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luveline · 3 months

Note

Hi, if you have time and any interest, would you write bombshell!reader comforting Spencer after the Maeve arc? Like maybe she’s the only one he lets in, and she just holds him and lets him cry and puts him first.

Will totally understand if you’d rather not/don’t reply!

ty for requesting!! <3 —You come home from months away to find Spencer in love and grieving, so you do what you can. fem, 2k

You didn’t expect Spencer to fall in love while you were gone, but you can’t begrudge him. Not for having feelings for someone who isn’t you, and certainly not for losing her.

You love him, and you’re his friend first.

Your shoes make sharp but steady sounds on the stairs up to his apartment. His building is old but not rundown, lacquered wooden bannister smooth under your hand, his front door immaculate, though the hallway is busy with baskets. There’s ribbon and cellophane everywhere. It’s a sorry sight.

You haven’t brought Spencer anything besides dinner. Unlike yourself, you take in the offerings of his friends and worry you aren’t as caring as you think you are.

Not that he seems in the mood to accept it.

You look down at your mary jane’s and wonder if you’re doing any of this stuff right. Spencer doesn’t even know you’re back in the country, let alone the state. Perhaps he has no interest in seeing you after this long apart, and after such a tragedy. Who wants to see their too flirty friend when they’ve just lost a real love?

You hike the tote up your shoulder. In a chequered skirt and a simple white t-shirt, you’re underdressed. The pasta you’d made and hurriedly wrapped up burns your hip where the bag rests against you, and you have to make a choice now. Let it burn you, standing and staring morosely at Spencer’s door, or face rejection.

You only need to hear his voice. He can leave your pasta out here on the floor if he likes. What’s important is that he’s still alive in there.

You knock on the door.

Nothing. Complete silence.

Nudging aside a basket of dried fruits, you try again. A simple rat-tat-tat.

“Hey, Spencer?” you ask too quietly.

He won’t hear you through the door. Your voice might as well be a whisper if he’s in his bedroom with the door closed.

“Spencer, are you okay, my love?” you ask, louder.

You wince at yourself. My love couldn’t be more raw.

“Sweetheart, I’m just here to see if you’re okay,” you say, knocking again, before leaving your hand to rest on the door. You lean forward, forehead kissing dark wood.

You can’t hear anything on the other side.

“Spencer,” you say with a reluctant swallow, “if you’re home, can you tell me? You don’t have to let me in. Just come to the door.”

Penelope said he hasn’t texted her back for days. Derek said he’d answered the phone once or twice, but beyond that he’s silent. You had a nightmare on the plane home that you’d come back to find him as he’s found his poor girl, or that he’d turn to old vices, or that he’d finally give up. He’s been strong through every horrible thing thrown his way, and now he’s all alone again—

The door opens slowly. You stand up straighter, your surprise a whack to the chest as your heartbeat picks up.

Spencer stands at the door. He looks more tired than you’ve ever seen him, his dark circles bruised like wine stains under his eyes, even his eyelids red and sore looking. His lips are almost colourless, they're so chapped, and his pyjama pants have deep, deep wrinkles at the knees.

“Hi,” you say. “Spencer, how are you?”

His voice rings with disuse. “You’re here.”

“Came straight home when they told me,” you say softly, honestly. “I knew I had to see you. To make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m not okay.”

“I know.” You don’t know if it’s okay to ask to come in, if he’ll close the door at the suggestion, so you don’t. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” You put weight in the wrong places, too much on I’m, not enough on so. “I can’t imagine it. I would never wish this for you, never.”

“You were in Brazil.”

“I was.”

He must be tired of people asking if he’s okay, yet it wants to be asked. You bite it down, and instead offer what may be the key to getting in, or a quick dismissal.

“I made dinner for you, angel,” you say. You choose the pet name more carefully. He used to call you angel to make you feel better. “It’s just pasta, I tried not to make it too heavy in case you're nauseous.”

“I feel so sick,” he says.

Spencer’s curse is that he probably knows why he feels sick, and he probably knows a hundred different remedies or medications or prayers to get rid of it, but nothing can get rid of this feeling. You can be the smartest man alive and you’ll never outfox grief.

“Will you come in?” he asks.

You breathe a short, unbidden sigh of relief. He steps aside to let you in, and you gaze around at his shock of mess, books and blankets and furniture all in the wrong places, but it’s to be expected, and it doesn’t bother you beyond that empathetic hum of hurt tucked under your ribs. You approach his couch covered in books and put your tote bag atop them, turning to tell Spencer you’ll just quickly move these aside, and stopping dead when you see him. The door closed, his face pale, Spencer looks like everything is crumbling down around him. He looks horrified to have to watch, and he looks as sick as he’d confessed.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” you say, meaning it at its surface value. You’re sorry you were in a different country while he faced this alone. Beyond everything you’ve shared, you’re supposed to be his friend, and in a way you’ve let him down. “Please forgive me if you can, Spencer.”

He nods tightly.

“Let me move some of this stuff and we can sit down together, is that okay? Or do you need to go back to bed?”

“It’s okay.”

You do it without the grace his precious books deserve, lugging armfuls of them onto the floor, no time for tidying. You make spacious room for him and you, and your gesture gently for him to come and sit, fingers moving through the air slowly with the suggestion; he doesn’t have to listen if he doesn’t want to.

What is it about you that Spencer would let you in before anyone else? That he’d sit and watch you until you sat down, that his shoulders relax ever so slightly when you settle, your thighs aligned?

Maybe he needs someone who wasn’t there to watch it happen, and maybe you’re like family. You and Spencer may not be in love, but you love one another. Seeing him like this has you wishing you could fix it for him so keenly it’s like your hands are bruised. Pins and needles eat your fingers as you hold a hand to his elbow.

“What can I do?” you ask, murmuring so as not to disturb the quiet room.

“Nothing, I’m sorry. I don’t have anything for you to do, I just…” He squeezes his eyes closed. “I just wanted to see you. You’re the only person who– who–”

His voice lifts to a strangled high pitch as he covers his eyes with one hand.

“Can I give you a hug?” you ask.

He nods into his hand but doesn’t move. You have no qualms with making yourself big, wrapping him up, and guiding his hand away from his scrunched up face to hold you back.

You’re pretty pristine with hugs, as they go. You’re a soft touch. So Spencer holds you tightly and you cradle the back of his head, aware that you’re not who he really wants to be hugging, but okay with it nonetheless. “I’m so sorry,” you say, mouth to the top of his head, your hand stroking with light touches against the nape of his neck. “Spencer, it’s not fair.”

He starts shaking in your arms.

“The only time I got to talk to her face to face was with a gun to her head,” he says, his eye hot where it’s squished to the bottom of your cheek.

“Honey, you had something special,” you say, sort of guessing, because you had no idea Spencer was even talking to someone. Everything you know about the situation you learned from Hotch, but you can read from his level of distress how much she meant to him. “You don’t need to have been face to face to have shared something like that. Love is about connection, and I’m so sorry you don’t get to see her, but you– I’m sorry. You didn’t get all the time you deserved.”

You’d been trying to say that it doesn’t matter if he saw her or not, that their relationship was just as real no matter what, but you know he’s not just mourning her, but the possibility of a life with her he won’t get now.

“I tried everything I had to save her,” he says.

“I know you did. Sometimes we can’t do anything. It’s not your fault.”

He makes a low sound. He’s a quiet crier, sniffling and shaking against your neck.

You love him. Finding out he had a girlfriend was like being stabbed in the chest, an instant sickness, but finding out that she died? To see him in this much pain cuts deeper than a split second of thinking he’d moved on.

“You did everything you could. You did the best that you could. Spencer, you could’ve done everything right and she still wouldn’t have made it, because the world is cruel. This isn’t your fault.”

“It’s always gonna be my fault,” he says.

“No, it won’t be.”

“It will! I’m like a curse, we all are.”

You don’t know what to say. You consider offering placatives, but they’d be empty, and Spencer would know. Instead, you scratch a hand through his curls and try your best to be gentle.

“Well, I’m here for you. I know you know you have a whole team of people who want to be there for you, but I mean it, Spence. You can tell me everything. I’m here for you and I’m not leaving again.”

“You don’t have to go back?”

“I’m staying here.” For as long as you need me goes unsaid.

Spencer should rely on the kindness of all of his friends, and not just you. He needs love. Grief is going to eat him alive, just like it did with Emily; he’ll need everything from everyone, and, no offence to your friends and coworkers, you’re the most committed to giving it to him.

“I never should’ve left,” you say quietly, “but things are different now. You’re my best friend, Dr. Reid.” Your tone turns more playful. “I don’t cook for just anybody, you know?”

Maybe it’s a bit cringeworthy, but you really want him to stop crying.

He laughs weakly and wetly into your collar. “I don’t think I can eat it. I just throw everything back up.”

Aw, honey, you think. “How about a thin soup? I can make you something without any heavy creams. I make the best chicken soup around.”

“Do you?” he asks.

You want to kiss his cheek as you would’ve before you left, but things really are different now. You settle for patting his shoulder. “I do. We’ll have chicken soup, and some fresh bread, and– and you won’t have to pretend you aren’t miserable. Promise. You can be as sad as you want, honey, I just wanna sit with you and make sure it doesn’t get too much.”

“Thank you,” he mumbles.

“It’s okay.” You don’t want a thank you. “I’m glad to be home. Do you think you can get dressed? Let’s go get some stuff for dinner.”

Spencer, to your relief, gets up to get changed without complaint. He checks you’re still on the couch a few times from the doorway of his room. You have no plans on straying far.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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miam0re · 28 days

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Post Workout Sexy Time | Sylus

Warning: NSFW, Semi-public sex, arms/veins/hands fetish if you squint, hitting it from the back, petnames(Sweetie), creampie, sweaty bodies, more stuff i probably missed.

Pairing: Sylus X Fem!Reader

Mia's Notes: this post is me whoring over his body, his arms, his neck- also its me coming back into writing yayyyyy! so much excitement to find the motivation to write smut again. To be honest, I forgot how I used to format my posts and went back to see my previous posts, only to get further confused with my inconsistency. I hope the horny words can make up for my lack of structure heuheu. A good 900+ words for all of you mwahh

When you agreed to accompany the boss of Onichynus to his personal boxing club, you expected to just sit on the sidelines and stare at your phone, handing him his water bottle whenever required. However, instead of having your eyes on your screen, your gaze was fixed upon the sculpted body of the man before you. He swung his arms, landing punch after punch to the poor sandbag, the thuds echoing in the scarcely populated gym. After all, how many people would come for a workout in the middle of the night? (that crazy white haired man of course)

The veins on his arms were so prominent, further enhanced by his tightened fists. How the sweat glistened and rolled down his muscular biceps, sliding down his forearm; aren’t you getting a little carried away looking at his arms? I mean, how would it feel if wrapped those strong arms around you and took you then and there? Holding you in place as you helplessly flail around trying to escape his toe curling thrusts-

“Aren’t you getting a little lost in fairytale land?” lo and behold, the man of your fantasies snapped his fingers in front of your dazed face, bringing you back from your thoughts. He chuckled as you mumbled, taking the bottle from you and having a swig of his drink. And as if it wasn’t enough that you were daydreaming about his arms; now watching drops of water slip past the corner of his mouth and trail down his jaw, the bob of his adams apple, the water creeping down where his tank top hid his body from your hungry eyes.

“Sylus.” just whispering his name with that slight horny desperation in your voice was all that he needed to shoot you a devilish smirk and drag you by the waist to the changing rooms. Your heart paced wildly as he locked the doors and pulled you further into the metal locker lined room.

You ravenously tugged at his shorts, pawing at the growing erection that the flimsy fabric failed to conceal. His tongue melded with yours, clothes being discarded left and right in an entanglement of arms and legs as you were finally stripped bare, his mouth claiming territory on your jaw and neck. Overwhelmed with the heat of his lips on your neck, you barely registered the cool metal pressing against your erect nipples, your body pinned chest first to the lockers, making you shudder audibly.

“if you keep making sounds like that, I’m not sure I’ll be able to resist being a little…rough with you.”

His caramel smooth voice made you instinctively arch your back and stand on your toes, as you’ve down countless times prior. His hands went down to securely hold your hips as he ran the tip of his cock in between your folds, gathering your wetness on his head. He sharply inhaled at your swaying hips, slowly nudging his fat tip past your tight entrance.

You thought, like always, he’d grab you by your hair and fuck into you, pushing you further into the locker. But to your surprise, one arm snaked around your breasts, and the other around your tummy, pulling you closer onto his cock. The slow glide of his dick into your pussy was heavenly, your hands finding anything to claw onto, like, for instance, the arms he had you caged with.

“I saw the way you were staring, Sweetie. Do my muscles turn you on that much?” his veins popped out as his arms tightened around your torso, making you gasp. Your nails dug into his skin, feeling his arms tense while holding you taut against his chest, hips slamming at a merciless pace. Your knees felt weak, your body slouched over, but worry not. With the kind of grip he had on your body, you weren’t going anywhere except on his dick. His chest heaved behind you, sweat dripping off his eyebrow and colliding with the drops on your glistening back. The locker room started to feel steamy from how hot and laboured your breaths were, the walls replaying the slapping sounds of thighs against thighs. You weren’t even sure you could feel the ground under your feet anymore, feeling so weightless as Sylus angled his body, allowing his dick to graze against parts of your body not unfamiliar to him.

Wet lips and sharp teeth found your neck once again, drowning out his grunts caused by your body eager to milk him with how it clenched around his cock. Calloused fingers squeezed your nipples as you squealed out his name, being silenced by him nudging your face to the side and kissing your agape mouth.

“Feels so good, Sylus. Make me…cum…please-”

Fuck, if you keep singing praise for him in your beautiful voice, how do you expect him to act sanely? How do you expect him to not brace one hand against the locker, fucking into you till his thighs feel sore and your body can barely hold on? His own mind is jumbled up, on the brink of explosion, just a little bit longer till-

“Fuck, Sweetie-”

Sylus was shaking with the intensity of his own orgasm, grinding into you and holding you in a python like hold, not letting you escape him. There was so much coming out, strings of cum ran down your thighs, puddling on the floor in between your shaking legs.

Sylus wasn’t sure if this was the only round; if your incoherent mumbles were asking for more or not. But since you’re still clutching his arms and clinging to his body, maybe you wouldn’t mind if he slowly started moving his hips again.

#mia.smut #mia.writes #sylus smut #sylus x reader smut #love and deepspace #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace x reader

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cyberteez · 2 months

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size - s.mingi

pairing ⋆ s.mingi x afab!reader

genre ⋆ smut, fluff

wc ⋆ 1.7k

summary ⋆ mingi notices how small you are in comparison to him

warnings ⋆ cunnilingus, pinv, sex, no condom(don't do this), mingi is cheesy, he's a bit of a tease, lmk if there's anything else, not entirely proofread

it was a relaxing weekend for the both of you. with nothing planned, you both lazed around on the couch, eating snacks and watching movies. for the past half hour you haven’t been able to focus on the movie, mind unable to take in a fifth movie. you were warm, wrapped in mingi’s arms while the colors of sunset shone through your open window.

the air was cool but pleasant, enough chill to make you stay in his arms but not enough to require a blanket. he simply adored having you in his arms, all small and cute, head resting on his chest. you were wearing on of his t-shirts, the fabric resting on your bare thighs while he traced random lines across them. having lounged all day in one of his shirts, he couldn’t keep his thoughts away from you. subtle whiffs of your shampoo enter his nose. even though the two of you lived together, you each had distinct smells and he knew that his shirt would smell of you if he stole it back. that’s a big if, but he’d be willing to tussle for it.

you sighed in his arms, the notion that you two aren’t paying attention to the screen becoming more and more apparent.

“whatcha thinkin about, babe,” you asked, angling your neck upwards to face him.

“you, as always,” he replies with a cheesy grin, earning a playful slap on his chest.

“you’re so dumb.”

yours and his laughter fills the room, quickly settling into a calm atmosphere again. he hummed, his fingers absentmindedly tracing higher on your thigh. you couldn’t tell if he knew what he was doing—as he’d done it before and would feign innocence—or if he was accidentally drawing higher and higher, moving your shorts up your thighs.

“you fit right with me,” he says softly.

you don’t reply, but stare in his eyes as he looks down at you. a few short moments pass before he’s leaning down to capture your lips in a gentle kiss.

“my sweet thing,” he whispers against your lips, securing his arms around you as you shift to be more comfortable.

your shorts have ridden up to your hips, but you’re too busy trying to breathe to care. his teeth tug at your bottom lip, a smirk forming on his face as he continues to lazily kiss you. a yelp squeaks its way past your lips into his as hands squeeze your ass. his grin only widens as he slips his tongue between your parted lips, deepening the kiss.

while this wasn’t what you had planned for the weekend, you certainly wouldn’t turn him down. his arms lock under your thighs as he stands, not breaking the kiss, but walking in the general direction of your bedroom. he fumbles with the door for a minute, ears turning red for not being seamlessly sexy, but your eye smile is enough to brush away the embarrassment. the plush bed greets your back quickly enveloping your body.

“I didn’t realize how small you were compared to me, love,” mingi comments before leaning in to kiss you again. “makes me feel like I have to hold you.”

he breaths a kiss on your cheek before sloppily making his way down your neck.

“look so pretty in my shirt. I like having what’s mine in my clothes.”

his hands drag his shirt up your sides, hand smoothing over the expanse of your stomach. he presses a kiss near your belly button, working his way up as he pulls his shirt over your head.

“I would keep you in my stuff all the time, but then I wouldn’t get to see all of you, now would I?” he asks to no one. he licks his lips when he's met with your bare chest.

“no bra? you cheeky little thing.”

before suckling your tit into his mouth, he presses open mouthed kisses to your chest. a whine leaves your mouth when he tugs your nipple between his teeth. his other hand comes to cup your other tit, two fingers coming to roll the neglected nipple in between them. the soft whines and breathy pants that leave your lips spur him on and he soon switches to the other side, leaving a trail of kisses between the valley of your breasts. however he’s not where you need him and every roll of his tongue has your hips involuntarily bucking up to meet his crotch. mingi’s hands leave your chest to still your hips, face coming to meet your own.

a smile graces his lips as he says, “I’ll get there eventually, you’re so impatient.”

your hands come to pull his shirt off before he’s slipping off your shorts, kneeling between your thighs at the edge of the bed. his presses a kiss to your clit through your underwear which elicits a whiny moan from you, a plea to hurry up. his index fingers hook the top of your underwear, dragging it down your thighs and to the floor, tossing it aside with the other clothing.

when your thighs close from the cool air hitting your pelvis, he wedges his hands between them, prying them apart for a look at you.

“you’re dripping already and all I’ve done is fondle you. you must really want me, huh?” he pauses for a moment before concluding, “or maybe it’s just that you need me.”

you don’t even need to look at his face to see his shit eating grin, you just know it’s there. you’re prepared to make a snarky retort but fail to do so when you feel his lips attach to your clit, sucking gently. your elbows shake a bit from holding you up as your head rolls back, enjoying the sensation of his mouth on you. when he moans against you, you feel electricity run down your legs and up your torso, goosebumps following soon after.

“fuck, mingi,” you moan, voice so light you weren’t sure he heard you.

his response comes in a form of a finger working its way inside you, beginning to stretch you out. a small gasp leaves your lips and your thighs clench around his shoulders as he works you open.

“so tight for me, aren’t you? always so tight for me even when you’re horny as hell. fuck, love, how do you manage to take my cock?”

you choke at his words, warmth spreading throughout your body and pooling in between your legs where he’s adding another finger. you can’t respond in anything other than breathy moans and curses at this point but he doesn’t seem to mind. he adds a third finger to help stretch you in preparation for him. when breathy moans that don't belong to you fill the room, your eyes quickly find mingi’s free hand wrapped tightly around his cock, stroking himself while finger fucking you open. his middle finger kneads your sweet spot which has your legs shaking as you feel your orgasm unexpectedly wash over you. a string of whines and curse words leave your mouth as you cum on his fingers, and through hooded eyes you see him take them into his mouth, sucking them clean.

at this point, he stands so you can see his cock. it twitches in the air as he grips your thighs, prying them open once more so he can line up with your entrance. as he pushes in, he lets out a lovely groan, eyebrows coming together. your slick cunt takes in every inch as if it had a mind of its own.

“fuck you’re so wet for me, baby,” he coos, fingers digging into your thighs when your walls clench around him. “relax, love, my cock won’t fit in you if you squeeze me so much...”

when his pelvis meets yours, you’re both breathing heavily. your thighs tremble as your walls struggle to adjust to his size, the overwhelming feeling of his cock touching every place inside of you has you reeling. he pulls out so just the tip is inside and snaps his hips back into you quickly, eliciting a moan from you. he sets up a steady rhythm, one hand gripping your thighs while the other rests next your head. you can tell he’s having a hard time not fucking you till you break as a sheen of sweat covers his torso, trailing down to his hips.

you can feel your climax starting to come close again, but he has other plans as he pulls out and flips you onto your knees, elbows pressed into the bed. your head falls heavily to the duvet. he has both hands on your hips, clawing bruises into them as his pace speeds up, unable to control himself any longer. one of your hands comes back to cup his side while your head moves to your free forearm, breath still unsteady as he fucks at a wild pace. you can tell he’s drawing close when his motions become uneven and sloppy, but he manages to work his fingers on your clit. he’s cumming soon after, still working you till you climax yourself. you can feel his hand slide on your back from the sweat and a breathy laugh leaves him.

“I went too hard, didn’t I?” mingi rolls off of you, back hitting the sheets as he stares up at the ceiling in a daze.

you’re shaking your head as you lay next to him, wiping the sweat from his forehead and placing a kiss on his temple. you don't stay down long, opting to start the shower for the both of you.

his hands smooth over your back in the shower, suds trailing down your spine as he washes you off. his fingertips gently trace the new bruises on your hips and he lets out a sigh, apologizing for being so rough. you turn around and embrace him, saying to not apologize and that you liked when he was rough. your head rests on his chest as he continues to wash the both of you, enjoying the feeling of his hands running over your body. the warm water hitting you back makes you sleepy and he can see your eyes struggling to stay open. he hums softly, turning off the shower and pulling you out, drying you off and moving a towel through your hair. he places a kiss on your nose and leads you to your bed in a fresh shirt of his and where you easily fall asleep wrapped in his arms.

#ateez #ateez x reader #mingi x reader #ateez smut #mingi smut #cyberteez

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struggling-with-drivers · 10 months

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People Watching - Lando Norris

⋗ Pairing - Lando Norris x Reader

⋗ Summary - You've never been in love, at least you don't think you have

⋗ Word count - 2k words, fluff, [Requested by Anon]

⋗ Masterlist - requests are open, this was just a short cute idea I had on my mind after getting a request. Feedback and reblogs are appreciated

You’re enjoying a nice lunch with Lando. He has a lot of things to be doing after, but for now. It’s just the two of you, a set of good friends. Your eyes wander over his face, a soft look of concentration is on his face as he tries to take pictures of you and your lunch. The way his lips are slightly strained, as he keeps fiddling with his camera. Then he rearranges your glasses, and then he puts them back, before rearranging them once more.

“Do you need help?” You ask, a small laugh bubbling in your throat, as he can’t seem to get the shot he wants.

“No no, just keep sitting there, you look good!” He chirps up, quickly dismissing the thought of you moving from the pose he instructed you into.

Your laugh finally makes it way past your lips, at the absurdity of the scene, your eyes close as the flash goes off once more. You don’t notice how Lando mutters, got it, nor how he takes a few more just for his enjoyment.

“Time to dig in.” Lando scrambles to sit down and stuffs his mouth with his slightly cold food.

You stick a bit to your food, but your gaze falls out onto the crowd of people navigating outside. So many couples are spread across the grid as all the fans gather to get a closer look at the cars. Despite your perspective from above, the thing most glaring to you seems to be all the hands clasped into others.

“How long do you think they’ve been together?”

“What?” Lando looks up from his plate of food, trying to follow your gaze, but he gets lost in the crowd of people immediately, not at all being able to figure out where your eyes are looking.

“The elderly couple.” You say, as though it’s the most obvious thing, as though there aren’t multiple, as though you and Lando didn’t call Max Verstappen and his girlfriend an elderly couple last weekend, despite Max barely being 2.5 years older than Lando and less than 2 years older than you.

“Three days.” Lando says, voice full of conviction, “They actually met this Tuesday and have had the wildest sex for 3 days straight, before any of their children realise that their parents are missing from the nursery home.”

You snort loudly, accidentally getting soda into your nose, making Lando laugh with you, as you struggle to breathe.

After recovering from your soda mishap, you wipe your nose with a napkin, still chuckling. Lando grins mischievously, taking a sip of his drink as he watches you with amusement.

“Smooth move, right?” he teases, referring to his imaginative tale about the elderly couple. “I mean, who wouldn't want a love story like that? Beats the usual 'met in high school and got married' scenario.”

You both share another round of laughter, the casual banter making the lunch even more enjoyable.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in love.” You sigh wistfully as you glance down at the crowd of people once more. “Not seriously. I mean, I’ve had a fling here and there, and a few you don’t know about.”

“Ouch.” Lando mocks being hurt, as he throws a piece of lettuce in your direction. Missing you completely. He’s an excellent driver, but a terrible thrower. You’re suddenly elated that he never became a handball athlete or a basketball player.

“I just mean, I’ve never had that big grand love moment, you know. Nobody has ever done any big gestures, I’ve never had fireworks go off during a kiss. Never pictured that American suburban picket fence dream, you know?” You rattle off as Lando leans his head to the side. You can see the grin on his face before the words leave his mouth.

“And here I thought you loved me,” he throws another piece of lettuce in your direction. It lands on your plate, and you cock an eyebrow at him, very unimpressed. “I don’t think I know anyone else that would get up at 3 am just to make the world's worst pancakes, all because it’s some pancake holiday, and I had to be out of the door at 5 am.”

The memory of that early morning springs vividly to your mind, and you can't help but chuckle at the recollection.

The night before Pancake Day, you meticulously planned your pancake surprise for Lando. You envisioned a perfect morning: the smell of freshly made pancakes wafting through the air, the joy on Lando's face as he discovered the delightful breakfast you had prepared just for him. However, the universe had other plans.

At 3 am, you tiptoed into the kitchen, trying your best to be as quiet as a ninja. Armed with a box of pancake mix, a whisk, and an optimistic spirit, you were ready to conquer the culinary world for the sake of surprising your friend.

The kitchen was dimly lit, and you moved with caution, not wanting to wake anyone up. As you began mixing the ingredients, you felt a surge of determination. This was going to be the breakfast surprise of the century. You even hummed a little tune as you worked, believing that love and effort could conquer any culinary challenge.

However, in your sleepy stupor, you made a crucial mistake. The sugar and salt containers looked eerily similar in the low light, and without double-checking, you confidently poured what you thought was sugar into the mix. Little did you know, you had just set the stage for a disastrous flavour profile.

Undeterred, you moved on, mistakenly grabbing the baking powder instead of the baking soda. As you mixed the concoction, the batter started to take on an unusual texture, but you pressed on, convinced that your culinary masterpiece was just a few flips away.

With the batter ready, you heated the pan and poured the first pancake, envisioning its perfect golden-brown finish. However, the sizzle that followed was more like a hiss, and the kitchen started to fill with an unpleasant aroma. You tried to fan away the smoke, hoping that the burnt scent wouldn't reach Lando's bedroom.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans. As the smoke thickened, a piercing sound echoed through the apartment – the unmistakable wail of the smoke detector. Panic set in, and you rushed to open windows, waving a towel at the alarm, and desperately trying to save the surprise.

Meanwhile, Lando stirred in his sleep, disturbed by the cacophony of the smoke detector. He stumbled out of his bedroom, bleary-eyed and disoriented, only to find you amid your culinary chaos, smoke billowing around you.

“Ah, Pancake Day,” you say with a grin. “I thought it would be a fantastic idea to surprise you with a breakfast feast before your busy day. On the other hand, I gave you a free day off from having to sit in on a bunch of meetings.”

“Yeah, because my house nearly burnt down, and a bunch of firefighters showed up.” Lando waves his fork at you. “I doubt a lot of other people would have done that.”

“Tried to burn down your flat?” You mock him, as you flick the piece of lettuce back to his plate.

He laughs, shaking his head. You’re missing his point, but he’s also not attempting to make it clearer for you.

“What about when I stay up with you on the phone, because a sale is starting past midnight, but you’re barely holding it together and it’s not even 10 pm? Isn’t that an act of love?” He asks, but he leaves no room for you to answer his question as he goes back to eating.

Lando can’t see the storm that’s slowly brewing behind your eyes, as you go over memories of your friendship. All the small things you do for each other. All the time you spend together.

As the memories flood your mind, you find yourself caught in a whirlwind of emotions. The snippets of shared moments and small gestures between you and Lando become a cherished montage.

There's the time when he surprised you with a playlist of your favourite songs on a day when you were feeling down, the carefully curated mix capturing the essence of your friendship. You remember the genuine joy on his face as he handed over the playlist, completely aware of how much music meant to you.

Then, there are the instances when you stayed up late into the night, listening to his racing stories and sharing in his victories and disappointments. You recall the laughter and camaraderie that transcended the distance, making those late-night conversations a treasured part of your connection.

Lando smirks mischievously as he eyes the last bite of your dessert.

"Mind if I grab that last piece? You know I need the extra energy for my thrilling life as a driver."

You narrow your eyes at him, holding the fork protectively. "Oh, please. The only thrill you get is trying to beat me at Mario Kart."

He chuckles, leaning back in his chair. "I'll have you know that being a Mario Kart champion requires skill and precision. It's practically a training regimen for the racetrack."

You scoff, taking a deliberate bite of the dessert. "Skill and precision? Last time I checked, you kept getting stuck in the void on Rainbow Road."

"That was a strategic move. I needed a better view of the stars," he replies with a grin, trying to swipe the fork again.

You playfully slap his hand away. "Nice try, but you're not getting this last piece. I already had to fight off your trainer once this month, because you keep stealing my food."

Lando feigns offence, placing a hand over his heart. "Are you saying I don't have the physique of a finely tuned athlete?"

"I'm saying you have the physique of someone who eats all the desserts that aren’t meant for finely-tuned athletes," you retort,

He leans in, a playful glint in his eyes. "Well, at least I can burn it off on the track. What's your excuse?"

You raise an eyebrow. "I burn calories, dodging your attempts to steal my food. It's a full-body workout, really."

"Fair enough. But mark my words, next time we play Mario Kart, you won't stand a chance." Lando laughs, shaking his head.

"Bring it on, slowpoke. I'll be waiting with banana peels and blue shells," you challenge, finishing the dessert triumphantly, savouring the last bite right in front of him. Silence falls as he starts typing on his phone, and your mind gets distracted by what he said earlier.

As Lando mentioned, the nights when he stood by you during stressful sales and business endeavours resurface in your mind. The unwavering support he offered, even when the clock struck midnight and exhaustion threatened to overwhelm you, painted a picture of love in the small actions.

And of course, there are the countless times when he'd spontaneously pop by with your favourite snacks or the coffee blend you adore, just because he remembered. Those little acts of consideration spoke volumes.

Lost in these memories, you realise that love comes in various forms. It's not always grand gestures or sweeping romantic moments. It's found in the everyday kindness, the shared laughter, and the unwavering support that defines your friendship with Lando.

A thought strikes you down.

Do you love Lando?

Lando glances up from his phone, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. He meets your gaze, and there's a silent understanding between you. In that moment, surrounded by the echoes of shared laughter, failed pancake attempts, and genuine care, you realise that love, in its purest form, is already present in the beautiful tapestry of your friendship with Lando.

An even more terrifying thought hits you as he looks at you with that soft smile and those shiny eyes.

Does Lando love you?

⋗ a/n - thank you for reading this, I had a lot of fun writing this small piece, it was just pure fluff and enjoyment

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #ln4 #f1 #mclaren #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #mclaren f1 #f1 fic #formula 1 #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x you #ln4 fluff #ln4 fic #ln4 x you #f1 x reader #delias own writing

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kierongillen · 2 months

Text

General Player Advice For RPGs

I published this in my newsletter here a while back, and discourse reminded me I wanted to put it more public. I probably should get around to actually doing a proper blog for this kind of stuff. You can sign up to the newsletter here.

One of the things which I’ve been chewing over since getting back into RPGs is that there’s so much advice for GMs and so little advice for players. I keep thinking over why - though the whys aren’t what I’m about to write about. However, some other folk think any worthwhile advice is system/genre specific.

This got me chewing over whether I agree with that. As the list below shows, I don’t.

The first four are ones where I think I succeeded, and as principles generally guide you towards better play no matter what game you’re playing. The last three are mainly applicable to games with a significant story component (the last especially). There’s a few more I played with, but they were more about being a good at the table generally – about being a better player in any game rather than specifically about role-playing games. I also avoided ones which were more GM-and-player advice rather than just player advice (if there’s a problem in game, communicate out of game, use appropriate safety tools, etc).

I also didn’t include “Buy The GM Stuff”.

Anyway – here they are. See what you think.

GENERAL PLAYER PRINCIPLES FOR BETTER PLAY

1) Make choices that support the table’s creative goals

If you’re playing a storygame, don’t treat it like a tactical wargame. If you’re playing a tactical wargame, don’t treat it like a storygame. If it’s bleak horror, don’t make jokes. If you’re in a camp cosy romp, don’t bring in horror. It also varies from moment to moment – if someone’s scene is sincere, don’t undercut it.

2) Be A Fan of The Other Characters

This is GM advice in almost all Powered By the Apocalypse games – for the GM to be a fan of the characters. It’s a good trait for a player to cultivate. Be actively excited and interested in the other characters’ triumphs and disasters. Cheer them on. Feel for them. Players being excited for other players always makes the game better. Players turning off until it’s their turn always makes it worse.

3) Be aware of the amount of spotlight time you’re taking

This is a hard one for fellow ADHD-ers, but have an awareness of who is speaking more and who is speaking less. A standard GM skill is moving spotlight time around to players who have had less time. Really good players do this too. Pass the ball.

4) Learn what rules apply to you, to smooth the game, not derail it.

To stress, this isn’t “come to the table knowing everything” but learning the rules that are relevant to your character along the way, especially if they are marginal (looking at you, Grappling and Alchemy rules). Doing otherwise adds to the facilitator’s cognitive load and hurts the game’s flow. The flip is being aware that knowing stuff isn’t an excuse to break the game’s flow with a rules debate either – that’s an extension of the third principle.

5) Make choices which support other characters’ reality

If someone’s playing a scary bastard, treat them like a scary bastard. If they’re meant to be the leader, have your character treat them like the leader , for better or worse. A fictional reality is shared, and you construct it together.

6) Ensure The Group Understands Who Your Character Is

This is the flip of the above – having a character conception that is clear enough that everyone gets who you are, what you want to do and how you want to do it. If you don’t, the table will be incapable of supporting your choices. This links to…

7) If asked a preference in a story game, a strong choice is almost always better than a middling choice.

Don’t equivocate. If asked “You’ve met this person before. How do you feel about him?” either “I love him” or “I hate him” is better than anything middling. The exception is if it’s something you’re really not interested in pursuing.

#rpg #rpg player advice #ttrpg #ttrpg player advice #ttrpg advice

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casiia · 1 year

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virgin!ethan landry buying condoms before attending a party with chad (idk this would be so funny and awkward😭😭😭)

[ 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐞 ੈ✩‧₊˚]

pairing .: ethan landry x reader

genre .: suggestive

word count .: 3k

warnings .: suggestive content (minors dni.), female reader, alcohol indulgence, dry humping

author's note .: SORRY NO SMUT! just a lot of plot! but i had soo much fun writing this, whoever requested this i think you’re so funny! i originally was going to add smut but lack of motivation. my little nerd boy psycho getting teased by shirtless farmer chad makes me giggle. but i hope you guys love this as much as i do because i’m giggling soso bad. also i don’t have a dick i’ve never bought condoms b4 so i tried my best errr. also also guys please b careful when drinking at parties. this is just a lot of plot and lowkey ethan x chad (im slash jay) but if enough people want it i will write smut in a part 2.

“wait why are you turning? we’re supposed to go down this street for another light.”

the muted sound of rain echoes inside the car; droplets of water splattering against the fogged windshield blurred the bright traffic lights, a mixture of green and red reflecting against the dash.

“pitstop. gotta pick up some stuff.” chad taps his fingers against the steering wheel impatiently – waiting for the light to turn green. his thumb smooths over the grooves that were engraved in the leather, frustration threatening to expose from his composed state. “get the fuck off your phone! go, the light is green.”

“pick up stuff? not drugs, right…?” ethan looks up from his phone, his illuminated screen lighting his features from the shadows of the night. with a buzz, he focuses his attention back to his device. a smile graces his lips as he reads over your notification, fingers moving quick to type a response to you.

“no, not drugs. condoms.”

adjusting the seat belt that suddenly became uncomfortable around his neck, ethan swallows thickly, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. “oh.”

“i mean, you’re gonna need them. i doubt nothing’s gonna happen between you and her tonight.” pulling into the lot, chad cheekily smiles over to his friend, playfully hitting his arm.

“w-what? we aren’t anything serious, i don’t think she looks at me like that.” leaning towards the window to escape chad’s ruthless teasing, he resisted the urge to check the notification that had vibrated his phone – knowing it was from you.

“she definitely does, she’s always giving you that look.” throwing his hands up in gratitude when he found a parking spot, chad carefully pulled into the tight spot. “you guys are so annoying, everyone can see it but you two.”

“what look?” unbuckling his seat belt with a click, ethan chews on his bottom lip to stop the smile that threatened to show on his face.

“the ‘i want to fuck you’ look.” turning the engine off with the twist of a key, chad unbuckles and climbs out of the car. “just fuck already, what’s stopping you.” watching ethan take off the cardboard helmet of his costume, he chuckles lightly. “i mean, she wants to fuck a guy dressed up as a cardboard robot.”

“hey. it’s from that movie murder party, and maybe put on a shirt before you comment on my costume.” opening the passenger door, ethan reaches into the back seat, grabbing a plain white tank and tossing it to the shirtless farmer standing in the drizzling rain.

“oh right.”

“i don’t think there is a ‘fuck me look’ i think you’re thinking way into things.” stepping out and shutting the door, ethan stuffs his phone and wallet into his back pocket, walking towards the pharmacy with long strides to avoid the rain.

“what would you know, you’re a virgin.” locking the car with a loud beep, chad swings his lanyard around his fingers, letting his keys jangle against each other carelessly. laughing loudly when he catches a glimpse of ethan’s shocked expression, he holds his hands out in reassurance. “well i mean, after tonight you won’t be.”

“i’m not gonna do anything with her unless she wants me to.” walking past the automated doors, he waits for chad to walk in front of him, not wanting to waste time and lead the two into the wrong aisle.

“well of course, but it’s better to be safe than sorry at the end of the night. don’t wanna get her pregnant or anything.” chad grins, walking towards an aisle in the back – almost too easily, like he’s been here a million times.

“right. how do you…put one on?” glancing at the many colorful boxes to his left, he clears his throat when turning to his right, staring at the shelf of the pregnancy test.

“open the wrapper, careful not to rip it that’s important, then just slide it on. if it’s that much trouble just ask the girl.” chad hums to the music playing overhead in the store, squatting down to get a peak at the bottom shelves.

“oh, okay. what about lube, think i’ll need that?” eyeing the different brands of condoms, he feels his phone buzz again, the weight of his phone all of a sudden feeling heavy in his pants.

2 messages from angel girl

ethan smiles at the notifications, quickly swiping into his phone to answer you. warmth bubbles in his chest as he replies, watching his message turn from sent to read in just a second.

“hey, are you listening to me?”

“huh?” looking up from his phone, his smile drops, snapping out of his dazed state.

“i said, lube is a waste of money. just use spit, works the same if you can also get her wet.” picking up a box of magnums, chad stands from his squatted position, patting out the creases in his pants before heading to the register. “there’s nothing to be worried about, bro. just make sure you focus when it happens, stay in the moment. the usual.”

“mhm.” now very anxious, ethan trails behind his roommate with twisted fingers. “maybe i should take the costume off?” picking at the hem of his shirt under the cardboard vest, he laughs awkwardly; imagining you taking his ridiculous costume off before climbing under the blankets had him shaking his head.

“maybe just keep the helmet, can’t not dress up at a halloween party.” grabbing his wallet from his pocket once they reached the self checkout machines, he scanned the box before swiping his card. “we should go, mindy’s been on my ass.”

the two of them ran to the car, seeking shelter from the rain that turned from a light drizzle to a thundering pour. ethan ran his hands through his hair, combing his damp brown hair out of his face. leaning back into the leather seat with a huff, he groaned dragging his hands down his cheeks, the cardboard around his chest stiffening his movements.

slipping his arms into the cut out holes, he shimmied the fake armor over his head and let it clumsily fall into the back seat. memories of you and him making the costume made him frown; he thought back to how pretty you look with ruffled hair, sitting on his bedroom floor in only pajamas, cutting away at the cardboard material with kid scissors, cursing at him when he accidentally cut out of the traced lines.

the loud crinkle of plastic strips him of his thoughts, chad loudly tearing into the box. “take a few. i’m just gonna leave the box in the car…for later.”

“think you’re gonna end up with tara tonight?” ethan teases with a smirk. picking at the golden packs, he holds them up to the window, letting the plastic shine against the dull streetlight.

“shut up, now strap in. we’re already late i cannot take another text from mindy.”

the far-off sound of music caught ethan’s attention as chad pulled into the neighborhood, a variety of cars piled into the driveway and along the street, lights flashing from the windows inside the house.

grabbing his poorly made helmet made of cardboard, he slipped it over his head, making sure it sat comfortably and evenly on top of his hair.

“did tara tell you what she was gonna wear?” checking his phone for your notification, ethan frowned slightly when finding out you had left him on read. he was only a few paces from the house, where he would soon find you. although the more he thought of you, the more the nerves began to eat at him. would you even want to sleep with him, what if he was going to make a fool of himself – what if you friendzoned him. rubbing his forehead with a sigh, he stuffed a few condoms into his pockets, his heart beating out of his chest.

“pirate i think, wanted to match but it was too last minute. what about your girl?” making sure the car was locked after they had got out, chad shoves his keys into his pants, letting the lanyard hang within view.

“she didn’t want to tell me, said it was gonna be a surprise.” feeling his heartbeat in his ears, ethan balled his fist tightly, fingernails digging into the palms of his hands. he didn’t want to mess things up with you, he was scared – scared that he would mess things up and lose the best person that had ever shown up in his life.

“relax, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“i’m trying, i’m just nervous. i don’t want things to go the wrong way tonight, what if i misread her.” stopping outside the door, he could hear the roar of music, walls vibrating with each base drop. the faint smell of marijuana and alcohol tickled his nose, his face churning immediately at the unpleasant smell.

“whatever happens is for a reason, don’t make sex your first priority. if she wants to fuck you, which im sure she does, she’ll make it clear. stop worrying.” chad places a hand on the brunette’s shoulder, squeezing comfortably.

“right. make sure i don’t drink too much? i actually want to remember this night.” taking one last deep breath, ethan turns the knob on the door, finally arriving at the party. an overwhelming amount of people crowded the kitchen, abandoned red solo cups lingering all over the house.

pushing through the crowd of people with curt apologies, ethan scanned over the horde of tipsy college students, looking for your face in the midst of it all. relaxing a bit when he saw anika in the corner of the room with mindy, he glanced over his shoulder to see if chad was following him before nudging his way through to his friends across the room.

“where have you guys been? i thought we agreed to be here 45 minutes ago!” mindy throws exasperated hands in the air, eyebrows raised mockingly.

“traffic. where’s y/n?” frowning when he didn’t see you amongst the other girls, he turned back to the kitchen to see if you were stuffed in there.

“she was here a second ago.i think she went to ask tara if she knew where you were, but honestly who knows where that little pirate could be.” anika shrugs lightly at the question, repositioning her legs over her girlfriend’s. “what’s going on with you two anyways?”

“noth-”

“ethan?”

spinning on his heel at the sound of your voice, he can’t help but let a smile paint his lips. his voice catching in his throat when he sees you, he drops his arms to his side. jaw dropping ever so slightly, he couldn’t stop the way he looked you up and down, engraving your image in the back of his mind.

you were head to toe in white; high socks that squeezed the fat of your thighs, a white mini skirt that just barely covered the curve of your ass, a semi see through corset, and to top it all off – a pair of small feathery wings that sat on your exposed shoulders.

“an angel.”

“surprise! where’s the rest of your costume? we worked so hard on it.” stepping closer to him to fix his lopsided helmet, you brushed hair out of his eyes with a pout.

“left it in the car, didn’t want it to get ruined or anything.” looking down at you with a smile, he lets his hands wander to your hips; his thumbs caressing your skin just above the waistline of your short mini skirt.

“oh, that’s a shame. you looked so cute in it.” pinching his cheeks in a playful manner, you bit your lip with a laugh, watching him squirm away from you. “let’s get a drink, i’ve been waiting for you.”

grabbing his hand in your left, you intertwined your fingers together, pulling him to the crowded kitchen. half filled bottles and empty plastic cups littered the marble countertop, a sticky residue sheening over the surface of the table.

“hm, i think there’s enough for a couple shots.”

letting go of his hand but still keeping him close, you leaned over the island to grab cups; unscrewing the cap of a half empty vodka bottle, you chewed your lip in concentration, completely eyeballing the amount of liquor you poured into the plastic cup.

“bottoms up, baby!” bringing the cup up to your lips, you cringed lightly, the smell of alcohol making your eyes water. squeezing your eyes shut tightly, you tilted your head back letting the liquid flow into your mouth before swallowing. shaking your head with a groan, you stuck your tongue out feeling the booze burn down your throat, almost instantly warming your chest. “so gross.”

ethan hesitated before drinking the foul smelling alcohol, coughing abruptly afterwards. “not worth it.” hearing you laugh at him, he teasingly shoved your shoulder with a soft smile. “do you think…we could talk?”

“we’re talking right now, pretty boy.” starting to pour another round of shots, you briefly glanced up at him at his silence. “is something wrong?”

“nothing’s wrong, i just meant talk in private.” taking off his fake helmet, he nervously rubbed the back of his neck – patiently waiting for you to finish taking another shot before replying.

“let’s go upstairs.” wiping your lips with the back of your hand, you tossed your now empty cups in the trash before grabbing his wrist and pulling him through the house. music blaring uncomfortably in your ear, you took in your surroundings before leaving; people at every inch of the house, a line forming for the bathroom, corners where couples made out, and a couch where all of your friends sat. catching chad’s eye, he gave you a knowing smirk while raising his eyebrows. flipping him off in return, you squeezed ethan’s wrist lightly, guiding him up the stairs and to an empty bedroom.

ethan tried his hardest not to look up your skirt while you walked in front of him, but of course he failed. he caught a glimpse of your undergarments – pretty pink panties with a white lace lining the edges. swallowing his guilt, he shifted his gaze back to the ground, fearing that he would get worked up the longer he stared. “do you know where you’re going?”

“not in the slightest, but it’s a big house, there’s bound to be one more vacant bedroom.” jiggling the knobs of each door, you giggled quietly hearing the muted moans from inside occupied rooms. “oh here.” twisting the handle and peeking inside, you opened the door for him when deeming it was clear.

closing and locking the door behind you, you made your way over to the bed, sitting on the edge with your hands neatly folded in your lap. “what’s on your mind? you’re kinda scaring me.”

dropping his costume prop near the door, ethan covered his face, groaning into his hands before finally piling up enough courage to look you in the eye. “what are we?”

“what do you mean?” furrowing your brows with an awkward laugh, you could feel heat creep up your neck, the liquor settling in your stomach.

“you’re always calling me these names, and touching me in ways you don’t do with anyone else. i just want to know if you’re playing with me.” sitting next to you on the bed, he kept a fair distance respecting your boundaries. “i like you a lot. more than i want to, i need to know if you feel the same.”

“i-” sighing loudly with shaky hands, you shifted your position, sitting on your knees while facing him. the hem of your skirt creeping up your thighs as you sat back. “i like you too, i just didn’t know how to tell you.” crawling closer to him, you reached for his hand, pressing his palm to your heart. “this is how you make me feel. all the time.”

“can i kiss you?”

nodding with a big grin, you let him lean forward to connect your lips. putting a hand on his shoulder to stabilize yourself, you hummed softly feeling him pull you closer, straight into his lap. the kiss was sweet and soft, lips moving slowly against each other, teeth clashing together with inexperience. you wrapped your arms around his neck, slightly grinding your hips down into his. “fuck, sorry.”

whining into your mouth, ethan squeezed your hips harshly. “no, please. again, m’felt good.” pulling away from your lips with a heavy pant, he cupped your face, thumb smoothing over your cheekbone.

“yeah? s’that why you brought me up here?” giggling, you rolled your hips again, the seam of his pants nudging at your clothed clit. lips parting with a quiet moan, you bit the inside of your cheek, a blush painting your cheeks.

“maybe.” tilting your head up with his thumb, he pressed kisses down your exposed neck, nibbling and sucking numerous marks along the way. “fuck, i want you.” slipping his hand down your back, he squeezed the fat of your ass, mumbling against your neck.

“i know, baby. but not tonight.” pushing him away just enough to see his face, you pressed a sweet kiss to the button of his nose. “want your first time to be something you’ll remember, not even a little bit fuzzy.”

opening his mouth in protest, you shook your head – your opinion already set in stone. pecking his lips one last time, you climbed off of his lap.

“you’re such a tease”

🏷 .:@loaksbitch @sullybby @dilfverz my stinkies

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nawoken · 4 months

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Yes, because I got bullied by both of the games I played so... I'm here to rambling some stuff that has been stuck inside my head since forever.

How about... Reader with cute aggression, especially for those small, fluffy creatures, like... cats! (Ơ w Ơ).

You can't help squeezing, kissing, and biting (lightly) those cuties. Yes, you have Grim, but he won't let you pet him since you're too much, his words.

And TWST boys that by some accident, maybe from alchemy class or their clumsiness. They, unfortunately, have turned into those mischievous creatures.

You don't know that. You just walking around, minding your own business or headmage supposed to be business. Then, you saw it, a cat with the fluffiest fur and cutest eyes you've ever seen run by. And you know, you've fallen in love :)))

TWST boys, now in cat body don't know that they're in danger, roaming around freely with the hope that someone they know will realize and help them.

Oh, is that our calm and kind prefect? Surely, they can help our poor boy, right? No! They're deadly WRONG!!!

The next thing our boy knows after approaching prefect is that he's trapped in your embrace, being kissed, squeezed, and petted while you compliment him on how smooth and healthy his fur looks.

Damn it, prefect! He is not an actual cat, can’t you see it?! The answer is… No, you can’t. You’re busy admiring his cuteness.

He is struggling, embarrassed by your doing. Some of them might feel ashamed since it feels like he is taking advantage of you… or the other way around, some just aren’t used to being pampered. But, the worst thing is… prefect, please don’t rub your face on his stomach! Mmraooo!!! :’)))))

After a while, you finally stop, he sighs out of relief, … but why do you look at him like that? D..do you finally realize that he is not a cat?

You stared at the poor creature in your hand, thinking. And, this made him concerned, what are you planning to do?

Before he can do anything, you chomp on his face, more specifically, his muzzle … Yes, you do it without your teeth. But... YOU BITE HIM!!! ON HIS FACE!!! C...CAN THIS COUNT AS A KISS?!

He is panicked and stunned while you're in heaven. This might be the sweetest cat you've ever seen, he doesn't even bite or scratch you when you do all this to him.

Suddenly, pink smoke emitted from the cat, and with a "pop" sound, it turned into a human. Not to mention, you know him. Is it a good or bad thing? You don't know, the only thing you know is... you're DOOM!

You should know that this is a magical world, so you can't just hug any stray cat on the street, it can be anyone, not to say this is your crush. But you got tricked! By those sparkling eyes! And those fluffy ears! And now you can die from embarrassment.

Now, you're the one who panics while he just stands there, not knowing what to do or to say. The cure for this potion, it's a true love kiss. (Another version of the "The Princess and the Frog" potion but instead of a kiss from the princess, it's a true love kiss, why not? :))))

You two end up looking at each other for a whole minute before he decides to speak up but are cut off by you. "Please, just forget everything, this is so messed up of me, I promise I will try to make it up to you somehow, but please just erase that shameful thing I have done from your mind!" (QAQ)

Then you ran off, left him there with bewildered expression.

~~~~♡♡♡~~~

That's longer than I expected :'D

But, yeah, this has been stuck inside my head for too long, finally it can appear under the sunlight...

You know, I want to make a request for that idea. I've followed so many good TWST writers. But, well I'm shy and don't really sure how to, so I just keep it in.

The idea for this post is... I have a cat, she's been suffering from my cute aggression. Ehe, poor her, but she never bites me when I'm chomping on her muzzle. So sweet of her.

But yeah, I can't stop laughing when I think about TWST boy turning into a cat and being chomped on. That must be terrifying for him, but they still tried their best to not scratch you, their dear prefect. Except: Riddle, it's just his reflection, and he feels regret right after. And maybe Leona? Or, he just shows his claw to threaten you but doesn't actually do it.

Nom nom :3

MY ANGEL!!!

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst x you #twst x yuu

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luveline · 1 year

Text

losers | remus lupin

“Please.”

“Please?” he says back, mirroring your soft tone. “You think you need to say please?” His pinky bumps under the waistband of your trousers. There isn’t much give. He traces the lining to your zipper, fiddling with the small piece of metal as your eyes darken. “I should be the one saying it.” His voice keeps dropping, an utterance in the shell of your ear, his words for you and you alone. “I’m at your mercy, dove. Don’t say please with me. Okay?”

you find remus’ number on an abandoned motorbike. things snowball from there. [10k words]

fem!reader, fluff, first date, smut mdni, implied inexperienced!reader, almost rockstar!remus, mentioned that remus takes painkillers, muggle!au, early 2000’s au

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ There’s a motorbike outside of the cafe.

It’s huge. Too heavy for you to move. Technically, you hadn’t found it at all, it was left there in the dead of night a few days ago and hasn’t budged since. It’s illegally parked, a fact that your manager won't stop muttering about while she’s elbow deep in latte foam and coffee cakes.

“I’m getting the bastard thing towed,” she grumbles that morning. “Let the police deal with it.”

That seems rather harsh to you. It isn’t necessarily in the way, and it looks well loved. Perhaps whoever left it can’t remember where they left it, having stumbled home on inebriated footing after one too many at the pub across the street. You think about how much it must cost to get your stuff back after it’s been towed, and though you aren’t sure of the specifics, you know it can’t be cheap. So, when your manager falls into conversation with a regular and your break begins, you creep outside to do some investigating.

It’s a hulking thing made of more black than silver. There are stickers across the left side of the body, weathered and peeling, though one is newer than the others and immediately draws your eye.

A phone number.

If lost, please call.

You take your phone out of your pocket, a flip phone with one dangling charm in the shape of a star. You click each faded button slowly. You're scared to talk to someone you don’t know, but relieved to maybe save the day.

It goes for ages.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” you say, dropping your voice into its sweetest tones, though nerves make you too soft, and you worry you’re hard to hear. “Hey, um, sorry to bother you. I work at The Mill, it’s a– a cafe in the city centre… Are you missing a bike, by any chance? A motorbike?”

“Oh, thank you. Yeah, it’s my friend’s. He can be… forgetful.” The voice that speaks is both smooth and gritty, impossibly, like whoever it is that’s talking smoked half a pack of cigarettes before he answered the phone. He clears his throat. “I hope it hasn’t been an imposition for you.”

“Actually, uh, my manager wants to have it towed. Like, now. I can try to fend her off but honestly she’s like, that physics law, um, unstoppable force? Uh,” —you’re stuttering, making it worse, because his voice is surprisingly handsome and you’re an idiot through and through— “yeah, so could you come and get it?”

“Yes! Yeah, absolutely, we’re on our way. Thank you.”

“Sure. Of course.”

You hear something not meant for you, the tail end of, “Sirius, get up. You better call Marl and—”

Phone back in your pocket, you take a quick glance around the street before reaching out to run your finger over the cracked leather of the motorbike seat. You’ve never ridden one before. You’ve never wanted to. The level of fearlessness one needs for it isn’t one you possess.

You’re the opposite of fearless.

The sun hides behind a wave of clouds. Your skin chills near immediately, your prim slacks and apron a worthless defence against the cold. It’s an average day here, grey and quiet. Occasionally a couple will pass you, hand in hand as they traverse the worn pavement. You smile at an elderly man and his dog as they shuffle across the street and into the cafe. Your smile fades as you tune into the fierce tones of your manager, demanding to know where you’ve gone. If your absence is what distracts her from calling the police, so be it.

You’re considering getting your phone back out to play Snake when a passing car slows beside you. You straighten up and out, feeling your spine click in more places than it should as the passenger door opens and an insanely attractive man throws himself out of it.

“My angel!” he cries, heading straight for you.

You take a panicked step backward. The man dives for his motorbike. You flinch, mystified by his enthusiasm and his opposite appearance. Short sleeves reveal arms full of dark tattoos, with one side marred by a brutally long scar from his elbow to the back of a ring-laden hand. You tear your eyes from him as a second door closes across the street, and feel all the air rush from your chest as a second man approaches.

He’s very pretty. It might be redundant to say it to yourself, presented as you are with an undeniable truth, but you think it anyway. Sandy brown hair, pale skin, and in enough layers to make up for his friends lack thereof, the second man ignores any dramatics and meets you head on.

“Hi,” he says, holding out his hand, “you’re the one who called?”

Closer now, you can see the scars on his face. They stretch over the ridge of his nose and into his eyebrow. A smaller one tugs as he talks against his top lip.

You take his hand and shake it limply. “Yeah, that was me.”

If he’s concerned with your nervousness he doesn’t show it. His smile doesn’t move. “He wants to say thank you. He will, once he gets over himself.”

“Thank you!” the dark-haired man calls. “She’s my everything. I’ve been sick with worry.”

“Have you?” the man in front of you asks, his voice steady, almost intimidating in its impassiveness.

“Yes, Moons, I have been… not that you’d know.”

“Some of us have real problems,” Moons snips, though he quickly looks at you like he’s embarrassed. “Sorry. He brings out the worst in me.”

“You must be good friends.”

You don’t know why you say it. He only smiles.

“We must be.”

The first man stands up from checking over his motorbike and beams at you. You suspect it’s an expression that works in his favour more often than not. “What can I give you, doll?”

“No, nothing. Please. I’ll just be glad to hear the end of it.”

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, really."

Your manager calls your name, clear as day despite the thick pane of glass and brick walls separating you.

"That's you?" Moons asks.

"That's me. Sorry."

"No, don't be. Thanks so much for calling."

You nod hurriedly, throwing them both a 'nice to meet you, I'm sorry for leaving so fast' kind of smile and head back inside.

You take a sneaky look back when you're behind the counter again. They’ve turned their backs to you, Moons' friend ruffling his hair roughly. After a minute or two, Moons gets back in his car, and the motorbike pulls away like it was never there to begin with.

What sort of name is Moons? you ask yourself. It's a question that stays with you for a few days. You find yourself hoping you'll see him again, or that his friend's motorbike will turn up outside of the cafe for a few long days and give you an excuse to call him. His number stays unsaved in your recent calls menu for a while. Eventually, you forget about him altogether; the motorbike, the call, the gentle wave of his hair.

You're hard-pressed to forget his voice, though. There'd been something familiar about it.

"Nice highscore."

You jump hard and wince as the metallic taste of blood hits your taste buds. To make it worse, you slam your phone up into the counter it was hiding under in shock. It makes a fatal crunching sound.

You shove it into your pocket and look up. Standing there, in all his handsome weariness, is Moons, sans friend. He's wearing nice clothes, clean and clearly ironed. You're immediately aware of your ratty uniform and your unkempt hair.

"Shit," you say, which is so fucking embarrassing, honestly, you could fall through the floor and stay there, "Sorry. What can I get you?"

His eyebrows inch up his forehead. "What's the easiest thing to make?"

That's not a question you get often. "Uh, regular black coffee, or tea, or, the uh– the hot chocolate's not that hard. But you should order whatever you like, of course."

Moons smiles at you. You're starting to understand the nickname (assuming it is a nickname). He has this odd but enticing presence about him, like that awestruck feeling of looking up at night and seeing all the teeny tiny stars and the moonlight that comes down with them, bright and somewhat daunting.

"Sure you don't mind?"

"I'm paid not to mind."

"Can I get the biggest cup of tea you can make? Milk and two sugars, please."

"Absolutely." You sidestep to the register and click a bunch of the wrong buttons. You're unprofessionally flustered. "Uh, three sixty five?"

He passes you a five pound note. Your tip cup is for the more generous type, and he has no trouble dropping his palmful of change into it. He barely looks. You're expecting him to take a seat but he stays standing, one arm pressed to the counter, the other held up. He scratches behind his ear absentmindedly, as though he has nowhere else to be.

"Are you in a hurry?" you ask, confused.

He stays quiet for enough time to shit you up. You're tipping milk over your hand and hoping he hasn't seen it when he says, "No rush. I'm here to see you."

You look over your shoulder at him. You can't help it. "To see me."

"Yeah."

You spin back to his tea. The counter is covered in spills and sugar, cup tops and wooden stirrers. You take them all in with wide eyes. Nobody ever comes to see you. Not your friends, not family (unless they want something). Especially not boys you met once for two minutes.

"Is there something wrong?" you ask.

You clip the lid onto his big tea and wrap it in napkins so it doesn't burn his hands.

"Nothing's wrong," he says kindly. "I wanted to apologise. Your boss was upset with you. It was Sirius' fault. We owe you for it."

"You really don't have to say sorry. She wasn’t that mad. No harm, no foul."

You put his cup of tea down in front of him and try to smile like girls do in the movies. Soft doe eyes, not too bright, not too awkward. You give up after a second and feel it twist into something regrettable.

His long silence makes you squirm.

"A thank you, then.”

He offers you an envelope. You take it.

The paper is crisp and thick. Your fingers are clumsy, and it takes you too many seconds to fold the envelope's lip and pull out the card stock inside.

You look up in shock. "I can't–"

He's not there. You look to the door, catching what might've been his hand as he walks out of view.

He's left you two concert tickets. You don't go to concerts. You might have, when you were younger, and had friends to follow. As it stands he's given you two seated tickets for a show in the Pointer Arena not far from where you work, for a band you've never heard of. The price on each is a solid £20, which is way too much repayment for ringing a number from a sticker. Worse, you're not sure you have somebody who can use the second one.

You hope he'll come back for clarification alone, and a little to see him, but he doesn't, and soon the date on the ticket matches the date on your calendar and you're standing outside of the venue with no clue how to hold yourself.

You stand in line for a while. It's a very long line made up of mostly younger women. You listen for the calling of a reseller and spot a group of young girls trying to haggle with them, reluctantly leaving your place in line.

"Hi," you say quietly to the one furthest from the epicentre. "I'm sorry if this is weird. I have an extra ticket tonight, and I was wondering if you'd like it? I know it's seated, but maybe you could use it to get in and then, uh, not sit? Or just sit." You could writhe around on the ground in shame. You hold out the spare ticket. "If you want it."

"Are you kidding?"

"No, seriously."

She takes the ticket and you walk away before she can try and give it back to you. Whether she uses it or not, it's no longer your problem to deal with. The lady who'd been standing behind you lets you back in line, for which you're extremely grateful, and you shiver your way to the front with nerves churning your stomach.

You've imagined being turned away twenty times by the time they usher you through the doors. The air is buzzing with excitement, enough of it to ramp up your nerves, and you smile weakly at the people who pass you on the way up to the seating area you've been designated. The Pointer Arena is a smaller venue with much more standing than seating capacity available. The seats are at the sides and back of the second floor, looking down at the pit with a safety barrier in front.

You slide into your seat and peer down at the crowd as it fills up one ant of a person at a time. You can't distinguish one person from another after a while. It’s a moving sea of dark clothes.

It takes a long time for the opening act to come on. You're not having much fun. You'd tried to use the computer in the cafe to research the bands playing tonight but the dial up hadn't been working and your manager hates when you take long breaks, so you aren't sure you'll even enjoy yourself. You're not sure why you came here — is it sad, to come here alone? It looks sad, you think, pathetic, but it doesn't feel sad. You're not very good at talking, anyways. It's so difficult. Or maybe you just make it that way.

This is why you regret coming. Any time spent by yourself is time to think. You hate thinking, but it's all you seem to be able to do. Think and think and think. Your mind runs in the same circles. Things you've done, things you wish you did, things you want to do so badly it makes you feel sick. You can't stand it.

The crowd begins to rise in volume. Cheers echo against the atrium ceiling, and you push yourself to the edge of your seat to see what's making them all so excited.

The opening band. They're too far away to see clearly. First on stage is a man with brown skin and a head of black curls, a guitar swinging from his neck, the body barely held as he waves to the masses. Next comes a paler man with hair tied up in a bun who sits down behind the drum kit and doesn't move much after that. A girl practically sprints to centre stage, scooping up a waiting guitar (or bass?) and strumming down the body appreciatively. She has purple hair, bright and choppy, particularly abrasive against the alabaster white of her skin.

And last on stage… last on stage is Moons.

You move forward suddenly, smacking your face against the plexiglass barrier and biting your cheek for the second time in a week. Used to your mistreatment, the poorly healed skin wastes no time splitting, and the metallic taste of blood makes you cringe.

That's Moons. There are two huge screens either side of the stage that magnify him. First his hand on the microphone, a scar coiling up from his wrist to his thumb purple against his skin. Then his face. You wouldn't forget what he looks like so soon, not when you've half obsessed over him for days with could-be's because he'd wanted to see you and you have a bad habit of inventing future's with people you don't know, but even if you did it wouldn't matter. You've never met anyone else with three scars as he has across his face, taking centre stage.

You hadn't realised the tickets were to see his band. It makes sense, now, why your seat is in such a quiet area, and why the people sitting close by aren't firecracker happy at the sight of them. They must've received their tickets in the same way, gifts or thank yous for small favours.

Your mouth dries as they begin to play. It's not what you're expecting. Of course, you haven't really had time to expect anything, and yet you're shocked when they start to play a slow song. He doesn't really look like a rockstar, but a heartthrob? You can see it easily. The long lengths of his lashes, and the dark honey of his eyes. His smile, so small but somehow piercing.

His voice is careful. He doesn't sing anything impressive —there's no belting or high notes— but you still find yourself wringing your hands together, entranced by his confidence. He dances around the melodies and fills up every space he can find between the beat of the drums and the searing guitar riffs that follow.

They only play five songs. By the time they've finished you're feeling sick to your stomach, and you can't get your heart to calm down. You hadn't known a word of the lyrics, but you'd felt them.

They're good.

Like, too good to be openers for long.

The crowd echoes your sentiment. They clap and scream and wolf whistle. The noise vibrates in the depth of your stomach. The cheering doubles when the headlining band’s techies emerge. The lights go down. Equipment begins to roll out.

You scrounge through your purse for a lip balm and think about heading downstairs to the concession stands for an overpriced bottle of water to wash away the unfortunate tang of blood. It aches to pay, but if you don't soon you might get nauseous, and that would be a real disaster, throwing up here of all places.

You hear his voice before you see him. He's laughing, talking to somebody about the set.

"It was great!" compliments a feminine voice. "I don't know what you were so worried about, Remus, you're really great. And if you weren't, Marl would've saved the day anyways with her gorgeous showmanship."

"Thanks, baby," says a second voice. Marl.

"Thanks, Mary," Moons says.

What had Mary called him? Remus? Odd, not quite as strange as Moons.

You try not to tense as footsteps approach.

"Can I sit?" he asks.

You look up too fast. He's a little damp, the hair closest to his face curled with it, but he smells good as he sits down. He must've washed up.

"I– I've been calling you Moons in my head," you admit, not sure what to say.

He's intimidating. You don't imagine he knows it. He sits in the chair without any fanfare, setting his forearm on the rest between your two seats and turning his face to you completely, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, almost like he doesn't want to smile but can't help himself. His eyes are the slightest bit lidded, emphasising the brilliance (and unfairness) of his lashes, so thick and dark you wonder if he's wearing makeup.

"You can call me whatever you want to, but my name's Remus. I should've told you that before. I was… distracted."

He isn't being coy, you realise. He easily could be if he wanted to, but he was genuinely lost for words for a second.

"I didn't really tell you mine," you say, hoping to ease his gentle confusion.

He says your name like it's easy. Like he enjoys the sound of it. "Y/N. Do you like music?"

Is that a trick question? His eyes trace up to your eyebrows as they pinch together, but he doesn't amend his question. Not a trick, then.

"I like music,” you say.

"I realise it's brave to ask someone to come and see you on stage. And that I look like a tosser sometimes with the stage lights and makeup."

"No," you say quickly, "you don't. You looked just fine. You looked good. I bet it's hard getting on stage like that, and in front of this many people. And singing. You have a really nice voice."

His eyes soften. "Thank you. Do you wanna go get a drink with me? There's a bar. It's quiet."

Your elbow brushes against his long sleeve. "Yeah." You're not breathless enough to embarrass yourself, but it's a close call.

Remus leads you up and out of the seats. The venue is large in that it has just as many hallways and back rooms as it has places to watch the show. Remus’ warm hand catches your elbow, a friendly touch that guides you around the barrier and through a dimly lit hallway that takes you to the bar.

The bar overlooks the stage, but the sound of the band and the crowd is dampened severely, making for a sorely needed respite. VIP's mill around the room on plush leather sofas and cushy bar stools sipping from sweating glass bottles. Remus' hand moves up to your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as a familiar face waves you over.

"Hey, it's you!"

You smile at Remus' motorbike friend. You're a hundred percent sure his name is Sirius, but you won't say it aloud in case you're wrong. Beside him sits the other man you'd seen on stage with them, the guitarist with brown skin and a head full of thick hair. You look between the three of them in secret shock, wondering if handsome attracts handsome or if it's just dumb luck that they ended up together.

"James, this is the babe that found Stacia," Sirius says.

James wrinkles his nose. "Hi," he says, in a voice that sounds deeply apologetic, years of it like the rings of a tree. "How are you?"

"I'm good. Um, and you?"

"I'm good! Thanks, I'm good, it's nice of you to come see us. Did you like the show?"

"Yeah, I did. I had no idea you guys were musicians."

He splits his attention between you and his jacket. He pulls a glasses case out of his pocket, clicks it open, and straightens out a pair of wire frames.

"Couldn't tell from our baby boy's general demeanour?" he asks. "Hey, that's better, I can see you now."

"Sirius is the youngest," Remus says.

"And the handsomest."

"No, Marl's clearly the handsome one," James says lightly.

Sirius takes the rebuttal in good jest and brandishes his drink toward you like a toast. "Want a beer?"

"I'm getting her one," Remus says, "come on, give me a minute here."

Everybody laughs. You laugh too, turning your face into your shoulder to smother the sound.

"Well, come and sit with us, make yourself comfortable," James says, moving his jacket off of the chair in front of you.

Remus makes a small, apprehensive sound. "Drinks first." He looks to you for confirmation. "Yeah. We'll be back."

You follow him to the bar. Your shoes, a pair of dirty converse you wish you'd swapped for heels or something sophisticated, squeal against the hardwood floor. How were you supposed to know you'd see him again tonight? In what world does stuff like this happen to scruffy waitresses? You're starting to think he might be somebody.

Not that it matters if he is or isn't.

But if he is… This is embarrassing, right? Not knowing who he is.

There must be a couple thousand people here tonight. Then again, his band were the opening act, so it doesn't necessarily mean they're all famous or anything.

"Hey," Remus says softly, stopping your thoughts cold. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Sorry. I've never been in here before, anywhere that's like it,” you say.

"Venues are all different but the bars don't change," he says. "What do you like?"

"I'm not a big drinker."

"That's okay. I just wanted an excuse to be alone with you." He doesn't even give you time to recover. "Truth is, I wanted to ask you out. But between shows I couldn't find time, and next week I'm in San Marino."

What you mean to say is, you wanted to ask me out? But instead, you choke, "You're going to Italy?"

Remus pushes a seat out for you, helping you up with a solid hand, and, while your fingers are still warm from his touch, he says, "San Marino isn't Italy. I didn't know that 'til a few months ago. But pretty much."

"What's in San Marino?"

"A wedding." He climbs into the seat next to you, smiling.

The tan colour of his long-sleeves contrasts his pale hands. Your eyes flash to his ring finger. Not his wedding.

Remus isn’t easy to talk to. It's not wholly his fault. He doesn't force conversation, leaving you awkwardly searching for something to say. You're not the best conversationalist either. He clearly doesn't mind it.

You're in the midst of a clumsy retelling of a shitty customer service moment when he tips his head to the left just a touch.

"Maybe we can go on an actual date when I'm home,” he says.

He says it like he's talking about the weather. You'd be worried he was messing with you, but then he smiles again, flicking his index finger against your wrist mildly. "You don't have to answer me now. Finish telling your story."

"It was pretty much finished. And– and I'd like to. Go on a real date. I've never been out of the country, so you'll have to forgive me if I want to know everything about San Marino."

He looks at your lips. Says, "Good," and doesn't give any indication that he's noticed how nervous you are. That is, until he covers your trembling hand with his and presses it flat to the bar.

"You're really pretty," he murmurs. He takes a moment, and he smiles. "Come with me? If I don't give Sirius some attention soon he'll start showing off."

—

James is starting to wonder if he should invite you to San Marino. He's not that stupid; it would be a huge pain if you were standing in the middle of all his wedding photos and you and Remus don't work out. But, while he's certainly and majorly jumping the gun, he has a suspicion he’ll be seeing you again.

James has never seen Remus like this before.

His friend is usually quiet, quipping every now and then perhaps at Sirius' insufferable antagonism but otherwise brooding. He hasn't seen him smile this much, ever.

James is under no illusions — he knows Remus loves him very much. He knows Remus is happy, and not always healthy but managing. He knows Remus is pleased with their lives and ecstatic to have their music take off. But he also knows Remus won't let himself have a good thing, not really. Maybe that's why he's asked you out now, when in a week they'll be in San Marino, and a week after that they'll be in Cardiff to officially start the new tour.

He knows Remus, sweetheart, kind hearted, miraculous Remus, tends to let people down. He's a stickler for asking people out and cancelling the day before. It's how it always goes. James will ask how the date went and Remus will shake his head and say, "it didn’t work out."

He knows Remus doesn't mean to hurt anybody. He just… can't get close.

But he's trying, with you. A glass of cordial in one hand, the other behind your chair, Remus tells you one of his more embarrassing stories about how he'd taken a bad fall and ended up in A&E with half of an eyebrow. He doesn't mention the painkillers that made him woozy.

You've relaxed considerably since sitting down. James would be happy to report that you're having a good time. You have your own drink in hand, and your eyes are bright, with a receding space between your face and Remus' as the story goes on. It's like watching two magnets fight to hold themselves apart.

Matter of time, James thinks to himself smugly.

—

Honesty is important. You admit to yourself that you and Remus aren't exactly a perfect match. Both quiet, both not quite social butterflies, your conversations had occasionally been stilted and slow, but you've only met twice. Things don't have to be perfect, and more than that — there's a spark there. A twinge of a possibility. He'd liked what little he knew about you enough to ask to see you again, and you'd like what little you knew about him in turn to say yes.

It doesn't have to be perfect, you insist to yourself, a bundle of nerves. Nothing does.

He looks pretty perfect. Base of his palm pressed to the brick wall of the cafe, hand angled down as his fingers grasp the neck of a bouquet whose flowers have been shedding petals onto the damp pavement below. He holds his other hand against his chest, clicking buttons on his phone.

You approach from the left and watch him play a game of Snake.

"You play Snake?" you ask.

"Doesn't everybody?" he asks back, his smile softening what might otherwise feel like a chastisement. He doesn't look up from his phone.

"Woah, how long have you been out here?" you ask, eyeing his weirdly long snake.

Remus guides the snake into a wall on purpose. It dies, his high score flashes across the screen, and he aims an apologetic look your way. "Sorry, that was rude." He doesn't try to hide that he's looking over your face. "Thanks for coming."

He leans in and kisses your cheek. Delighted warmth curls in your stomach, worse when he passes you the bouquet of flowers. They've mostly survived his poor treatment, and there's a lot of them. He's left the price tag on and you're not sure if he's noticed. You pretend not to see it.

"Thank you…” You look away from the flowers, all whites and reds and baby’s breath, to ogle him as subtly as you can manage. “Wow, you've caught the sun. Was it lovely in San Marino?"

"I'll tell you all about it over dinner,” he says. “I thought we'd walk, it's not far." He holds out his hand. You wipe your palm against your side before you take it, worried you'll have clammy hands. He must guess, because he says, "Don't be nervous."

"I am," you say hopelessly. "I've never been on a date before."

"This is your first date?"

You feel a hot flush coming on. "I– yeah. That's embarrassing, I shouldn't have told you that."

"No, it's a good thing. Now I know it has to be extra special."

"It doesn't," you say.

"I was hoping it would be." He pulls you down the pavement and further into the city centre toward the main high street. "San Marino. It was beautiful, and I took a couple of photos but I didn't have room on my phone. Well, I could've deleted Snake–"

"Why would you?" you joke, grinning.

He laughs, and squeezes your hand slightly. "Exactly. I have priorities. It's a long flight, and looking over the photos can only take up so much time. No, but it really was… it was beautiful. I'd never given much thought to a destination wedding. They make sense, right? It's the best day of your life, why would you have it here?"

He tilts his chin toward the grey sky. You look up with him, feeling the cold wind kiss the sides of your face and pull through your hair.

"Come on, Remus, it's not that bad. If it's sun you're after, you could just wait for British summer time. You know, the whole three days of it."

He laughs — you've made him laugh twice already. This is going okay. Laughing while looking at one another, a bouquet in one hand and his hand in the other, you feel that curl of delight begin to bloom. It fills your insides up, has you smiling until your eyelashes brush in the corners.

"It was James' wedding. Do you remember which one that was?"

He asks so kindly. You don't doubt for a second that he wouldn't care if you forgot. It's refreshing, even if it's something you'd expect.

"I remember. I didn't realise he was getting married."

"Don't ever say that in front of him, he'll put himself on the cross." He swings your hand as you turn a corner. The Italian restaurant you'd agreed on winks from a distance.

"He's devoted," you guess.

"He's insane. He was worse when we were younger. His girlfriend– his wife," he amends, "Lily, she's really something else. Warm and funny, but she's been keeping him on his toes for years. She has family in San Marino, hence the wedding."

You listen to him talk eagerly. His voice is as handsome as his face, and the more he says the less stilted he becomes. There had been a strained quality to it before (strained, or restrained? something he wasn't saying) that's all but disappeared.

"It was like a movie. White linen, sand, crying."

"Did you cry?" you ask, expecting a puffed up chest.

"So much. Too much, maybe. I was half of the best man."

"Half?"

"We had to share, me and Sirius. They've always been…" Remus slows his steps. "Am I being boring? I'm talking too much about me."

"We have time. I want to hear it. I'd like to hear it," you say.

James and Sirius are brothers. Remus sees your surprised look and doesn't condemn you for it. Sirius is unofficially adopted. The Potter's fostered him from ages thirteen until he aged out, and though they tried to adopt him, Sirius was reluctant. Remus doesn't get into the reasons beyond that, and you don't ask. You suspect he's only telling you about it to drive home how much the Potter's love Sirius. How much James does.

Remus had been Sirius' friend from their very first year of comprehensive school. Sirius moved in with the Potter's, and, adoring as they were, they let him have friends over whenever he liked. James, Sirius, and Remus spent the next decade together like that, hiding in Sirius' room. Best friends, entirely inseparable, and all fiercely protective of each other.

"They've always been like brothers."

"But not…"

He understands what you're worried to say. "I think it would've been weird… I had a candle burning for James. For a long time."

Your jaw drops a little. "And you just had to watch him have the most romantic wedding ever," you whisper sympathetically. You're joking: it's clear the candle isn't burning now.

"Told you I cried," he says. "No, but you've seen him. He's a supermodel. It's awful."

"Remus, I think you might be underestimating how handsome you are," you say. You bite your lip and look at his chin rather than his eyes.

He's generous. He gives your wrist a tug and chuckles warmly. "I'm glad you think so. Tonight might have been awkward, otherwise."

You duck together inside of the restaurant, hands falling apart as Remus gives his last name for the reservation. Lupin. Your face has a mind of its own.

"Charming, isn't it?"

"It is," you say emphatically, denying his sarcasm. "I've never heard anything like that. Lupine, like a fox?"

"Wolf."

A server shows you to your table and hands you two leather covered menus. Leather, not plastic, a sign that tonight is going to be classy. You've dressed for the occasion in a smart blouse and slacks, too terrified of wearing a dress. Remus seems to have done the same as you, reaching for smart but dodging the mark in a button down and a casual jacket. When he takes off his coat, he looks perfect. He fits right in.

"Could we get a glass?" he asks the server. "For the flowers? If it's not too much trouble."

"No trouble at all."

You run your hand across the silken tablecloth and the space between you both feels somehow smaller than when you'd been holding hands. Outside, you could let your gaze drift to the pavement, the fenced in trees, the couples that passed you by. Here, you're forced to watch one another.

It's not so bad. It's agonising.

"This is weird," you say. You flinch when you hear yourself. "Sorry, not that you're weird! I'm weird. I've never ever done this."

"No, I know," he says, almost murmuring, "it's okay."

"I just blurted out what I was thinking–"

"I know." He sits back in his chair. His head tilts down, his eyelashes kissing the skin above his brows as he fixes you with a look. It has the intended effect, tension easing from your rigid spine and tight shoulders. "This is weird. But it's still early. It could get weirder."

You like that he says it as if it's a good thing.

You order the same thing he does, and you don't turn down his offer to get a bottle of wine, though it feels too grown up. You keep forgetting you're an adult, and that your life isn't on hold. Things can happen to you at any time.

"I want to address the elephant in the room," he says.

Not promising. "Okay."

"Are we having dessert?" Remus leans forward on both forearms. Hair falls in his eyes. He's dressed nicely and he's handsome but there's something homespun about him, something golden. You can't help looking at him and thinking impossibly forward thoughts, cheesy waffle from the films. He's familiar. "Nobody ever wants to get dessert with me. It's actually a real issue for me."

"I'll get dessert with you." A smoother you with more confidence, who wore the dress and asked him to go to the Thai restaurant instead, would've said something more suave. We're having whatever you want, handsome.

Remus flips the menu to the very last page and reads the desserts aloud. For himself, it seems, half-muttered and apprehensive. "Chocolate cake from places like this will either be the nicest thing we've ever eaten or burnt in the microwave. And it's childish that I want chocolate cake. I should be spoon feeding you creme brulee. Or whipped cream and strawberries."

He tips his head back and rubs his eyes. It's a charade of feigned self loathing that makes you laugh.

"I'm a child," he laments, thumb and index finger pressed into his eyes. He checks to see if you're watching before doubling down.

"I like cake," you say, and you'd lie if you thought it was what he wanted to hear. Handsome, kind, and funny. Not to mention talented. He needs smart for the sweep.

Remus falls out of his dramatics. You mourn the loss, beggy a good look on him, but forget all about it when he slides his chair around the table to share the menu with you, your heads inclined as you read it together again. He smells woody. You hope he likes the jasmine of your perfume.

"It all sounds really nice," you confide, afraid to disturb the comfortable hush. "I haven't had gelato since I was a kid. Oh, did they have real gelato in San Marino?"

“They had a lot of stuff in San Marino… I want to hear about you.”

“What do you want to hear?”

The questions start and don’t stop. Where did you grow up? That’s the easy part. What did you study in school? Were you in sports? The art club? And what do you do now, when you aren’t working in the cafe? The more he asks, the easier it is to answer. He doesn’t slow when the waiter brings a glass for your bouquet, simply stands and places them inside with exceedingly gentle hands, smiling at you from between the stems. You eat slowly when the food arrives — you're busy talking.

It feels fucking amazing. To have someone want to know anything about you. And unless he’s an actor of the highest regard, he’s obviously enjoying your conversations, though they wilt and wane and wind around one another. You lose track of time and thread as the night goes on, distracted by the near unnoticeable asymmetry of his smile, and the way he laughs when you laugh, like an echo.

You get cake like he wanted. Triple fudge cake with buttercream thick but melting from the heat. It looks straight from the pages of a magazine, glossy and dusted with sugar powder, but he doesn’t seem to like it. He takes a couple of bites and leaves it alone. You don’t want to look greedy, so you do the same.

The date is suddenly over.

“Could I walk you home?” he asks, when you’ve both put your coats back on, and the damp roots of your flowers are leaving an imprint on your chest.

You nod rather than answer.

Things are good, not perfect. That’s what you keep thinking. There’s something he isn’t saying. Or, horrifyingly, something he doesn’t like about you. Still, the sky is velvet black and the air is crisp. Stars like needlepoints dot the air. Street lights work to hide them, casting a warm yellow glow over the pavements and your meandering shoes.

A brisk wind whips past you. You shiver and press your lips together hard, hands quick to rigidity. Remus looks at you sideways, and breaks the quiet. “Are you cold?”

“A little.” No point in lying when he can see you trembling.

“Do you want my coat?”

“No, no, it’s alright–“ You cut off as he steps in front of you, his hand vying for yours.

He tucks the flowers under his arm and sandwiches your fingers between his. He has short fingernails, and another scar down one pinky finger. How’d you get that one? you want to ask. How’d you get any of them?

His breath clouds the air. “I should’ve thought about the cold.”

“This is better,” you say. Than a warm taxi home. His thumbs brushing down the backs of your hands.

You walk to your flat building and hesitate at the foyer door. The potential for a kiss goodnight has flayed your thoughts. The image of his hands climbing your arms, holding you still, plays like a flickering film. You have no idea if he’s going to do it.

“How will you get home?” you ask quietly.

“I parked by the cafe, it isn’t far.”

“Oh…” The lights from your building paint him the faintest shade of pink. Your breath fogs out in front of you, as does his, and the warmth of walking will soon fade. “I–“

“Here,” he says, handing you the flowers again.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

“Fits the recipient.”

It takes a second for you to get it. Oh, you think. You can hardly feel the cold now. Your heart hurts, and you’re begging him to want to take a step toward you. The silence goes for too long.

“I– I’d love to see you again,” you say. Love comes out funny. Maybe because you can feel his rejection coming.

“I won’t be here next week. Not for a long time. We’re touring properly, now.” He scratches the side of his face.

“Right. Right, of course you are. Um, good luck with that. And thank you for tonight, for dinner.” You wave your flowers weakly.

He looks at you. He takes a half step toward you. You can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“You really are pretty,” he says finally. “Goodnight.”

He smiles quick and turns quicker. You watch him walk a few steps but ultimately can’t face it, pushing into the foyer of your building with a hardset frown. Your hands shake, minute abstractions of the sharp rejection panging in your chest. Your ears roar and then go quiet. What did I do wrong? you think, shocked and upset and trying to rationalise. He doesn’t have to kiss you. He asked you out on a maybe, and now whatever question he had is answered.

The door creaks open. You spin on your heel, too wrapped up to think about hiding your expression. Remus stands in the doorway of the porch, his arm pressed to the glass panel, the other held out to you.

"Come here," he says quietly. It isn't a question, but he's asking.

You step into his reach, letting him pull you by the waist against his chest. He leans down until his nose glances against ýours, and he starts to say something. You push your chin up in your eagerness and he doesn't try again. He kisses you, once, contrite, and he pulls back and his hand clasps your arm tight as he ducks in for another. His lips are fast to lose the cold of the weather, but his tongue is a hot shock at the seam of your own.

You go weak in his arms. The flowers between you crunch and smother themselves. You can’t think about it. Your hands are numb. He takes over every one of your senses until you’re more kiss than thought, reciprocating his slow, deep searching. You run out of breath.

He eases you backward, cupping the side of your head in his big palm.

“I want to see you again,” he says hoarsely. “But I– I don’t know when I’ll be back.” His hand adjusts against your cheek, like he’s worried you’re slipping out of his hold. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I can wait,” you say.

“I couldn’t ask you to.”

You rub your buzzing lips together, each heaven of your chest marked by the crinkling sound of cellophane.

“Do you want to come upstairs?” you ask.

He strokes the edge of your mouth with his thumb. “Are you sure?”

You kiss him. You don’t know if this will work, any of it, the broad stroke or this one night, but you want him.

—

Remus doesn’t know what he’s doing. He knows how to fuck somebody, that isn’t the problem. He doesn’t know what he’s doing with you. The same thing that made him walk away had pulled him right back in, had him skipping steps on the staircase up to your flat, drinking in the back of your head and roll of your shoulders as you’d made apologies for the mess inside.

He doesn’t feel like himself when he’s with you. He thinks of it like this — what he is, his pain, his wants, that’s all set in stone. Any change is an erosion, and little by little over the years he’s managed to whittle himself down into the smallest, cleanest version of himself. Then suddenly the band’s making money, people are listening to his voice on the radio in countries all over the world, and he can’t hide anymore. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to, after all. What else inspires a performer into the spotlight? The music, he thinks desperately, knowing it’s half a lie.

Isn’t it why he’d asked you to the show? Come and watch me sing. See me at my most impressive. My most curated.

And now he’s following you into your bedroom after one date, about to strip it all away.

“You didn’t have too much wine, did you?” he asks. You hadn’t really finished your first glass, but it won’t hurt to make sure.

You peel your jacket off and drop it over the back of a wide armchair. “I don’t think so. Did you?”

“No.” His head has never been this clear.

He thinks about what you said. This is your first date, and he’s not clueless enough to assume that never going on a date means never having sex, but he wants to be careful with you anyway. He wants this to last beyond a dinner date.

Which means he has to get out of his head.

Beyond all of his own mess, he really does think you're pretty. More than pretty. You’re beautiful, and your voice…

He wants to see what other sounds you make.

Remus gets his hands on you. Soft touches, his hands coasting from your elbows to your warming hands. He squeezes your fingers, leaning in for a quick kiss. He rests his nose against the skin beneath your eye. “Tell me if it’s too much?” he asks, a murmur of hot air.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll go slowly.”

“Okay.” Your voice is barely audible.

He pulls away to make sure you’re alright, and is surprised to see a glassy sheen in your eyes. He holds your face in both hands and works your lips open against his, guiding you backwards into the plush of your poorly made bed. He’s all sweet touches and eager kisses, cautious not to hurt you, or let too much of his weight press against your soft torso. His kisses follow to the corner of your mouth, the tip of his nose tender against your cheek. “You’re so quiet,” he says. He isn’t complaining, but he wants to hear your voice.

“I’m a bit preoccupied.”

He laughs into your skin, kissing down to your jaw. “You’re right,” he says, revelling in the goosebumps that rise under his hands.

Your shaking inhales cleave a pit in his stomach. He mouths at the side of your neck, half-kisses, tiny warning nips before he thumbs open the first button of your shirt. He meanders, dropping a path crescent moon kisses into your front until the fabric of your bra gets in the way. The soft hill of your breast staggers to a halt beneath him. He can tell that you’re holding deliberately still.

Kisses. You need more kisses, an absolution from any lingering nervousness. Your hands thread into his hair gently, your fingers raking wavy strands behind his ears as you give in. You melt into your sheets, your legs parting from the pressure of his hips.

Your hands fall from his hair to needle between your two bodies and undo the rest of your buttons. The fabric falls aside, your chest and tummy his to catalogue. He drops his hand against your stomach, smoothing a line down to your slacks. His lips ache against yours as he asks, “Can I?”

“Please.”

He smiles at your daunted expression. “Can I take these off?” he asks you, his fingertip running under the edge of your underwear. “Please?” he teases.

Your skin is a furnace, hot hot hot everywhere he touches as you nod your permission and Remus undresses you, one piece of clothing at a time. Your trousers, your shirt. Your bra, your underwear. His fingers slip in his ardency as he tears out of his own button down.

Your thumb traces a scar.

He looks up from your chest, startled, but you aren’t giving him anything he doesn’t want. There’s no pity in your gaze, no curiosity, no sadness. Just lust, your trembling hands pulling his slacks down the lengths of his thighs.

He pulls the condom from his wallet in his pocket and lets it fall to the floor.

Remus hooks his hands under your arms and urges you back against the headboard, a pillow behind your head, your thighs tipping open as his hand runs down between them. He grabs at them greedily, handfuls of fat that have his mouth dry as a bone.

“Has anyone ever done this to you before?” he asks. He needs to know.

You squeeze your eyes closed and shake your head.

Fuck. “Hey, look at me,” he says, waiting for your eyes to meet before continuing. “I just want to make you feel good. If I don’t, you let me know.”

He waits for you to answer aloud. “I will,” you say, your hand behind his back and urging him forward. “Please.”

“What did I say?” he jokes gently, letting his weight bear down on you again.

He closes his eyes, his lips in what feels like a new home at the juncture of your neck. His hands skirt dangerously close to your heat.

He’s gentle. He rubs a sweeping line against your cunt with the front of his fingers, heart hammering fast as a mouse’s when he finds the little button of your clit. You shiver and shudder and squirm as he toys with you, your fingers steadfast against the plane of his back while he opens you up. His lips part in tandem, not nearly as kind as his hands. His teeth scratch against your throat.

Your soft moans move through him as he hickeys over your pulse, chasing each capering thud of blood. He winds you up. You’re snug around his fingers, fluttering, and he knows he’s probed something sweet when your breath catches and you whine.

“Was that alright?” he asks.

You nod, heavy headed, and lick your lips as he tears open the condom and eases it onto his cock, one measured roll at a time.

“Can you– I want you to–” You turn your face from him, the line of your jaw kissed by the lamplight outside, and the rest hidden.

He drags you down to lay flat on your back and holds himself over you, nudging his nose against yours until you lift your head. Face to face, he gives himself time to adore the shape and colour of your eyes, the side of his hand brushing along your cheek. “Do you think you’re ready?” he asks sincerely. The slickness between your legs is obvious, but he doesn’t want to blindside you. “It will feel…”

You nod, saving him the explanation. It will feel weird. Good, but foreign. “Will you kiss me again?” you ask feebly.

He can’t stop himself. He kisses your lips sore, his hand behind the crook of your knee pushing your leg up toward your stomach as he slides into the space he’s made there. He breaks the kiss to listen to your breathing as he pushes forward.

Remus hadn’t been lying — he wants it to feel good. He takes it slow, his thrusting almost languid as you get to grips with the feeling. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard, struggling to smother the moan that escapes him as he feels you clench around him. You gasp, your arms tightening around his waist, destroying any semblance of space between your sweat-damp bodies as you hold him tight. He murmurs praises in your ear, his forearms tucked beneath your shoulder blades, hands gripping your shoulders a touch too hard. He can’t remember the last time he was this close to somebody, can’t remember ever feeling so maddeningly lost, like he’s one good push from hurtling over the edge.

He kisses your cheek, calling you all the things he’d been too scared to say before. “Lovely girl,” he pants, “how’s that feel?” And, when you answer, “Yeah, you’re taking it so well, dove. Think you can take a little more?”

All that nervousness and desperation shrinks down to dust, and the smiling girl he’d been with at dinner comes to the forefront. There’s no mistaking it. You giggle something awful and turn your face into his, kissing him between sounds, dizzying him with the tender scratch of your nails down his back as he starts to move.

“There she is,” he says lightly, almost smirking. “Feel good?”

“Feels– oh,” —you shiver violently, filled all the way up— “feels good.”

Remus let’s his forehead fall to your chin, his eyes closed in pleasure, his cock to the hilt. Every move he makes evokes a near sinful sound from you, mewling, silvery whimpers and pleased little laughs when he angles his hips right. He’s a mess, desperate to cum from the second you touched him and running on stolen time as he presses you deep into your mattress. One of your hands flies backward into the pillows and scrunches up into a ball, the look on your face too tempting to ignore.

The first time you fuck someone — it’s never timed right. Remus knows he hasn’t quite figured you out, but he knows enough to get you where he wants you. He slides his hand between your bodies and your soft cunt to draw circles into your clit, entranced by your twitching lashes as the pleasure builds. You chase him with your hips, and he grabs your hand at the last second to stop you from covering your mouth, holding it above your head as you come apart.

He cooes at you. The sound you make — the breathless little cry that leaves you, your hips jutting up to meet him. He’s at your mercy, just like he said.

Remus fucks into the extra tightness, drawing your climax out for as long as he can. You’re smiling as you shove his arm away, a playful chastisement that wanes when you see the look on his face. “Are you close?” you ask, brushing a curled strand of hair from his eyes.

Close? Remus is fucked.

“You can go faster,” you say, “rougher, whatever you want.”

“Shit,” he hisses, leaning back.

His rutting hips slap the backs of your thighs. He squeezes your waist, his eyes fixed on your cunt as it pulls him in. One last wavering, “Oh, fuck,” from you is all it takes for Remus to lose it. White hot pleasure tightens his whole body, his abdomen aflame. You scramble to gather him back into your arms. You kiss him, swallowing his resulting string of moans.

He has to catch his breath afterward. You comb the hair back from his face, your eyes droopy with pleasure.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, voice stringy.

“Of course not.” You’re quickly losing your confidence. Remus hates it, but he understands. This vulnerability can only stretch so far.

“Let me clean you up,” he says.

“You look like you’re gonna fall over if you stand.”

He strokes your face with the back of his ring finger, his nail ghosting along the highest point of your cheek. “Funny,” he says dryly.

He gets confused in your bathroom, and you won’t let him towel you off, but when he lies down beside you with his boxers back in place you don’t push him away. You drop your face into his chest and curl up.

He drags the quilt over your naked back.

Was that okay? he wants to ask. “Sore?” he worries instead.

“Don’t think so.”

He chews his cheek. “You’re alright?”

You stir, looking up at him through your lashes. He thinks you’re the kind of pretty people might not always see. You’re clearly beautiful, but there’s something else to it. The way you move, maybe. The way your eyes smile before your lips can catch up.

“I’m fine. I’m good… Can I…”

He hums. “What?”

“Could I kiss you again?”

You speak so quietly, he hears the vibration in your throat more than the sound of your voice. It’s endearingly timid. He feels his attraction for you flare violently.

He wants to ask you to come with him to Cardiff. He knows he can’t. It’s yards too soon, but for a second he entertains the thought.

“Wait for me to come home,” he says. He’s still asking for more than he should. “I want to see you again. You can kiss me as much as you want, if you say you’ll wait.”

You nod immediately. Not a flicker of reluctance to be seen.

You lift your chin and kiss him. He tries to make it the kind of kiss worth waiting for.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging cos it helps more than you might think <3

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I Can See You: Chapter 3 (Ellie Williams, TLOU)

I Can See You

Fic master post here

*Not beta read

Ellie Williams is a player, on and off the lacrosse field. You begin tutoring her so that she can get her grades up and stay on the team. You try to keep things professional, however, your affection is a great motivator. Ellie wouldn't be caught dead with you so you become her secret mission.

Chapter 3

The more Ellie flirts with you, the more you see her with other girls, and you aren’t sure why. She gets jealous when other girls give you attention and starts to show that she wants you all to herself.

Word count: 4.1k

CW: No use of y/n, profanities, a little bit of angst, sexual tension, *Ellie and reader are both 18*

You aren’t quite sure the cause, but there is a positive correlation between how much Ellie Williams flirts with you and how much she is getting with other girls.

You knew that Ellie has… engaged in many connections, even seen it here and there. But it just doesn’t make any sense. Maybe it’s just how much she is on your mind, but it feels like everywhere you look Ellie is with a different girl. Up against a locker, in the library before tutoring, and you even saw her worn out converse along with a pair of designer boots under a bathroom stall.

The Monday after the game and private lacrosse lessons she is raring to go. She sits down with a mischievous look in her eyes. “We are finally on an even playing field, tutor girl.”

“Because I adequately played lacrosse in gym today?” You chuckle.

“Yes, we are helping each other pass our classes,” she points out as if it’s completely obvious.

“True,” is the reply you give without thinking. You truly appreciate Ellie’s help. You don’t know that you could have done it without her. But in one class. You’ve put a lot of effort, more than you have with anyone else, into assisting her with four different classes. It is interesting stuff, but definitely not as fun as lacrosse is for her. It’s not a competition by any means, you signed up for this. There is just a bit of resentment.

“Hey come on, I saved your GPA.” Ellie is playful, however there is a sliver of disappointment.

“It’s true,” you smile but she doesn’t look convinced.

“I can’t deny that you are probably the only tutor in this school that can put up with all my bullshit. You are gay, and I’m me. But, I’m the only girl on the lacrosse team that you know.” Ellie seems pleased with herself, as if she just won an argument.

“You aren’t the only girl on the lacrosse team that is gay, and I’m me.” You are impressed by how smooth that was.

Ellie’s eyes widen in fear. Noted. “Please tell me it’s Robin.”

“She has a girlfriend,” you remind her and she looks frustrated.

“Josie?” She tries with minimal hope.

“Ellie, she's a freshman!” You scoff at her.

Ellie crosses her arms with narrow eyes. “So it must be Anderson.”

“I’ve only ever had a few conversations with her, but our parking spots are next to each other. I see the way she looks at me, and every once in a while she will give me a compliment. Abby’s never made a move though.”

“Well that’s lovely.” Ellie spats.

“Are you jealous, Williams?” You tease, she is uncharacteristically peeved that another girl is giving you attention.

Ellie forces a laugh. “Pft. No. Of course not. Anderson and I just don’t get along.”

“What did you do to her?” You ask, assuming Ellie’s air of superiority is frowned upon by her teammates. No matter how good she is, huge egos aren’t good in that kind of environment.

Ellie slams her hands down and defends herself as if she is a criminal on trial. “I didn’t do anything! She started it!”

You let out a long breath in defeat. “Never mind, I don’t need to know.”

Ellie breaks eye contact and mumbles. “I wouldn’t want you to get involved with someone like that.”

Your lips curl into somewhat of a snarl. “So you care about my feelings? I thought I was just a girl to flirt with when no one is looking.”

Fear settles into her green eyes. “Of course not. How could I ignore our chemistry?” Ellie’s pun falters to near silence, she realized this is not the right time.

“Speaking of chemistry, I want to go over kinetic and potential energy first.” You are trying to forget that interaction happened.

She nods. “I think I have a good understanding of energy.”

“That’s great Ellie. Why don't you tell me, in your own words, what kinetic and potential energy are. Thinking of it in your own words will help you remember it.”

“Well potential energy is what’s happening between us right now. The ‘will they, won’t they’. We make eye contact all the time because we are always looking at each other. You can’t pretend like you don’t want to kiss me. Looking at my lips when I talk, leaning in close to show me how to do things. Potential energy is everything we could be if we gave into our desire.

And kinetic energy? That’s what we felt when we kissed. Getting close to each other, loving it, craving it. We both knew it wasn’t necessary to play lacrosse like that, but we did it anyway. We long to have more of each other. Having you close felt like an atomic collision.”

Your face is burning hot and you struggle to find words when she’s giving you fuck me eyes. “I would like to remind you that this is supposed to be strictly business, although that is a pretty spot on analogy.”

Ellie is so cocky, so pleased with herself. It’s infuriatingly sexy. “When I take this test I’ll be thinking about you regardless, now I have a more appropriate reason to.”

“I'm like your academic muse.” You laugh nervously, wishing you hadn’t said that.

Ellie’s eyes light up. “The most powerful optical 3D spectrograph for astrophysics known to man?”

She is such a fucking nerd and it makes you smile. Even temporarily forget all the bull shit. “It’s someone who inspires an artist.”

“Well I do like measuring the wavelength of the vibes you radiate.” She licks her lips waiting for your reaction.

“That’s actually pretty good,” you chuckle.

Ellie runs a hand through her hair.“The don’t call me the rizzler for nothing.”

You giggle at how ridiculous this girl secretly is. “I would say space nerd but whatever you have to tell yourself.”

“You can call me space nerd, as long as you don’t say it in front of anyone else. You should make it my contact name in your phone, in case someone sees your notifications.”

You roll your eyes and agree to it. You hate that sometimes she charms you to the point of forgetting about the reality of your situation. Gives you hope just to take it away.

“While I do that look at questions 5, 6, 7, and 8” you mumble. Ellie can tell you aren’t happy with her and doesn’t push her luck, doesn’t even ask any questions the rest of the period.

However, she puts her hand on your arm to get your attention when you start to leave the library. “I have another home game tomorrow.”

You sigh. “That is going to take time away from studying.”

“Oh, I, uh, yeah,” she says, rubbing the back of her neck anxiously.

You give her a half hearted smile. “Good luck though.”

Ellie senses that you are wary of her so she is blushing and hesitant. “The last game was the best season opener I’ve ever played. You should come to this one too, just in case you are my good luck charm.”

“I uh… I’m not sure if I can make it,” you tell her. Any hope she had falls off her face.

Seeing her like that tugs at your heart much more than you would like it to. “But I’ll do my best.” Her face lights back up and she hits you with a smolder that would give Flynn Rider a run for his money.

During lunch the next day you get some homework done so that you can go to Ellie’s game.

When you open your locker at the end of the day a piece of paper falls out. Unfolding the note it says “I hope you can fit me into your busy schedule -E”. Even if she hadn’t signed it you would have recognized her handwriting.

There had been a confusing math problem you got stuck on so you took a seat right before the team went onto the field. You sit alone, in the same spot as last time, so Ellie can easily see that you are there. For the sake of good luck, of course.

Ellie looks up at you once she’s in position and smirks. She moves her hands on her stick to the weird way you had held it the other day, before quickly switching back.

Abby Anderson looks good as usual, fighting for the ball when the whistle is blown, but Ellie’s words are in the back of your mind.

The team that they are playing today is much better than the last one. They keep control of the ball a lot more and have a faster goalie. After Ellie takes a few shots you notice that the goalie has a certain strategy. You don’t know lacrosse but you do know how to recognize a pattern. Ellie notices it too, and takes full advantage of it, scoring right away and repeating the move.

Ellie, and Abby, though not as much, lead the team to victory. Now that you are aware of it there are moments where you notice tension between them.

You time your exit to cross paths with Ellie, so you can see her before you leave. Not that you would say anything to her with other people around. Unfortunately, her attention gets captured by one of the prettiest girls in school. The girl twirls her hair flirtatiously and puts her hand on Ellie’s arm. Most of the team is walking back to the locker while you walk to your car. You hear footsteps close to you and a somewhat familiar voice calls your name.

Abby Anderson is walking next to you.

“You plan on coming to every game this season?” She asks.

“Oh, I don’t know. Probably just until the lacrosse unit is over in gym, I’ve been studying.”

“Well I look forward to seeing you in the stands. Maybe you will find a reason to keep coming.”

You give her a polite smile, unsure of what to do.

“See ya around,” she says and then jogs to catch up to some of her teammates.

Moments later you receive a text from Space Nerd🚀🤓: I’ll be keeping an eye on her

Ellie hard core flirts at your next tutoring session. It's weird, but so is she.

One would think she hit the lottery when talking about how you were at her game. When she thanked you for coming she emphasized that it was her game. Assuring herself you were there for her and not Abby, though she didn’t actually say that. “I really think you are my good luck charm, looks like you are stuck coming to the rest of the games this season.”

“I wasn’t at the away game,” you remind her and she frowns. “Fine, every home game.”

“I really am responsible for the fate of the entire lacrosse team,” you chuckle. “I’ll try and get to all of your home games.”

Ellie’s jaw drops.“You will?”

“Yeah. You’ve been working hard. I’m proud of you. Besides, I'm not helping you get your grades up just to ruin it with your superstition.”

Working on her calculus is tedious, which only increases her impulse to create distractions.

“It’s getting hard to differentiate,” she tells you between problems.

“I know it’s hard, but you've already improved so much. I know you’ve got this.”

Ellie brushes a piece of hair off of her face. “Differentiate between whether or not you really want to keep things professional. You say you want to, but that look in your eyes tells me otherwise.”

You roll your eyes but Ellie is not easily deterred. “If we integrate ourselves, there is an array of possibilities. The limit goes to infinity.”

“The only reason I put up with your flirting is because it weirdly helps me know how much you’ve been paying attention.”

Ellie leans in closer and whispers “you can try and lie to me all you want, but you have a tell.”

You don’t back away from her, you match her energy, though the hair on the back of your neck stands up. “A tell? I don’t have a tell,” you scoff. “But if I did have one, what would it be?”

Ellie licks her lips and then looks at yours when she asks “what’s the fun in telling you?”

“Just remember that with great power comes great responsibility.”

Ellie looks like she’s about to jump out of her seat with that reference to her favorite superhero. “That makes me want to call you the Uncle Ben to my Spider Man, but that would make trying to kiss you really weird.”

As an athlete, Ellie does know how to get down to business. She had her chem test and got a B, but she has tests in all 3 of the other classes you are helping her with over the next week as well. She keeps herself in check, meaning minimal antics instead of as much as she can get away with.

You prepare her for all the essay topics she might get about The Great Gatsby, go over every single Spanish vocab word and conjugation as many times as possible, and practice the types of integrals she has the most trouble with.

Ellie reports back that she feels like she did well. You check in with her Sunday night, she tells you she did good and then doesn’t answer when you ask about specifics.

Humble is not a word to describe Ellie Williams, so you find it a little odd. That is until you get an email from the guidance counselor, informing you that Ellie has met the requirements she needed to. You have been assigned another student, a softball player that has been slacking this season.

You immediately text Ellie: Why didn’t you just tell me you didn’t need tutoring anymore?

She responds immediately: I was hoping you wouldn’t find out and you would keep tutoring me

You shake your head in frustration and text her: Call me!

Seconds later your phone is ringing with a FaceTime call.

Ellie is holding her phone at a weird angle, like a dad that doesn’t know how to use a phone properly. She looks guilty as hell.

“Hey tutor girl.” Her smile is forced, and her freckles are accompanied by a bright flush.

“Did you really think they weren’t going to tell me?” You ask her this with a small smile. Seeing her all frazzled is pretty adorable. Ellie is undoubtedly hot, but seeing her be cute melts your heart.

Ellie bites her lip for a moment while she thinks.“I guess I didn’t really think that through. But would you be able to keep tutoring me?”

“Ellie you are very smart, all you needed to do was learn how to study and you’ve done that. Besides, they already gave me someone else to tutor.” Losing your time with Ellie was always inevitable. She no longer has a reason to see you, you aren't sure where all this is coming from.

Ellie’s nose scrunches and her eyebrows furrow. “I can’t believe that you would- that they would- who even is it?”

“Elise Knolls,” you tell her calmly.

“She’s gay!” Ellie yells like she had said this girl is a murderer.

“Uh yeah, why does that matter?” Ellie has never truly wanted you, she wanted to kiss her tutor. But maybe that’s not the case?

A fire burns in her bright eyes. “Because- because you might start going out with- out to her softball games instead of my lacrosse games!” Is she really, you use this word with great haste, jealous?

You do your best to contain yourself. You want to laugh more than anything else, and tell her I told you so. “Ellie I will still try and come to as many of your games as I can.”

She looks like a little kid on Christmas. “For real?”

A smile that you don’t mind showing spreads across your face. “Yes. I promise.”

Ellie’s excitement starts to slide away after briefly living in the moment. “I still won’t actually see you. For tutoring. I think I still need it. I don’t want to lose… my momentum.”

“You have practice or a game after school everyday,” you remind her.

“Well my team has the first practice some days, but the guys team does on the other days” she explains, much more serious than she usually is.

You sigh. “I have my own work to get done.”

Ellie looks desperate at this point. “Well can we work together? I’ll only ask questions when I need to.” She is all but begging.

The idea is good, but only in theory. “You are prone to creating distractions.”

“I will tone it down.” Ellie promises. “I don’t want to lose this opportunity to spend time with you. So that you can help me with school, of course.”

This is something you really want to make work. You don’t want to lose Ellie either. She is the best pain in the ass you’ve ever had. “We can try it. If I can get as much work done as I need to, we will continue. If you can’t keep your dinosaur rants and space explanations to a minimum we won’t.”

Ellie is giddy to the point where she might giggle. “Tutor girl, you are the best, thank you. You won’t regret this.”

“If I do, we won't keep doing it,” you emphasize.

“I promise. Thank you.” Her expression changes though. “I do have to ask, about this Elise girl, how do you feel about… tutoring her?” Ellie’s low voice and serious tone make your heart race. It’s hot as hell.

“I know her, don’t really know anything about her grades though. We’ve never really been in any classes together.” You explain.

“Then how do you know her?” She continues to interrogate.

“We frequent some of the same social events.”

“Do you mean parties?” You nod. “You go to parties?” She is in genuine shock.

You roll your eyes but smile through it. “Yeah, there are parties besides the ones thrown by the 1%.”

Ellie switches back into detective mode. “So do you guys like, hang out at these parties?” You give her another nod.

“When I say hang out, are you picking up what I’m putting down?” Her eyes are wide with anticipation.

Ellie is going to keep pushing until she gets the information she wants. She's nothing if not persistent. “We’ve hooked up…” her face contorts as if she ate something sour. You mumble “quite a few times.”

“Oh.” If her eyes weren’t already so green they would be now. The jealousy has taken over.

Not the best note to end this call on, but you really need to review topics for a tutoring session tomorrow. “How about you text me what your schedule looks like this week and we figure things out from there.”

“I can do that.”

“Bye Space Nerd.”

“Bye tutor girl.”

Monday morning when you get to your locker there is a rose tucked into one of the holes. Weird. Upon opening it you find a note that says ‘thank you again -E.”

Walking to your homeroom you overhear the girl that had been flirting with Ellie after her game the other day talking to one of her friends.

“Ellie hardly even paid any attention to me on Saturday. I wanted to take her upstairs but she wasn’t interested. I didn’t see her go upstairs with any girls, I don’t know what her deal is.”

After school you meet Ellie in the library. She is there first, in the back corner, even though it is empty.

There is something different about her today, but you can’t identify it immediately. Her hair is the same, she is wearing jeans, a flannel, and converse like she normally does. Looking past her physical appearance, there has been a change in her disposition.

Ellie is confident as always, but lacks her typical cockiness. She already has her things ready to get started on her work, and is waiting for you with a smile. And not just a polite ‘thank you for doing this for me’ smile. More so an ‘enchanted by your presence’ smile. This may lead to cardiac arrest.

Ellie takes a moment to look into your eyes, searching for something unbeknownst to you. “Tutor girl, I’m glad you could make it.”

“I told you I would be here,” you remind her teasingly.

She picks up a pencil and starts fidgeting with it. “Yeah, but I’m still not sure why you agreed to this. I’m a headache, why would you deal with me more than you have to?”

“Well you are a pain in the ass,” a gorgeous one, you think to yourself. “But you’ve grown on me. And I didn’t want to stop seeing you… continue to do.”

“I will help you with your work if you ever need it. Not sure how, but I will do my best.” This offer makes you believe she is eager to please you. This brings as much shock as it does a growing desire in the pit of your stomach. There are a lot of ways she could please you…

“Thank you space nerd, that’s very sweet.”

Ellie looks at you with starry eyes and as much as you want to live in that moment you know that you shouldn’t. “I have a lot of work to do, we should get started.” You were her tutor, you helped her do what she loves the most, playing lacrosse. This mild infatuation isn’t coming from anywhere but her appreciation for you. It’ll pass. You can’t forget that.

Ellie starts reading Lord of the Flies while you highlight and make notes in a textbook.

You had started about 90 degrees, or pi/2 radians, away from each other around the circular table. However, when she asks her first question you notice that she is closer to you. You assume that is because it would be easier for you to see the quote she is referring to.

That is until you switch from reading to doing physics, and she is even closer than before. You side eye her and she just smiles innocently.

It’s not long until her arm is brushing up against yours and she moves her knee so that it is leaning into your leg.

You roll your eyes. “Can I help you?”

“No thank you,” she says, not even looking up from her book.

“Then what are you doing?”

“Just getting cozy.”

You put your pencil down. “I wouldn’t call this professional.”

Ellie’s naive facade is replaced by a smirk. “You said no distractions, you didn’t say anything about keeping it professional.”

“As long as you can keep getting your work done,” you warn her and she nods.

“One question though.” She leans over, chest pressing against your arm, to point to an equation on your paper.

“Did you write that E there for Ellie?” She looks at you with great suspense.

“This is distracting,” you chastise her.

“Fine. What does E stand for?” Ellie asks this with what seems to be genuine curiosity.

You are happy to explain since she isn’t doing it to push your buttons. “Well it’s the Greek letter epsilon, not E. Denotes permittivity.”

Ellie continues to look over everything on your paper. “What is permittivity?”

“The resistance to electric field formation.”

That earns a laugh. “Fun.”

“Extremely pleasurable.” At the word pleasurable her eyes wander over you, hungrily taking in every inch. She sees you looking back at her the same way and licks her lips before agreeing not to distract you anymore.

You get back to work but she doesn’t, you can see her watching you out of the corner of your eye. You choose to ignore this, you are no longer responsible for micromanaging her. You finish up your physics and ask Ellie when she needs to leave. She's got about 15 minutes.

“Well I don’t want to get started on anything new right now. Do you have any questions before we finish up?” You ask this expecting her to say no and be done. She hasn’t read anything since you last checked in.

“Yes,” she declares with a devilish smile. She leans in, and you feel her warm breath on your ear when she whispers “what would you do if I went to touch you now?”

Tags: @bready101, @st4r-b3rries, @tlou-bombshell, @stvrs13, @dinanellie, @everegretseverything, @mikellie, @lamolaine, @0pheli4, @soupycloud, @radioheadfan699, @callmelola111, @hysteriawillnotsuccumb, @normalthing111

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another-lost-mc · 1 year

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Hi! I’ve never requested before but I’ve just been thinking about mammon x reader x levi (not mammon and levi with each other obviously) nsfw like what if they’re playing video games together and start to get jealous over mc getting cuddly with the other brother and then smut ensues💕💕. Ignore this if you don’t want to do it/aren’t comfortable with it!!

A/N: I have no problem writing the demons sharing MC as part of a poly!ship. Tag-teaming is kind of hot, right? And let's be real, most of the stuff I write with the twins ends up twisting that way by the end. I've written Mammon x Reader x Levi before (no demoncest obv) so let's pretend this is a little snapshot from the same AU. Their dynamic together is so much fun.

MAMMON x gn!Reader x LEVIATHAN, 1.2k words, NSFW / MDNI

Content/warnings: a little Levi-centric. Contains oral sex, teensy bit of tail-fucking, fingering.

It was supposed to be a relaxing evening together. Mammon is pressed against your back, his chin hooked over your shoulder so he can watch you and Levi play video games. Levi rests comfortably on the floor at your feet, rocking lightly with excitement as he wins the third race in a row. You were so focused on not driving off the rainbow track that you barely noticed the ticklish sensation of smooth scales sliding up your leg and inching up your thigh.

Tonight is Mammon's turn to take you to bed, and he's been fidgeting with the waistband of your pants for the past hour. He was probably hoping your gaming session with Levi would end and his brother could leave. Maybe he wanted to entice you to play a different type of game—one that involved a lot less clothing and watching you bounce on his cock—but he spots Levi's tail gliding across your legs and the fighting begins. You try to break it up as gently as you can—it's not that big of a deal, is it? Levi shakes his head no while Mammon yells of course it is, it's not his turn!

You spent last night in Levi's room. Sometimes he sleeps in your bed instead, but last night he had a raid event and you wanted to be close by to keep him company even if you fell asleep. He felt bad waking you up at some ungodly hour, but he was so thrilled about killing a new raid boss that he just had to tell you. You might not like all the same games as him, but that doesn't stop you from being his number one fan.

He leaned over the edge of his tub and giggled bashfully when you cupped his cheeks and peppered his face with little celebratory kisses. Quick pecks against his lips turned into a heated, desperate kiss when he moaned and licked into your mouth. You tugged his shirt collar and urged him to climb into the tub with you, and he pulled down your sleep pants enough so he could snake his hand and his tail between your legs. It didn't take long for him to coax the first orgasm from you when the tip of his tail teased your hole with the promise of more. He was still licking your cum off his fingers when you pulled down his sweatpants and sucked his cock into your mouth, teasing your gag reflex and choking yourself on his length. He tried to keep his hips from thrusting too deep into the soft, wet heat of your mouth, and when he warned you that he was close, you took him as deep so he came down your throat.

You spent the next hour groping each other and and making out while trying to take off the remaining clothes that kept getting in the way. His cock was hard and throbbing with the overwhelming desire to be inside you, and he finally tore off your underwear and flipped you onto your knees to fuck you from behind. You rolled your hips and met each of his rough, erratic thrusts, the hard smack of his thighs against your ass adding to the lewd sounds of your body squelching obscenely around his cock. He emptied himself inside you and watched his cum leak down your thighs before you both collapsed in a sweaty, sticky pile on top of his blankets. You drifted off to sleep with his quiet snores in your ear and his tail wrapped possessively around your thigh.

Their little spat over Levi's adventurous tail threatens to derail an otherwise perfect day. Sometimes Levi's tail instinctively curls around you if you're close enough. You don't mind at all, but apparently Mammon does. Mammon and Levi start bickering about getting worked up over something so stupid and you had your chance last night, so fuck off. You love them both dearly, but sometimes they can be viciously stubborn, and greedy, and jealous. But that's part of why you love them so much, isn't it?

You sigh loudly and dramatically to get their attention. They both shut up instantly and look a little confused, especially when you turn your head suddenly and kiss Mammon over your shoulder. He grunts when your lips press against his, but he opens his mouth with a groan as he returns your kiss with ravenous hunger. Levi shuffles awkwardly at your feet, but you catch the tip of his tail resting on your knee and slide it back into the warm gap between your thighs. He seems to get the hint and you smile against Mammon's mouth when Levi's tail tickles your inner thighs and presses against the warm space between your legs. He rubs you through your sleep pants and it's embarrassing how wet you are already; there's soft little squelching sounds as your clothes grow damp from your arousal. You rock your hips to increase the friction of his tail against your skin, but the feeling is muted, dulled by too many layers of clothing.

"Greedy little thing, aren't ya, Treasure?" Mammon murmurs against your mouth when he breaks the kiss. He huffs in amusement when you try to chase his lips, but his gaze rakes over your heaving chest and down the bed where you're rutting against the hard, unyielding curve of Levi's tail. Levi is on his knees in front of you, smoothing his palms up and down your calves while he sucks little marks into the delicate skin of your thighs. He glances at you and Mammon from beneath his lashes, and his orange eyes glow slightly as they brighten with excitement and lust.

Mammon grips the hem of your t-shirt and tugs it over your head. Levi licks his lips and drinks in the delectable sight of your bare chest and soft tummy. His tail flicks one last time against the damp spot forming between your legs before it curls just over the top of your knee instead. You whine at the sudden loss of heat and friction, but Mammon's hot breath ghosts across your ear and he tugs your ear lobe between his teeth. His hand slips under the waistband of your pants and he strokes you instead, gathering the slick arousal pooling at your slit and spreading it with his fingers. You reach back and reach into his soft, snowy white hair and tug roughly as you buck your hips against his hand and whine his name. His finger circles lazily around your entrance and you arch your back against him while your insides clench pitifully around nothing.

Mammon smirks at Levi over your shoulder and a flicker of silent understanding passes between them. No matter how much they argue, they usually don't get too carried away. They would never want their little squabbles to get in the way of pleasing you. "I'm feeling a little generous after all, babe," he murmurs against your neck before he licks a stripe up the delicate column of your throat. "He can stay and watch, and if he can keep his tail to himself, he can have you next."

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clockwayswrites · 2 years

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The Fic I'm Still Not Writing (2)

Part 1 that I totally didn't write.

“Boss.”

Jason looked up from the report he was going over to see two of his people standing in the the doorway to his office. They shifted nervously and he prepared himself for bad news. While he didn’t exactly aim for a friendly demeanor (that’s what being around as Jason was for), he did attempt to make it clear his people could talk to him. If shit was going to go down then he wanted to know so that he could get on top of it.

Like now.

Fuck.

Things had been looking so good, too. The new shelter would be up and running next week. The supplemented housing for single parents and their kids was doing well— Jason had been by as, well, Jason early that day to make sure everything was on the up and up— and there had been no new shit heads trying to sell drugs on his street corners. He should have expected for it to go wrong.

He tucked the reports away and leaned back in his chair before motioning the two in. Ralph and Marco, Jason thought, placing the two as they came to sit across from him. Ralph mostly helped manage the gym and train new people not to get killed— an ex boxer and coach from when times were better. Marco had just recently risen to lieutenant.

Jason had no clue what trouble the two of them would be bringing him together. Maybe someone did something stupid and needed more training.

It seemed they didn’t know where to start either and kept trading each other uneasy looks. Jason shifted, just slightly, in the way he knew made his chair creek ominously and watched both his men start.

“So, um, us goons have been doing some reading,” Ralph finally started. Jason wasn’t much fond of the term ‘goons’ himself, but for some reason his people had embraced it.

“Reading.” Jason replied, keeping his voice carefully monotone. Where was this going?

“Right, reading,” Marco picked up. “Found some ourselves and then Yasmine called us idiots and suggested some other stuff, but well, we’ve been doing reading. And we didn’t know if you had been.”

What.

“So, we, erm, well we just thought maybe we’d pass along the important bits?” Ralph said, wringing his hat in his hands so hard Jason thought he’d tear the seems apart. “See, when ya enter into a polyamorous relationship with a new partner, it’s important to make them feel included.”

What.

“Yeah,” Marco said with an enthusiastic nod. “And we get that you and Jason already have a rhythm and everything, but Danny seems like a really sweet kid—”

“Little feral.”

“Ralph’s right, little feral, but sos you, Boss— no offense. But he seems sweet. So we don’t want to see him be hurt none just ‘cause you aren’t making room for him.”

“What.” Seriously, what?

“Yeah. Sos like, in our reading—”

Holy fucking shit. His goons did reading about polygamy for him. Because Danny had asked him to share himself. What the fucking fuck.

“—it was important that you make sure that Danny feels like he has space in your space too.”

“Yeah,” Ralph agreed and then pulled an honest to God printout from his back pocket that he smoothed out on the corner of Red Hood’s desk before sliding it over. “Small things, see? Like making sure his favorite snacks are in your apartment. Or stocking up the bath products Danny uses. Don’t just make him use what you or Jason uses.”

“He uses a 5in1 bar of soap, I’m not encouraging that behavior,” Jason growled. (Why the fuck did he say that? He only knew that as Jason.)

It made his men pause for a moment before Marco gave a little nod. “Fair enough, deserves better and all. Buy him something special to use then.”

“What’s wrong with 5in1?” Ralph asked.

“Shut up Ralph, I’ll send you some reading,” Marco replied. “Point is Boss, You have to show Danny he's just as important. We just want this to work out for you, Boss.”

“Right.”

Ralph nodded. “We see how you two look at each other is all. And how Jason looks at him. We aren’t blind, Boss.”

“Right.”

“Um, right,” Marco repeated. He stood up and slapped at Ralph’s arm till Ralph did the same. He did reach out and scoot the printouts a little closer though. “Just, we’re here for you Boss.”

Jason gave a nod of his helmet before watching them scurry out of his office.

He picked up printouts. They did research for him. His little pack of supposedly hardened criminals (fuck the fact they were more and more becoming humanitarian aid) had read up on queer relationships for him.

Shaking his head Jason set the print outs aside and tried to get back to the reports he’d been reading before whatever the fuck that just happened happened.

The third time he glanced over at the printouts he gave up, folded him up into his back pocket, and stormed out of his office. He headed for Jenny’s, the 24/7 dinner that had survived in Crime Alley for nearly 70 years through sheer determination and having good enough food and coffee that no one dared fuck with it. (Didn’t hurt that Jenny kept shotguns under the counter and was a mean shot.)

The bell clattered at his entrance as he barged in and headed to the booth in the back corner. Bright blue eyes glanced up from the pile of textbooks and notes and Danny had the nerve to smirk at him.

Jason slammed his hands down onto the table, the coffee mug rattling from the force of it. Danny calmly picked it up and cradled it to his chest.

“Want to explain to me why the fuck I just sat through two of my people trying to explain some of the finer points of polygamy to me?”

Danny choked on a sip of his coffee. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Oh Ancients, they—” Danny cut himself off with a snort that soon devolved into full on laughter. Jason gave up looming and took a seat as he waited the laughter out. Finally Danny recovered enough to ask, “Are they trying to talk you into it or out of it?”

“They think I’m already in it.”

It took effort not to stiffen as one of Danny’s feet brushed up against his calf. He was smirking in that way that Jason was coming to both love and hate— and that only seemed to come out around Red Hood. “You could be, if you’d give me an answer.”

“You asked to share Jason.”

Danny gave a little shrug. The motion caused the oversized sweater that Jason was just realizing was his to slip down Danny’s bare shoulder on the one side. “I figured you came as part of that deal.”

“What has Jason said about it?” He asked, as if he didn’t very well know.

“Nothing, I haven’t asked. I’m not a home wrecker. I’m not going to tempt a man to cheat if you’re not into the idea.”

Jason crossed his arms.

Danny watched him back from under his dark lashes.

This was insane.

“You know I won’t take off my helmet.”

What the fuck was he doing?

“Never said I need you to. I’m more creative than that, Boss.”

Fuck.

Danny's smirk widened.

---

Fiends, the lot of you. I'm still claiming I'm not writing this shut up. We're blaming the poll, alright?

The GOOOOONS. They're just trying their best to be supportive! They want everyone to be happy!

tag list, I guess? @addie-lover-of-stories @bathildaburp @d4ydr34min9 @sometimesthingsfallapart @idfk-man10 @vythika96 @worthlesswall @aroranorth-west @chrysanthemum9484 @ver-444 @impulsiveasshole @meira-3919 @lazy-bouqet @cryinginthevoid @thegatorsgoose @cutelittlebeanie @blankliferain @ramblingkat @ailithnight

They're absurd, you're all absurd. ...okay I'm absurd too. Stay delightful, my darlings.

Edit: master post of parts I didn't write. Nope.

#dp x dc #dead on main #deadonmain #dead on main ship #danny x jason #jason and the goons #the fic that i'm not writing

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babyleostuff · 10 months

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MY BIG SMALL GREEK WEDDING

・❥・ for the 2k followers event

summary: a greek island + your husband Joshua = the best honeymoon ever

pairing: idol!joshua x fem!reader

genre: fluff | word count: 2k

warnings: taking a bath together (in a non sexual way)

“Josh, honey, you’ve packed everything,” you crossed your arms over your chest, looking at your husband. “And if you keep adding stuff we’ll have to pay for the excess baggage.”

“I just want to make sure we have everything,” he said, rummaging through your suitcase. “Have you packed the swimsuit I got you for our anniversary? You said you wanted to take it with you.”

Usually it was you who panicked before flights, running around the house checking if you had turned off all the electricity, if Joshua’s favourite snacks were in his bag, and if your documents hadn’t magically expired. But this time it was Joshua who for some reason had turned into a panicked mum, his usual calmness nowhere to be seen.

“You’ve asked me that at least three times now,” you smiled, shaking your head. “Yes, I have.”

Walking up to him, you put your head on his back, running your thumbs over his waist. He looked cute with his eyes wide, and a slightly panicked face, but you didn’t want him to stress over a swimsuit, especially not before your honeymoon. “We don’t have time for this, darling. We have to leave in ten minutes,” he said, straightening his back to look around the room for the hundredth time.

“Joshua Hong, what has gotten into you?” You asked, smacking his shoulder. “I just want everything to be perfect, Mrs Hong,” he said and pecked your cheek. “Now go and get dressed. We really have to leave.”

Biting your lip, you nodded and quickly moved towards the hall, so Joshua wouldn't see your smile. You had been married for two months now, but you still couldn't stop giggling like a little girl when your husband called you that, especially since he did it with such ease, as if he had waited his whole life to do it.

And you were convinced that you’d never get used to it.

[...]

“Come on! Hurry up grandpa,” you yelled at Joshua, who was huffing and puffing behind you. The trail you chose wasn’t the easiest, but the website said it had the best views, and the photos taken there supposedly looked like from a fairy tale. “Aren’t you a pro idol?” You asked when he finally caught up to you with a red face and a sweaty forehead.

“I-I am,” he gasped, bending over and resting his hands on his knees. “But they did not train me in climbing,” you giggled, smoothing out his hair that was messed up because of the wind. After a few days spent in the sun, lighter streaks began to appear in them, intertwining with his natural hair colour. “This is a hiking trail for families with children, I don’t think you can call this climbing, honey.”

As if he realised how dramatic he was, Joshua laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You should take a picture of me and send it to Coups,” he said and grabbed your hand, pulling you to continue walking along the path. “He’d have the perfect blackmail material.”

You smiled, as your gaze followed the curve of the cliff, white houses with blue roofs perched like pearls and the waves of the Aegean Sea crashing against the cliff edge at a rhythmic pace. A gentle breeze carried the scent of the sea and a faint hint of salt through the air.

You unconsciously slid your hand around Joshua's bicep, pulling him closer to you, so your hips bumped into each other when you walked.

“Did you ever think of saying no when I proposed to you?” He suddenly asked, his hand still in yours. You furrowed your brows at his question. “No,” you said immediately. “I always knew I’d say yes.”

A comfortable silence fell between you once again, but you could practically hear your husband think. “Why are you asking?”

“It’s just that…,” Joshua sighed, running a hand through his hair. You squeezed his hand a bit harder, as if you tried telling him “it’s okay, i’m here with you.” “I won’t be able to give you that usual married life, and sometimes I wonder whether it was a good thing I proposed.”

You knew exactly what he meant, because you had to deal with it from the day you started dating - you couldn’t go out to a restaurant to eat like a normal couple, you couldn’t say goodbye to him at the airport, and you had to set your Instagram profile to private. There were so many things that you had to give up on, but it didn’t change the fact that you’d do everything over again if it meant being with Joshua.

“We’ve talked about this so many times, honey. If I wasn’t okay with all of this we would’ve broken up a long time ago,” you stated, leaning your head on his arm. “Besides, we’re literally married, stop worrying about whether I wanted to say yes or no. Now come on, we have to reach the top before the sun starts setting.”

Joshua groaned, throwing his head back. “Ugh, give this grandpa a break.”

You laughed, bumping your hip into his. “You could've just said you didn’t want to go hiking, we would-.”

The words died in your throat and you let out a small cry as you felt Joshua’s arms wrap around your waist, as he picked you up and spun around. “I was just joking, darling,” he smiled, pecking your forehead, your back still close to his chest. “I would go to the end of the world with you if I had to,” he said, making kissy noises at you.

“Ew, stop saying stuff like that, or we’ll have to get divorced,” you whined, cringing at his words. You knew he was joking, but you couldn’t help but gag a little. “That was disgusting. Never say that again.”

Joshua laughed, placing a kiss on your cheek. “Sure thing, darling.”

You continued walking along the path, immersed in a conversation, your hand in his, to the point where the sky started slowly turning into a mix of pastel pinks and yellows. Neither of you seemed to care, though, it’s not like you could get lost on this little island.

“I don’t know if I’ve told you this today,” Joshua swung your intertwined fingers back and forth. “But you look very beautiful today,” he whispered, his breath tickling your ear, as a light blush creeped up on your cheeks. You tilted your head to look at him and scold him for being so sappy, Joshua was never the one for being so dramatically romantic, so you were really taken aback by his sudden change of behaviour.

But his gaze made you even more shy than his words. “Stop looking at me like that,” you mumbled, leaning your head on his arm, so you could escape his eyes. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. You just… you look so in love,” you bit your lip trying to find the right words without sounding pretentious, but that was exactly how he looked like. “Isn’t that a good thing?” Joshua laughed, his eyes turning into two crescent moons. “Aren’t I supposed to be in love with my darling wife?”

“Stop calling me that!” You slapped his shoulder, making Joshua laugh even more. He threw his arms around your shoulders, and trapped you in a warm hug, your face pressed against his chest. “You have no idea how glad I am that we're married,” he sighed, kissing the top of your head. “Now let’s go, I think there’s a path leading to the beach over there.”

[...]

“I should just pee on you.”

“Hell no.”

“Why not?”

“I won’t let you pee on me!”

“Well, I told you not to go near that jellyfish,” you said, splashing some water onto Joshua’s face. “It’s not my problem that you’re so stubborn.”

Joshua rolled his eyes, grabbing your foot, so you couldn't move.. “No matter how much I love you, I won’t ever let you pee on me,” he smiled, suddenly pulling you closer, making you yelp. “Joshua, you’ll make a mess,” you groaned, looking at the amount of water that splashed out of the tub.

The last thing you wanted was to clean up the bathroom on your first honeymoon night, just because your husband was in a silly goofy mood. “Oh come on, it’s not like you’ll drown.”

You huffed, resting your head on the edge of the tub, staring at the man in front of you. "When we first met, did you know that we would get this far?" He looked away thoughtfully, but you noticed a mischievous glint in his eyes, the same one he and Jeonghan had every time they were about to play a prank on someone. "Honestly, I didn't even like you at first."

“Joshua,” you whined and splashed his face again, but no matter how much he loved to annoy and tease you, you would let him do it all day long if it meant he’d smile as sincerely as he did in that moment - the corners of his mouth sweetly turned up and his eyes crinkled with laughter. “No but seriously, I have no idea. I think I didn’t think about a relationship when we met,” he looked at you, more serious this time. “It was after that one party at Mingyu’s-,”

“Which one? There were so many.”

Joshua laughed, brushing his wet hair away from his forehead. “You know which one. It was then when I started looking at you as more than a friend. But don’t you think that’s a good thing?”

“I guess so,” you slid your fingers over his hand that was resting on the edge of the tub. “We had the time to properly get to know each other, we didn’t rush into anything,” you murmured. “We didn’t feel any pressure. It all happened so naturally.”

“Like it was meant to be,” Joshua finished, grabbing your hand.

His slender finger ran over the ring on your finger, which you still couldn't get used to, but already loved with all your heart. The purple stone contrasted perfectly with the gold wedding band, and you knew someone would have to cut off your finger to get you to take the ring off.

"Why did you choose an amethyst? Wouldn't it be better to use a love stone or something?" Joshua asked thoughtfully. You smiled softly, stroking your thumb over Joshua’s hand. “Amethyst is a symbol of peace,” you said. "And that's what I want for us. For our future to be filled with love and happiness, but also peace."

"I know that not everything will be like in a normal marriage, at least in the beginning, but I want us to always keep that peace and remember that no matter what happens, we are in this together.”

You looked up at Joshua, whose eyes were welling up with tears, and it wasn’t easy to make your husband cry, so you weren't quite sure what to do. “Hey, honey,” you awkwardly moved closer to him, as much as the tub would allow. “Don't cry,” you grabbed Joshua’s face between your hands. "I'm not crying. I just..." he took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "I'm really glad I have you in my life. I love you."

You felt your own eyes fill with tears, but you didn't let them fall - you wouldn't cry on your honeymoon. “I love you too, Joshua Hong,” you rested your forehead against his, caressing his cheeks gently.

"As long as my heart is beating, I will always love you."

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @eightlightstar @itza-meee @immabecreepin @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @dkswife @marisblogg @whatsgyud @aaniag @jeonghansshitester @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @soul-is-a-strange-kid @ohmyhuenings @nidda13

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firemenenthusiast · 5 months

Text

—“like earth orbiting the sun”

farleigh start x fem!reader

summary: farleigh start! who makes his girlfriend his entire personality.

content warning: sfw, sweet fluff all the wayyy, farleigh being down bad for reader. farleigh being sweet (rare), suggestive themes at the end but just a little bit

a/n: giggling, kicking my feet, rolling on the bed while writing this. farleigh just one chance pls

farleigh had always told himself and people around him that love’s a scam. he was taught that family are supposed to love each other. but after learning about what happened between his family and his mom, why should he believe in such thing ? after they hurt his mom in the name of love ? he refused to believe in such thing. until he felt it himself.

-ever since he’s fallen for you he’s willing to use all of the love he has on you. ever since you show up into his life its like his earth stopped orbiting the sun and started orbiting you instead. you’re his new-found love. but farleigh’s still the same old farleigh who’s too proud to say it. so he shows it instead. you understood long ago that his love language is act of service that he only does for you. anyone else that wants him to do something out of his will can fuck off. so he said.

“you’re going out again ?” you swiftly turn to face your roommate sitting on her bed, folding her clothes rather messily. she couldnt care less if theyre not stacked symmetrically, just wanted to have the mountain of unfolded clothes out of her chair. “of course, its friday night! aren’t you ?” you cheerfully say as your hands busy putting on the earrings you’d picked out earlier. “is that new ?” she asks, eyes squinting in an attempt to have a closer look before getting up to actually take a look. “-and no, i’d rather stay in. wow these are pretty- if they ever go missing best bet that’s me”. you hold still as she examines the newly bought earrings before chuckling at her joke. “yeah, farleigh saw them when he was walking around town” you hear her groan before plopping herself down onto her bed. you giggle at her response. “im sorry! i promise to not mention his name anymore” you raise both your hands to surrender before letting out a laugh.

you couldn’t blame her, you’d be annoyed too. its always farleigh this, farleigh that. farleigh bought me this, farleigh bought me that- and you love him for that. always letting you in on stuff. he tells you everything too. thanks to him, you can atleast watch out for those people he’d gossip about, so you dont get into their mess. if it wasn’t for him you wouldn’t know anything. you’re not the type to hop around searching for gossips but you love hearing about them, then fueling his gossips with your insults. in that sense you’re fit for each other, and you’re happy to have your own personal source of campus gossip. “do i look okay ?” you take one last look at your reflection in the bodysized mirror hung on the wall, smoothing out your casual dress. nothing too sexy or uncomfortable, you just wanted to chill and have some drink. “you look absolutely gorgeous like always m’darling” your roommate teases you before giggles erupt between the two of you. “where are you going anyways? need your location” she asks, not bothered to look as she’s more focused on folding a tshirt.

“the pub- like always. farle-“ his name almost slip your tongue as you receive a warning look from your roommate. you widen your eyes as you mouth an ‘okay’ before saying, “well he, who shall not be named- invited me. wants me there, he said” she rolls her eyes. “he always wants you EVERYWHERE” “bet you’re there when he goes shopping for new underwear”. she jokes. you look at her with your head cocked to the side, confused. her jaw drops as she points at you “oh my gosh, you’ve totally done that !” she gives you the most dramatic mind blown look ever “is that not normal ?” “fucks sake its not !” you shrug at her, not caring for her going ballistic. it’s not like you’re always there with him anywhere. shit, are you ?. you cant help but give it a quick thought. well you sometimes have classes buildings away from each other, so no, you think. a normal response for someone in denial. making sure you’ve put everything you need in your purse, you blow your roommate a kiss before waving her bye bye to which she jokingly shoos you away

the pub’s busier than other nights with it being the weekend and all but mostly because you and farleigh’s friendgroup members are all bunched up together tonight. courtesy of felix offering to cover every round of drinks. who would pass up on an offer like that ? you’re approaching the bar, lips letting out singsongs as your fingers play with the new earring on your right earlobe. farleigh had offered to walk you from your dorm but you declined, telling him to save you a seat instead. so he did just that. also because its just a 5-minute walk or so. the atmosphere in the pub getting thick as he’s getting antsy waiting, almost barking at his friends who tried to sit in the seat designated for you by him. “that’s for my girlfriend you dumb” he told them. as felix walks towards the table at which they’re all circled around, farleigh’s head cocks seeing the pub’s door being pushed from outside. he almost jumped out his seat seeing that it’s you. “there she is !” he exclaims, he’s quick to get you at the door. everyone else cheers seeing you walk with your hand in farleigh’s, fingers intertwined.

as soon as you’re both seated he has his hand around your waist, resting at your thigh. “how was the walk ?” he asks, his nose almost nudging yours. you lean in to give him a quick kiss before nodding, “it was nice, a little breezy” you told him without giving it a second thought. he quickly took off his knitted cardigan-like sweater to drape it over your shoulders. you giggle at his reaction, you didn’t think he’d react that way as you weren’t trying to imply that you were cold. as he is admiring your pretty face, he notices the shiny thing on your earlobe. “is that—“ his hand reach up to touch the earrings, a huge smile appears on your face before nodding. “wanted to show you. you pick the prettiest things for me. maybe i should bring you when i shop for jewelries” its been long since you last went jewelry shopping. probably since you started dating him cuz he always buy you shiny things that he’d stumble upon. he spends a lot of time looking to pick the prettiest among them. he would buy them all but he thinks that it would only show that he’s lazy. he wants you to know how much he loves you and the time he spends picking them out shows it.

farleigh would go absolutely feral whenever there’s like a bazaar on campus where students set up their businesses’ booths cuz that means there will be girls selling their handmade jewelries. he thinks they’re so pretty that it would be a waste if they’re not being worn by you. bazaars happen maybe a couple times a year and the girls already know him cuz he spends the longest time looking at their rings, necklaces and earrings trying to pick out something for you. the first time he came by the booth they thought he was gonna insult them, maybe say things like ‘aren’t you too old to be making bracelets?’ or call their handmade pieces ugly. they tried to avoid him until he picks one of them up without saying anything, taking a closer look before handing them one that caught his eyes the most. one of the girls gathered all her courage to ask him who was he thinking of buying the stuff for and he proudly said “its for my girlfriend, she loves handmade jewelries” as they nod at his answer he started going on and on talking about you, stuffs you’re interested in so they can help pick out what would suit you best. “—yeah she’s in class right now, wouldn’t want her to know im here. want to suprise her with these. she’ll go wild” a grin plastered across his face imagining your reaction. sometimes its tmi for the girls but they dont care, they think its the sweetest.

farleigh doesn’t necessarily think buying you the most expensive things is the best way to show his love, its just as long as he’s poured much thought into his gifts. he fixates on thinking whether or not you’ll love the gifts he thinks of buying you and if you probably won’t, he’ll find something else.

“they’re only pretty when you wear them. you make them look pretty” he whispers into your ear before taking your hand into his. he lean in to kiss you before pulling away just to kiss you again. and again. he rubs circles on the back of your hand with his thumb before looking back up at you. you’re getting all giddy from the attention he’s giving, your cheeks heating up. “yo guys— if you want to do romance maybe get a room” you hear one of his friends yell from across the pub. he flips him off before saying, “why were you looking at us anyways, loser ?” farleigh’s quick to rebut as the others’ reactions fill the room. he gives the guy a disgusted look before looking back at you, who is smiling. “sorry baby, would you like your usual ?” you nod before he gets up to go get your signature drink that you always have everytime you’re here. you’re not really into the heavy stuffs so he doesn’t force you to do them. he only does that to oliver.

apart from saving your seat, picking out jewelries for you and always getting you your drink to make sure it’s safe in his hands, he always want you with him everywhere he goes. just like your roommate had told you. he doesn’t care if he has to walk all the way across a field or a hallway to get to your classes, he’ll make sure he’s waiting outside for you by the time you’re finished so he could have you beside him everywhere he goes. and you dont care following him around. sometimes its just meaningless walks around campus but you’re happy as long as he’s with you. you’re his bestest friend. his home. he’d be telling you jokes as he walks, getting in front of you to make big movements to accompany his storytelling like he’d never run out of energy. like you’re his source of energy. you would give him the best reactions to his stories and gossips and he‘d fall even more in love with you if that’s even possible

he was already quite famous on campus before dating you, but now almost literally everyone knows the both of you as THE couple. he would casually mention you everywhere he goes when you’re not with him, which is probably only the times when you have different classes. and you’re always with him too. the cafeteria, the pub, the field (he loves picnics with you), his homeroom, your homeroom, the random benches along the building, the hallways. its always the two of you. somehow you never got sick of each other probably cuz he’s nice to you. sure, there are times he’d accidentally lash out on you about something that got to him but he’s quick to make it up to you. he couldn’t imagine not having you everywhere with him. his buddies have all grown accustomed to you now, unlike the first few weeks when he started dating you. they got soo annoyed everytime farleigh brought you to hang out with them. he’s always out and about telling them like, “my girlfriends coming later” or “gotta wait for my girlfriend first” before actually hanging out with them. they were irritated cuz you weren’t as fun before, back when you were just being introduced to them. bros before hoes they’d told him. farleigh made sure to let them know you’re not just some ‘hoe’ and after that they’re basically pretty chill with you as soon as they realised you’re just like farleigh, but in female form. you get along with them and their convos just as well as farleigh. so they dont mind you tagging along anymore

its becoming his whole personality, dating you. its always you before all else. sentences like, ‘cant, gotta go get my girlfriend’ or ‘my girlfriend would love this’ or ‘the other day my girlfriend-‘ and ‘did you know ? my girlfriend-‘ are converging into his daily dictionary. you, are just the same. always mentioning him in everything because you do everything with him. like it or not the story’s gonna involve him cuz he was there. or it happened to him. or he was the one who told you. the two of you set the dating standards so high that the girls only want what the both of you have when it comes to relationships. cuz the both of you made it possible, you’d become the couple everyone put their trust in love in.

you let out a laugh joining the others at something farleigh had said before taking a sip of the drink he brought you earlier. he has his one hand around your waist, grabbing your hand and the other on the table, near your drink, holding a lit ciggie in between his index and middle finger. he offers you a smoke to which you lean in. he holds the cig for you, watching you pull a puff before taking a puff himself. he closes the distance between you, leaning in to blow the smoke into your mouth, shotgunning.

the swirls of smoke mixing yours before he kisses you, deep. one of his favourite things to do with you. his hand that was holding your hand reaches into the hem of your dress, teasingly playing with it. he grins as his eyes bore into yours, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. you giggle at his fingers dragging along your thigh, tickling you. he nudges his nose against yours before getting up, gently pulling at your hand. you follow him as you giggle, already knowing where this is going. he pulls your hand, walking towards the door before saying, “ciao everyone, and you-“ he’s pointing at the dude yelling at you guys earlier,

“-thank you for your suggestion” he chuckles as the whole room roar in mixed reactions. safe to say your poor roommate slept alone that night.

taglist: @june-ebgert @radioloom @themoonchildwhofell @love-me-pls @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @fuckshitslover @szapizzapanda @khxna

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