and Art had one foot up on the couch, bouncing against his knee. 

“Sorry we didn’t get to talk much. I was so busy being the host of the year that I didn’t pay enough attention to you two. My favorites.”

Art chuckled,

“Favorites? You’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m serious! D’you know how much I missed you guys?”

Patrick scoffed playfully,

“All those TV interviews I watched of you? I wouldn’t even be thinking about us.”

You couldn’t help but grin, that warmth coming through once again. It nearly made the two men melt. 

“Well I was. I always think about you guys.”

Now came Patrick’s voice again, a heaviness to it that almost made you jump,

“Do you think about anything specific?”

Although it had been nearly a decade since you’d last seen each other, you didn’t miss a single thing about either of them. Patrick didn’t mince words, and he never shied away from not just hinting at, but blaring his salacious intentions every time he spoke. You tilted your head towards him, a cool smile tugging at your lips. 

“Just what good times we had.”

A silence, accented with a flood of nostalgia and a pointed reference to those “good times” permeated the air. You took a moment to gaze at the two of them ever so softly — enough for them to feel it, but not enough to make them squirm (though, they were easy to make squirm)— before you decimated the silence by slapping your hands down on either of their thighs and squeezing endearingly. 

“So tell me, where’ve you two been? I’m not the only one on TV these days.”

“Ahh, you don’t wanna hear about boring tennis,” Art waved a hand of dismissal. 

You chortled, a trademark of yours that Art and Patrick had always poked fun at in school,

“You’re right, I don’t.”

“You still laugh the same,” Patrick said, grinning like he was trying not to but was unable.

You chuckled, this time low in your throat, and turned your head to face him again. You and Patrick were similar in the sense that you were always pushing the boundaries, tiptoeing closer and closer to the line — but the three of you had never quite established where that was. At some point, you were all just too close to even think about “the line” or “boundaries” — all of you appeared clueless to societal expectations of friendship, spurting a sort of cultlike relationship where everyone else was an outsider. 

“Do I?” smiling at him like you were warning him not to tease. 

“Yeah, that little snort you do,” Patrick replied, unshaken. 

“You do do a little snort,” Art chimed in, always chirping like he spoke from a less nefarious place. 

“And if I get started on you guys’ little tennis grunts?” you grinned fully now, showing teeth, looking between the two of them and leaning back a bit.

They followed, leaning back against the couch and keeping their heads in line with yours so you were never too far away from them, each of them turning their heads to look at you. 

“No way you actually watch us,” Art replied.

“I do!” you insisted. “Seriously, if you’d asked anybody here you would know.”

“Sure, let me just strike up conversation with George Clooney,” Art shot back.

“Ha-ha,” you bleated sarcastically. “I don’t even know him… but I have walked past him once on the carpet.”

“Look at you,” Patrick smirked. “Little Miss Superstar.”

He punctuated his sentence with a hand on your knee. Your eyes flickered over to him and you caught the way his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat when he swallowed, felt the way he gazed up at you. You didn’t miss the desire twinkling in his eyes. 

Then Art, always second but not necessarily last, 

“She’s our little superstar, you know that, right?” 

His hand just gently grazing your shoulder.

You let them revel in the moment for as long as you felt appropriate, then huffed.

“You know you guys can stay for the weekend, right? I mean, you should.”

“Oh… no, we wouldn’t wanna impose,” Patrick said, his hand slinking away from your knee.

Another chortle from you,

“You wouldn’t be. This is a five-bedroom house. It’s fine. Besides, don’t you guys wanna actually catch up? I’ll let you torture me with tennis talk.”

Art started to stammer,

“I-I mean… we didn’t bring anything.”

“Just our idiot selves,” Patrick added.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get Charles to get you guys all set up.”

“Charles?”

“Oh, he’s my assistant,” you said nonchalantly as if it were nothing. “You’re not fighting me on this. I want to spend some quality time with my boys. Don’t make me have to beg for it.”

“We could never make you beg for anything,” Art replied, just a little too quickly. 

“I know, Art, that’s why I love you,” you grinned over at him. “So, are we all in agreement? Stay with me. Just this weekend.”

“Yes,” they both replied a little too quickly this time. 

You bit your lip, suppressing a smile. 

“You know… I really, really missed you guys. And those good times we had.”

You let the memory of that night of almosts in London resurge, let their minds run amuck with whatever teenage fantasy was still left over from that night. A moment so brief it could almost be forgotten, could even be flagged as incidental, accidental. Still, the three of you knew, even as grown adults (especially as grown adults), that it would always stick and remain unresolved, unless someone ran to the rescue with some sort of solution. Once again they held their breaths. You stood up, glanced between the two of them like you were sizing them up, and then smiled as if nothing had happened at all — you let them breath. 

“Your bedroom’s the second on the right when you leave here. Charles will help you get set up— I’ll see you guys in the morning for breakfast.”

And just like that, you were gone. The air in the room seemed to clear. Your presence was like a thousand tons of pressure weighing on their bodies and their minds. Finally, they could breathe.

They glanced at each other with the same longing, almost nervous expression — they were just two pubescent boys all over again.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

“I think we should just go for it.”

Patrick lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling with his hand on his stomach, speaking aloud as if into the clouds. Art, who had been gazing into the distance, sitting up against the wall on his side of the room, shook his head at Patrick’s words.

“What are you talking about Patrick?”

The two of them sat in the room that you had put together. They had showered and dressed in the pajamas that were waiting for them, just as you said they would be. The house was practically silent, it was the dead of night. Though you’d left hours ago, that same heaviness in the air seemed to remain in their chests. 

“You know… I mean, she invited us here for a reason, don’t you think?”

Art glared over at Patrick, his brows furrowed and his mouth twisted in a frown,

“Don’t be a creep. We’re her friends.”

“Who want to fuck her, and she knows it. Pretty sure she wants to, too.”

“That was high school, Pat. Get over yourself.”

“Like you weren’t getting your dick wet just from looking at her. C’mon.”

Art throws a pillow at Patrick. It lands square at his feet.

“Don’t be disgusting.”

“I’m just saying, she’s not innocent. She knows what she’s doing. She’s just as perverted as the both of us.”

“Yeah? So what are you gonna do about it?”

“Fucking — I don’t know, something. We should just both go over there and knock on her door.”

Art couldn’t help but sigh heavily — Patrick was always creating some elaborate plot or scheme, but rarely did he ever actually go through with something unless Art was onboard. 

“Patrick, she’s not trying to have a threesome with us. I’m not interested in your porn addict fantasies. Plus it’s the middle of the night, she’s probably asleep. Think she’s gonna wanna sleep with two idiots who fucked up her nighttime routine?”

“So then why are you still here?” Patrick retorted. 

“What? What do you mean?” Art tried to sound normal, but his defenses were up, and they both knew exactly why. 

Patrick turned so he was on his side, facing Art, making sure his words hit just right. 

“You know what I mean. You could’ve just gone home. Could’ve told her that we’ll catch her some other time. But look at you, sitting here, feigning innocence. She’ll think we’re cowards, you know. Seven years later and we still can’t come out and say what is that we want.”

Art swallowed, staring blankly into the distance like Patrick’s words didn’t sting his side. He was right. He almost always was, even if his wording wasn’t the most politically correct or precise. It was just how they were — one too careful, the other one so not. Most of the time, they came together to balance each other out: like fire and ice. But sometimes, like this time, they just threw each other out of whack – an oil spill in a pristine lake. 

“I want a friendship. If you want a fuck, go and tell her that. Goodnight, Patrick,” Art spat, rolling onto his side and turning his light off. 

Patrick sighed heavily like a petulant little boy who’d just been denied a cookie. Maybe in college or high school, Art would have been all ears, and they would have risen from their beds like triumphant kings, and gone on the hunt for their king. But maybe he was right — that was high school. They were too old now, and it was embarrassing. At least if Art had agreed, even if he didn’t fully believe in Patrick, they would’ve gone in together. And so, swallowing his disappointment, Patrick stared up at the ceiling, ruminated for just a bit, and then turned off his light, forcing his eyes shut so he’d fall asleep faster. 

1:10 AM. 

That was the time on the clock when Art opened his eyes next. He woke with a start, like there was something he was meaning to do. Then immediately, he was a bit disoriented. This room was far too big. It wasn’t his. He remembered where he was, and just what he had to do. He rose like an automaton and found his feet swinging to the floor. He threw on the Calvin Klein shorts and shirt your assistant had given him (his pair was white, Patrick’s was black), and slid easily into his slippers. 

Only once he stood did he really catch his breath, and seemingly also his determination. It was like he knew what he was doing, and he was completely okay with it. He even peered over just slightly, to see if Patrick was still asleep. And by the slow rise and fall of his body on his side, he could tell that he was. He was stuck in this dream state between idiocy and confidence, making for mindless determination as he sauntered out of the room and down the hall. He had intent, his head was screwed on straight. He knew where your room was, and he practically marched down the end of the hall. 

As soon as he reached your door, he realized what he was doing, truly realized. He stood there stock still, like a rabbit that had just gotten caught eating a carrot from someone’s garden. He was suddenly confronted by the fact that he was completely alone; your room was at the very end of the hall and completely cut off from the other rooms. Now the heartbeat in his chest was loud and clear, and the slight shifting sound of the fabric of his shorts rubbing against his inner thigh sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Nervous tics settled in, and he felt a rattle go down his spine at the recognition of what he was doing— the sheer arrogance, the assumption he was making. He thought of Patrick, and the betrayal this would be, considering he had just shut him down so profusely earlier. He thought of the fact that it was so easy for him to be so double-sided, to just get up and attempt it on his own, even making sure that Patrick couldn’t possibly be involved. How easy it was for him to be so unfair. He thought of himself, standing there with suddenly sweaty palms and a dry throat. Like a high school boy with blue balls. 

What are you doing?

He thought to himself. He almost turned around, but he heard humming from the other side of the door. No doubt your voice, and no doubt you were very much awake. He could hear music, albeit muffled. He swallowed, closing his eyes like he was bracing for impact, and sighed. If he could remember the words to recite Hail Mary, he would have. Eyes still closed, he knocked. He heard the slight pause on the other side and imagined you perking up slightly and looking around the room to make sure you weren’t just hearing things. Despite his embarrassment, the knock was firm. It was clear it was someone else on the other side of the door. And so, a few seconds later, you swung the door open. 

“Art,” you said, a hint of both surprise and relief in your voice.

“YN,” he replied, saying your name like it was a period to a sentence. 

You were clad in a cream-colored silk slip with a lace trim. A dainty gold necklace adorned your neck, flush against your collarbone. You’d changed again since the last time he saw you, and this outfit did not make it any easier for him to tear his eyes off of you, starting from the necklace, to your breasts, to your legs. The slip was short and nearly see through, revealing your thighs which looked so soft and plush. The pucker of your nipples sheened underneath the thin fabric. The way it clung to your body was almost maddening. You looked fresh as a daisy — like you’d spent hours in the bath, rubbing countless creams and gels against your skin. Art felt suddenly embarrassed like he had interrupted your girl time with his boyish, base desires. You pulled him out of it though, with a slight smile and kind eyes looking up at him.

“You doing okay?” you asked almost playfully, still grinning slightly.

“Yeah, I just uh… wanted to… talk to you,” Art said, not even making eye contact with you and instead very obviously peering inside of your room. You looked over your shoulder like you were trying to see what Art was looking at, then looked back at him. Finally, he was making eye contact with you. He felt like you were scrutinizing him, searching for something to validate this interaction, to validate him. Your warm smile didn’t look all that different from a smirk anymore. 

“Well. I am the host. Who’d I be if I didn’t indulge a late night chat?”

You stepped aside, pushing the door wide open with your back. You nodded at him like a coach, beckoning him,

“Come in.”

And so he stepped inside, and you closed the door behind you. Your room was how he’d expected it to be — reflective of your personality as long as he’d known you, but a hint more sophisticated. Everything rested on a plush chenille carpet. Your mattress, adorned with plush, deep red and green linens, sat on a large wooden bedframe, above which posters of your favorite bands and writers hung — Audre Lorde, Led Zeppelin, James Baldwin, Khruangbin. Across from your bed, there was an almost bulky yet fitting antique dresser. On top of it sat a 1935 Remington typewriter. In the corner, a leather armchair sitting beneath a scallop shade floor lamp, accented by a magnificent bookshelf behind it that was positively full. A desk, scattered with papers and pens and a pair of glasses, yet still tidy. And a vanity, where Art imagined you’d been just a moment before he came in.  And dim, yet comforting lighting. 

“Wow,” Art couldn’t help himself — he truly was an admirer of the details, the little things. And clearly, so were you. It had gotten you this far. He sauntered over to the typewriter on your desk, fiddling with the keys just a bit and tapping the top. You giggled at his nerdy lopsided smile. “This is sick.”

You smiled, placing two hands on your hips, beaming like a proud parent,

“She doesn’t work, but she’s beautiful. That’s honestly my most prized possession.”

Art grinned, truly touched. He turned to face you straight on, feet away from where you stood at the bed. 

“I’m so proud of you, you know.”

The veritas in his voice rendered you bashful for just a moment, looking down and huffing an almost dismissive laugh,

“C’mon, Art, don’t go all soft on me now.” 

Art rose to his own defense,

“I’m serious, YN! Look what you’ve done for yourself… I mean, I couldn’t expect any less, though.”

You waved your hand with a cheeky eye roll, and he started walking towards you, his footsteps causing the floor beneath to creak slightly. It was almost suspenseful, but you weren’t intimidated or in danger, just deeply intrigued and honestly, excited. You watched him, positively ensnared, as he closed the distance between the two of you.  

He took two of your hands in his own like he was putting his life into your hands. That charming smile of his reared its head, accompanied by his blue-brown eyes, sparkling and wet and smiling too,

“We both are, you know. Proud of you.”

You smiled, genuinely at first. Then, it flickered. By the way he faltered momentarily, losing grip of the power trip that he dove into headfirst, you could tell he noticed. Your genuine smile turned slightly smug. 

“Both of you? Why is Patrick not here, then, telling me how proud he is?”

Art did his best to keep smiling smoothly, cocking his head to the side slightly as if to say what can you do? 

“He’s asleep.”

“Right… it is like, one AM. I’m surprised you’re even up, or that you assumed I would be," you kept on prodding.

“Hmm,” he smirked. He shrugged all too casually, so much so that it was cocky. “Guess I’m not that tired.”

“Mmm,” you hummed, nodding sympathetically. 

The both of you relished in this little game you were playing, a game of so few words but oh so much meaning. You held his gaze for just a moment longer, watching as his flickered from your eyes to your lips and back up. Then you sat down wordlessly onto your bed, never tearing your eyes away from his. You patted the spot next to you, and he followed, taking a deep breath that never seemed to exhale. You were sealing his fate in this one moment. 

“I spend a lot of my time holed up in here. That’s why I make it as peaceful as I possibly can. Beautiful too, but not too beautiful. Otherwise, I’d just be distracted and a bit disgusted,” you chuckled at the end.

“Beautiful. Right,” Art replied, his gaze burning a hole into you.

A beat. 

“So what’d you wanna talk about, Art?” 

He knew he couldn’t be imagining the dulcet innocence in your voice that suggested anything but innocence all the same, nor the flicker of desire in your inquiring, wide eyes. All of it, combined with the slight pout on your lips, seemed to come together to create a face that was almost begging. His entire body softened. His eyes went heavy with the confession that was his utter, depraved need to have you. He slowly pulled his bottom lip into his mouth with his tongue and blinked slowly, seemingly unaware of the fact that he was leaning in more and more with every passing millisecond. You stayed put where you were, wanting him to chase you through and through. You kept that poker face, like you didn’t feel your heart racing too. As his face inched closer to yours, his hands started to roam as well, and you stifled a whimpery breath at the touch of those hands against your bare skin. For some reason, you’d always thought he’d have such baby-soft hands, but they were rough and calloused from the weight of the tennis racket that was forever stationed between them. It only made the touch that much better, made you realize how long you’d been waiting for this, his rough hands seeping into your skin like a scar of age. 

“I don’t wanna talk,” he finally said, his voice lilted with need, and his lips nearly flush against yours. 

Finally, he closed the gap between your lips. The kiss was slow and languid, but not for lack of passion. Years of distance would do that, would amplify the mutual pining. You thought, in this interaction that you knew would happen with one or the two of them, that you might be more calm and collected, still wearing that disguise of cool nonchalance, but you were on fire. Your hands were quick to wander as well, up to his face, gripping his jaw, one traveling up to his hair and finding itself tucked beneath the tufts of slight curls. And then his hands were traveling up from your knees to your thighs, to your waist, practically glued to the expensive fabric. The room was silent bar for the sound of the two of you panting like crazed virgins, and the wet sounds of your kissing. 

You needed to gain control back, and quickly. So you pulled away, putting on your best smirk. Deep down, you felt like Art knew it was an act, like he was looking right through you. But at the same time, you knew he was far too ecstatic and anticipatory to call it out or really even notice it in full. And besides, you didn’t care. It was you who held all the glory, both back then and especially now. 

“You two place a bet or something? That was quick.”

Art was still breathing heavily, gazing at you like you were the solution to all his problems. His hands were still roaming widely, like your body was an expanse of wild land, his hands gripping your shoulders and caressing your arms up and down. The confidence boost in him was visible and almost amusing. 

“No bets… but Patrick was saying…”

“What was he saying, hmm?” you placed a hand on his chest and caressed the warmth there. “Why’d you come here, Art? Thought you should close the gap, huh? Answer the age-old question? Wanting to prove yourself?”

You slipped your hand between his legs, grasping the meat of his inner thigh and glaring into his eyes. You felt how he stilled, how his confidence stuttered. Both because he’d been called out, and because if he wasn’t hard before, he was raging now. 

“No…” you squeezed his thigh, your hand ghosting over the erection that sat directly above it, forcing the truth out of him with your touch. He shuddered. “Maybe. Yeah, fuck. Yes. I-I wanted to prove myself.”

“Yeah?” you murmured, slinking towards him like a black cat. You placed one leg over his lap, straddling him. Positioning yourself so your clothed cunt was directly over his erection, which dared to rip through both his boxers and his shorts. You rolled your hips over his cock gently, just once. “This helping you prove yourself?”

You pushed him back, back, back, until his head rested firm on the pillow and you were directly above him, the shape of your entire body clear to him as you straddled him on your bed. He couldn’t speak, only stare up at you in awe, his heavy breaths loud and desperate. You only stayed like this on top of him for a minute before you shimmied down until you were at face level with his crotch. You let your hands explore the expanse of his chest and stomach over his white t-shirt, and then took the bottom of it in your mouth, pulling it up with your teeth in a motion so effortless and tigress-like that Art nearly came on the spot.

“Hmm?” you probed him to answer the question with a demanding hum, the soft fabric of his t-shirt still in between your teeth, gazing up at him from beneath wispy lashes. You let go once he was decently exposed, his tight stomach rising and falling frantically. 

“Fuck, yes,” he rattled, his hips bucking up involuntarily. 

You pushed his hips back down immediately and like a reflex, he started to apologize,

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” 

You ignored him and instead, you practically ripped the shorts off of him and started to palm him through his boxers, admiring the way his cock twitched and jumped beneath the small of your hand. You were attentive, watching as precum started to leak from his tip onto his boxers. You tsked.

“We’ll have to get someone to wash those.”

He squirmed and swallowed a wild grunt in his throat. His head was fully thrown back like he was in the most immense pleasure of his life, and you hadn’t even really started yet. You ground the part of your hand just above your wrist over his erection before peeling his boxers off. You watched as his cock sprung up in the air, thick and red and leaking. A tuft of strawberry blonde hair sat at his mound, but he was still put together. You sat up just a bit so you could place your hand on his cheek lovingly. 

“Look at me, Artie.”

Your voice was so enchanting and soft that he almost forgot you were fucking his entire mind up, and he opened his eyes and looked down at you with the shaft of his cock enclosed in your hand. 

“Fuck,” he huffed, resisting the urge to throw his head back again. 

You maintained eye contact with him as you circled your finger over his wet, pleading tip, spreading the leaking precum around the head of his dick. He glanced away from you and looked at what you were doing, causing his eyes to roll back in his head. It was taking everything in him not to give in completely, and not to cum. 

“No- no - I… I wanna make you feel good first. Please.”

Something in Art’s voice nearly made your heart drop — the wholehearted desperation and earnestness in it. It also made your pussy throb around nothing. The whole night Patrick and Art had been desperate, but now it was like you were finally seeing the extent of it. It was somehow endearing, a reminder of the love between all three of you. Art had always been a giver, and he sought out praise any place he could get it. It came as no surprise to you that he was the same now, but still, it made you indescribably horny. 

You hardly realized you hadn’t responded. That wasn’t supposed to be part of your act, but Art was still pleading all the same,

“Can I? Can I just… taste you or — f-feel you, I-”

You kept your wrist moving in slow and controlled motions up and down his shaft, studying his face as you did: the way his eyes fluttered open and closed with a pleasured squeeze, his mouth perpetually open in gratification.

“It’s so fun watching you fall apart, though,” you replied, but you found yourself working your way up anyway, sneaking your legs up his body like a snake, one on either side of him. 

He grasped onto your hips immediately, groaning at just the sight of you. The moonlight shone through the windows and brightened up the darkness of your room, illuminating your features and painting you under something like a spotlight. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, looking at you with hooded eyes. You steadied yourself, your hand reaching out to grab the bedframe and one of his hands gripped the fleshy underside of your thigh to help you. The more you inched up, the more he could see up the slip, catching a glimpse of your cotton panties, cream-colored with a tiny black bow in the middle. The print of your cunt through them was like an outline, a map to promised land. He sucked in a breath, almost like he was in pain. Your necklace dangled just inches away from your neck, like it was teasing him too.

 “Wanna taste me?” you asked teasingly, lifting your hips above his face and hovering there, forcing him to tilt his head back and look up directly at your cunt, still hidden beneath your panties. You rolled your hips, letting your clit brush against the tip of his nose. He was enamored by the scent, had to physically stop himself from taking a deep sniff. “Hmm?”

“Yes, please, fuck,” he groaned, slightly arching his back up off the mattress just to get closer to you. “Please.”

He pressed a closed-mouth kiss to your clothed cunt, his eyes closed. It was such a gentle, delicate touch that you almost wouldn’t have believed how desperate he was if it weren’t for the longwinded moan that involuntarily escaped his lips when he made contact with your core. You bit down on your lip, breathing out from your nose, and started to grind your hips against his face. He kept kissing at your cunt over and over until it was almost indiscernible what was fabric and what was flesh— your panties had gotten so wet from his mouth and your slick. The wet trace made the friction unbearable, and your pussy throbbed through the fabric onto his face. 

Through a mouthful, Art mewled,

“You taste so good. Please let me eat this pussy.”

This time, his lips peppered kisses around your inner thighs, soft but quick touches, taking in your musk. You decided to stop torturing him, that enough was enough. You lifted yourself up just a bit, and pushed up your slip. You were about to reach your hand down when you stopped and cocked your head with a smirk. 

“Go on, then,” you said. Softly, like it was a suggestion more than it was a command. And Art took it in perfect stride. 

He practically ripped your underwear off, pushing them to the side with a brute swipe of his hand that contrasted wildly with the gentle kisses he had given you before. Literally pushing your panties to the side. He looked for a second, eyes glazed over at the sight in front of him, taking in the sight of your dripping pussy. It looked so warm and wet and inviting, if he weren’t a better man he would’ve had to force himself not to bury his dick inside of you. When he felt he’d gotten a good look of it, savored the moment just enough, he wrapped his arms around your waist, smashing your cunt against his face. His mouth connected with your folds and you felt him sucking vehemently, before slipping his tongue in between your slit, pressing the tip of it against you. You cried out as he collected all the slick from your weeping center, keeping a hand on your stomach to stabilize himself, the other against your asscheek, squeezing every now and then. 

“Oh,” you moaned, immediately starting to grind your pussy against his tongue, your clit once again nudging his nose each time you moved up. Art kept up, positioning the tip of his tongue just right so you rode it each time you wound up, applying just the right amount of pressure. “Yes, Art, just like that.”

“Mm-hm,” he hummed, the vibrations causing you to clench over his face and around the tip of his tongue. Then he flattened his tongue so he could capture the entire surface of your cunt. This time the grip on your ass grew stronger, and soon enough both his hands were squeezing your ass, supplementing your movements. You kept the time you wanted, Art just assisted you in rolling up. You honestly needed it, the way your thighs were starting to shake. 

Art hummed satisfactorily again, enclosing his lips around your clit and suctioning, keeping his tongue out just enough so you could feel both sensations. You nearly squealed, your hand flinging down to push your panties out the way even more. Your back arched in pleasure, creating a whole new angle for Art to lick at and please. His fingers pressed deep into the flesh of your ass, like he was leaving some imprint. Now it was you writhing and moaning, but Art never forgot who was in control. That is, until he took firm grasp of your hips and used that to flip you over so that you were on your back. It was like he never lost contact with your pussy, diving right back down before you could even register what had happened. He yanked your panties all the way down and threw them over his shoulder. 

“Take your shirt off, baby,” you panted. 

He obliged, throwing his shirt off too, and then leaning back in so he could get to work. His arms wrapped around the inside part of your thighs, spreading you apart for him. Before you even felt his mouth, you moaned at the sight of his back and shoulder muscles flexing as he worked. He placed sloppy kisses against your inner thighs and kissed closer and closer to your mound until finally, he was wrapping his lips around your clit once again, using what he could of his tongue to lap up your juices at the same time. You were nearly trembling in pleasure, your hand flying to the back of his head to keep him secure where he belonged. He moaned in response, and you squeezed tufts of his strawberry-blond hair. 

“That’s it, I want you to feel good. Make yourself feel good for me,” he murmured, his nose buried in your cunt, eyes closed in satisfaction and concentration. You glanced down to see that he was grinding his hips ever so subtly into the bed — getting off by getting you off, and you threw your head back. 

“Mhmm. So good, Art, you’re so good.”

This seemed to set him off into a frenzy as he placed open-mouth kisses against your pussy, kissing it like it was a mouth. His tongue lapped you up and sucked you in, making precise, timed movements with the close of his lips around your clitoris. He used his hands to gently push your legs back so they were angled slightly in the air, the new angle causing you to whine. He angled his neck ever so slightly so he was licking the lips, a slender finger prodding at your wet, tight entrance.

“This okay?” he asked, just dipping the pad of his finger in and opening his eyes to look up at you, as if you weren’t lost in your own world of pleasure, eyes shut tight. You opened them momentarily, looking down at what he was doing, the sight of his face engulfed in your pussy and his finger slipping up and down your slit now. You could only manage a moan along with a strangled nod, and he obliged, sliding a slender finger inside of you. Your pussy stretched and then collapsed around his finger, suctioning in like a glove, and now he used his tongue and lips to go from your lips to your clit, all spit and drool and your arousal as he worked his finger inside of you. 

“Fuck,” a strangled grunt left your throat, your pussy tightening around his finger, which made him moan in response. “Art, fuck. I’m getting close.”

“Yeah?” he replied, muffled as it was. He slipped another finger inside of you with ease, wishing he could watch as he felt your pussy sucking him in greedily. Now the slow thrusts of his fingers became more forceful, pushing deep inside of your walls. You nearly screamed at the addition of his finger and the way he curled them inside each time they came to a stop inside of you. 

“Y-yes, fuck, just like that, Art, don’t stop.”

He moaned something incomprehensible, or maybe it was a groan mixed with a sigh, as he continued the expert deft movement of his fingers inside of you and mouth against you, bringing you to rock your hips against his face. You were muttering to yourself now: “so close”, “gonna come” until his fingers finally hit that sacred spot, his lips closed just right around your clit, spit drooling from his mouth, and you fell apart. That devastating feeling peaked in your stomach as Art brought you to your high and you gushed around his fingers and into his mouth. Your moans were girlish and deliciously sweet, momentarily wiping away that facade you’d been playing so good at all night. 

“Fuck, I’m coming!” it was like you were announcing it to yourself, squeezing your legs around his head and practically clamping down on his hair with your hand as you released. He helped you ride out that high, not stopping, but slowing his fingers and easing his lips against your pussy to keep you grounded. 

When you’d finally caught your breath, Art pulled back, his chin and cheeks absolutely soaked.  

“You taste so fucking good, YN,” he said it like it was a fact of life, as simple as “the sky is blue,” trying to ignore the fact that his load was prone to explode any second now. 

“C’mere, I wanna taste,” you implored. Shakily, he pulled himself up and above you, letting you cradle him in your arms, one around his back and the other cupping the nape of his neck, as you captured him in an open-mouthed, sloppy, slow kiss. You could feel his cock sticking out of his boxers and poking your leg and in one swift movement you slipped your hand between the two of you and pulled him out, your hand wrapping around him. He couldn’t help but take notice of how your hand fit him perfectly, like a glove. 

His hips started to stutter, quite literally, he nearly fell on top of you, gasping desperately.

“Fuck,” he drawled slowly, lips still brushed against yours, pinching his eyes closed. “T-this is s-so—”

He spoke between full-body twitches and spasms of his cock. You pouted slightly, running your fingers through his hair,

“Use your words, Artie. Whatsa matter?”

He chuckled, hanging his head low and shaking it slowly,

“It’s just I’m so — fuck,” his words morphed into a whine when you used your finger to circle around his tip, which was positively leaking with precum. “I… I’m so sensitive right now. I’ve been trying not to come for like thirty minutes.”

You both laughed, genuinely amused. 

“You wanna come?” you entreated, gazing at him with a look that almost resembled concern. 

His smile dropped as his face morphed into that of desperation, that of need, and he nodded earnestly,

“Yes, please. Please make me come, YN. Make me come h-however you want me to.”

“Yeah?” you implored, the palm of your hand closing over his tip to gather slick and then spreading it all down his shaft. “Want you to look at me while you come. Can you do that for me?”

Art felt pressure building in his chest as his breaths grew more and more erratic and he forced himself to look you in the eyes, responding with an affirmative albeit strangled whimper that was supposed to resemble the word “yes.” You rewarded him by stroking him faster now, your hand a tight grip around his shaft, the sound of his wet skin and your open hand slapping against his balls overwhelmingly lewd. His eyes fluttered closed for just a minute, and his head cocked to the right, his mouth opening while no sound came out. His eyes rolled back in his head, and his hips started to buck up into your hand, supplementing your strokes. 

“F-fuck, YN, that’s– fucking incredible, Jesus Christ. Please, I’m gonna–” he stammered, looking up at you like he was pleading with you. You simply returned his gaze and smiled, that warm, all-knowing smile of yours, and he fell apart. His entire body, hot to the touch, seemed to shake uncontrollably as he burst, thick ropes of cum spilling out of him and splashing onto your hands and your thighs. 

“Fuck!” he whined almost pathetically, his hips faltering to an unsteady stop as he released.

You kept your hand there, slowing to languid, gentle strokes as he rode out his high until you were sure he’d emptied the last of his cum in the crease between your thigh and hip. He tried his best not to collapse on top of you, but you knew he was weak. 

“It’s okay,” you reassured him, and he fell on top of you with a limp thud, groaning as he buried his face in your chest. 

The two of you lay there catching your breaths, sweaty and hot to the touch. When Art finally got up, he laid next to you on his side. His face was red, and not just because of the exertion. 

“Fuck. I’m so sorry, I-I don’t know what came over me, probably crushed you,” he laughed apologetically.

You replied by using two fingers to gather what you could of his cum, smiling writhely as you licked them clean. He watched intently, absolutely enraptured. You did it again, reaching down to your thigh and gathering up his cum. This time, your fingers prodded at his lips. He nearly rattled with arousal. Easily, he obliged, opening ever so slightly, and wrapping his lips around your fingers, sucking the taste of himself clean off. You smiled at him admiringly. He couldn't help but laugh around your fingers,

"Fuck, that's so hot. I'm so sorry."

“Don’t apologize. You did so well.”

Suddenly, Art sat up. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

You giggled, your eyes twinkling as you looked up at him, amused by this sudden display of responsibility. 

“Do I seem that fragile?” you teased.

“Oh, on the contrary. I just, I don’t know. Aftercare is important.”

So you spend the next half hour being doted on by Art as he soaped down your body in the tub. It’s the most intimate you had been the entire night, and he realized now that this was the most detailed he’d seen your body. He wanted you like this forever, being carefully pampered under his adoration, gazed upon by his eyes only. For a moment, you worried that this was somehow crossing a line, but you swallowed those thoughts just as quickly as they surfaced. The line had already been crossed when you reached out to them. Sure, you wanted to see how your two favorite white boys were doing, and you were excited to rekindle the friendship that had molded your life for so long. 

But like Art walking to your door, you knew what it was that you wanted, and you knew that you were opening up a can of worms. Besides, you really did love Art, and you loved Patrick too. It was the sort of platonic love that could only be understood by people who had been friends as long as the three of you had. The kind of love that was still there for the taking years later. It didn’t need constant stoking to keep the flame. So, neither of you made this routine— this gentle touch in the water, loofah running across your back and Art’s fingers digging into your shoulders to loosen you up — a big deal. 

By the time the water drained, you were absolutely zonked. You didn’t realize how late it was and just how much energy the whole ordeal had taken out of you. Your orgasm was so strong you were surpised you didn’t fall asleep then and there. Art used a towel to dry you off and had to practically carry you to your bed. He was lucky you didn’t see the shit eating, self-satisfied grin on his face — he liked being a caregiver, and throughout all the years that you had been friends, it was rare that you ever let him take care of you like this. 

You threw the sheets over yourself, lashes batting as you looked over at Art, who was kneeling on the floor next to you, at face level with you. He was smiling so wholesomely that you couldn’t help but reach your hand out and stroke his face, your thumb resting on his sharp jaw.

“You’re good to me, Art. You both are. I really did miss you two. I keep saying it but I want you to know it’s true. Didn’t just invite you guys here to live out some old fantasy.”

“I missed you so much,” Art could melt from the touch of your hand on his cheek. He tilted his head slightly to kiss your fingers gently, cupping your hand over his. “I know you, YN. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

You yawned,

“I’ve been a rotten friend, though. Don’t know what took me so long to invite you guys to one of these. I thought about it every year, but decided against it every ime.”

Art waved his hand, shaking his head in dismissal of your comments,

“You’re a perfect friend. We’re the rotten ones.”

“See? You’re just the sweetest,” you grinned, your eyes sparkling. “I’d let you sleep with me, but—”

“Patrick,” he concluded.

“Don’t want him to be mad you didn’t tuck him in,” you giggled. 

In the back of Art’s mind, he wondered if it would’ve gone the same way if Patrick had been the one to knock on your door. He knew it would, but it was nice to pretend that it was something he had to think about. He wondered what you would’ve done if they’d both shown up. Almost laughed to himself at how little self-control he had, while you were like a rock. 

“He’s asleep anyway, but I should be there in the morning so things aren’t weird… things won’t be weird, will they?”

You shook your head, though some part of you knew that Patrick would even out the scorecard soon enough. He always did, competitor that he was. He was so hard to resist, and it’s not like you were resisting him very much in the first place — you’d invited the both of them, it was just a quirk that Art had been the one to do it first. You’d half expected Patrick to show up by himself, if it wasn’t the two of them. But one thing about Art was that he wasn’t some stick in the mud — he could be a wild card, and if he was anything like that ball of energy he was back in high school, you knew he could get shit done. 

“It could never be weird. It’s us,” you replied with certainty. 

Art leaned in, pressing his lips against yours in a soft kiss. 

“Go back to bed, Artie. I’ll see you at breakfast,” you grinned. 

“Goodnight,” he crooned. 

“Goodnight,” you replied. 

He stood up and walked out the room, though part of him was longing to stay there for just a bit longer, if not the whole night. But he knew this was just a one-time thing, just a way to let out that pent-up tension. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t already thinking about showing up to your door tonight, and the next night, spending each warm summer night here buried inside of you, pulling his name from your mouth in pleasured sobs, making you come undone with his fingers once again. But, dutiful as he was, he walked back to their room, careful not to make a sound as he pulled off his shirt and stepped back into bed— staring up at the ceiling while he replayed moments over again in his mind. Like high school all over again. 

[gerardpilled]

I want to say thanks for acknowledging and being critical of racism done by MCR band members and racism in the scene in general. I just recently got into MCR a year ago on a deeper scale and I have found many things off putting and kind of yikes. It's nice seeing someone who is critical of what the band members have done in the past and not excusing them and addressing that it was an issue as a whole. I used to be very hateful towards Lindsey but now I realize that it would be hypocritical (I still do not like MSI just due to it not being my taste in music and I don't care for that shock value type lyrics). I was wondering if you know any resources that talk more about racism in the scene? It's something I'd like to know more about

Oh it’s no problem! Thank you for thanking me, but I don’t see myself as doing anything special. I was raised in an environment where I was fortunate enough to be around people and friends who have made me aware of implicit racism -from my self and others- since an early age. Hearing “well, that’s cause you’re white” is a playful joke but it also made me aware of stuff! Just from what I’ve seen in recent years, the shortcomings of white people who are the focus of fandom are often ignored. There’s nothing wrong with pointing out a racist thing your fave said or did because it doesn’t necessarily make them A Racist™️ (sometimes it can). It also helps people recognize the issues before they get worse. POC aren’t a monolith - there are plenty of things disagreed on amongst any community - but there are definitely over arching sentiments.

Anyway, I’m basically just reiterating a bunch of talking points made by poc on here. As for further reading, I feel like the best sources for me have been mutuals’ posts. First hand stories. Being receptive when people share how certain things make them feel. Racism in this particular scene is also sort of a new and emerging topic as the people who lived through the heart of it are just now reaching authorship age. I look forward to seeing what comes out in the next few years.

What I have right now:

My Chemical Relaxer - a short autobiographical story about growing up Black and emo

News story about how the current state of hardcore is looking much more diverse

Sing It Zine - zine made by fanartists a few years ago!! It’s great, I bought a digital copy myself. It’s filled with art and short essays about how it felt to grow up in a scene that often ignored non white people. Also a bunch of tumblr users participated, so it offers a great follow list if you’re interested.

If anyone else has any suggestions, add them in a reblog, or send them and I’ll do it!

[sailor-aviator]

The Beginning

Stranger Like Me: Prologue

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: From a young age, the animal kingdom had fascinated you, and maybe that's why you chose to pursue that passion. You quickly became a force within the field, becoming the leading expert on ape social structures, which is how you found yourself on an expedition into the African jungles searching for a troop of gorillas. What you weren't expecting, however, was to run into the local wild man on one of your excursions... (Tarzan!AU)

Trigger Warnings: Talk of loneliness, Inaccurate scientific descriptions and terminology, Flirty Jake, Allusions to loss of parents, Talk of reintigrating someone into society...I think that's it.

Word Count: 1,263

A/N: Here it is! I hope y'all don't mind me making you wait too long! This blog is 18+ ONLY! As always, reblogs and comments are welcomed and encouraged!! Find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator where all of my stories and drabbles are posted! If you would like to be added to the Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw tag list, please click the link below!

Series Masterlist || Moodboard 1 || Moodboard 2 || Moodboard 3 || Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw Tag List

You had a running theory that there were two types of people in this world: plant people and animal people. You? You were most definitely an animal person. Growing up, you visited the zoo frequently, the employees practically knowing you by name. You did your best to memorize as many facts as you could about the different animals in each exhibit, knowing from an early age that you wanted to work with animals for the rest of your life.

You’d spend hours at the primate exhibits, watching the way the different apes and monkeys interact with each other, and you wished you could fast forward to the moment where you got to study it day in and day out.

So, you worked hard, graduating high school with honors before moving on to study zoology in undergrad, and then skipping straight to your doctorate program after that. It had been a long, grueling road that left little time for much else, but it was your passion, and once you had been greeted with the title of “doctor,” you knew it had all been worth it.

That didn’t stop your bouts of loneliness though. While your friends all went out to party, you were usually found with your nose buried in a book. And it wasn’t like you wanted to go out partying, but it still hurt when your friends stopped asking.

And then there was Jake Seresin, your handsome best friend of several years who knew he looked good and never failed to own it. The two of you had met in the early days of undergrad, having been partnered up in a biology lab, and you had hit it off immediately. Jake wasn’t interested in primates, his focus turned towards botany of all things, but he loved to tease you about your love of great apes.

“A cute girl like you studying monkeys?” He had chuckled with a shake of his head, mossy green eyes glimmering with mischief. “You must have had a wild fascination with Boots the monkey, huh?”

“First of all, peabrain,” you scowled at him, fighting back the smile that threatened to take over your face as his jaw dropped, “I study apes, not monkeys. Second of all, my fascination with Boots is none of your business.”

“Whatever you say, Boots.”

And the nickname had stuck. It followed you through undergrad and all the way through to your now budding career as one of the leading researchers in gorilla social structures. Which is also how you found yourself invited to the North Island Research Camp in the Republic of the Congo.

The camp wasn’t some grand research center, but it was well respected amongst the scientific community for gathering the most up-to-date research and hands-on experiences between researchers and local fauna. The camp was run by Dr. Pete Mitchell and Dr. Tom Kazansky, both legends within the field and rarely opening up their camp to other researchers. You had been thrilled to receive the invitation, and even more thrilled when you found out that Jake had also received an invitation to the camp to continue his research on tropical plants.

The two of you had made plans to fly out of San Diego at the same time, even choosing to stay at his place the night before your flight.

“The early bird gets the worm, Boots!” He chirped, loading up the trunk of the Uber with your luggage. How he was so cheerful at three in the morning was beyond you.

The flight to your destination was uneventful, choosing to catch up on some of your reading as well as sleep for the majority of the flight. The two of you were greeted by a bespectacled man once you departed the plane, his demeanor relaxed but his face shy as he helped you with your bags.

“I’m Bob,” he said, loading the back of his jeep with your belongings. “I’m helping out Pete and Tom with their research. The other researcher is already at the camp. He got here about a month ago.”

“Who is it?” You asked him, hopping into the front seat of the car as Jake clambered into the back.

“Javy Machado,” Bob answered, already making his way through the city and towards the jungle. “He’s doing research into termite colonies.”

“Javy’s gonna be there?” Jake asked, leaning forward with a grin. You rolled your eyes at him. Javy and Jake almost went as far back as you two did, having first met in a chemistry course their junior year of college. While you and Jake had gone to the same university for your doctorate programs, Javy had ventured elsewhere, making a name for himself within the world of entomology. The two together was almost insufferable.

“You two better behave,” you groused, settling into your seat with a glare in his direction.

“Boots,” he gasped, placing a hand over his heart in faux hurt, “I am absolutely shocked that you think we would be anything other than complete professionals.”

“Don’t give me that crap,” you snapped, turning to face Bob who glanced at you two wearily. “Those two are going to be a nightmare, I’m just warning you now.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” he chuckled.

The three of you settled into a comfortable conversation as Bob continued to drive towards the camp, the jungle becoming denser the longer he went. Soon, the sun was hidden behind the canopy, and you got the sense that you were truly in the wild.

“Are you sure about this, Mav,” Ice hummed, hands clasped firmly in front of him as he eyed his fellow researcher. Mav spared him a smile, running a hand through his hair as he sat on the bench opposite his companion.

“He’s been on his own for decades, Ice,” Mav grimaced, glancing into the trees. “He deserves to know companionship beyond just us.”

“He has Bob and Javy.”

“He deserves more than just four other people in his life,” he amended, rolling his eyes. “We’re lucky we found him when we did, otherwise I’m not sure he would have survived on his own. Besides, Nick and Carole wouldn’t have wanted this for him. They would have wanted him to see the world, to meet other people.”

Ice hummed at that. Of course, Maverick had a point. They couldn’t keep the boy isolated for forever. He was already butting heads more and more with the troop leader and spending more nights in the observation tower as a result. It also wasn’t like Ice wanted to keep him isolated for selfish reasons. No, quite the opposite in fact. The kid had spent most of his life right there in the jungle, never having contact with another human being until the two men had opened up the research camp once more ten years before.

And that’s what had Ice so apprehensive. The boy had little to no experience with humans, and what he did have was from the time spent with the two older men who weren’t exactly the greatest of company at the best of times. How would he react to a camp full of people his own age? Would it be too much for him?

“Bradley is smart, Ice,” Mav continued, knocking his knuckles against the table. “He’s already been asking questions about the people in the movies and photos he sees. He wants to know about the outside world. Let’s let him have that chance.”

Ice didn’t answer. Instead, he sighed, leaning back in his chair. This would be good for Bradley. It had to be.

Tag List: @goldenseresinretriever @fanficfandomlove @seresinsbrat @hopip99 @lemmons1998 @yuckosworld @moon42flight @kmc1989 @rhettsluvr @imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog @deliriousfangirl61 @nouis-bum @topherwrites @crybaby-21 @linkpk88 @number-0-iz @princessofglitterland @agentorange9595 @pittbull-enthusiast @krispybearbouquet @els-marvelvsp @jupitercomet @maximus890 @eloquentdreamer @seresinslady @piceous21 @wh1skey0n1ce @uniquedreamlandcheesecake @the-house-of-rose-and-ember @smileybouquet @jessicab1991

[rewh0re]

—JUST THE TWO OF US ; KUROO TETSUROU

-1.5k words, narration heavy, mainly post timeskip present day setting with reminscence of pre timeskip, mentions of marriage, mentions of moving in, domestic ig (?), kuroo is called dickhead twice, just fluff nothing but fluff and comfort, kuroo turns 29.

a/n: it is kuroo's birthday so you can count on me to deliver a kuroo fic :D pls don't ask why this is so domestic, that's all I wanna be with the guy I love him sm. REBLOGS AND INTERACTIONS ARE APPRECIATED!!

kuroo needs just one more gift from you on his birthday, a gift—your answer—that will change his world, for better or for worse.

Kuroo was grateful for a lot of things in life. He was grateful for his job that sustained his life, he was grateful for all his friends who he spent all his years with and who stood by his side no matter what. He was incredibly grateful for volleyball for training him to be a good leader, honing his teamwork skills, making him more social and interactive and most of all, he was grateful to the sport for leading him to you.

Kuroo remembers all those years ago when you both were but two high schoolers. He remembers how you applied for the position of manager in your first year just so that you could be in a club. He was the one who taught you all there was to learn about the sport and you taught him how to deal with Lev when he was being annoying, amongst many other things. He noticed first hand, the change in your eyes as you slowly grew to love the sport. He remembers the days you tended to all of the Nekoma team members, putting them in their place when they needed to be. He remembers you gently squeezing his shoulder just before he gave his final motivational speech in the nationals prior to his match with karasuno. He remembers how after the match he cried with his head on your shoulder and you told him how proud you were of him, of where he was and what he achieved. He remembers the look of gratitude in your eyes as you told him how proud you were of him for making the trash can battle a reality and he remembers that that's the exact moment he realised that he's fallen in love with you.

Then came graduation filled with tears of melancholia, smiles of pride and joy, throwing of caps high and hugging all the people who helped you get through these three years. Classmates taking pictures to store each other in their memories. Juniors crying because who would now give them the motivation they needed? That's when Kuroo asked you out. He slowly pulled you aside as he led you by your hand to the volleyball gym where the both of you spent the last three years strategising against other teams, planning training camps and what not. For the three years you had known him, that was the first time he seemed to be out of his wits. He stumbled and fumbled and rubbed his eyes and sighed before he finally said in one breath, "I like you. It took me some time to realise, but now I do and I like you and I really do hope you like me back-"

Your soft chuckle interrupted his train of thoughts. You could swear he had never been this confused in his whole life. Then you started laughing and he thought that's it. He thought he was about to face rejection and his heart started breaking, piece by piece.

"It took you so long, you absolute dickhead," was all you said when you finally calmed down and Kuroo stood there, more confused if that was even possible.

"I like you too. It's a shame we're not in the same college but I believe in us. We'll make it work, we always do. Right?" You smiled and it was gentle, filled with deep affection and warmth. So contagious was your smile that his lips stretched into one until he too, was grinning.

He took your face in his hands and touched his forehead with yours, closing his eyes as he let your scent fill him in. He felt your hands close on top of his and he confirmed, "we'll make it work."

Fast forward to some eleven years later. Fast forward to now, in the present where he's there with you by his side. You've become a constant in his life now. You were always there, cheering him up and vice versa. Through aggravating college professors to annoying bosses and coworkers who got on his nerves, you calmed him down. You moved in with him some years into dating. Kuroo was so happy when you accepted the apartment key he got you as a birthday gift with a smile, his usual nerves shaking off the moment you kissed him.

That's not to say your relationship was always smooth sailing, no, it definitely wasn't. You had your fair share of fights with one of you sleeping on the sofa or even leaving the apartment because sometimes a break was all you needed. However, you both always found your way back to each other, back in each other's arms with muttered apologies and silent tears. Whenever you had a fight, he felt his world would tear open. It scared him. But you always came back and he was always grateful and he knew he'd never lose you. He couldn't afford to. You knew the same. To lose him was like losing an integral part of yourself. To lose him would mean to drown yourself in the great blue not knowing how to come up to the surface.

Fighting these hardships, always being there for each other no matter what, letting your love for each other reign victorious over every hurdle is what brought you here today. Today, his 29th birthday. A quaint night where it was only the two of you, your shared giggles and the faint glow of the refrigerator light in the darkness of your apartment as the two of you tried to dance. A tune played in the background, just the two of us by Grover Washington Jr and Bill Withers. Both of you were horrible dancers, stepping on each other's feet. The half eaten cake on the table was long forgotten, empty Chinese takeout containers and chopsticks laid bare. None of that mattered to Kuroo, all that mattered was how in love he was and truly, he must have done something amazing in his past life to have been here with you. You'd given him his gift an hour back when the clock struck twelve to be exact. However, Kuroo was allowed to be a selfish man today. He wanted another gift from you, an important gift that would very much make or break him.

Suddenly the weight of the little velvet box inside his sweatpant pockets felt immense. There is a certain time, a right time for everything, he felt proposing now would be perfect.

So you saw him suddenly breaking away from you as he slowly got down on a knee. Confusion. That was the first reaction that took over your face followed by realisation. Then your slow gasp as your shaky hands went to cover your mouth when he took out the velvet box and opened it.

The ring was absolutely beautiful. A splendid diamond with intrinsic designs.

"I don't think there is a day that goes by where I don't thank my fate for leading me to you. I am a lucky man because I can call you mine," he started. There was a tiny crack in his voice which he tried to hide. You were at a loss for words.

"Ever since that day, eleven years ago now, when you said yes to dating me, I have been so grateful. Grateful for so many things, especially for you. I love you y/n, so very much, I can't put it into words. I was never as good with words as you. However, I do want to say that I want to be a little selfish today. You'll let me be a little selfish right? I want another gift from you. I want you to say yes to my next question ok? Will you do me the honour of marrying me?" By the time he finished his speech, tears of happiness strained your cheeks and you were on your knees, hugging him. Hugging him tight.

"It took you so long you absolute dickhead! Yes! Fuck....yes!" You whispered in his ear between sniffles and you felt his body relax in your hold, the muscles loosening as his arms wrapped around your waist. He sighed in relief as he buried his face in your neck.

You remained like that for a while, just silently crying tears of ecstasy in each other's arms. It felt like a long while before he left a slow kiss on your temple and separated from you to slide the ring on your finger. It looked absolutely gorgeous.

Kuroo was lost in his own thoughts, admiring the ring on your finger with a gentle smile until he felt your free hand on his cheek.

He looked up at you, grabbing your neck in a gentle hold and kissing your forehead before touching it to his own.

"We made it work Tetsu, we made us work," you closed your eyes, basking in the warmth that was Kuroo Tetsurou. Basking in the comfort that your now fiancé brought with him.

"Of Course we did," you felt his lips against yours. "We always do."

[nekrosdolly]

bₑₐᵤₜy ₛcₕₒₒₗ ₋ ₙ.ₛₚₐᵣdₐ

calling nero girlish leads to a devastating self-discovery. what can you do but help?

a/n; fun fact i've been working on this for two months and three days... also the most down bad thing i've ever written. enjoy!

cw; sub!nero, dom!reader, afab!reader, feminization, a bit of manhandling (reader is written to be on the stronger side), small impact play, spit kink, biting, referring to dicks as clits and assholes as cunts/pussies, nipple play, anal fingering (n! receives), pegging, clothed reader, doggystyle, implied multiple rounds. 5.444k words!

You’ve been staring at Nero for at least half a minute now. He’s not returning your gaze but it’s definitely affecting him, as he’s shifting in his seat across from you quite a bit. The two of you are waiting for Dante, Lady, and Trish to finish gearing up for the mission you’re embarking on- something big, Dante says, but with the lot of you it’d be maybe a few hours max. If the two of you weren’t mutually interested in one another both in friendship and in a more-than-friends way, the staring would’ve bothered him. 

“You know,” you lean forward in the uncomfortable chair bolted to the ground across from the ratty couch Nero’s manspreading on, “you have kind of girlish lips.”

Nero furrows his eyebrows, his eyes finally meeting yours. Something clicks inside of him that he chooses to ignore despite the blossoming pink tint on his cheeks. Maybe you just have that effect on him, or maybe it’s something else.

“No, I don’t. They’re just lips.” He says as he rubs his cheek, his eyes breaking away from yours.

“Whatever.” You shrug. The rest of the team enters shortly, Nico included, and you’re on your way. 

While you busy yourself with menial conversation amongst the group, Nero cannot get his mind off of what you just said. Girlish lips? He doesn’t have girlish lips, does he? No, not at all. But god, if that doesn’t do something for him… It does. Especially coming from you. You’re not the face of masculinity or femininity by any means, but he likes the fact that you find him a bit girly. A bit of heat stirs in his gut, something brand new, and it’s good. Almost too good to ignore- but he’s on a mission and he needs to focus if he wants to make it out with minimal injuries.

He shakes the thought away (or tries to) when Nico brake-checks everyone and nearly sends everything in the old van flying.

“Here!” She chimes with a lit cigarette dangling from her fingers.

Five hours later.

The mission lasted longer than any of you had anticipated. Five hours of grueling slaughter brought upon by you and your comrades- aside from Nico, who relaxed in her van and watched from the sidelines. Nero’s mind was preoccupied on the way back, replaying the fight in his head to see if he could’ve done something different. You were slumped against Dante, who kept one arm on the back of the couch so you could rest comfortably as he read his porno mag.

He didn’t catch himself thinking about it until he was undressed later that night. He had already removed most of his clothing before he sat on the edge of his bed, only in his boxers. The moment kept replaying, you calling his lips girlish. Something about that felt right. Girlish. Maybe you’d treat him like a girl, too. Thinking about it made his dick twitch and his chest feel warm. His face heats up the way it did in the van as his thoughts run wild. Being told to wear a dress for you, putting on makeup, and making him truly look like a girl- (edits starting now) he groans into his hands, calloused heels of his palm pressing his eyes shut.

“This is so not what I needed right now,” he mumbles, sucking in a breath as he wills his boner away. Embarrassed, he lies down and pulls the covers overtop him. Sleep does not come easy.

The next day.

Within your close knit circle, compliments are sparse. Dante claps people on the back as a “good job,” and maybe Nico will toss them a thumbs up, but that's it. Nero’s used to it- the silent reassurance from everyone- except you. 

“You did really good, Nero,” the two of you are fresh from another mission, sore and covered in muck. The tips of Nero’s ears turn red, though it could be mistaken for the blood of slain demons. Deep down, he knows he did well. He doesn't need reassurance, verbal or otherwise, but it feels nice. The words send a little shiver down his spine.

“Uh, thanks. You too, I guess,” he says, shrugging his blue jacket off to leave by the door. He'll come back later to toss it in the wash. In a stretch, he lifts his arms over his head to hopefully ease the impending ache that'll settle in his muscles within minutes. With his shirt being as short as it is, his midriff is exposed to you for a short second.

Your eyes slightly widen, zeroing in on his waist. How in the world is it so… feminine? Girlish? Cute? Grabbable? He's not even looking as he keeps stretching, oblivious to your wandering, hungry gaze. 

“Dude, I'm jealous. Your waist is like, tiny. You sure you're not a girl under all that?” He knows you're teasing, he really does, but good heavens. It hasn't been a full day since the last incident, you may as well be trying to kill him.

Stormy eyes shoot open in shock and he lowers his arms to his sides nearly immediately. He tugs his shirt down more, as if that would help, and looks away.

“You're so weird, you know that? Do you want me to be a girl or something?” He scoffs as he crosses his arms over his chest. You chuckle to yourself, satisfied with his reaction.

Shrugging, “Maybe I do. You'd be a pretty cute girl, Nero.”

The white-haired man grumbles something as he walks off in the direction of the HQ bathrooms in hopes of a very, very cold shower. It's not his fault that your teasing gets him bricked. Of course, you notice nothing different, given that Nero’s always been quick to fluster.

In the bathroom, he splashes ice cold water on his face and rubs it into his skin. Some dirt and blood washes away with the water, but that wasn't his intention. He'll have to shower when he gets home, as Dante’s shower is conveniently broken, but the last thing he wants to endure is a car ride home with half an erection and plenty of fuel to give him a full one. His blood is roaring in his ears, lewd thoughts invading his head like the plague. Hunched over the sink, his hands grip the ceramic edges like a vice.

You, with a tube of lipstick in hand that is very clearly not your shade but his. You, with a mascara wand in hand telling him to hold still or he'll mess it up. You, handing him a white sundress and equally white lacy panties. You, telling him to put them on and be a good girl- doesn't he want to look pretty?

Nero wants it all. He wants it so bad; to be your doll, your plaything to humiliate and use however you want. But would you? God, he hopes so.

Minutes have gone by. He shuts the sink off and looks in the mirror- still grimy, but not gross. Blood splotches mat his hair in some sections, but at least some stuff on his face is gone. He looks normal aside from the massive blush covering his cheeks, but that could be chalked up to exerting himself.

“Nero?” You knock on the shoddy door to the even shoddier bathroom, “you alright? It's been like ten minutes, man.”

The sound of your voice brings him back to reality- has it really been ten minutes? He looks at himself once again in the dirty mirror, a searing feeling of embarrassment settling in his shoulders. Another splash of cold water to his face before he shuts off the sink and exits. You step back as he does, looking up at him with concern. “Fine, thanks. Just tired. It was a long mission, y’know?” He can’t bring himself to meet your eyes, lest he get even the slightest bit hard. At this point, it’s a problem. Without another word from either of you, he heads upstairs.

Do you find it odd? Yeah, but you don’t say anything. After all, he did say he was tired. He probably just needs to get some rest. Settling on one of the couches in the lobby, you decide that you do, too.

Two days later, Devil May Cry, the Fortuna branch

Nero is glad that he lives so far away from Red Grave City. It’s a few hours’ drive both ways and it’s a pain to put up with Nico’s horrible driving. As much as he complains, he’d rather not be the one driving. The distance also makes it easier for him to not think about you as much. 

Well, that’s only half-true. He thinks about you more than he should. The only thing the distance helps with is avoiding you. Of course, that doesn’t stop his imagination running wild at the randomest of times- including while doing household chores. It’s a gamble- his thoughts range from pure domesticity to borderline porn.

When his thoughts take over this time, he’s doing the dishes. There’s not much, but it’s enough to warrant his attention. One would assume that touching dirty dishes and day-old food would ward off any semblance of lust-driven daydreams, right? Unfortunately, that’s not the case today.

He’s mid-washing a plate, his sleeves rolled up so only his forearm is wet. His metal arm is covered with a dish glove, lest the water screw with the wires and give him a nice, heart-stopping zap. The sponge in his hand is sudsy, lazily scrubbing at the leftover food on the plate as his mind wanders to you. At first, it’s innocent. Cooking together, thinking about what you’d want to eat for dinner after a long mission, or even just a long day in general. How would your lips feel on his cheek, your arms around him as the two of you get ready for bed?

Maybe your hands would slip under his shirt, your eyes meeting his as you rub his waist. Words of filth disguised as sweet nothings to get his blood flowing south, inciting a dizzying shiver down his spine. Your hands slipping into his panties that you picked out for him earlier that day with a smile, telling him that they’d look so pretty on him- that maybe, if he wore them all day while doing errands you’d reward him later on. Your voice in his ear, calling him a good girl, telling him how cute he is all flustered and wet in his panties.

His thoughts fester, the plate slipping from his hands. Only the sound of it clattering against the bottom of the (thankfully) shallow sink rouses him.

Well. That, and the door opening. There are only two people with a key, Nico and-

And you. What a wonderful time to have a hard-on.

“Hey, I tried calling you, but I think your landline’s down,” you say, barging into his kitchen without a care in the world. Nero keeps himself pressed against the kitchen sink for his own dignity’s sake as he looks at you, feigning irritation. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to knock?” He scoffs, picking up the plate he’d been washing and giving it a good rinse. “You clearly don’t care whether or not I do, seeing as I have a key,” you grin, crossing your arms as you lean against the archway between the living room and kitchen. Maybe you let your eyes wander a little- a domesticated Nero is a rare sight, one you enjoy very much. He’s got these tight fitting black boxers on that really do his ass justice and baggy a longsleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled up that almost gives him this cutesy appearance.

“Yeah, whatever. What did you need?” He moves on to the next dirty dish after placing the clean one on the drying rack. His voice is a bit snippy, and he’s a little tense. The fact that he can feel your eyes on him doesn’t help, and if anything, makes his boxers just that much tighter.

“Dante wants us on a new job he got from this new client. Some guy named V, though I dunno much about him,” you shrug.

“He couldn’t tell me himself?”

“Nah. I don’t think he really likes coming here, anyway. Something about Fortuna gives him the creeps, he said. Probably ‘cause they used to worship his dad ‘nd shit.” Nero scoffs at that and shuts off the sink, flicking his non-prosthetic hand to get the water off, then frees his devil breaker of its rubber confinement. 

“Nice ass, by the way,” you add, smirking at him. Nero turns to face you with his cheeks tinted pink and a soft scowl on his face. Facing you was a mistake because his erection from earlier has not died. You don’t notice it immediately, much to his relief, because he knows you’re not that much of a pervert.

“You’re so weird,” he huffs.

“Not my fault you look like a girl.” You retort. Nero’s cock twitches hard, his already warm face heating up more. He really, really should’ve put on pants this morning.

Unfortunately (or fortunately) for him, the movement, as subtle as it may be, catches your eye through your peripherals. On instinct, your eyes dart towards the source and widen immediately.

“...Are you hard? Did I do that?” You point to yourself. Nero huffs and tugs the hem of his shirt down to cover his now raging erection, the dull throb making it hard for him to come up with any kind of retort.

“Wh- no! I-I mean, yes- I’m hard, but it’s not because of you!” He looks away from you, even as you step closer to him until you’re an arm’s width away. It’s too much too quick, because what can he say to make this all better? Nothing. There’s nothing he can say or do to make this situation go over smoothly. “So… You don’t want me to help out? I mean, it’s pretty obvious you need some, right?” You reach up and grab his jaw, your thumb swiping over his bottom lip. A dry spell hits his mouth, his pupils dilating as he tries to swallow. The poor quarter-devil’s heart races in his chest, that feeling from earlier returning. 

Nero opens his mouth to speak but you’re quick to press down on his tongue with your thumb. A sly grin spreads on your lips, knowing you’ve got him dead set on this. Now, he could overpower you at any given point- he’s part devil- but he finds that he doesn’t want to. You lean in closer, your face just a few inches from his.

“You like being called a girl?” Smooth and low, your voice has him in a trance. The hunger in your eyes makes his knees weak, saliva coating your thumb as it remains on his tongue. Hesitantly, he nods.

“Yeah, I thought so,” you mutter, your free hand finding a home on his waist. “You wanna be fucked like a girl too, don’t you?”

Another hesitant nod, his eyelids fluttering from the embarrassment of the entire situation. In truth, he only started experimenting with himself after he and Kyrie broke up. It’s not that Kyrie kept him from experimenting with stuff like that, because they tried plenty when they were in bed, but something about it felt wrong.

With you? It couldn’t feel more right, not as you remove your thumb from his mouth to smear his lips with his own saliva. “Don’t you know how gross that is, Nero?” Your voice holds a teasing lilt that makes his stomach flutter. While he does feel ashamed, he’s way too into this to care. His cock is crying in the confines of his boxers, the fabric tighter than ever. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, meek with humiliation.

“No, you’re not. In fact, I bet you want to be dressed up like some doll, then get railed just like the slut you are.” Nero squeezes his eyes shut. The tips of his ears are red, possibly even some of his chest, too. As humiliating as this is, he likes it a lot. Your words make his knees weak, his tummy’s warm and he may as well be sweating from how hot he is. Again, he nods.

“Please,” he forces himself to look at you, half-lidded eyes and all. “Please, just give me what I want.” A satisfied look crosses your face at the sound of his desperation, his poor excuse for begging.

“Oh, believe me, I will,” your hand slides from his waist to the very prominent bulge, amused at how it kicks against your hand and the way Nero’s breathing picks up.

“But not now. I mean I’ll get you off no problem, but your fantasy needs a few things that aren’t at my disposal, nor are they at yours.”

The disappointed noise that leaves Nero’s mouth is almost uncharacteristic. 

“Uh, yeah. You’re right, I guess.” He grumbles quietly, his eyes downcast like a kicked puppy.

“Think you can wait? I’ll come back, I promise.” He nods reluctantly. He’ll be as patient as he needs to be. With a kiss to his cheek, an unspoken promise you’ll return, you leave him in his kitchen with his boner still very much alive. Embarrassed, defeated, and aroused, he walks to the living room couch and plops down on it. 

Two hours later.

Barging in again, you toss a hefty plastic bag on top of a sleeping Nero, forcing him to wake up from the weight hitting his stomach. “Hey, what the hell?” He glares at you through sleep-addled eyes and sits up on his elbows.

“Look in the bag, sleeping beauty.” You lean against his front door, the metal surface cooling your back. 

Nero does as he’s told, rummaging through the bag’s contents like a curious puppy. The first item he pulls out is a white skirt that’s very, very short. Scarlet engulfs his cheeks within seconds. When you said later, he thought you meant tomorrow, not later today. He continues to pull items from the bag, his blush spreading like wildfire. The next item is a crop top, also white, frilly underwear and an equally cute bra to match, before he finally pulls out what must be the largest light blue dildo he’s ever seen accompanied by a harness.

“Put it on,” you smile, “go make yourself pretty for me. Take this, too.” You toss him your makeup bag, which he catches with the devil breaker.

With a hard swallow, Nero places everything back into the plastic bag and disappears into his bedroom, clutching the bag’s flimsy handles with an iron grip. The moment the door closes, he’s in a rush to take his clothes off. He nearly rips his shirt trying to get it off, same thing with his boxers. He really sucks at being patient.

It feels natural, to a degree, putting everything on. It’s clear you want him to look like an angel or some kind of bride, all white and pure. How ironic. The panties don’t quite cover his cock and the shirt you chose makes his pecs look more akin to boobs, but he looks… cute. If not a little silly, what with all the ruffles, cute. Now, the makeup is what confuses him the most aside from the fastening mechanism of the bra you chose.

He knows what lipstick is. He knows what mascara is, and eyeliner. Kyrie wore those sometimes. But the rest of the stuff is greek to him.

The white-haired man is still staring down at the contents of your makeup bag when you walk in, strap-on fully assembled in one hand. He looks up at you with a shy smile, red cheeks and all. You toss the light blue toy onto his bed as you walk up to him, your gaze nothing short of predatory.

“Hey, pretty girl. Havin’ some trouble?” His dilemma is clear enough, but he nods anyway.

“What color would look good on me?” Pale blues travel to the selection of lipsticks you have, fingers rummaging through the variety of tubes. Perhaps he’s too overwhelmed at the moment. Your warm hand settles on waist, his gaze flickering to your face.

“Why don’t we skip the makeup for now, hm? I’d hate to make you wait any longer, angel.”

Nero’s throat runs dry as he nods, expecting you to be a little gentle with him but oh, how he was wrong. He doesn’t expect you to push him onto his mattress like he was some kind of slut, nor does he expect you to get on top of him as quickly as you do. Your hands are so rough as you grope his chest, a soft whine leaving his lips when you lean down to bite one of his pecs. 

“Cute tits, dolly,” your thumbs rub his clothed nipples and he’s really glad he’s sensitive everywhere right now, otherwise he’d feel kind of stupid. He can’t bring himself to meet your eyes again, shy as a virgin during her first time, as he mewls quietly.

“I just can’t believe that you’re into this kind of thing,” you snap his bra strap against his skin, making him flinch, “What a fucking slut…”

“M’not a slut,” he mumbles, cock weeping into the lacy material of his panties as he looks away from you.

“Don’t be dumb,” you grab his jaw and force him too look at you, his pupils blown wide. Fingers card into his hair and give it a soft tug, making him whine again. Everything you do makes his cock harder, his mind fuzzier, and his blush darker. Slotting a knee between his legs, you force his legs to part wider before you press it against his panty-clad hard-on. It’s a cute sight, him gasping and squirming in a pathetic attempt to escape the stimulation.

A sharp slap to his thigh makes him still, a mumbled “sorry” sounding from his lips. You let go of his jaw in favor of slipping under his thighs, guiding them around your waist as you lean down to kiss him. His eyes flutter shut, as do yours when your lips meet in a much gentler kiss than he anticipated. That doesn’t last long, because two seconds in and you’re biting his lower lip to make him gasp, allowing you to lick into his mouth without protest. His hips buck at the taste of you, hesitantly wrapping his arms around your neck. You pin his hips to the bed, thumbs kneading what little fat he has there.

He’s dizzy when you break the kiss, panting with your spit glossing his lips and your eyes locked to one another’s. Your thumb hooks in the corner of his mouth and pulls down, forcing his mouth open. As if reading your mind, he sticks his tongue out. A thick glob of spit leaves your lips and lands flat on his tongue. He moans, his cock pulsing hard in his jeans. When your thumb unhooks from his mouth, he swallows. “Good girl, angel.” Your voice resembles a low purr in his ear, his body on fire. If you praise him again, he might cum in his panties. He’s entirely sure that his skirt is damp with how much he’s leaking. Your hand slips down, down, down until you’re pushing his shirt up and palming over his erection, making him melt into the mattress. “My pretty girl is so wet,” you hum, thumbing over his weeping slit. He whimpers, his hips bucking hard. This time, you let it slide because he’s too damn cute when he’s under you to care. Using his precum as makeshift lube, you rub his frenulum, watching as his eyes light up with pleasure and his back makes a pretty arch, whining pathetically in the back of his throat. His silver brows pinch, his eyes torn between watching your hand and your face. “Right there, huh, princess?” 

“F-Fuck, yes, th-there,” he nods eagerly, his stomach tensing when you rub that spot faster. His dick twitches and throbs, his shaky breathing accelerating. You don’t let up, no matter how squirmy he gets. “Sensitive little thing, aren’t you? Who knew that rubbing your clit would get you like this.” Sultry words coming from you, his legs tightening around your waist. “C-Cum, wanna cum,” he mewls out, “pleasepleaseplease.” The rest of his cock feels neglected but he can’t bring himself to care, not when you wrap your hand around the tip and circle your palm on his sensitive head. Especially not when you use your free hand to pull down the neckline of his shirt to lick one of his pebbled nipples. The moment you wrap your lips around it and suck, he cums with the most pathetic noise imaginable. Hot seed sticks to your palm and spills down his softening cock.

“Mm,” you pull off his nipple with a soft pop, “that didn’t take long at all.” The sound of fabric tearing fills the air as you rip the lace material down the side seams.

“Why’d you do that?” Nero props himself up on his elbows, watching as you discard the now-useless lace. You shrug, slipping out from between Nero’s legs to grab the bottle of lubricant you know he has stashed in his nightstand. “Felt like it. What, you never had your panties ripped off before?” The drawer of his side table has too many things in it. Still, you fish out the black bottle of lube and toss it onto the bed beside him. “Obviously not.” You reach for the strap on lying cold and alone. Nero pulls his skirt down to cover himself and closes his legs, though it’s pointless.

“Keep up the attitude, angel. See where it gets you.” 

“...Whatever,” Nero grumbles, a new surge of arousal filling him as he watches you fasten the strapon to your pelvis. It’s a little unfair that you’re still fully clothed, but he’ll take what he can get. When you climb onto the bed again, you grab him by the hips and flip him over, his body weight that of a feather in your hands. With one hand, you prop his hips up as the other presses his face down into the mattress.

“Hey!” He yips, looking back at you with feigned annoyance. You roll your eyes as you push his skirt up for the second time tonight and give his ass a sharp slap, making him whine.

“Don’t be a brat. We’re just getting to the good part,” you grab the bottle of lube and uncap it, pouring a hefty amount on your fingers. Anticipation bubbles in Nero’s chest, his hands fisting the sheets. A shudder leaves him upon feeling your fingers coat the rim of his hole, applying gentle pressure just to tease. You push your index finger in slowly, forcing a hiss from his throat. It’s an odd feeling, the intrusion, but one he can get used to.

Besides, he’s seen those videos of cute guys getting pegged and they cum their brains out every time. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous of both parties.

His walls slowly adjust as you move your finger in a gentle rhythm, waiting until you hear his breathing grow heavy to add another. A moan gets stuck in his throat, his brows pinched together as his eyes flutter shut. “You alright down there, angel? You’re awfully quiet.” You hum, using your free hand to knead one of his pert cheeks.

“F-Fine- M’fine,” his voice is a little strained and breathy. The pads of your middle and index finger brush against his prostate and his legs twitch, a soft moan leaving him. As subtly as he can (not at all,) he rocks his hips back onto your fingers to get more shocking, dizzying pleasure. Once you decide he’s loose enough, you withdraw your fingers and bring them to your silicon cock, adding a solid drizzle of lube along the shaft. A soft schlick noise sounds when you give the translucent silicon toy a few pumps to ensure it’s sufficiently lubricated.

Before Nero has time to complain, the tip is already pressing against his fluttering entrance. His fists clench in the sheets as you slowly press into him. Pink lips fall open as the stretch does him in, trying his best to stay still for you. “Good girl,” you murmur in his ear, “such a good girl, taking my cock so well.”

The white-haired man has never felt so full in his life, nor horny or outright dumb. He whines when you bottom out completely, your nails digging into his hips to keep him from running away.

“W-Why is it so big,” he looks back at you, his own cock dripping pre-cum again. His question is left unanswered as you pull out halfway only to thrust meanly back in. A strangled moan leaves his lips, his back falling into a natural arch. “Tell me, angel,” you keep a slow yet hard pace, each thrust bullying your fake cock impossibly deeper into his greedy hole, “has anyone ever fucked this cute cunt before?”

His brain processes the words but every time he opens his mouth, nothing but noises of pleasure come out. He shakes his head “no,” with a whimper.

“Aww, really? So you’re a virgin? Explains how tight your pussy is.”

Nero hasn’t been a virgin since he was nineteen, but for you, he’ll be anything you want. His volume increases the moment you bully your cock against his prostate, a sweet cry falling from his lips. His body feels hot every time the fat head presses it, his body relaxing into the bed. Lewd slaps and wet noises fill the air alongside his sweet noises of pleasure.

“Fuck m-me,” he gasps, his cock pulsing between his legs as it’s ignored, “y-your cock feels so good i-in my pussy.”

“I know, angel. Your cunt’s squeezing me so tight- if I knew you wanted me this much, I would’ve fucked her sooner.” You reach around to grope his chest, your other hand pulling him back on your faux dick with every thrust. Poor Nero doesn’t know what to do with himself but let you use him, as if you were the one getting pleasure from this. It’s obvious he needs more despite his noises, judging by the way he’s still able to think without interruption. He’s really gone when you accelerate your thrusts and keep the roughness, all but turning into a puddle atop his bedsheets. The coil in his stomach twists and tightens, his orgasm fast approaching.

“Yeah, there we go,” you murmur, your words adding fuel to the fire that is his impending release, “that’s my sweet girl.”

“M’gonna cum,” he whimpers, “I-I wanna- please, i-it hurts,” he reaches between his legs, whining when you slap his hand away. “Why didn’t you say something, pretty girl? I’ve got you, angel, just be a doll and let me take care of you.” Your slick fist wraps around his cock, stroking him in time with your thrusts and Nero just can’t handle it anymore. His orgasm catches him off guard, thick ropes of cum shooting out of his pink cockhead and onto the sheets below you two with a cry of your name.

You’re kind, so you take your hand away and slow to a stop, panting softly.

“You alright?” Nero takes a second to respond, humming a second later as he catches his breath. His thighs feel weak and shaky. “Good,” you pull out and settle on the bed beside him, your back resting against the wooden headboard. Under the impression that you’re done toying with him, he lets his eyes close. They shoot open when you grab him by the waist and hoist him onto your lap, thick blue dildo pressing against his gaping hole again. “C’mon, little girl- I can’t do all the work around here, y’know.”

The next day.

Dante calls Nero’s landline for what feels like the fifth time in a row.

“Damn, that punk,” he sighs, slamming the telephone down on its receiver. You’re not answering your phone either, but he knows better than to expect you to answer. He’s about to dial Nero’s number for a sixth time when the doors to Devil May Cry open and in walks you alongside a limping Nero. The red devil opens his mouth, but-

“Don’t ask,” Nero groans, making his way over to one of the couches and lying on his stomach. You’re quite proud of your work, even if it’s at Nero’s expense. Dante will find out eventually, and you cannot wait.

divider creds to @benkeibear!!