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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 4 months

Text

Meet Cute

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: Reader is surviving in the apocalypse alone, until she meets a stranger who needs her help, even if he doesn't want to admit it. This is a reimagining of when Daryl gets hurt trying to find Sophia in Season 2, in which the reader shoots Daryl instead of Andrea. This can be read as stand alone, but can also be read as a prequel fic to "Your Fault," describing how reader and Daryl met for the first time. (I'm so bad at summaries, please forgive me).

Era: Hershel farm era.

Tropes: Angst, Fluff (if you squint at it), Patching up someone's wounds.

Warnings: I mean, I don't think there's any. I'll say references to past trauma with survivors, but mentioned only once or twice and not detailed. Blood and gore, because the reader is patching up Daryl's wounds and of course zombies. Cursing, not a lot, but a few words.

Word Count: 4.1K (Oops) (Seriously did not mean for it to be this long.)

Note: There is minimal use of (y/n). Any references to the reader besides the (y/n) is done using "your" or "you". I tried to proofread the best I could, nobody's perfect. If you don't like, don't read, but if you do like you're my favorite!

Internal monologue is done in italics and is in first person.

ENJOY!

******************************************

It was raining and you were having a bad day. You weren’t having a bad day because it was raining, you actually liked standing in the rain, feeling the cool water drip down your face and through your clothes made you feel alive in the best way. It was difficult to find things that made you feel alive, especially after two months in the zombie apocalypse.

You considered yourself lucky, the first day everything went to hell you had slept through it. Pulling a double at the hospital downtown knocked you out and you woke up to the screams and the pounding of feet in the hall of your apartment building.

By then the phones were gone, electricity to the city had been cut off and you were hopelessly alone. Not unwelcome, due to the fact that it had been you on your own since your father had died a year earlier, but still acute enough for you to notice. It took you a week to leave your apartment to try and scavenge for food, even then you were not ready for the carnage that waited on the streets of Atlanta. After another week you realized that you needed to get out, it was too dangerous to be there. The military had failed and there was nothing left for you in the city. So you packed your backpack and said goodbye to your old life. Finding the cabin outside Atlanta was fortuitous, especially after you ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere. That being said when you found it originally, it had its quirks. No windows, a door that hung off its hinges, blood stains on the wooden floors, and no running water all made the cabin less than ideal.

But after two months it was home.

You sigh to yourself as you reset the trap, hiding it underneath the wet dead leaves as rain dripped from the treetops above. Someone or something was getting into your traps. It was the third time in a week it had happened and you were starting to get annoyed. You suspected it was a walker, since you continued to find bits and pieces of squirrel in the forest around the trap.

You continue your trek in the half-circle one mile out from the cabin. It was a nice spot, dense forest with a small creek that ran through, small enough to cross, but enough water that you didn't have to worry about going any further to find it. The only time you left the cabin was to scavenge, but that took a few days of preparation.

Rain pattered softly over the fallen leaves, weaving in and out of the canopy above, and kissing your skin. Being alone never bothered you before, but the thought that you might be the last person on earth was different. It was one thing to choose to be alone, another thing to be forced into it.

The sound of shuffling and sliding leaves makes you pause, ears peeled. You did not see too many walkers where you were and figured that because you were in the middle of nowhere there weren't enough people to turn.

The shuffling gets louder and you duck behind one of the trees, drawing your pistol from the belt at your waist. It was a gift from your father when you moved to Atlanta to start your residency. Target practice every week made you a good shot and helped blow off steam when shifts at the hospital were tough. Unfortunately, you hadn't been able to find many bullets, which prompted you to carry a hunting knife on the opposite side of your waist. The only ammo stores you found were stripped down and desolate. Sometimes you worried what would happen when you ran out.

You hear the heavy exhale of the walker as it continues through the woods behind the tree where you are hiding. You peer around the tree trunk, watching it shuffle along. It's wearing dark clothes, blood dripping from its side as it hunches over and travels away from you. A crossbow is strapped along it's back at an awkward angle and every step it releases a heavy exhale.

You click off the safety. Probably the same walker that's been eating all my squirrels. You think to yourself as you aim the gun at the back of the walker's head and take in a deep breath. But just as you pull the trigger, the walker stumbles to the left and the bullet scrapes along the outside of the walker's skull.

Shit.

As it falls, it hits its head on a tree stump and lies still, face down. You come out from behind the tree cautiously, replacing the pistol at the holster on your waist and pull out the hunting knife. The walker doesn't move.

Okay. I can do this. I can do this-

You tap it with your boot. It groans once, but doesn't make an attempt to get up. Wait. If its groaning and not moving is it not-

You bend down and grab the back of the walker's shirt, avoiding the crossbow to roll it over, and suddenly realize, it's not a walker, it’s a man.

SHIT.

"Hello?" You poke his chest once, twice, but he doesn't respond. "Um- Sir? Are you okay? Can you speak?"

Why did I just call him sir?

The man groans softly, but does not open his eyes.

SHIT.

You hadn't run into many people in the apocalypse. Saw them from afar, but never approached one. Your father had instilled in you that desperate situations bred a new kind of person. No one could be trusted. The one time you had run into a group, you learned that the hard way. You shake it off and look down at the man on the ground.

He's covered in a layer of dirt and grime, a necklace of walker ears hangs over his dark green tank top, a large hunting knife hangs from his waist next to a child's doll, and blood soaks through the side of his shirt.

Why does he have a doll? Is he like one of those truckers on the highway that has a teddy bear strapped to the front of their semi? Because that's kind of weird.

You stepped closer to examine where the blood has stained his shirt along his side. He's really hurt.

You raise your head to look around the forest around you. He doesn't have a pack, his camp must be nearby. Which means that there might be others that come looking for him.

You look back down at the man where the bullet scraped through his hair, watching the blood trickle down the side of his head. You think about leaving him there. I don't know him. I can just walk away no harm done-

You bite your lip. I can't do it. I can't leave him here. You curse your conscience. Now I just have to haul him the entire mile back to my cabin, without waking him up or hurting him.

Great.

*******************************************

Dragging him back to the cabin through the woods and up the front steps took over an hour. You were too afraid to drag him back quickly, afraid that it would do more harm than good especially because you were unsure how bad the wound on his side was. He hadn't woken up, a bad sign, but you were optimistic.

Guilt momentarily fills your chest. You wouldn’t have shot him if you knew he was still alive. You probably would have just let him go on his merry way. But then you think about how he stumbled.

If I let him go, how far would he have gotten? Maybe me taking him is better than the alternative.

Staring at him laying on the hardwood floor made you wonder if this was a bad idea. You didn't know him. He might have a group somewhere and he might be faking to find out where you lived.

If he is faking he is certainly committed. You mused gazing down at him again.

He was older than you, by a few years at least, with brown hair that stuck out in different directions. Your eyes sweep his clothes, nose wrinkling at the strand of walker ears around his neck. His clothes were dirty, covered in dirt and dead blood. You had taken great care with his crossbow, setting it down on the small wooden table that you usually ate at, noticing how clean it was.

He must really care about it.

You couldn’t help but notice how small the man looked laying on the floor. And it made you feel more guilty about shooting him.

You walk away to get your medical bag, it was on the makeshift kitchen counter on the right back wall. The cabin was one room, in one corner there was a giant cabinet filled with whatever cans you could salvage, in another there was a wooden counter with a non-working sink, a small fireplace sat on the left wall, and in another there was a small twin sized bed covered in mismatched blankets. You had been prepping for winter, moving further and further into town to salvage what you could and storing chopped wood against the inside wall by the fireplace. The thought of winter scared you more than you’d care to admit. Especially with the squirrel traps giving less and less each day.

I wonder if this is the person stealing all my squirrels. You frown to yourself. Maybe I shouldn't help him.

You hear a strange sound behind you and as turn around, bag in hand, you notice that the man isn't on the ground anymore. He's standing, crossbow drawn, pointed directly at your chest.

Great.

"Where the hell am I?" The man growls.

Your chest tightens in fear. By the time I reach for my gun he’ll shoot me.

"It’s okay." You force the tremor from your voice, trying your best not to look frightened. The bag drops to the ground and you hold up your hands in front of you in a gesture of surrender. "You're at my cabin. You're safe."

"Why?" His eyes narrow as he takes another step forward.

This was such a bad idea. Granted I also would have that reaction if I woke up in a strange place.

"I'm a doctor. I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You collapsed and I noticed you were bleeding."

He backs up towards the door without turning around, eyes wild, body tense, ready to spring.

"Wait please. I feel really bad-"

The guilt is back now as you look at the scrape along his head and the blood soaked shirt.

"Why?" The man narrows his eyes.

"Because I-" You scrunch up your face in embarrassment. "I thought you were one of those things and I shot you. I'm sorry."

"You shot me?"

"Yes. I mean, you stumbled at the last second and I missed, but I'm also pretty sure that you hit your head pretty hard."

"What?"

"It felt wrong to leave you there.”

“I don’t need your help.” He spits.

“You’re probably right.” Your hands are still palm up in front of you. “But I thought it would be stupid if you survived this long with those things out there and then died from an infection. That's pretty pathetic." You smile sheepishly at your attempt at a joke to lighten the mood, but he doesn't smile.

Well the good news is if he leaves I'll never see him again, and I'll be able to forget about this entire awkward exchange. Who am I kidding? It’s going to haunt me at night, right up there with the time I tripped and ate it on the way to the microphone at my 8th grade talent show.

"I don't want your help." The man says again as he turns to go, but groans when he feels the muscles on his side strain with the movement.

"Please." You breathe. "It'll take ten minutes then you can leave and we never have to see each other ever again."

His eyes are still narrowed. They skate across your body sizing you up. “Are you alone?”

The question makes a cold shiver travel down your spine. It's the question that made you avoid other survivors, the question that made you tie your hair up under a hat, wear oversized clothes to hide your body, and a scarf to hide the bottom half of your face.

“If I say yes are you going to attack me?” Your throat is thick when you ask it.

He shakes his head.

You watch him curiously, but even though he’s pointing a crossbow at your chest you don’t think he’s lying. “Then yes.”

The man stands there for another few seconds. “Five minutes.”

“Fine."

He makes no move to lower the crossbow.

"Is it okay if I move or are you going to shoot me?" You raise an eyebrow.

The man sighs and finally lowers the crossbow, which you take as confirmation that you can pick up your medical bag.

What am I doing? I should have just let him leave. You think to yourself, watching the way his eyes dart around the cabin.

You both stand there awkwardly for a second. “You can just sit on the bed. It'll probably be easier than the chair.”

He sits down, but places the crossbow next to him on the bedside table, as if preparing for you to attack him.

You tried to remember the training you had for dealing with unwilling patients. Of course when that happened the hospital let them leave, but you didn’t want him to leave. You felt guilty for shooting him and you felt guilty for dragging him all the way here. And despite not knowing him, you were worried.

He could barely move without it hurting, what would happen if he left? One of those things were sure to get him on the way back wherever he came from.

You pull up a chair, so close to him that your knees are almost touching, and place the bag on your lap, looking through for your supplies.

“How long have I been here?”

“A little over an hour. Took me a while to drag you here. You’re heavier than you look.” You smile up at him, but he continues to frown.

“Are you really a doctor?”

“Why would I lie about that?” You shuffle through the bag, placing the supplies on the bed.

“I don’t know.” He shifts. “You don’t look like a doctor.”

“Because I’m a woman?”

“No. You're just-“

You wait for him to think of it, but he doesn’t finish his sentence.

Okay.

“This is going to hurt just for a second.” You soak the cloths in the antiseptic and raise one to the side of his head. The man flinches away from your touch with narrowed eyes. “For this to work I’m going to need to touch you.” You say softly with a gentle smile. You were under the impression that he wasn't mean, rather he just wasn’t used to other people.

He leans forward, looking away from you to give you access to the side of his head. Your left hand brushes away the strands of hair from where the bullet scraped along his head, dabbing with the cloth along the shallow wound. You were happy to note that it didn’t need stitches, but you still wanted to clean it out. The man doesn’t wince when the cloth touches his skin.

“I’m y/n by the way.”

He waits a beat. “Daryl.”

You continue to clean along the wound, concentrating on getting as much blood and dirt away from the opening.

“Have you been out here alone this whole time?” Daryl asks.

“Yeah. How about you?”

“No.”

Guess he doesn’t say a lot.

When you finish with his head, you start to reach for his shirt, but Daryl jumps hand twitching towards the crossbow.

“It’s okay." You smile at him. "I want to look at your side. If you could just take off your shirt-"

“No.”

“But I have to see it-“

He frowns at you. Finally, Daryl pulls up his shirt only enough for you to see the wound on his side, but no further. Just under the cloth of his shirt where it stops, you see remnants of pink scar tissue.

You try very hard not to look at the pink scar tissue, but you were curious. Was that why he didn't want me to take off his shirt?

He’s not looking at you. In fact the only time he made eye contact with you was when he was holding the crossbow.

“You might need to lie down for this one.”

Daryl eyes you again, before finally he lays down on his side, still not looking at you. The wound on his side is deeper, two piercings that go from the front of his abdomen and through to his back.

Did he shoot himself with the crossbow? How is that even physically possible?

“What happened?”

“Fell.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I think I’m going to need to pour the antiseptic in this one and it's going to hurt. You can hold my hand if you want.” You put your left hand on the bed as a peace offering. He doesn’t take it.

Or not.

As soon as the liquid touches his skin, Daryl fists his hand in the mountain of blankets, clenching his teeth together.

“I know I’m sorry.” You can't help but touch his arm and he flinches back away from you. “But now it’s clean and you don’t have to worry about infection.” You go through the motions with the stitches, pulling the needle through the skin smooth and steady, surprised that Daryl does not react to the needle. You reach for a bandage to cover the affected area. "Okay, so keep this clean, don't raise your arm up too high or the stitches will rip, change the bandage in a day or so. I'm going to give you one to take with you. Do you want some painkillers? I think I have some in here somewhere."

"No."

"Okay." You stand up and move out of his way so that he can get up from the bed, before beginning to look through the bag for a spare bandage.

Daryl stands there for a minute with his crossbow dangling from his right hand as if he's not sure what to say.

"Here." You hold out a bandage.

"Don't need it."

"Are you sure?"

Daryl nods once.

"Well if you rip your stitches or decide you want another bandage, you know where to find me." You can't help but smile at him.

As much as you were afraid of him at first, you couldn't help but like the interruption in the monotony of your day. And despite his gruff exterior, you liked talking to him. Which was surprising given the fact you hadn't liked talking to anyone else in the past.

He doesn't say anything, instead he starts to walk to the door of the cabin, but he stops. "Thanks." Daryl doesn't look away from the door.

"You're welcome. Be careful out there."

And then he's gone, leaving you in the still silence of the cabin once more.

********************************************

The next few days pass as they usually do. You check the traps, scavenge for water, read a book by the fireplace at night, but every time you leave the cabin you hope to see Daryl again, hope that he'll come back because he needed that bandage or maybe will just come by to sit in utter silence.

That last bit seemed the most in character.

You didn't want to admit to yourself how disappointed you were in the silence that followed his exit. Not because he spoke that much, but even his presence in the cabin made whatever this was easier. Before you relished in the fact that you were alone, but now after you met him, it felt too quiet.

However, you had noticed more dead in the area over the past few days and that made you worry.

What if Daryl never made it back to wherever it was he was going? What if he had gotten attacked as soon as he left? You tried not to think that, because Daryl looked capable enough to survive in the apocalypse. Definitely seemed capable when he held a crossbow to your face.

You jolt awake to the sound of someone frantically knocking against your door.

What?

You tighten your hand on the hunting knife under your pillow before you sit up in bed. Maybe I dreamed that.

Someone kicks open the front door of your cabin.

Definitely didn't dream that.

A ball of fear lodges in the back of your throat as you grab the gun on your bedside table, holding it up between you and the dark figure standing just inside the doorway.

"Y/n?" A familiar voice shouts.

"Daryl?" You lower the gun watching the dark figure turn to barricade the door.

"We have to go."

"Daryl what's wrong-" As soon as the words come out of your mouth, you hear the moaning and shuffling of the dead followed by the pounding of hands against the door.

Fear makes your entire body freeze. You had been in Atlanta long enough to watch the chaos, watch what happened in the streets, the memories of what you saw keeping you awake more than one night, memories of the masses of bodies swarming survivors and the ungodly screams that followed.

"We gotta go.” He grabs your wrist and hauls you out of bed.

In case of an emergency like this, you always slept fully dressed. You clip your belt around your waist before putting the gun back in the holster and throwing your oversized jacket on over your t-shirt. Your pack is on the floor by the back door. The medical bag is small enough to shove inside the black backpack.

“Come on!” Daryl grabs your hand and pulls you out the back door, dragging you through the woods behind him.

You glance over your shoulder. The moonlight above illuminates the mass of walkers that surely would have destroyed the small cabin and you inside.

He came back for me. The thought makes a surge of gratitude warm in your chest. He didn't even know me and he was willing to fight his way through dead infested woods to save me.

Daryl shoots one that stands in your way, glancing behind him to see the mass of walkers that follow, before letting go of your hand and reloading the crossbow.

“Where are we going?” You shout running behind him, gun drawn.

“Up ahead-“ He responds over his shoulder.

You break out of the tree-line onto a road, where a motorcycle waits haphazardly on the edge of the long grass.

He jumps on the motorcycle revving the engine once, looking up at you expectantly. You don’t hesitate. You kick your leg over the side and wrap your arms around his waist to secure yourself. Daryl's muscles tense as you do, but the motorcycle shoots off, the sound of the engine masking the moans and shuffles of the dead emerging from the trees behind you.

You drive for a few miles, far enough that you put your face into Daryl's back to block the onslaught of wind that comes up over the road.

As soon as Daryl hits the interstate he weaves through the broken cars, before finally parking in the median. The world sounds quieter without the roar of the motorcycle, you notice as the smooth silence of the night returns.

"Why did you come back for me?" You ask him, as you get off the seat before you can stop yourself.

Daryl lights a cigarette, not meeting your eye. "You helped me."

"After I shot you."

"You missed." He shrugs.

You snort. "I did." You look out over the desolate interstate where cars are haphazardly parked and empty luggage cases spew clothing onto cracked pavement. "So what now?"

Daryl blows out a lungful of smoke. "You could-" He stops.

"What?"

"Well." Daryl shifts his feet, taking another drag of his cigarette.

"Daryl?" You try to catch his eye worried that he's going to tell you to go away, that he's going to say goodbye right here right now.

"My group is supposed to meet up here." He doesn't meet your eye. "If you want you could come with us, but you don't have to." In the moonlight you swear you see his ears turn pink.

"Well," You sigh looking around. "How else am I going to repay you for saving my life? Might as well stick around."

"We're even."

"No. I think saving someone from zombies trumps suturing a wound. Plus, somebody's got to make sure you don’t shoot yourself with your crossbow again."

Daryl frowns. "I didn't shoot myself with my crossbow."

"I think that you did and that you're too embarrassed to say anything. But don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

He continues to frown at you, but it only makes you smile wider.

I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

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Thank you so much for reading! If you liked this, be sure to read "Your Fault!"

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fluff #twd #the walking dead #twd daryl dixon #daryl x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl x y/n #twd fanfics

269 notes · View notes

python333 · 9 months

Note

I love your writings sm. And I love the way you write platonic stuff with task force 141 😋

You can ignore this if ya want but I just can't get over reader angst. Honestly atp I starve for angst. Could you feed us another angst fic? Like platonic 141 with a reader where she maybe got pretty badly injured while being on a mission? :3

AND. don't forget to stay hydrated and eat well!! Take any breaks you need 😌.

(sorry if this doesn't make sense English is not my native language 🥲)

below zero — python333

— — — —

synopsis u get thrown into a freezer after refusing to give up intel to enemy soldiers, and u get thrown into a freezer, and ghost comes and saves u :3

relationships platonic!ghost & gn!reader.

characters ghost.

word count 5.2k

warnings hypothermia, disorientation, 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note hi anon thank u so much for all the compliments!!! before i say anything else, i wanna point out that i 1) only really wrote ghost into this and 2) literally read the request completely wrong and i think im actually just illiterate because how did i mess up this bad. ALSO hi its been a month since i posted on here i swear i'm still alive i'm just super busy with school!! updates are going to be extremely slow, so i apologize in advance. still, i hope u enjoy it anyways tho!! its all hurt/comfort + angst/fluff + protective/soft ghost :3

When you were thrown into the freezer, the first thing you noticed were the bodies.

There’s ten that you can immediately see, and twelve once you look a little bit closer. All of them are suspended from the ceiling, each hanging from their ankle—with said ankle being held up by a meat hook.

When the door had been closed shut with a loud, booming thump you hadn’t felt any immediate fear. But now, as you’re sitting in the corner of the freezer you’d been trapped in—the corner farthest away from any bodies—that fear is starting to set in.

Before this, only a few minutes ago, you were being interrogated. Your captors were asking for information on the details of any upcoming missions, objectives, target locations, anything that you had about the 141 that you could share with them, they wanted.

Of course, you didn’t say anything. You remained silent throughout the entire thing, not talking once, even when at the end of the whole thing your interrogator slammed his hand down onto the table you were sat down in front of and yelled at you to say anything.

When he and his team figured out that you wouldn’t give them any information, you remember he muttered something unintelligible under his breath and swiftly walked over to your end of the table. He had uncuffed your ankles from the legs of the chair you were sitting down on and uncuffed your wrists from the table, and before you could fight back, he grabbed both of your wrists with one hand and dragged you behind him.

Then, he led you to the freezer you were trapped in now, and threw you in roughly before shutting the door behind you. You had hit and scratched at the door for a good minute after being thrown in, and after you figured that it was a waste of time trying to do so, you sighed and retired to the corner.

Now, as you’re huddled in the corner, you kind of regret not giving them the intel they needed.

The freezer wasn’t too bad at first—you thought you’d last pretty long in there, and mentally called all the dead bodies hung from meat hooks in there pussies and simply walked around for a bit. The walking helped warm you up a bit, but soon it got tiring, and you retired to the corner farthest away from any dead bodies.

You think the freezer is below zero degrees—no, has to be below zero, because now, just about five minutes after being thrown in, violent shivers have started to wrack your body and you swear you can’t feel your lips anymore. You haven’t been able to feel any sort of warmth in the past four minutes, all of it disappearing within the first.

And God, the smell. The smell of frozen, rotting flesh really isn’t something you ever want to smell again. Thankfully, there’s no live flies in the freezer—all of them had died of the severe cold, creating small black circles under each hanging body where they died.

You currently have your knees up to your chest with your hands trapped in between your thighs to try and keep them warm at least, with your forehead resting on the top of one of your knees. It’s working, kind of. The palms and backs of your hands feel just warm enough to not be considered cold, but the tips of your fingers are so cold they’re beginning to burn.

You pull them back a bit to trap your fingertips in between your thighs, exposing the area where your wrist and hand meet to the cold, sighing as your fingertips warm up just a bit. Your thighs, thankfully, still have some heat trapped in between them, and you think your stomach is still somewhat warm.

Around ten minutes later, you feel the heat trapped in your thighs start to dissipate. Fucking fantastic. You sigh and let your head tilt back, the back of it hitting the wall behind you, making you wince at the cold metal directly on your head. The cold seems to crawl through your hair and make it to your scalp, small pinpricks of the cold spreading throughout your scalp and the back of your neck.

You’re reminded of just how cold it is then, of how this is quite literally a freezer, and of how said freezer has already claimed twelve lives. Or, at least, has housed twelve dead bodies and several unfortunate flies.

Just then, the fear finally starts to set in.

At first, you weren’t all too worried about being saved—you figured you’d be found soon enough, since your team has a general idea of where you are. But the more you think about it, the more your brain emphasizes the general part of general idea. You start to think about how they don’t know any specifics.

Sure, they know that you were captured, and that you were being held in some small part of Italy, and the people who captured you—but what did they know beyond that? Did they know your exact location? How long would it take them to figure it out? And how long would it take them to get here?

Would you even be alive by the time they got here, if they ever did?

You notice your teeth starting to make an annoying chattering noise and you bite down to stop them. The violent shivers that wrack your body don’t help, the intense trembling only succeeding in making you more anxious. You start to become hyper aware of the cold that crawls onto your back from the freezing metal you’re leaning back on, and you quickly push yourself just a foot away from it so that it no longer bothers you.

Your feet are starting to feel numb, you don’t think you’d be able to stand on them anymore if you tried, for you fear you’d just stumble and fall down. You look around the small freezer. There’s nothing that could help you get out—there’s only the bodies suspended from the ceiling and the dead flies that surround them.

You’re glad none of the bodies are facing you—you don’t know what you would do if you had to sit in the corner with a bunch of dead bodies staring at you with their vacant, frozen-over eyes. Thinking about the eyes makes your own water, and you blink away the small tears that’ve gathered on your waterline.

You can’t feel them, but you see the tears that were once in your eyes now clumping together on your eyelashes, making your brows furrow. With them starting to cling to your eyelashes comes blurriness for the top half of whatever you can see. You sigh, a white puff of condensation hanging in the air as evidence of your exhale, and move your hand out from in between your thighs to wipe away the tears from your lashes haphazardly.

You don’t bother to put your hand back in between your thighs, instead just resting it on top of your knee. Despite it only having been around fifteen minutes since you were thrown into the freezer, you’re starting to feel more fatigued and your breath slows down significantly, as does your heartbeat.

Another ten minutes of doing nothing but staring at the wall opposite of your own pass by, and disorientation is starting to set in. You feel oddly forgetful—like at times, you forget how you even got into the freezer, and have to wrack your brain to remember that you literally got thrown into it and are now trapped in here until someone rescues you. Assuming they do. Who was it that would even rescue you?

You think long and hard for a few seconds, and can scrounge up nothing from your confused mind. You let out a frustrated huff and let your head tilt and fall forward so that your forehead is resting atop your knee, another shiver ripping through your frame. It almost feels like it’s getting colder in the fridge.

Suddenly, you hear a loud banging noise—albeit, it sounded more muffled to your ears, but you could tell it was loud—and guns being fired.

You can’t really tell when the gunfire dies down, but you can tell when the thumping of someone’s boots grows louder and closer to the door of the freezer. You try to stand up, not really knowing why since you’re in no condition to fight, having been in a freezer for about forty minutes, but you still attempt to.

You find that standing is extremely difficult after practically being frozen alive for the past forty minutes, because as soon as you try to even push yourself off of the ground with your shaky hands, you discover that you aren’t even strong enough to push yourself up a single inch before having to stop. As well as that, you find that the ground is just as freezing as the walls and air of the freezer, because your hands now ached with frostbite.

The action causes an unexpected wave of exhaustion to roll over you, and you pant to try and catch your breath, breathing white puffs of condensation out into the air.

You hear a loud bang against the door, and jump at the sound, your head whipping towards the door. You hear another loud noise, and the confused fog that’s taken over your mind only grows thicker, your disorientation only growing stronger with it. The room feels like it’s spinning, and the feeling reminds you of a word, and you know what the word is, but fuck, why don’t you know it at the same time? Why can’t I remember anything?

There’s another bang, and you hear muffled cursing before suddenly the door bursts open, a man wearing a skull mask stumbling in after it does so—he probably ran into it to open it, you think, watching the man get his balance back. He looks around for a moment before his eyes land on you, and the moment they do, you finally remember something.

That’s Ghost.

Somewhere in your confusion-clouded mind, you’re happy that you’ve finally remembered something. But right now, you can’t really think about anything—your mind is blank, and you can barely even process what you’re seeing.

You’re so caught up in thinking about the fact that you aren’t really thinking, you’re just focusing a little more on whatever’s going on in your mind and not actually retaining any of it, that you don’t even notice Ghost rushing towards you and kneeling down right next to you.

He pauses for a moment, but after a second he makes the decision to put one hand behind your back and snake one under your legs, the warm physical touch making you wince. Not that you didn’t like the warmth—you just didn’t like the sudden temperature change beneath your knees and across your back.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Ghost grunts as he picks you up, one arm under your knees and the other behind your back, lifting you up into a sort of bridal carry. He nearly drops you because of how cold your skin is—for a moment he thinks your back and legs are wet, then he realizes that no, they aren’t wet, you’re just really fucking cold.

He takes a moment to make sure you’re secure in his arms before tilting his head to the side, all the way down to his shoulder, and muttering something into his earpiece. Despite being so close to him, his voice only sounds muffled to you—in all honesty, just about everything is starting to sound more muffled to you. You can only tell he’s done talking because he lifts his head back up and readjusts his arms around you, before walking out the busted-open door.

The walking quickly turns into running, which then turns into sprinting, making your surroundings go blurry and makes your vertigo worse—it almost feels like you’re falling. You’re grateful you haven’t eaten anything in the past few hours, because you fear that if you had, you would’ve thrown it all up by now. All you can see are blurred colors—the hallways, you vaguely remember, because I’m in a building. How’d I even get here? Why am I here? You’re pulled out of your confused thoughts when you’re set down on the ground somewhere, and forced into a lying position with your limbs all outstretched. When you slowly blink up at what you thought was the ceiling, you’re both surprised and not surprised when you see the blue-black night sky.

Not sure of what’s going on, you try to get up, but Ghost quickly pushes you back down, muttering something under his breath. He pauses for a moment, his blurred figure stopping any and all movements, before he suddenly picks you back up, making you wince at the way your head spins at the sudden movement. You hear a quiet, muffled—but clearer than before—’sorry’ from Ghost before he’s running again.

It’s a much shorter distance this time, and instead of immediately setting you down, you hear something click and suddenly you hear another muffled voice. They sound concerned, you mentally note, Or maybe confused. Maybe both, actually. No yeah, definitely both. Well, now just concerned. Or maybe that’s confused.

Caught up in your confused thoughts, you don’t realize that you’re being set down on a few comfy seats. You aren’t pulled away from your own thoughts until you feel two warm hands cupping either side of your jaw, and hear Ghost’s oddly distressed voice becoming more clear by the second. You now acknowledge the weird ringing in your ears that almost drown out the sound of Ghost, and struggle to figure out what he’s saying through the annoying noise.

“—something,” You catch the end of Ghost’s sentence, and blink up at him slowly.

“Huh?” You elegantly ask, coughing and wincing at your hoarse voice, not knowing how it got so hoarse—or why it hurt so much to talk. Your throat almost felt like it was burning, but it also felt oddly numb, a sensation you couldn’t quite put a name on.

“Oh my god,” Ghost sighs, his forehead falling onto your chest momentarily as he takes a few deep breaths. He brings his head back up from your chest and says, “I almost thought you were dead when I got in there. Jesus, you look dead. I need to— I need to get something, a blanket or— why the fuck don’t we carry any heat packs or anything in here? Swear to God, I’m gonna—” You don’t pay too much attention to Ghost’s panicked ranting and shift your head to the side to try and look at where you are, and you discover that you’re in a car. Oh. Cool. You spot the door on the passenger seat’s side still open and swinging a bit, as if it’d been opened quickly just a few moments earlier for someone to quickly get out.

Ghost suddenly backs up and gets out of the car, though staying within a foot of it, looking around for a moment before heading to the back of the car. Your head clears up the tiniest bit, just enough for you to be able to assume that he’s heading to the back of the car to get to the trunk for whatever reason, and you simply lie there on the seat cushions.

A few seconds later, Ghost comes back with a somewhat-fluffy jacket, and carefully gets into the car—half kneeling down so that he doesn’t need to lean on the seats to get to you. He tosses the coat over your chest, and it does absolutely nothing at first, at least not until Ghost gets a bit closer and tucks the coat tighter around you, treating it like a blanket. Then, it starts to warm you up just the tiniest bit. Beyond that, it does absolutely nothing. But props to Ghost for at least trying.

He quickly backs out of the car and once he’s out he closes the door behind him, and you want to get up for a moment, just to go see what he’s doing, but you don’t have to. He gets into the car again, this time in the driver’s seat, and he turns on the ignition. Once the car rumbles to life, he immediately turns up the heat and leans over to the passenger seat’s side in order to close the door, and with a grunt he manages to do so.

The newfound heat makes you shiver, and it almost feels like you’re in a microwave defrosting. Distracted by the sudden temperature change, you don’t pay attention to what Ghost is saying into his earpiece as he glances out the front window of the car and back at you. You simply tug the jacket tighter around your torso and relish in the warmth.

“—ay. So we’ll just leave then, and you’ll be fine?” You pick up from Ghost’s conversation, perking up at the mention of leaving, “Copy that, Captain. I’ll get them back to base.”

‘Captain’—Oh, he’s talking to Price—says something that makes Ghost sigh exasperatedly and take his index finger off of his earpiece, instead settling both of his hands on the steering wheel of the car and stealing one last glance at you before setting his eyes on the gravel ahead of him and pushing down on the gas pedal.

—

When you wake up, you’re significantly warmer than you were… however-long-it’s-been-ago.

You look to your left and see nothing but a white wall and a heart rate monitor—which displays that your heart rate is 115—then to your right, where you see Ghost sitting in a plastic chair close to the bed you’re laying in, eyes closed with his head tilted to the side and resting on his own shoulder.

You don’t bother trying to wake him up, not knowing how long he’s been asleep or how much sleep he’s gotten, and instead simply turn your head back to stare up at the ceiling.

After maybe five minutes of zoning out and staring up at the ceiling, you hear clothes rustling and look back over to your right, seeing Ghost start to stir in his sleep. Just a few seconds later, he stirs awake, slowly blinking his eyes open.

You watch silently as he blinks the sleep out of his eyes, and he breathes in sharply through his nose before looking over at you and seeing you staring at him wordlessly. You both blink at each other for a long, awkward moment before he speaks.

“… Did you, uh… how was your… rest?” Ghost asks, not sure what to say. What exactly do you say, after saving one of your teammates from potential death?

“Good,” You respond, your throat having an odd, small burning sensation when you talk.

Ghost looks like he’s holding back a few words for a moment after you speak, and after one expectant look from you, he mumbles, “You should really say ‘well’ or ‘fine’ instead. It’d be more grammatically accurate and is more grammatically aligned with the verb ‘rest’.”

“… Okay?” You blink, thrown off by the unexpected information, “I’ll, uh… keep that in mind, next time someone asks me how my rest was.”

“You get asked that often?”

“I only get asked that by you.”

“Ah.” Ghost nods, looking off to the side for a moment. You’d think he was your dad and you’d just asked him how babies were made with how awkward he was, and you honestly expected the next words out of his mouth to be ‘when a man and a woman love each other very much’ before he hesitantly asks, “D’you feel better? After the whole being-trapped-in-a-freezer… experience?”

“Experience?” You question, a light laugh evident in your voice, “Yeah, I feel better. I like being warm more than, y’know, being frozen alive. Laying down in a warm bed is nice.”

“I didn’t know how else to phrase it,” Ghost huffs out, leaning back in his seat.

“So you’re gonna correct me on my grammar but you can’t think of a better word than ‘experience’?”

“Don’t get smart with me, [c/n].”

“I’m just saying,” You shrug lightly, wincing a little when your shoulders ache as you do. Ghost notices this and his eyes narrow, but he doesn’t mention it.

“Then stop trying to sass me.”

“Sass you? Jesus, fuck, don’t talk to me like I’m some preteen who just found out that they can talk back to their parents.”

“Isn’t that what you are, though?”

“No, I’m— you know what? Fuck you. Get out. I hate you. You suck.”

“That’s a colorful choice of words to say to the man who saved your life,” Ghost raises an eyebrow at you, “I’m still waiting for my ‘thank you’, by the way.”

“Don’t care, you’re never getting it,” You say stubbornly, making Ghost sigh and stand up. You look up at him as he stands up and try to sit up in your bed, but wince again when you try to move your arms. Still, you attempt to push yourself up, and only relax your weak joints and lay back down when Ghost presses a gentle hand to your shoulder to get you to stop trying to sit up.

“Don’t,” He warns softly—you didn’t know his voice could get that soft—as he pushes you back down, “Medics said you’re to keep laying down for a bit while you warm up. We’ve gotta wait until your BPM is below a hundred before letting you up.”

“That’s stupid,” You huff out, though not fighting Ghost pushing you back down.

“It’s not stupid,” Ghost lightly chastises you, “It’s doctor’s orders. Once your BPM is below a hundred, we’ll know you’re warmed up enough to start gettin’ up and walking around.”

“… Still stupid,” You grumble, not commenting on the way Ghost’s hand lingers on your shoulder even after you’ve already laid back down. Ghost sighs and kneels down so that his shoulders are level with the railing of your bed.

“You’re too stubborn.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

“No I’m not!” Your light arguing only proves Ghost’s point further, and he knows this, the knowledge of it making him snicker quietly.

“Uh huh. Sure, kid,” He begins to retract his hand from your shoulder, but upon seeing the disappointment that immediately seeps into your expression once he even barely begins to lift his hand from your shoulder, he immediately lets it rest right back onto your shoulder.

You both sit in silence for another few moments before Ghost speaks up again, this time a bit quieter and in that same soft tone he’d used earlier, “I tried to get to you quicker. But we needed some time to get your exact location, and when we found it we were a hundred and sixty klicks away, and it was just—it took us… some time to find you.”

“It’s fine. I understand,” You respond, about to shrug but stopping yourself, not wanting to feel that aching in your shoulders again, “I don’t even know how I let myself get captured, that— that’s probably on me.”

“You didn’t let yourself get captured, you just did.”

“Well…”

“Well, what?”

“I don’t know, I just—” You take a deep breath before continuing slowly, “I didn’t let myself get captured, but I also didn’t do enough to fight against it, so I feel like technically—”

“Fuck the technicalities about how you got captured, you got captured either way, and you got thrown into a freezer,” Ghost cuts you off, talking quickly, before sighing and continuing in a softer voice once again, “Please, just let me try to be somewhat comforting for once. You know I’m bad at this, and that I never do this. So just… don’t talk about what happened like that, if not for your own mental health’s sake, at least for my attempts at making you feel better.”

You open your mouth to say something else but ultimately close your mouth and let out a deep sigh through your nose, not saying anything, letting Ghost continue to talk.

“I, for whatever reason, feel… very oddly bad for you,” Ghost poorly explains, before pausing to think for a moment then rephrasing, “Not… not as in I pity you, but as in I feel bad for you in a way that I feel like I’m at fault for what you went through even though I know I’m not at fault. It’s like empathy but… worse. Not saying empathy is bad to begin with, but this is like if empathy was bad and it became worse and—”

Ghost cuts himself off with silence and lets out a frustrated huff at his inability to put his feelings into words, and tries again, “I feel bad for you in a way that I don’t know what exactly you felt or how you felt in the moment that you were in that freezer but just the idea of you being in there without me for… I’m assuming an entire hour, if not longer, makes me feel like I failed. I don’t know what I failed at—”

Ghost quickly pauses before sighing and continuing, “Actually, no, I do. I feel like I failed at protecting you. Which is strange, because that’s technically not my job, but I felt—and still feel—obligated to protect you especially and that bothers me. Not bothers me in a sense that I don’t like you or the thought of… protecting you, but bothers me in the sense that I’m not supposed to feel like that. No amount of teasing, or borderline bullying, or anything should’ve ever made me feel obligated to think of you like— like— like…” Ghost trails off, leaving you wondering what he meant to say. He stays silent for a few moments, before you try to fill in for him.

“Like… what, a kid?” You offer, watching him shake his head negatively. You think for another moment, before trying again, “… Like your kid?”

Ghost nods affirmatively, hesitantly, and you want to scoff at the hesitation.

“And what, that’s bad to you?” You ask, your words more venomous than you intended. Ghost sighs and nonverbally shakes his head negatively before responding to you.

“Not bad in the way you’re thinking,” He answers, before elaborating upon seeing your confused expression, “It’s bad not because you’re bad, it’s bad because I’m bad.”

“… No you’re not?”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re really not,” You insist stubbornly.

“Please don’t be stubborn with me on this,” His tone makes it sound like he’s almost begging you, which is… somehow beyond terrifying to think about.

“I’m not being stubborn, I’m being honest, you’re really not.”

“But I am,” He sounds like he’s trying to make his tone sound like there’s no room for any further arguments, but he fails, and you continue to argue with him.

“No you’re not!” The whole conversation feels like a parallel to the one you’d both been having just a few minutes earlier, except this time you’re not giving up as easily, “How are you bad?”

“I’m—” Ghost pauses for a moment, not having expected that argument, and he weakly argues, “I just am!”

“You’re not, and you fucking know it!”

“Okay, well—” Ghost sighs and looks away from you, “You might not think so. That’s fine. But I know I am. If not for anything else, for you. I’d be… terrible as any sort of… I don’t know, role model to you.”

“Jokes on you, you’re already a role model to me.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” You raise an eyebrow at him, “You aren’t a terrible role model. A little emo, sure, but not terrible.”

“I’m emotionally and mentally unstable, and am terrible with empathy. I’m blunt, abrasive more than half the time, and I tell the shittiest jokes known to man. I can’t— I don’t show my face to anyone. I expect everyone to act the way I want them to. I’m almost always busy.”

“At least you’re self-aware,” You brush off, “And, for the record, I don’t know what abrasive means and I can’t tell empathy from sympathy without using Google.”

Ghost looks back at you in disbelief and stares for a moment before saying quietly, “Abrasive means harsh. And empathy is showing understanding for others while sympathy is pity.”

“I also like your shitty jokes,” You add on, “I think they’re great. They make everyone else mad so I like them. And some of them are funny.”

“You find them funny?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s…” Ghost blinks at you, eyes a little watery, before huffing out a small laugh, “That’s ridiculous, none of them are funny. I call them shitty for a reason.”

“Some of them are pretty funny.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“The Mayflower one.”

“… That one?” Ghost asks, tone humorous but still disbelieving, “Out of all the ones I’ve told, that one?”

“Yes, that one,” You insist, before pausing and holding back a smile while tacking on, “Unless you wanna tell it again to try and change my mind?”

Ghost thinks for a moment before telling the joke, “If April showers bring May flowers, what do Mayflowers bring?”

You feign cluelessness for a moment, “What do they bring?”

“Pilgrims.” The bluntness of the delivery makes you quietly snicker, much to Ghost’s surprise, the laugh not forced or anything.

“It’s still good,” You sigh, small giggles still escaping your lips.

“It’s really not,” Ghost sighs, finally retracting his hand from your shoulder to settle it on the railing of your bed and use it to help himself stand up. Once he fully stands up, he looks down at you, and one look at your face makes him want to whisk you out of bed and at least hug you, but he knows he can’t with your sore muscles and still-somewhat frozen skin.

Instead, he opts for grabbing one of your hands gently and giving it a very emotionally charged squeeze, and holding it for another few moments before letting go.

“I’m not forgetting that, by the way,” At Ghost’s confused eyes, you tack on, “You confirming earlier that you think of me as your kid.”

“That—” Ghost stammers for a moment before saying, “That was barely a confirmation, that was just— that was nothing.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes. Yeah. Yep.”

“So if I told you that you saying that that was nothing is making me a little bit upset…”

“… Then I would say, out of pity, that I did mean it and that it was a confirmation.”

“Good to know,” You nod.

“But that’s only a hypothetical.”

“Right, yeah, of course.”

You both stay silent for another moment, the silence now a little less awkward, before Ghost says, “I’m gonna, uh… head out, now.”

“Alright,” You hum simply, watching as Ghost nods to you as a sort of ‘bye’ before heading towards the curtains in front of your bed.

Before he can exit, you quickly and quietly say, “Thank you, for saving me.”

He pauses, a little confused on why you chose now to thank him—and why you thanked him at all—until he quickly recalls earlier in the conversation when he’d mentioned expecting some words of gratitude.

He smiles behind his mask, the smile evident in his voice as he replies to you, “No problem.”

392 notes · View notes

konigsluvr · 11 months

Note

Hey hey! I'd like to request König headcanons please. I was thinking more of his childhood but it can be anything really :D thanks x

Also I'm an Avatar fan too! Don't seem to know a lot of people who are into both #teamneteyam

Hey!! I looooove Avatar so much, I haven't been reading it much lately but 2 months ago I was on tumblr all day, everyday just reading various Avatar fics (best days of my life). I miss neteyam so much :(( I really hope this is to your liking<3 i have included some NSFW headcannons, but there will be a warning, if you are uncomfortable, just skip. Reposts are highly appreciated. I will literally marry you. And of course, here I present...

★ navigation ★ masterlist ★

König Headcanons

Includes: Childhood König. König x fem!reader. Fluff. Spice. Smut.

☆ As said in his biography, he has suffered from severe social anxiety throughout his life. This probably started developing in maybe late childhood/early teens.

☆ I can picture him as the quiet kid in school. Had a couple chill friends that he was comfortable around and hung out with after school.

☆ I think König was average grade student (like me lmao), not bad grades but not super good either, he just did what he had to do at school.

☆ He liked helping around the house so he could contribute and help his parents save time.

☆ He applied to the military at 17, having a job that allows him to blow off steam would help with his anxiety sometimes but if it's a more dangerous mission than usual, his anxiety might peak but he could have coping mechanisms.

☆ Even though he is 6'10" and literally all muscle, he can't stay still. Due to his anxiety again, he is fidgety at times depending on the social situation he is in. Now this leads onto the relationship stuff.

☆ With him being fidgety, I feel his love language is physical touch. He can sometimes struggle with his words but you always know that he loves you when he cuddles you or does little things like playing with your hair or holding your hand whenever you are in public.

☆ König isn't the best at working with technology but you'll show him how he can text you and phone you, so whenever he has free time at base or whenever he isn't with you, expect him spamming you with texts because he misses you so much :((

☆ He has a gym at home for when he wants to work out but with him having such a physical job he doesn't feel the need to workout everyday, maybe 3 or 4 times a week when he's home with you but at base he'll do it more as its like the only thing to do there.

☆ He enjoys going on walks. When he's home with you he'll love going on a walk in the woods or just wondering around town with you, go shopping to get food for supper or something, he'll sneakily buy flowers to surprise you. At base, he sometimes can't sleep well so he'll just walk around for some fresh air to clear his mind.

☆ His down time with you would be watching your favourite show or a random movie. He would do it just to cuddle up or be with you but he will get invested. Like I watched the notebook last night and I was thinking about König crying as you watch the notebook together.

☆ Like you'll be watching the movie and a sad scene comes up, you are already crying and you hear a sniffle but it isn't from you. You turn to your left and see a tear rolling down Königs cheek. This will make you cry harder as you wipe away his tears and cuddle into his neck.

☆ With König having a high payed job, he has a lot of money that he doesn't know how to spend. Lucky him, he has you. You would tell him its no bother, that you have enough clothes and pretty jewellery to last you a lifetime but he drags you to the car to your favourite store and you can't help but give in.

☆ He would get a former guard dog and train it to only command you and him, this dog would stay at home with you all the time. You would take it out walks and just spend your whole day with it. He wants to make sure you are safe all of the time.

NSFW AHEAD!!

☆ He likes to take it slow, make ethereal love to you and treat you like your made of glass. You would let a few tears roll down your cheek from his sweetness.

☆ Pussy eater!!! He is like a god with his tongue. Worships your clit like its his favourite thing while his fingers work in and out of you. It doesn't matter if you are crying from overstimulation, you have a safe word. His only mission is making you cum.

☆ Loves face sitting, literally just loves your pussy on his face and your thighs pushing against the side of his head. You would tell him that you are too heavy, he huffs frustrated and pulls you down on him and instantly gets to work. Let's just say, you forgot about what you said 3 seconds ago.

☆ Breeding kink. Sorry, not sorry. In all his fantasies about you, it's you all pretty n pregnant with his baby. You will have that pregnant woman glow and he just can't keep his hands off of you. He doesn't really wear condoms but you'll usually be on the pill, he still struggles to pull out but it's nearly impossible for him. But when he does cum in you, he finds it the sexiest thing ever. He'll use his fingers to plunge his load back into you to feed his growing hunger.

☆ He loves when you top him and take your time with him, but he also enjoys being in charge and having his sole focus on you, even if you just came for the fourth time from his tongue and his cock is rock hard.

☆ The ratio between him giving you head and you giving him head is very diverse. He loves a good blowie but only does it when you want to, he will never ask you.

☆ Isn't one for quickies, he wants to take his time with you. He wouldn't like the risk of someone else seeing you being intimate with him, that is a sight only for him to see.

☆ Isn't afraid to make noise in the bedroom. Whimpering. Moaning. Whining. Groaning. He does it all.

I hoped you liked this!! If you have any more requests don't be shy. Stay safe and take care of yourself my lovies xx

#konig mw2 #konig cod #konig x reader #konig call of duty #konig modern warfare #konig headcanons #konig #call of duty x reader #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty mw2 #call of duty #konig fluff #konig smut #konigsluvr

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modern-day-bard · 5 months

Text

Worth The Feeling

Note: this is a completed project but I’ve had major problems posting on tumblr from my laptop! I’m not sure why. If anyone who sees this is interested, I also posted the fic on Archive Of Our Own 🫶🏻

Content Warning: 18+

This story includes explicit smut, intimidation, and an age gap relationship (MC is 26, Pedro is in his 40s). Minors, do not interact.

Chapter 2:

Now, I've made some blunders before. Mostly calling talent by the wrong name, which is a big mistake when dealing with big personalities. But I've tripped a few times, spilled a few things, and I even broke a glass in the middle of a take.

Yet somehow, none of those things compare to this.

Treating the lead as if he was a PA? Telling him he needs to get a walkie ?

The thought makes me sprint even harder toward the sound stage. Once inside, I scan the area as quickly as I can. There's at least a hundred people in here now and the more I push past, the more I realize they are turning to look at me disapprovingly. I really should find a new shirt first, but it can wait.

"Lana!" I shout when I catch a glimpse of one of her classic colorful scarves. I can see the bright fabric tied in a bow on top of her curly head of hair, but she doesn't turn around.

"LANA!" This time several people, Lana included, turn around.

"Hey!" She runs up to me and sweeps me in a hug, before pulling back with an uncharacteristically miserable expression. "Why are you all wet? Ava, I can see your bra." She pokes my visible white strap.

I swat her away. "Just wait. That is the least of my worries."

I explain the situation, visibly cringing as I await her reaction.

In typical Lana fashion, she bursts into musical hysterics. She covers her mouth when she notices how pained my expression is.

"Lana, I am this close to panicking. You don't think he'll complain, do you?"

"No, no he won't complain. You said he was relatively cool about it, right?"

"Yeah, I mean, he didn't even correct me."

"Exactly. You know if it was one of the Marvel guys from our last picture, you might be in trouble. But from the sounds of it, he probably won't even remember it by tomorrow."

"Yeah..." Why did that idea not make me feel any better?

Lana is snickering again. "You know I sent you the cast list like a month ago, right? How do you of all people not recognize Javi Gutierrez?"

I lower my voice. "You know I'm not an indie movie fanatic."

"I know. It's your fatal friendship flaw. But he was on a bunch of shows, too!"

"I haven't had time for TV with school! Movies are less commitment. Don't scold me in my time of need." I wack her arm.

"Fine, fine," She holds her hands up in defeat. "But seriously Ava, unless you want to continue to give us all a free show you should really get another shirt. I have to get these mics up and running, but go to wardrobe and find Barb."

She's right. The first scene is at 8:00am, and as a sound assistant, Lana has to be ready to mic up the actors as soon as they're out of hair and makeup. I still have to print out scripts for the first few scenes, and I'm really starting to hate the sticky feeling on my stomach.

"Okay, thank you!"

Lana winks at me as I turn and head for the wardrobe trailer on the far side of the lot. Barbra has been on Norwick Productions sets since movies were invented. That is actually the answer she will give a person if they ask how long she's been working. She's the grumpy, tough-love mom I never had. And since Lana is pretty much the only person I hung out with during hiatus, I missed Barb dearly.

Barb's expression pales as soon as she sees me.

"Ava, it's only day one for god's sake."

"Don't worry Barb, Lana already scolded me for you."

"I do like that girl. And I'm guessing you came by to catch up after break, and not simply because you need my help?" She raises a knowing brow.

"Obviously." I flash her a very over-dramatic smile.

"I should give you one of the ratty uniforms from the end of this film for that."

"But you won't, because you love me." I batted my lashes.

"Uh-huh." Barb sighs, disappearing into the depths of the trailer before coming back out with a clean white t-shirt. No fuss, no fake blood.

"You are my guardian angel." I say after swapping the shirts.

"Bring me real coffee tomorrow instead of this crafty crap and we can call it even." She says in a flat tone, and I know she's not kidding.

I give her a quick hug. "It's good to see you Barb."

That makes her chuckle slightly. "You too, kiddo."

I check my watch again. 7:30am. Barely enough time to print out the scripts. I bid Barb a quick goodbye and head to the closest copier.

After kicking it a few times, and uttering several curse words, I got the copier up and running and several copies of today's script printed. I try to skim today's scenes while walking back to the soundstage. I'm beginning to grow curious as to watch is actually happening in this movie. Since we usually shoot scenes out of order, these few pages aren't helping very much.

Back on the soundstage, I spot Lloyd, our director, and walk over to hand him today's pages.

"Ava, welcome back." Lloyd says in his usual artistic drawl. He takes one of the copies from me, flipping through as though looking for something specific, though I know he is barely even skimming the pages.

Part of me is holding my breath, wondering if Javi would have complained to Lloyd or a production manager at this point. I'm not sure when he would have time for that between hair and makeup, but in a world where my mishap today costs me my job, he would find the time.

But, Lloyd is deep in conversation with a cameraman and doesn't spare me another glance. I take that as a good sign, and slowly slink toward the far corner of the room. This way I can still have a good view of the stage without calling too much attention to myself. I can see Lana across the room micing up one of the actors in the scene. Some older gentleman who I heard was popular on a cowboy show that I've never seen. I recognize his face more than I did Javi's, which embarrasses me further, even though the fact is only known to me.

Then, as though the gods of shame were looking down and laughing at me, Javi walks into the large room. I quickly open the first scene's pages to see if I can figure out whom he is playing. That, and so I can take my mind off of how he looks even more attractive in costume. I steal a glance up from the pages and see Lana micing him up now. He's smiling warmly at her, and she chuckles at something he said. Lana tends to laugh at most things, but I can't help but wonder what words were being passed between them.

The two men step onto the CIA set together, both dressed in impeccably tailored suits, making light conversation. Now is my que to bring them their copy of the pages for a final once-over before we roll the cameras. I inhale deeply and set my shoulders back.

Don't be intimidated, Ava. You can't embarrass yourself any worse than you already have.

Well, I know that last part isn't true. But I repeat it to myself all the same.

I walk up to the men, handing them each a copy with a smile.

The older gentleman gives me a friendly nod as he takes the script. Javi gives me the same smile he gave Lana a few minutes prior. I'm turning to leave, and I'm surprised when he says, "Thank you, Ava."

I pause, half out of surprise that he remembered my name, and half over the hesitation of wondering if I should apologize for earlier. But his attention is already on the pages, and there are so many people around to hear me admit my mistakes. I decide against it.

- - -

After we shoot the first few takes, I think I'm starting to piece together what the film is about. In the way that it is not unlike most other spy films I've seen. Older Cowboy, whose real name is still evading me, has a small role as the experienced head of the CIA who brings on Javi's character, a real loose cannon, despite his reservations. There is something about a kidnapping of Javi's lover that makes him "too close to the case," but he lies about his involvement with the woman to make sure he can be the one to save her. I'm assuming that is when we will be in Italy. Spy movies love a good ol' car chase in Europe.

I'm not blown away by the originality of the script or anything, but I'm still engaged in the scene even on their tenth take. I realize that Javi is actually quite talented. I'm only ever engaged in a scene if the actors are talented. That, or if Lloyd is having a breakdown.

I spend the rest of the scene trying not to notice just how well tailored that suit is on Javi. I never leer at the talent, but I always appreciate a good-looking man in a suit. Plus, there is something different about him. He has a kindness to him that I haven't seen with other actors. We've been working with a lot of big names recently, so maybe I've just become disillusioned. Even still, I know some lesser actors who would've complained about my assumption early, even if they painted it as a joke. They would never want me to fully live it down. But not Javi. At least, not so far.

When they call for a break, I decided it would be best to fulfill some of my other duties on another part of the lot.

The rest of the day goes by in a blur. I try to stay away from the soundstage, knowing that they will be working with Javi for the next few hours. I check my watch for the umpteenth today, and I crack a smile when I realize we only have about an hour left. My last stop is Emma Madden's trailer, our leading lady. And then I finally get to drive home and sleep.

I hadn't met Emma before, but similar to Javi, she isn't in the same celebrity category as our last film, so she seems much friendlier. I got a call on my walkie letting me know there was an issue with her food, and with not much else to go off of, I figured I might be in for a celebrity meltdown. However, when I got here, she let me know that she is severely allergic to mustard, and was afraid to touch the sandwich that had been dropped off to her. Sure, maybe it was a little 'Hollywood' for her to have me come and throw it in the garbage for her, but she was pretty apologetic about it.

"Thank you so much, Anna." She says with her knees brought up to her chest, as if she was shielding her center from the turkey sandwich springing back up out of the trash. Her expression is worried and her tone is so sincere that I don't correct her. Not that I would have otherwise.

"Not a problem Ms. Madden." I dust off sesame seeds from my palms.

"Oh please, call me Emma." She smiled at me now, and I couldn't help but like her a little.

"I know a mustard allergy is like, totally random, but it's actually pretty bad. I have an epipen and everything." I know she must be at least thirty years old, but her inflection reminds me of a teenager.

"I'll let crafty know. They should have sent you a food preference and allergy sheet to fill out months ago, that's the studio's fault."

"Oh, they did! I completely forgot about that. I figured it was just if you were a picky eater."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

"Well, no worries. I'll let them know now." I reach for the doorknob of the trailer.

"Thank you again!" Emma called out as I closed the door behind me.

As I'm finally able to drop off my walkie for the day, I run through all the ways that Emma's Mustard Mayhem could have cost the studio hundreds of thousands of dollars. How did they start production without having her sign a waiver? Why did no one double check that all the talent had sent in their allergy lists? If she were a higher profile celebrity, this could have been a huge issue. But as usual, these are the scenarios I keep to myself. And as I drive home, I try to run through only mustard scenarios, and ignore any that pop up with another actor in mind.

Series Masterlist

#pedro pascal x original characters #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #tlou #narcos #the mandalorian #javi gutierrez fanfiction #javi gutierrez x reader #javi gutierrez smut #javi gutierrez

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edvinroyals · 1 year

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Which is your favourite young royal fanfiction?

Mine is Honey and Lemon by Skamownsme4ever

Others are - bet you you'll go far, like he hung the moon and the stars, not it it's you, there all along, call me up late

Pretty much fics which make me smile non-stop cause they are so fluffy!!

Hey! I'm so happy to get another Fanfic ask!!!

I also really love Honey and Lemon, Bet You You'll Go Far, Not If It's You, There All Along and Call Me Up Late I haven't read Like He Hung The Moon and The Stars but I have added it to my list!

I am currently putting together a post of my favourite fic's from 2022 so thought I would offer you some of my favourites that fit the fluffy vibe you love here!

Bloom Where You Are Planted - By cloudymilk

Don't want to talk about how many times ao3 tells me I have read this one.

Hi Wille, I hope you’re doing well!

I hope you don’t mind but I saw sometimes you give plant advice and I think I might have killed mine

- OR -

Wille is a plant boy, Simon has a black thumb. They both run semi-popular Instas.

The Boy and the Bartender - By Spidaya

Simon is a bartender at a local bar with a sunny smile and confident attitude that hide the darker side of his life he wishes to keep hidden. Wilhelm, the prince of Sweden, is a lonely boy with too much love to give and not getting much love in return.

After they meet at a bar in not the most Prince-Charming way, their hearts are forever intertwined with each other, but not before going through the hurt, trials, and love that come with both of their lives.

Play My Song - By Elin98

It is 12.15 am and you’re listening to Late night Vibes with Simon on The Vibe FM, 104.6. I’m your host Simon Eriksson and I will be here with you all night. So for all you night owls, insomniacs, night shift workers, let me keep you company. I promise to only play good music and that we’ll have a good time.

Wille wishes he could sleep, would give just about anything to end the sleepless nights, escape the racing thoughts that have taken over his tired mind. By accident he stumbles upon a late night radio show one night and suddenly finds himself longing for the company of a boy he's never met.

On-Campus - By spa_ghetto

At the beginning of the spring term Simon and Sara receive a letter from Hillerska, offering a room and board scholarship. Sara is ecstatic. Simon can't help feeling like he's being led straight to his death. Now they're here, non-residents upgraded to residents. When his mom asks how things are going, he lies and says they're great, and no, he's definitely not bothered by the Crown Prince of Sweden living three doors down. He's over it. All of it. Really.

It's not that Wilhelm doesn't want Simon on campus, but—well, okay, it is exactly that, actually. Despite wherever their relationship is now, he's sure they can agree on one thing: Simon shouldn't be on campus, for one reason or another. So, why is he? What happened between last semester and this one? Wilhelm is a full-time student, part-time crown prince. He barely has time to sleep, let alone figure out the new Simon Situation (though, let's be real. It's all the same Situation), but between Simon nearly getting suspended and August having secret conversations in the hall, he can't help but get involved.

He can surely get to the bottom of this; he knows Simon like the back of his hand.

At least… he thinks he does.

Can I Take Your Order? - By littlefandom

“Okay,” the boy retorts, still eyeing him a bit curiously “can I take your order then, Wille?”

Wilhelm feels the blush on his cheeks deepen upon hearing his name on the boy’s lips. He can’t seem to find his voice again, his mind going blank. Felice did him what she wanted to order, right?

The waiter must have noticed he’s struggling but he only smiles a little, almost like he’s holding back a chuckle. Which does not help Wilhelm, because if his neutral, slightly tired expression was attractive before, now he’s just… wow, Wille’s brain shuts down again."

Wilhelm and Simon meet at the pizzeria in Bjärstad.

Arrhythmia - By pysanky

“Do you have the patient file for 223?”

Simon rifled through his papers and found it, extending the file out toward Wilhelm, who took it but remained there, lingering. Madison and Simon both looked at him, waiting.

Wilhelm cleared his throat again, opening his mouth and closing it before opening it again, but then someone was calling for him and he was gone, shoes squeaking against the linoleum. Simon sighed when he looked around the edge of the station and realized that the other was wearing Crocs.

(or: in which Simon and Wilhelm work together as medical residents at the same hospital)

That's What I Really Want - By yr_bb

“How do you want to do this?” Simon asked. “I know you need someone to go to this fundraiser... I need someone to come with me to my parents’ anniversary party... I’d like to propose that we pretend that this—” Wilhelm gestured between them, “is a thing until at least then.” They sipped their coffees in silence for a moment. Simon hoped he was imagining the tension.

Inspired by 'Boyfriend Material' by Alexis Hall, with characters from Young Royals. A classic slow burn fake boyfriends story with plenty of soft boys, angst and fluff.

I Never Knew Myself WIP - By demeterfics

Alex meets Wilhelm at a coffee shop in London, Alex inserts himself into Wille's life. Three years later, they're best friends living in a shared flat. Alex goes through some shit, Wille goes through some shit. Alex meets Henry when the weather causes him to find refuge.

Simon and his family moved to London and he doesn't exactly like it, but he finds himself a little corner of the city where he can be a barista and his sister, Sara works at a flower shop owned by Henry.

Rush Hour - By yr_bb

“This is going to sound so weird, and I swear I’m not stalking you or anything, but could I get your number?” Simon typed, then smirked, passing him back the phone. Wille’s face lit up. “Train Boy and a purple heart?” “Text me when we have signal, OK?”

What happens when you bump into a cute stranger on a busy train? Pure unadulterated fluff, that's what!

You're The Cats Meow - By melsj98

Meet Simon. Simon, who is an animal-lover. Simon who works at his local shelter with his best friends Ayub and Rosh. Simon who loves what he does and takes pride in making the shelter a safe space. Simon, who wants to take care of his family while also juggling college classes, his job at the shelter, and his tentative music career. Simon who can’t afford any distractions right now and definitely is not looking for a relationship after his last few disastrous attempts.

Enter Wille. Wille who just wants to get through college without too many problems, Wille who only really has three true friends in his life, Erik, Felice and Maddie, anyone else who says otherwise is lying. Wille who got into a minor fight, the details of why aren’t important. Wille who has a semi famous family and whose face is now plastered across magazines labeling him as “jealous” and “violent” and “attention-seeking” and all these other labels that don’t represent him at all. Wille whose mother sends him to work at an animal shelter to “clean up his image”. Wille whose life begins to change the second his eyes fall on Simon.

I'm Carrying Your Love With Me. - By Edvinroyals

This is mine so I feel like I should't add it but I am going to anyway.

Simon and Wilhelm coming back together, both knowing what they deserve.

aka : me unable to get that photo of Omar and Edvin in the jumpers out of my head because the Simon and Wilhelm engagement photo vibes were just 10/10 and my brain had to write it down.

#anon #fanfic #yr fanfic #young royals fanfic #young royals fan fic #fic rec #fic recs #young royals #young royals netflix #young royals fic recs

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elvisabutler · 2 years

Text

call me on the line

summary: olivia is off shooting a movie. you're doing your own thing on another set. olivia is a little needy but you know just what she needs. fandom: olivia dejonge | elvis 2022 pairing: olivia dejonge x gender neutral reader rating: m. word count: 1385 warnings: masturbation ( f ). long distance relationship. dom/sub. implication of orgasm denial. implication of overstimulation. use of the word princess. author's note: welcome to day eleven of kinktober phone sex with sub! olivia dejonge. i like this one a lot better than last night's one. i don't have much to say about this beyond i hope y'all enjoy because i really liked writing this. also this was kind of angsty i didn't mean it to be. oops. also yeah the mermaid fic is gonna be even later. i got real distracted watching top gun maverick.

"You're late." Olivia lets out a nervous laugh when she finally gets the call she's been waiting for all day.

"Crew meeting ran super late, but you know how that is, Liv." You attempt to reassure her, after all you hadn't meant to have her on edge like this. "Were you waiting by the phone?

You have a feeling you know the answer but you want to hear it from your girlfriend's lips, you want her to admit that she definitely was waiting by the phone.

"No, I wasn't." She answers sounding a bit whiny, like she knows she's lying and that it's going to get her in trouble but you had promised to call her at 6PM and now it was 8PM and she knows she has an early call time the next morning.

On your end of the phone, not that she can see it, your eyebrows shoot up. Your baby girl, your precious girl was lying to you. Oh, that wouldn't do at all. You had thought to make up for it you might make this a Facetime call but now, oh no, now Olivia deserved something different.

You hum and let out a puff of air. "What have I told you about lying to me, Princess? Hm? What have I told you that I never want you to do?"

There's silence on the other end for a long enough period of time that you almost think Olivia's hung up before you hear her speak her voice sounding small in a way you've never heard it before. "You said to never lie about how much I want you. How much I need you."

Oh. She's that needy today. Your tone shifts to something warm while also a little bit commanding. "That's right, Princess. I told you that if you needed me, if you wanted me you'd have to tell me. Is my Princess wishing I was there?"

"Y/N-" She starts, dragging out the last bit of your name. "You know I am. I wanted- last night you promised but we both fell asleep."

"Ah ah. I'm not a mind reader, Princess." You pause, and shift a little in your chair, the cushion suddenly feeling a bit too hugging. "Have you touched yourself?" A beat as you listen for a rustle of fabric. You hear it. "Are you already?"

Olivia does not want to answer, you can tell from the way her breathing quickens and she becomes suddenly very still, making sure no rustling of fabric can be heard. It takes a minute before she finally answers. "Yes. I've- I wanted to make sure I was wet for you, wet for when you told me to touch myself."

You gasp a little at the image, at the image of Olivia on her sheets, vibrator between her legs, wishing it was you playing with her and it. A growl colors your next words. "How wet are you, Princess?"

There's a gulp on her end before she shakily answers as she puts the phone closer to her cunt, close enough that you can hear her fingers sliding into herself. "Very."

You can't help the way you breathe in sharply at the noise, at how obscene your girlfriend touching herself sounds over the phone when you can't see it. You almost tell her to hang up and make this a video call but you realize maybe that's the fun of it. Maybe the fact that you're having to picture her pretty fingers sliding in and out of her cunt, playing with her clit, her playing with a vibrator or any number of things. If your teeth dig into your lower lip, Olivia doesn't realize it and doesn't comment on the fact that she can probably hear it.

"You shouldn't be touching yourself without my permission, Princess." You say a little shakily before clearing your throat. "You know better."

"You didn't call on time." She says simply and you can hear the pout in her voice, you can picture it vividly. She realizes what she's just done as soon as she's said the words though, and attempts to backtrack. "I just wanted- I missed you. I miss being able to come with you touching me. I miss your mouth on my clit, on my nipples, I-"

"How much did you miss it?" You ask, your own hand drifting down to between your legs. You're not going to touch yourself, not like Olivia is, but you know you need some form of touch to focus. "Have you already come once? Or are you just that needy for me? So needy that you've been dripping all day on set? Ruining those panties I bought you before we left Australia?"

She keens as she answers, a low broken sound just from the question. "I- Both. I already came once but- I've been wet all day, I dreamed about us, dreamed about that last night. Remember? Remember when you had your head between my legs?"

A laugh escapes you sounding surprisingly sinister. "You mean when I had your thighs crushing my head and I bit that pretty little clit of yours so hard you screamed? Princess, tell me you're touching yourself. Tell me if I remember that night with you on the phone right now you'll come for me. You'll be my obedient little Princess."

"Only for you. I'll- Please." She takes it as permission, her fingers playing with her clit, rubbing it slowly for right now, ready to increase her speed the more you talk. "You'll do it with me?"

"No, not tonight. Tonight's about you. I left my Princess needy, I've got to treat her right." You pause before you continue. "You squirted on my face. I remember we had to put the sheets in the wash and you were so embarrassed. Turned red all over like I bet you are right now. I think I lost track of how much you came. What was it, Princess? Three? Four?"

"Five!" She practically shouts before letting out a low groan. "I couldn't- that last one, those last two I was so oversensitive. I couldn't- it hurt a little."

"A lot, I remember having to carry you to the bath and you practically jumped when I tried to clean you up down there." A pause. "Are you close, Princess? Were you close when I called you?"

A whimper. "I- I was, please don't be mad. I'm- god I'm right there, Y/N."

You lower your voice to a whisper. "I'm not mad, not even disappointed. But you know what you can do for me, Princess? What I want my gorgeous Princess to do for me?"

"What? I'll do anything, just let me cum, please."

You let out another downright sinister laugh before you hum. "That's what I want. Just come for me. Come so that I can hear those pretty noises. Hear your whiny little moan."

That does it for her, that sends her barreling toward her release and has you having to breathe through your nose, trying not to focus on your pleasure, the pleasure you want to enjoy hearing that whine escape her lips, hearing your name in choked out syllables fall from her lips. All you hear is breathing for a good five minutes, Olivia must have been struggling to reach her orgasm if she was taking this long to recover and your heart twists a little with the knowledge. When she finally speaks, your heart twists once more.

"When can I come see you? When are they going to give you some time off from everything?"

You sigh. "Next month. Babe- let's not talk about that tonight. Have you taken a bath? You want to take one after this? I know you're probably tired."

She's always tired after she orgasms, but you really just want to make sure you give her aftercare even if you aren't there. "I can run one. Can we- Can we switch to FaceTime? I want to see you."

"Sure." A pause. "Go run it and I'll call you in just a minute, okay. I've got to get on something more comfortable. Love you."

A hum is the only answer you get back as you hear the water running before she hangs up. This time you actually call back within a minute.

#olivia dejonge #olivia dejonge x reader #olivia dejonge smut #olivia dejonge x you #olivia dejonge fanfic #olivia dejonge fic #olivia dejonge x y/n #elvis 2022 #i think that might be all the tags?#kinktober 2022 #ally's kinktober 2022

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ravs6709 · 11 months

Text

Letters From The Heart (They Spell Out Love)- Marelliana

Word count: 4.7k words

to avery @skylilac !!! your late birthday gift is finally here!!! and also now the last of these bday fics is done! marelliana pining angst... iove letters... (also minor keefitz)

warnings: swearing

enjoy!!!!

•~•~•~•~•~•

It was no secret that Biana liked Keefe. It was as clear as day. The longing stares that contained awestruck eyes, the truth or dare that ended in a near-kiss. It'd been the case for years, so really, Marella should have known better, but, she couldn't help but fall for Biana anyways.

Whenever it was just the two of them hanging out together, she could live in her own delusions. But of course, fantasies couldn't last forever.

It was during English class, when their poetry assignment had been returned.

"What'd you get, Marella?" Biana asked, putting her own paper on Marella's desk. High eighties, a good mark.

Marella herself had always been average at English, but she proudly took out her paper that had been marked with a 98.

"Oh, damn," Biana said, "can I read it?"

She let her read it, taking a delight at the impressed smile that graced her face.

"I didn't realize you were so good at poetry," Biana remarked.

I wanted to be good at poetry so I could write letters to you, Marella very carefully did not say. I wanted to be able to put my feelings to words, she also didn't say.

Instead, she said, "It was a recent hobby."

Biana looked at her with a complicated expression that she couldn't decipher.

And she wouldn't be able to figure out why until later that evening, while they hung out in Biana's room.

"Marella," Biana said, looking at her with a serious expression. "I want you to help me write a love letter to Keefe."

They'd had never had the best friendship, they'd gotten off to a rocky start, making petty jabs and insults, and when they got along it didn't take long before one of them would say something to let them drift apart.

But no matter what they'd say to each other, they'd always come right back to each other, they'd never truly leave the other's orbit.

After all of those years they've known each other, at this moment, all Marella could think was, you have never hurt me more than you have now.

She shook off the thought. Obviously it wasn't intentional, and obviously she didn't even know. Still, it doesn't hurt any less.

Any delusions that she'd had were shattered like glass. Biana wasn't in love with her. She probably never would.

"Marella? You don't have to if you don't want-"

"I'll help you with it." The words escaped from her own mouth before her brain could even think.

Biana's face brightened. "Thank you! I'll do as much as I can, I don't want it to feel disingenuous, and I'll even pay you for it if you want-"

"You don't need to pay me."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm your friend," Marella told her, "I can do this for you."

Refuse to do this, it wouldn't be too hard. Aren't you the one who usually ends up having to be the one to give in, to suck in your pride? a traitorous part of her brain told her. Why do this to yourself? You'll only get yourself more hurt.

Marella held back a sigh. I love her too much.

Biana pulled her in for a hug, and her damned heart beat rapidly in her chest as she tentatively returned the embrace.

"I'll start writing it later tonight, I guess," Biana said, pulling away. "I'll text you when I share the doc with you."

"Alright," Marella said with a nod of her head. She probably just got rid of her last chance of backing out of this.

•~•~•~•~•~•

-- I shared the doc with you! Biana texted.

"Dear Keefe Sencen,

From the very moment I met you, I've fallen in love with you. Not just for your looks (though I can admit it definitely doesn't hurt), but your fun personality, for the jokes that I hear that bring a smile to my face. For your presence which lights up the room whenever you walk in. I just couldn't help but fall for you. Maybe I'm a coward, for not being able to tell you this straight , but I wanted you to know.

Love, Biana "

-- for someone who reads and watches so many romantic dramas, youre surprisingly shit at love letters, Marella texted.

-- What's wrong with this?

-- not charming enough

-- too forward

-- want something that captures attention. have an air of mystery

" Dear Keefe,

I'm sure you get letters like these all the time. Maybe to you, this piece of paper will be like all the rest. But to me, this mere piece of paper holds my heart and soul.

I'm a fan of yours. I have been, for many years. From the moment you walked into my world, it's been lit up in a kaleidoscope of colours . I can't help it , my heart is drawn to you, I can't stop myself from looking your way, seeking out your smiles, listening to your jokes.

You're as warm as sunshine. Your presence is blinding, I'm captivated. And like the sun, you're so high up in the sky , it feels as if you're unreachable. I'm too much of a coward to tell you all this in person, I'm much too afraid to come too close. All I can do is bask in your radiance, and hope that this letter might mean something to you , even just a little.

From one letter alone , I don't expect you to make a decision, or to even fall in love immediately. But if you'll allow me, I'll offer you my heart, again and again, until you are sure that you can make your choice, whether it's to accept me, or reject me.

If you should wish to write back to me, in the back of the field is a tree. On that tree is a piece of flaky bark, and underneath is a little cranny large enough to fit a letter. Deliver it before 3:30 pm, and every day, I'll check there. Any letters I write I'll slip into your locker at 8:30 am, so I request that you please do not try and uncover my identity.

Your greatest fan, Anonymous"

-- Isn't this also extremely forward?

-- You took out my name? Why? And also this was... more than I was expecting

-- I thought it'd just be one letter

-- you think hed fall in love with one letter???

-- dont be naive

-- its not a romantic drama

-- the anon is to prevent any bias

-- if hes gonna fall in love it needs to be done right

-- trust me

-- I guess. It makes sense

-- Thank you Marella. Ilysm

Marella smiled despite herself. She had Biana's love in this way, it was fine.

-- ilyt

•~•~•~•~•~•

"Huh?" Keefe asked as he opened his locker.

"What's that?" Fitz asked, pointing at the envelope.

Marella snuck a glance at Biana, who was standing on her toes, fidgeting with her fingers.

She elbowed her. "You're being too obvious," she hissed.

"Is that a love letter?" Tam asked. "For you?"

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean? Who can resist the Keefester?"

"I can," both Marella and Tam both said in unison, and then they smiled at each other and high-fived.

"Uh-"

"You sound very cringe when you call yourself that," Sophie said, a hand over her mouth.

"Foster!"

"Are you..." Fitz said, "are you going to read it?"

"It'll be rude if I didn't. I'm wondering if I should read it now or at home."

Before Biana could do something like get more nervous and give herself away, Marella replied, "Read it here. In a hallway with no one else, and we'll be quiet and respectful towards whoever wrote the letter."

As they settled down and began eating in one of the school's hallways, Keefe took out the letter from the envelope. He read it out loud as everyone else stayed silent.

"So..." Fitz began once Keefe finished reading, his voice slightly off, "what are you going to say?"

"It's quite the heartfelt letter," Keefe said, "I like that they're willing to respect any boundaries that I might set."

"Are you going to write back?" Biana asked, eyes shining.

"I think I will. What do you think, Fitzy? Should I write back and see what this person is like?"

"It's... your love letter. Do what you want."

"I think I'd like to see how it goes. Who knows, maybe I'll fall in love with the person who wrote the letters."

Marella felt her heart writhe, her nails digging into her palm. She never actually got the vibe that Keefe had a crush on Biana.

Who could resist her? Of course he'll fall in love. That was the whole point of this.

•~•~•~•~•~•

It was decided that Marella would send and collect any letters, just in case anything happened. She knew a lot if people, and even more of the gossip, so it wouldn't be unreasonable if someone had asked her to help out. And unlike Biana, Marella was very good at lying.

At Biana's place, they opened up Keefe's reply letter.

"Dear Anonymous,

You're right, I have gotten a few love letters. But none quite like the one you've given me. It read as very sincere and heartfelt, and I like that.

To have your heart offered to me like this, to trust that I'll either treasure it or return it to you back safely, it's an honor. I'll continue writing to you, I hope to get to know you a little better.

Sincerely, Keefe"

"Damn, he can be really eloquent when he wants to," Marella said with an impressed whistle. "A shame that he ends up talking the way he does."

"Hey, it's charming," Biana defended. "Besides, you're the same. I've never seen you write the way you did."

"You also have barely seen the way I write in general."

"That's true, I guess."

•~•~•~•~•~•

Marella read Biana's next reply, this time, on paper, since they were with each other.

"Oh my god, you're so lucky you have me here to fix this."

Biana made a half irritated pout, one that Marella had to admit looked really cute. "What's wrong with it?"

"The stuff you say is fine, but the tone, the tone is just lacking," Marella said, crossing out some words in favour of some better synonyms. "Did you just pick words out of a thesaurus?"

She huffed. "And reuse basic vocabulary?"

"You're going overboard. You've gotta write like you're actually in love."

"Are you in love, that you can do that?"

Fuck. She walked right into that one.

It seemed that she didn't mask her panic fast enough, because Biana noticed.

"Wait, Marella. You're in love? And you didn't tell me?"

"I didn't think I needed to," Marella said, and even she knew that it sounded way too snappy.

"We're best friends, Marella," Biana said, taking a hold of her hand. "You let me talk about Keefe, what about you and your crush?"

"It's unrequited," she said, hoping Biana would then drop it.

"Oh. Seriously? Are you sure?"

"The person I love is in love with someone else."

"Who wouldn't fall for you?" Biana asked, looking at her with a strange expression.

Marella clenched her jaw at the irony of such a question. You. You wouldn't fall for me.

"So, who is it? Is it someone I know?"

Hesitantly, Marella nodded. After a few seconds, she sighed. "Let me fix your letter."

"Dear Keefe,

Words cannot explain how happy it makes me to know that at the very least, you're willing to give me a chance. My heart will be safe in your hands, I know it will."

Marella paused, eyes wandering to Biana for a moment.

"I feel as if for the first time, I might be able to stand level to you. That maybe, you're not so unreachable. It's so warm by you, I can't stop myself from drifting closer and closer. Maybe, by the end of this, you'll be within arm's reach.

There's so much I want to say to you, but I don't know how to say everything it is that I feel. But maybe , we should go slow about this, until I can finally figure out just exactly what to say.

You like art, and from what I've seen, the art you've made is breathtaking. I make little crafts on occasion, maybe I'll make you something."

"What are you doing?" Biana asked.

"Helping you woo him? Who doesn't like gifts? Besides, it doesn't have to be much, just a little bracelet. I know you love making them."

Marella would know, she was wearing one of the bracelets that Biana had made at the very moment.

"Would he wear it?"

"Probably."

"If I ever make you a bracelet, I hope you'll like it.

Love, Anonymous"

•~•~•~•~•~•

"What is that?" Fitz asked.

Keefe held up his arm proudly, a bracelet made up of colourful beads on his arm. Marella hated just how easily this was working. "My secret admirer made it for me!"

"And you're wearing it?"

"Why not? It's really pretty!"

Fitz's voice was slightly off again, but once more, Marella couldn't pick up on what was off. Marella looked towards Biana, who was giving Keefe incredibly obvious heart-eyes.

"I'll go make sure our eating spot isn't taken," Linh said, taking Biana by the arm as they started chatting away.

The others followed, and Marella turned to follow.

"Hey, Marella," Keefe called out.

She turned around to face him, and Fitz was also there too.

"You wouldn't happen to know anything about the secret admirer, would you?"

She forced on a grin. "Even if I did, I wouldn't tell you."

"Of course, of course," he said casually.

"Do you... want to meet this person?" Fitz asked.

"It'd be nice to meet them, whenever they're ready. My heart is quite moved by the letters I've been receiving."

•~•~•~•~•~•

Even though Marella would read through Keefe's replies with Biana, she couldn't stop herself from trying to catch him whenever he was writing back. She needed to know. That love-struck expression, was it on his face whenever he was writing?

Sometimes, Biana would slip the unedited copy of her letter in Marella's locker, because she said that handwriting made it easier to think.

Biana and Marella actually hung out more than ever because of this whole thing, Biana seemed insistent on trying to write the letters herself, despite Marella telling her that she'd be able to do it better.

"If you had to write a love letter to your crush, how would you write it?"

"The things I helped write to Keefe, many of them are my genuine feelings. My crush is unreachable, I long to see them smile at me, I want to be the reason why they're happy. All sappy stuff."

"You say your crush is unrequited, but how come you won't tell me who it is? It's someone I know, you confirmed that much."

"Don't feel like saying, that's all," Marella said casually.

"I haven't even seen you flirt much lately," Biana pointed out. "This person, are they a serious crush?"

"Head over heels."

"How long have you had this crush?"

"A long time," Marella admitted. "But I only realized it recently."

"I hope this person gets to realize how much they mean to you. You're really fun to be around, they're missing out."

•~•~•~•~•~•

"The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that you know the identity of my admirer," Keefe said to her, later.

"And why would you say that?"

He shrugged. "Just a feeling."

The two of them were walking through the hallway together, and she expected him to say more since he seemed so enthusiastic, but instead he kept his mouth shut, humming under his breath.

They passed by Fitz and Biana, and it was only then that Keefe spoke up again.

"Ah, can't get the idea that I have such wonderful admirer after my heart," he said, grinning. He leaned over, using her as an arm rest—damn his tall genes. "I wonder what I should write this time."

Marella was honestly just willing to let him do his thing, but Biana's weighted look at them had her shoving his arm off.

•~•~•~•~•~•

"Dear Bia—"

Marella sighed, scratching out the name. Biana's desk was right beside hers, she couldn't risk something like that.

" You're in my mind, more often than not. It drives me crazy, but I like it. I like being crazy for you . Just being near you, just being able to see you has my heart racing, it's exhilarating.

Sometimes I wonder if I should just stop hiding, and just tell you my feelings, consequences be damned. To tell you that you're the most beaitiful person I've ever seen. To hold you close in my embrace, to run my hand through your hair, I want to have a life filled with soft moments with you.

What do I do? What do I say to make you look my way, even though I'm so close to you—"

"Marella?"

Her heart leapt, and she scrunched the paper in a ball, pulling it toward herself.

"Class is over—what's in your hand?"

Marella glanced up at the clock, and shit, class really was over, had she been doing this for fifteen minutes now?

"Helping you," she said confidently.

Maybe too confidently, because Biana raised an eyebrow. "You looked lovestruck. That wasn't for my sake."

She sighed. "Fine. Yeah. It wasn't."

"Can I read it?"

"No," she said, trying very very hard to not sound defensive. "It's too raw."

She grabbed her backpack from off the floor and shoved the crumpled ball of paper in. She ignored Biana's stare and instead walked with her out of the classroom and to their next class.

•~•~•~•~•~•

"Hey, Marella, let me do it this time."

Marella briefly glanced over the words that Biana had written down this time.

"You still need my help."

"Am I not doing better?"

Marella reread the words again. "You are." She really was. Biana was quick to learn. "Still, it's not enough."

It's easier for me, if I do this. Anyone would fall for you if they received a letter like the one you just wrote.

"I have to be able to do them on my own at some point, I think you know that. Why are you so insistent on writing all of them for me?" Biana asked.

"This is for your sake."

"They're my letters. I can't deceive him forever and use your words. I want him to fall for me, not you."

Before Marella could laugh at the idea that Keefe would fall for her, Biana continued on.

"You enjoy writing letters to Keefe, don't you?"

Marella blinked. "Wha—"

"That's it, isn't it? You're in love with him, right? You said your crush is someone you know, and I saw a little bit from when you were writing that letter. You want him to look your way, even though he's so close to you."

"Wait wait wait," Marella said, taking in a breath to calm down the irritated feeling that was building up in her chest, only for it to grow more. "You think I'm in love with him."

"I've seen the look on your face. Maybe you started this for my sake, but I know you're only continuing to be selfish."

She'd been trying to keep the irritation together, but she snapped, and irritation turned to anger. "Are you kidding me? Are you actually fucking kidding me? I took my time go help you out and this is what you have to say to me?"

You're right! I'm being selfish! She wanted to say, almost manically.

Marella picked up her backpack from the bedroom floor and turned to leave.

Biana caught her arm. "Explain, then!"

You, damn it! I'm in love with you!

"I don't owe you anything," she said with gritted teeth. "I am done. Don't talk to me."

"Marella—"

She wrenched her arm out of Biana's grip, and left the house. She practically stomped her way home, because what the hell was that? Did Biana seriously think she'd jeopardize everything over a guy?

She just couldn't believe this. They had their fights, but this? This was just nonsense, and the fact that Biana believed it for even a second...

She wasn't going to go crawling back to Biana.

•~•~•~•~•~•

Biana had sent a few messages, but Marella wasn't having it, so she blocked her. She sat with the friend group at lunch, meaning that she still did have to see Biana's face every day, feel Biana's stare on her every day. The others probably noticed that something was wrong between them seeing that they weren't talking, but Keefe's questioning gaze on hers was the most obvious.

A few days later, Marella opened her locker and found an envelope. A familiar patterned one that she knew Biana owned.

She had the urge to open it, to read it, but really, what was she going to see? All that would ever be contained inside those letters would be Biana's words to Keefe.

What did Biana think she was doing, giving her another letter to read? Marella held the envelope in her hands, ready to just tear it apart, but instead, she shoved it in her bag.

•~•~•~•~•~•

The letters persisted. Day after day, no matter how many times Marella kept shoving them in her backpack without reading them.

How many letters were Biana going to write? The pile on her desk at home was growing larger, almost concerningly. She wasn't going to read any of them though. Biana had crossed a line.

•~•~•~•~•~•

Marella was walking down the halls and into the stairwell to get to her next class, when she saw Keefe. She only saw the back of him, only saw a brown hand tangled in his blond hair. She couldn't see the other body, hidden behind the stairs, but that position was obvious.

Keefe was kissing someone. And it was pretty obvious who it was.

They were so absorbed in it too, that they didn't even notice that she'd opened the door. Or that she was climbing up the stairs.

Wasn't this what you expected to happen? Of course it'd turn out this way. Who'd reject her?

"Keefe," a voice whispered, echoing in the stairwell, and what the hell, that wasn't Biana's voice—

"Yeah yeah, I know, you gotta get to class," Keefe said with mock irritation.

Marella looked down from the railing above as Keefe came out of the little alcove behind the stairs.

—and then Fitz followed.

Marella practically ran to her next class.

Unfortunately, Biana was in this class with her, sitting in front of Marella.

Keefe kissed Fitz. Had feelings for Fitz.

Did Biana know? Was she heartbroken?

Then she fought off those questions. Doesn't matter. We're not friends anymore.

•~•~•~•~•~•

The letters still kept coming. Whenever she looked to Biana, she would've thought that she'd continue to send those longing glances towards Keefe, but Biana was never looking at him every time she'd looked.

No. Biana was looking at her. Every time.

Almost as if Biana had moved on from Keefe already.

Why are you looking at me like that? Are you just gonna sit there and stay silent?

When the next letter came, she wasn't sure why, but Marella opened the envelope, holding the paper in her hands.

"Dear Marella Redek,

I know you won't read this, like I know you haven't read the rest. You said for me to not talk to you, so I won't . So until you tell me to stop sending you letters, I won't . I've realized that I can't give up on our friendship, I can't give up on you.

I'll keep writing, I'll keep desperately hoping that one day, you'll read one.

I've taken you for granted, Marella. This isn't our first fight , but this is the one I've felt most guilty for, because I've really disrespected you. I want you to know that I miss you. That I never realized how much your lack of presence makes me feel lonely . It's not the poetic letter I've been trying to write all this time, but these are my feelings, pure , raw, and unfiltered.

I miss you, Marella. I hope one day you'll forgive me.

Love, Biana Vacker"

Sitting alone in her room, Marella felt her eyes water. Without thinking, she grabbed at the pile of envelopes and started reading through each of them.

"I revealed myself to Keefe. I thought that'd I shouldn't hide behind your words anymore. Keefe told me that he's in love with Fitz. It hurt to hear, but somehow, it didn'thurt as much as it did when I watched you leave.

I'm sorry, for what I said. I'm so, so, so sorry."

So many letters. Just how much had Biana written to her?

" I've done a lot of thinking. Part of me wonders if I'd ever been in love with Keefe, or just the idea. I think I probably was, maybe I'd be more heartbroken if I hadn't lost you. But I've done a lot of thinking , and I've decided on something.

I love you. I've told you this before, many times , but it might mean something different this time . I'm not entirely sure yet . It just feels different, compared to when I usually say it. I can't get you out of my head, I want to hold you close. I want you to look my way."

Tears were falling as she kept reading, a hand at her mouth to muffle the sounds of crying.

"I thought about things some more. You've been in love with me, haven't you? I'd thought that you liking Keefe would be weird, but I was too blinded by jealousy to see it.

I'm not sure how I came to that conclusion, but the more I think about it, the more sense it makes. And that's why you acted the way you did. Someone would probably say that it was an act of self-sacrifice, to give it up to help your friend. I don't disagree, but I'm sure that you helped me so much because you were scared.

And that's fine. I'm scared too. I'm terrified, that the time when you left could be our very last conversation with each other. I'm terrified of losing you. I'm terrified of telling this to all of you in person, which is why I'm sending letter after letter ."

A sob came out from her, her hand had been long dropped. She rose to her feet, blindly grabbing at her desk for a paper and pencil.

•~•~•~•~•~•

Marella stood there, frozen at Biana's locker, envelope in hand. After a few moments of deliberation, she slipped it in through the gap, then waited nearby.

Biana opened her locker, and while Marella couldn't see her face, she could see her her freeze, gently pick up the envelope, open it, then bounce on her feet. She could see Biana look around, but Marella pulled her head back.

A mere sentence was what her letter contained.

"Meet me by the tree where the love letters were delivered after school."

•~•~•~•~•~•

Biana had gotten there first, pacing around, and Marella could see her fiddling with her fingers. When Biana saw her, her face lit up with a gorgeous smile that made her heart flutter, even if she wanted to be mad for a little longer.

"You read them?" Biana asked, voice quiet.

"I read them," Marella replied. "That conclusion you came to, you were right. It was—" no, that wasn't right, "—it has been you."

Biana reached out and slowly grabbed her hand, gripping loosely. "I'm glad, that it's been me. I'm sorry."

"I know. You said it a lot in your letters."

"I know," Biana agreed, her thumb brushing against Marella's knuckles. She couldn't figure out whether to look up at her gaze or look down at their hands. "But I'll say it again, because you deserve to hear it."

"I missed you," Marella said, and she was sure that Biana could fill in the rest.

I miss you, I want to continue staying by your side. I forgive you.

"I missed you too."

"Where do we go from here?"

Biana smiled. "I don't know. But I want you with me as we figure it out."

Then she brought Marella's hand to her lips, a gentle brush, but even that was enough to leave her breathless.

"Okay," she said, heart pounding, "okay."

•~•~•~•~•~•

Kotlc taglist: @stellarune @my-swan-song @impostertamsong @subrosasteath

Want to be added/removed from the kotlc taglist? Just let me know!

#marella redek #biana vacker #keefe sencen #marelliana #kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #kotlc fanfiction #ravi writes a thing

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thedawningofthehour · 1 year

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Oh my god, Mikeyyyy my little orange boy. You deserve better.

As soon as Leo heard that there is a possibility that Donnie might not get his memories back he became the representation of almost every reader; I hear you Leo, but please listen to Mikey! I just hope, HOPE, that nothing the fam does ruins Mikey's progress.

Who knew Donnie's autistic teenage brain would be the key to Draxum's downfall. Although does that mean the idea of Donnie getting his memories back through a super emotional rock ballad is out of the question?

Xever, please stop being transphobic.

Poor Tigerclaw, hopefully his affection will carry over when Donnie gets his memories back. I wonder, what did he do in this continuity to make Alopex hate him? In the show, Alopex blames Tigerclaw because he always made the decisions saying he knew what was best for both of them, besides killing their parents. If Alopex ever appears in the fic I can easily see her helping the fam, and hating Draxum because of his arguments that he knows best.

You mean like with Pearl in the SU movie? I mean, that's not how it's gonna go, but that song is iconic.

I kind of saw it as more misogynistic than anything. Would Xever be transphobic? 'Googles some stuff about gay rights in Brazil' Oh, they're actually at the top of the list when it comes to LGBT rights. Good for them!

But, and I'm just reading from the Wikipedia page, it seems like this extends more just to the LGB part, and a lot of transgender people end up in the sex industry because they can't get work elsewhere. Attitudes have been changing in the last few years, but it's 2020 in the story and Xever has been living in the U.S. for a few years, so he wouldn't have been around for that. The murder rate for LGBT individuals is very high in Brazil-but the murder rate in Brazil is high in general right now, so that's probably more of a reflection of the political unrest going on right now than attitudes towards gay people.

Now I'm really thinking about Xever's backstory and how it would have influenced his perceptions. He grew up poor, mostly out on the streets getting involved in crime and gang activity from a young age, and while he's definitely smart he's very undereducated. How progressive are Brazilian gangs? Would he feel some sort of kinship and mutual respect for trans people selling themselves on the street, because he's also doing what he needs to do to survive? Or would he look down on them because "at least I didn't stoop to that."

And he has lived in the U.S. for a bit-but again, he's mostly hung around gangs. And I am so totally here for women's wrongs and queer mob bosses, but gangs in the U.S. are generally pretty misogynistic and homophobic. Not that people can't break out of the mindsets they've been immersed in most of their lives, but like-people need resources to do that. Xever has like a sixth grade education that was probably not very good to begin with (impoverished school with low budget, crowded unruly classes, poor attendance and didn't pay much attention when he did go because he was a hungry kid who had bigger priorities) and he's lived life in survival mode for a long, long time. He probably doesn't think about that kind of stuff and doesn't really have the tools to refute what he's been indoctrinated with. This is why cutting education is fascism 101, by the way-it makes it way easier to indoctrinate people with bullshit.

(fuck, this got off the rails)

I still haven't made a concrete decision on Alopex. I'm pretty sure she's going to appear, but I haven't nailed down a definite backstory for them yet and I haven't decided if they'll reconcile. He didn't kill their parents here though-he never returned home after they were kidnapped. He didn't know if his family was still alive or if they would accept him, and he decided that he would rather just never know.

#doth asks #xever montes #tigerclaw

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educatedinyellow · 2 years

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For the Fic Rec asks, 💯 A fic that makes you think #writergoals, 💞 A fic that led to you making friends with the author, and 🔁 A fic you’ve re-read several times

Thank you so much for this ask, @thetimemoves! I will stick to Holmesian answers, and starting with the first:

A fic that makes you think #writergoals

The King is in his Counting House by Rhuia (Sherlock/John, Molly/Amalthea, 2.5K, rated T) Quests may not simply be abandoned; prophecies may not be left to rot like unpicked fruit; unicorns may go unrescued for a very long time, but not forever.

This little fusion between BBC Sherlock and The Last Unicorn reminds me of what I aspire to as a writer. I've never really wanted to write novel-length stories, though I very much admire and appreciate those writers who do. At heart I incline to the short story. I love how economy of language, in the right hands, turns lyrical. I like the tone that results from flitting from vignette to vignette, and the way that something so brief can still be funny or haunting or powerful, can trace with a light touch over deep emotion that is all the sweeter for being carefully implied rather than linearly developed.

This particular story combines a lot of things that are dear to me personally. It's a fusion (I adore fusions!) with a fantastical, bittersweet fairy-tale that made a huge impression on me in childhood. It doesn't try to explain the whole story for those readers who don't know the source, it just trusts that those who know the book/film will get the references, and those who don't will be able to pick up the gist well enough not to lose that fairy-tale feeling. It concentrates on creating a tone strong enough to carry people rather than over-explaining or expositing to get everyone up to speed -- sometimes I lack that confidence, and it's good to be reminded that if a story is working for a reader they will be willing to trust you and follow you and accept those things left unexplained. I also enjoy the fact that it's a T-rated story that writes about both sex and romance with just the right touches of playful implication and also heartfelt yearning -- to the extent that I write about those things, too, this is the style I love best. I also admire that this was originally written for a flashfic community, and you can tell -- it feels dashed off, not labored, and although not every line is perfect, it has the energy of a captured dream. Too often I struggle to get things down on the page. I would like to get to the point where I write down more dreams. If I have a glint of a thought, it's good to put it down and see if it grows into something small and personal, like this fic. I also appreciate that even in so short a story, the author included a second pairing that wasn't M/M -- I think many fic writers, myself included, don't take opportunity all that often to do so. Most of all, I love this fic for its language. It has its own voice, its own combination of humor and surrealness and heartbreak and joy.

2. A fic that led to you making friends with the author

Oh man, you know, my internet friendships tend to happen so gradually that I usually can't actually remember how they started :) I just feel like most of the time I've hung out in shared fandom spaces and seen people around and gradually exchanged comments on things and then eventually somehow a tipping point has passed and we're friends now?? LOL! But there are a few where I do remember a particular fic kickstarting that process -- I'm pretty sure it was Sanguinity's beautiful 7PER fic, Particular Debts, that she gave me as a gift for Holmestice years ago, as well as its lovely hurt/comfort companion piece Brandy and Soda, that sort of put us on the path to get to know each other better, though I think we'd seen each other around at Holmestice for years before that. And then when I first started learning how to vid, I felt like we were friendly enough that I could reach out to her and ask for help. Her incredibly generous response where she walked me through a ton of the trickiest bits of getting started, and listened to me whine, and insightfully betaed all my vids for, like, the whole first year running and also every time I asked after that really was, for me, a lovely bonding experience and a seal of friendship :)

I must also shout out to the wonderful Donna_Immaculata, whom I got to know because of her stunning Vetinari/Vimes fic, Bracae Temporis!

3. A fic you’ve re-read several times

You know, I'm not as much of a re-reader as you might expect (I myself am surprised that I don't do it more often) -- perhaps it's because the fics that make the biggest impression on me linger so strongly in my memory that it often feels like I don't need to reread, I just revisit them in my head! However, that being said, in the BBC Sherlock fandom, this is one I've reread repeatedly:

Make Whole What Has Been Smashed by gigantic. (Sherlock/John, 12.5K, rated T). The premise of the story is that for John and everyone else time moves forward as normal, but Sherlock experiences the flow of days backwards, so that John's tomorrows are always his yesterdays and vice versa. It's sad and beautiful and infused with wonder and gratitude. A deeply loving story about making the most of this impermanent life.

And I'll throw in one extra recommendation, just for the heck of it. When going through my bookmarks I was reminded of a series that never did gain much readership but which I consider eminently worthy of attention and rereads: Lindentreeisle's Push!Verse series, a sort of dystopic fantasy in which Sherlock and John have supernatural gifts (Sherlock for tracking, John for healing) and are on the run from the sinister Division seeking to recruit them. The detailed world-building, sharp characterizations, and rather intense action scenes make this an underrated gem, in my opinion. 6 stories in the series, about 30K words -- the series is not marked as complete because it's open-ended, but the main story arc is resolved. I'd love for more folks to discover this one. I think the fact it's gen rather than Johnlock kept it off a lot of people's radars, but it's an excellent little story.

#fic recs meme #fic recs #sherlock bbc #internet life #thank you for the asks!

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didsomeonesayventus · 2 years

Note

What have you been up to? Ramble away about your current interests my friend 👉😎👉

uhhhhhhh well. in the years since consistent activity I have:

Started, Subscribed, and MSQ/Major sidequest Cleared FFXIV and it occupies my brain like a parasitic worm (but I love it) as goes most people who get into it it seems. For those wondering started with WHM and have run it through just about everything so I'm fairly confident I am at least Somewhat Competent in pretty much everything except Savage and Alexander raids (shudders in Eyes of the Creator if you know you know)

Not only that but have main 5 categories of battle class leveled- WHM for healer, PLD for tank, MNK for melee, DNC phys ranged, RDM caster

I should stop talking about FFXIV help

I think I've changed jobs??? still call center-based work boo been there two years and I Hate It Homie (but hey 16/hr without a degree is hard to beat)

my cringe ass ff.net is poised for deletion as I've got ebook back ups of everything I just can't commit yet (and might not have to since I hear. Gasping Dying rumors about ff.net being on last legs)

I've developed a hobby of making FEH wlw ships- Azura/Deirdre, Mathilda/Lilith, Nagi/Natasha, Felicia/Selena (sacred stones) to throw some out -and stubbornly want to write fic but can't seem to figure out how to finish it oops

also generally feel awkward posting on AO3 because I don't really agree with their "you can write fic of actual people" stance but also Where Else Post Fic but also jokes on me I can't finish fic anymore

speaking of I did contribute to a zine or two with the Invincible Zine group over on twitter a handful of Duo Unit scripts and a 5k one shot on the Horrors of Adrift Corrin

("Katie isn't that the "uwu" corrin alt that looks after baby azura what is possibly horrifying about that" you ask and to which I respond "eldritch horror of being a dream-based sentient clone made real babeyyyyyyyyyyyy" and I didn't even use all my concepts and ideas)

Genshin Impact made a character I finally was willing to eat the lore for Miss Shenhe I love you so much what a wlw icon I think I did reblog something of her earlier but yea love

Played through Persona 5 Royal was a good game but I have never seen a game Say So Much and Nothing At All at the same time while also contradicting itself (and somehow in 100+ hours of gameplay even on 2nd easiest difficulty and w/ a friend and a guide hello). Core cast is poggers tho love these high schoolers and I don't think anyone would be surprised to hear I love futaba the most

Have kinda accepted that I've fallen out of love with KH and frankly don't feel a lot of hype for 4. 3 was a solid gameplay entry with some neat use of worlds for the filler plot but the more time goes on the more disappointed I get with how it handled resolving anything from all the build up, shafting it in favor of setting up a game that doesn't even exist yet.

Because of this I REALLLLY loved Endwalker and was very happy to play it on release (oops back on XIV braincell)

I do miss RikuVen tho and think about how Re:Mind validated the hell out of me by confirming Riku hung out with the Wayfinders and to the lil guys out there making content big fucking salute I'm sorry I'm a bitter woman who couldn't handle expectations.

Have a wild ass idea about XIV/Fates crossover to give an excuse for Ysayle/Corrin to exist they are just about perfect together but can't quite figure out how to make a plot to justify it that I'm satisfied with

I made a quotes bot on twitter that may not last much longer but eh

Gotten really into The Oh Hellos not out of any christian love but moreso the lyrics are just (chef kiss)

TAZ Ethersea season one was. Okay? It started really strong but fell off like the shoreline which was. sad. I can hope season 2 learns better from the mistakes there but also can't be too mad improv-based storytelling is hard to 100% nail

is that everything? I think that's like everything. still me just now several years older and just a smidge wiser and man I'm gonna be 26 in like. a week.

oops.

#Katie rambles #tl;dr no longer as fixated on KH that is now FFXIV and have tried a few other things but mostly still just thinking about rarepairs #and playing with concepts and going way too in depth on one off ideas #so the usual but with much less KH

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strawberry-nugget · 3 years

Text

𝙄𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙄'𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙞𝙩 𝙩𝙤𝙤| K. Bakugo/ reader/ E. Kirishima

Part 2

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: Bakugo didn't think he'd ever spend the night like this, but his infatuation with you and the small crack of your door do wonders to incurable curiosity. He knows too well, that's it's wrong, to peer at you and Kirishima in such intimate moment, but he just can't peel his eyes off of the sight, oh, if Kirishima was willing to share and if you would give him a chance

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: Bakugo/ f!reader/ Kirishima

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: peeping, voyeurism, jealousy, sole male masturbation, oral (f!receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, conversations suggesting a threesome

𝘼/𝙉: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, all characters aged 20+, under no circumstances should you peer into someone's bedroom as they're having sex, also I'm sure a fic like this must have been done a thousand more times but this is what my brainrot suggested I write

His heartbeat is insidious and treacherous is the way his hand pulls on his dick, covered by the barrier of his pants. It's so unfair- so fucking unfair, yet he's twitching in his mere spot- undoubtedly hot and bothered, as slick sweat trails down everywhere on his body. He feels like he's going to explode, as a whole, or as a frontier to cover up what he's actually keeping himself from doing.

It's not as simple as it sounds, yet the explanation isn't needed; he comes home, drenched and muddy from the last patrol of the day, looks around the living room and doesn't find you there. The hot summer temperatures dictate open windows in hopes of any chilly air entering the apartment and of course that's what he's not met with. Sound travels too loud when there's not a hint of insulation in this shirt apartment.

Domestic life is -or was- astounding, for someone like Katsuki that is. Sharing your space with someone else, making meals for someone other than yourself, having the everlasting company of a body that not just your reflection in a mirror that one hung up on a wall just to not feel lonely by the small space of an apartment, it's all too comforting, and in this point it's not too much. It's more like a need, for him at least. And in his twenty something years of life, when he's finally willing to put up with anyone, he chooses you. Whether it's because you're hunting for a cheap rent or because he trusts you more than anyone, he allows himself to dwell on the fact that he made a mistake.

A horrible mistake.

He spends his nights dwelling on newfound infatuation. Because you meet Kirishima through him, and get along with him instantly, while Bakugo is sent a thousand miles away from the space of your head, or your heart, and he can only watch from afar as you and his friend spend nights curled up on the couch in the living room. Or sleep on your single bed, hunched up on each other -he occasionally catches the start of a little physical teasing going on between the two of you, though he rips his eyes away every time. Feeling a pull at his heart strings, for he was too late to start developing such feelings for you, for lusting over you while you and Kirishima were slowly turning into a couple.

And still, even if he tells himself he's too late, every time he hears the two of you indulge with each other in the comfort of your room, his dick sits uncomfortably inside his pants. Wishing he was buried deep inside you, just like Kirishima. Wishing he could at least have you for just once.

As tired muscle and skin is stripped off of clothes too shiny for his mood he likes to think you're sprawled all over his bed, waiting for him in that teeny little pair of lingerie he often collects from the drier, soft breast spilling from the sides and thighs meeting in the prettiest v shape he can ever witness. He hopes, just so wishes this mental image could be brought into reality, and no quick would ever help him play it out. He needed the real thing.

Yet the shower head hitting the tiles of the bathtub begs to bring him back to reality -to no avail, because his mind travels back to his fantasy, fast forwarding to where he has his arms around you, pounding into you so greedily as you moan for him.

What should be sweet flavored sweat dripping from his forehead to yours as your lips touch, is distilled water from the shower, smelling like chlorine and soap from him squirting his shampoo in his hands. He hates that he contemplates on whether he should touch himself or not -maybe, you've already dumped Kirishima and you're really waiting for him, even though this sounds unlikely- and he decides on the latter. No need to indulge himself like this tonight after a patrol as hard as the one he had endured.

Mewling moans, kitten-like sounds block his thoughts, fill his ears and enter his head like foresaken pests. Oh how he'd like to be able to rest his back on his bed and close his eyes, but you seem to have other plans for him tonight. It's unfair, that he can't rest; it's not just the physical fatigue, no, it's the open crack in your door and the view he's met with that makes him lose grip of the reality next to him.

Unfair

Un-fucking-fair. And it's like you're doing it on purpose. Justi to point out that you know about his infatuation, and to state you want him to suffer like that. Horny and hit against the wall next to your door as he jerks himself off.

He's thought about doing it so many times, it's easy and quicker than porn, more efficient too. He can get off to the real thing, not a porn star that fakes moans or looks like you, not a situation he wants to imagine himself and you in.

That crimson gaze he throws to Kirishima's back is ominous, and travels up and meets your naked stomach, your face, your breasts -he has to rip his eyes off of them, that sweet image of sleek summer sweat on you as enticing as it is, shall not be imprinted in his brain. Yet curiosity in the back of his head begs for him to give in and take a better look.

Scratch his previous thoughts. A fucking ten minute video on pornhub would never do for him what this scene is doing to him. The way your body is laying on the bed, pillows supporting your head perfectly -like you're the most pretty pillow princess- one hand gripping on the headboard until your knuckles are tense enough to look like they're going to pop, chest rising and falling in sync with the lustful expression on your face.

His dreadful gaze follows the lines of your body lower, much lower, until he's met with Kirishima's head between your legs. Long red locks sprawled all over your thighs, hand in that apex just below his chin and Bakugo can see everything. From the way your fingers comb through Kirishima's hair, to him pulling back with his tongue flat and hanging out of his mouth, connected to your clit with stripes of sticky looking wetness to how he smiles at you, fingers curling in an impossible spot inside you -or so Bakugo figures from your reaction.

It kills him that you seem to enjoy it.

It kills him to see Kirishima finger you so roughly, and it hurts to listen to you thrash on the bed like crazy when the redhead delves back with his tongue. Because fuck he's jealous. What wouldn't he do to be able to have your lips around his dick right now, looking at him with big doe eyes as you're sucking his cock until you accommodate him to the back of your throat.

What wouldn't he give to be the one scissoring his fingers inside you, giving you a cocky smile as he'd watch you struggle with composing your words. Placing a chaste kiss on your belly just to watch your reaction and then another one just to take in the taste of you, for his own pleasure.

His hand should be vigilant to his thoughts but rather it's rioting against his self control; he hopes you don't listen to him drop his towel and he hopes you don't listen to his moans as he cups his balls and teases his head in quick movements. It's wrong, so wrong to get off like that, but then you mewl as Kirishima's lips wrap around your clit so visibly, asking you "are you enjoying this" in between detaching from you again for air and cupping a hand just under your ass.

"Fuck Eiji, is that even a question?"

His stomach coils dangerously. Your answer isn't direct and it flickers a small hope inside him that maybe, just maybe, Kirishima is handling you too roughly. Just enough for you to leave him. Still his hand pumps up and down his veiny member, squeezing at the base and fluttering at the top. His balls, always squeezed by his other hand, as he tugs at them just a tad.

He pushes the urge to slam his back against the wall of the dark hall and pump himself with tremendous speed; something far more interesting is taking place behind that slightly open door of yours and his eyes are glued on you and your body. Mesmerized by the golden light that seeps on you from the lamp in your nightstand, he stares longingly as Kirishima places a kiss on your mouth, after trapping your ankles with one big palm.

Another wave of list washes through him -to have you taste yourself after devouring you would be heaven, letting the excess slick run down the corner of his lips, feeling your tongue lap on his skin to clean him up. He's even got a variety of things he wants to say to you, as he'd have your chin in his hands and tongue almost to your throat.

Still, he's stuck with the company of his hand, pumping up and down, as he watches Kirishima align himself to your entrance, before slipping the head in, only to take it out and tap your clit with it, rub it over your sleek once, twice before "baby you're so wet"

"I know, I know, please put it in -ah"

"Will you be quiet, baby? Bakugo could hear us anytime" Kirishima teases, he knows what he's doing, because it gets you to whine awfully loud as he's snuggling himself into you, damning as answer in the way he trans your breast in the palm of his hand, head lowering to your collarbone to place a chaste kiss "yeah? For me? Pretty please?"

Fuck, damn him for talking to you like you're an actual princess, for bringing a finger to your lips and pushing it inside your mouth, for having you look him in the eye with a swelling chest and an arching back. And fuck you for hitting him with a mumbled "I'll be so quiet for you" to him

As your words die down, nothing other than pants and the sloppy slamming of skin on skin can be heard and that absolutely does it for Bakugo. Your moans, he's imagining them intended just for him, as he's twisting his wrist and fucking into his fist fast and featherly, trying to convince himself that this is your hand or your mouth. Anything

"Eiji" You moan but in his head it's just 'Katsu' In that exact, lustful tone.

He can see Kirshima pulling out, and he hears you whine again, only to be shushed by a thick finger pressed against your luscious lips. You comply with Kirishima too eagerly, and if it wasn't for the golden light of the room he'd be able to figure out the shade of red that's staining his friends cheeks as he's flipping you on your stomach. You whine, Kirishima's hand presses the small of your back to make your ass pop upwards for him.

"No, no no, I won't stop screaming"

That's sending shivers down Katsuki's spine, numbing his fingers to the point he almost his grasp unlocks from around his cock, because Kirishima doesn't mind, obviously. Either because he's spotted the blond without him noticing, or because he's tired of not allowing you to be vocal -you're his girlfriend after all- and anyways, it's too lewd to be able to see Kirishima's dick delving into you while you're stretching yourself out of him, and it's brutal to be able to listen to the way you scream audibly, almost too animalistically every time Kirishima ruts his hips into you.

His thumb quickly rubs on his tip, flicking it a couple of times, trying, so desperate to mimic the way Kirishima is probably feeling right now, and it feels so good; the flow of blood increasingly sweet as it rushes to his tip, the pleasure tightening in his lower stomach and the speed if his hand rocketing. It's always been unfair and it won't stop being that way, because of how he can't control his moans or the spurts of white, thick cum the spurts from his slit.

His means cover yours, and the shuffling in the bed stops, but he doesn't perceive it immediately- no, not even the mess he's made on the door, the wall, himself. His knees are weak and he's seeing white, teeth clenched and jaw so tight even though he can't even swallow his own spit.

It's all good, like a smooth coming down from his high is what he deserves, but karma has other plans for him -after all it's his fault for being greedy like this, lusting after you, wishing you'd drop his friend for him, prying into your bedroom and your sex life like he has no shame- he deserves not to get away with this, he's fully aware. But the flick in his brain switches when he sees you wide eyed, staring at him from the small opening of the door.

Kirishima is as wide eyed as you when he sees him once he leans down, probably because you look like you've seen a ghost, and he'd trying to cover you with his own body, his signature smile wiped away from his face.

"Bakugo?"

"Kats-"

Fuck, fuck, no. Crimson eyes can't avoid the stains on the wall and the door but he grabs his toilet, though, he grabs his towel and runs to his room, slamming the door before throwing the fluffy piece of fabric across the room.

Both of you and Kirishima call out his name again and fuck- if only he hadn't just stood there like a deer in the headlights, if only he hadn't fucking jerked off to his two friends, who are a couple, having sex, he could be able to look at you again, or even, he'd be able to get over his stupid little infatuation.

"Fucking hell, leave me alone"

"No, let's talk about this Katsuki" You bang on his door with a voice so soft, it almost hurts to think that you're probably just covered by a bedsheet. Maybe that's the reason he can't talk to you

"Yeah bro, come on, you don't have to throw a tantrum in there on your own, well talking this out"

Is he fucking insane? Are you fucking insane? You just caught him masturbating to the two of you and you're not upset in the slightest? He has to shake his head or pinch his bicep at this

"Leave me alone, shitty hair, what do you know" He growls, slamming his drawer closes once he picks out a fresh pair of underwear.

"You should have told us-" Kirishima says and you verbalise your approval of his words.

"Tell you fucking what?"

What was there to say? That he liked you? That he wanted to take you too? And even if he said it, would even Kirishima ever talk to him again? Well that's why Bakugo doesn't have any friends, he has to want everything, he has to want to snatch you from his friend, he has to have the upper hand in every situation. And if he acted against the redhead it would be unforgivable. So holding you in his arms seems as impossible to voice as it actually is.

And Kirishima won't understand

"That you wanted to, uhh, get in the bedroom with us I guess?"

Bakugos ears perk up at the realisation of your words, then to Kirishima's soft laugh along with your statement. Maybe, just maybe, he would understand his point of view.

Right?

#tw: voyeurism #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #eijirou kirishima x reader #kirishima x reader #bnha fanfiction #bakugo katsuki smut #eijirou kirishima smut

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takenbyheartstrings · 3 years

Text

WARMER IN THE WINTER

summary: when a Christmas party rolls around for your best friend Harrison and his Wife, you're excited to go - but Harrison doesn't have one best friend, he's got two and you can't stand the other and he can't stand you.

pairing: enemies/rivals to lovers tom holland x fem!reader

warnings: slight angst, swearing, fluff.

authors note: it's the holidays! i'm gonna try to put out a few fics this month but, REQUESTS ARE OPEN <3

You looked in the mirror one last time before slipping on your shoes. Harrison had told you it was quite a chilled formal party. Still dress nice but not too flashy. Your dress was short and red, and shimmered underneath the light - it didn't show off too much skin to be so-called 'scandalous' but showed off just enough to be pretty sexy and most importantly, it was comfortable - you felt confident and it hugged your body in all the right ways. You went to put your phone into a small black clutch before you received a call from Harrison. You smiled softly at the picture of the two of you as his icon as it flashed on your screen. You click the green button and answer his call.

"Hey, Harry," You smiled into the phone, "Just about to leave."

You can hear his smile, "Good, yeah, great. I need a favour from you tonight."

Your face falls, "...That depends, what is it?"

"I need you and Tom to be civil tonight - and before you say anything yes, I just had this chat with him. He said he could try so could you please, at least do that much." Harrison pleads.

You really felt bad for the boy, he was stuck in the middle of this feud you and Tom were in. Every time some movie came out, he'd have to see it twice. Every time he wanted to go to the club with his friends, he'd have to cut one of you out of the equation. You hated the way that Tom got along so well with Harrison and he the same. You had both met him around the same time and ever since then there was some unsaid competition to prove who could be a better best friend. The two of you would compete to steal Harrison away from one another all whilst he was in the middle of it. Tom had never been nice to you when he met you either, so you had decided to return the favour. It was only fair.

So that's why you had to try tonight - to be the better best friend.

"Fine." You rolled your eyes, "I will try my best, but if he starts something don't think I won't fire back. It has to be an equal playing field."

Harrison knew he wasn't going to win this argument, so he sighed, "Fair enough... I'll see you in a bit."

"Yeah, see you in a few." You hung up the phone ruefully, bracing yourself for the night ahead and the challenge that you would have face tonight. Your plan was to try not to run into Tom. But it wasn't a big party so that idea was out the window.

When you got to Harrisons house you rung the doorbell, there was music playing that you could hear from outside, but it wasn't loud enough that it was shaking the world around you. The door swung open and you were met with Annalise, Harrison's wife and one of your close friends. You had actually helped the two of them get together.

"Anna!" You smiled wrapping her in a hug, handing her two small gift bags.

"Oh, y/n, you didn't have to go through the trouble." Annalise sighs looking at the gifts.

"Anna, it's Christmas, of course I did," You smile, "Besides, you guys deserve them."

She smiled, "Thank you. Now get inside! You must be freezing!"

"Only slightly," You shivered trying not to draw attention to yourself.

As you walked into the house you took in the beautiful sight, the house was decorated in blue and silvers. Tinsel wrapped around the stairwell and the Christmas tree was tall, sitting in the middle of the house, covered in the same silver and blue ornaments, with a silver star to top it all off, not to mention it also being covered in faux snow. The house was warmed by the heater and it felt like you were being hugged by the warmth after being turned to ice by the cold outside.

and then you saw him, you saw Tom - and god did he look good. He was wearing this white shirt and these stunning black pants. He had his natural curls out and was wearing glasses - for fashion purposes only, obviously (something that you didn't believe). He met your eyes, as his own started to trail down your body, looking at the clothes that dressed you. You didn't know what was happening to you, the way you liked his eyes on you and neither did he. He liked looking at you. The way he liked the way you looked tonight, and then you made your way over to him.

"Harrison!" You smiled softly as Tom stepped aside, letting you fall into his best friends arms, "I brought you a gift, it's with Anna right now."

"You shouldn't have." He sighs.

"That's what best friends are for." You flashed another grin as you felt Toms eyes seeping through your skin, you could just feel the way his jaw clenched at your statement as Harrison was called over by some other guests, Tom turns to face you.

"That's what best friends are for? Really. Didn't know you had to bribe him to be your friend - but then again, that doesn't totally surprise me," Tom scoffs.

You faced him, "Huh, I'm getting confirmation from the north pole that Santa says you're a fucking asshole and you should piss off? Huh? That's really weird."

Tom rolls his eyes at your snarky comment, "Sounds like you've been naughty this year, judging by the way you use your mouth,"

You feel your throat tighten up at Tom's comment, you didn't like the way you felt after he said that, nervous, like there was butterflies in your stomach, "Whatever, I need a drink." You turned walking away, making your way through the kitchen and into the bathroom. You looked at yourself in the mirror.

Tom on the other hand could tell he was making you nervous and he was enjoying every breathing second of it. He could practically feel it radiating off you. He knew he could catch you off guard. But what he wasn't a big fan was, however, was the way he felt afterwards. Just like you a pit of butterflies in his stomach as he watched you walk away. He'd thought about you in this light before - if things could be different, would you be friends or something more? He had always denied the feelings he had felt for you ever since the first day he laid eyes on you. But alas, he sighed, taking a sip of the whiskey he had previously put on the table, ignoring what he was currently feeling on this cold winters night.

You made the smart decision to avoid Tom for the rest of the night. But that didn't work for long. There was a small floor to dance and couples danced to the Christmas songs that played in the background. The soft tune of Micheal Bublé's "Baby it's Cold Outside" echoed and you tapped your foot.

Tom's figure stood next to you, "If I hear one more Christmas song, I'm going to riot."

You let out a chuckle, "I actually... don't mind it?" You questioned yourself, "It's nice to see people being happy."

"God, how much have you had to drink?" He asks you, ironically taking a sip of his own.

"Not a lot, Thomas." You rolled your eyes, "Clearly you've had more if you're standing here talking to me of all people, as if I would even want your company."

He chuckles, "Whatever, I just- Harrison wanted us to get along tonight and I'm sick and tired of this shit we keep pulling, but fine, have it your way." Tom goes to walk away but a drunken Harrison points something out to you both from across the room.

"Not so fast, Thomas!" He yells as Tom looks back at him, "You gotta kiss, Y/n."

You both get wide eyes as you look up at the mistletoe that hangs over your heads, "Oh fuck me," You mutter under your breath as Tom looks back at you.

Clearly Harrison drew the attention to everyone as they all eyed the two of you, "Go on! Don't be a pussies!"

You wish you could just slap Harrison right then and there, but you knew he was drunk and when he was drunk he always tended to make a fool out of himself and whoever happened to be with him. It wasn't uncommon.

Tom looked at you, and you both knew what was about to happen. His hand slithers around your waist, his cold hands on your burning hot skin. Your eyes meet once more and he has fire in his eyes. He licks his lips softly and so do you. He pulls you closer toward him, like he's practised this move a thousand times before, but right now you didn't care. Because as you looked into his eyes, you noticed everything you had missed before - how soft his hands and eyes actually were. They didn't look like they hated you and his touch didn't give you that affect at all. It felt like he had been waiting a long time to do this; have you in his arms and place his lips on yours and although you might deny it at every chance you get, you can't say you hadn't thought about it ever since his eyes had laid on your body when you walked into the party today. You can't say you'd never thought of Tom kissing you. Because if you did... you'd be lying. So when Tom leaned in and pressed his lips on yours, you kissed back. There was something there and you couldn't place your tongue on it. But you liked it and so did he. They were soft and gentle. He was soft and gentle. Holding you like you were the only thing in the world and it felt like hours had gone by, when it had only been a minute and thirty seconds of the two of you standing there.

When you pulled away from him, you were lost for air. But you pulled out of his embrace quickly, and he pulled away from you just as fast. You turned to look at Harrison who turned his gaze and ran up to the balcony that over looked the front yard. The cold air hit you like a semi, but it was okay. You needed to breathe it in. You tried closing your eyes, but all you could think about was that stupid kiss. Why would you let him do that? Why would you let him kiss you? These were the only thoughts running through your brain. You tried to turn it into something bad by thinking about of all of Tom's ugly qualities. But it was hard to think of anything now that your mind was clouded by the thoughts of him - how your brain turned those qualities into admirable things.

You thought about what he had told you before the kiss - how he wanted this rivalry to end. But you couldn't loose Harrison to Tom. It felt like that most of the time - but you were slowly starting to realise that was on both you and Tom. Rather than trying to get along, you made Harrison choose between the two of you and that what was tearing the two of you apart.

Your train of thought got interrupted by the glass door to the balcony sliding open. You turned around and found Tom staring at you before following your movement and leaning over it like you were.

"I'm sorry," Tom sighed, "I should've protested against it or something. I just didn't wanna argue a drunk Harrison, you know how he gets."

You let out a breathy laugh and it reflected off of the air, like a puff of smoke, "There's nothing to apologise for, I could've done the same." You looked at him and met his eyes for what felt like the first time tonight, "I've been thinking about what you said."

He shook his head, "Forget I said anything-"

"But what if I don't want to?"

Tom scoffs, "Please, you've hated me since the day we met. Believe me, y/n, you might as well, it's all we know how to do."

"Don't try to twist this onto me, Thomas." You rolled your eyes, "You were just as bad to me. The first time we met, you didn't even introduce yourself to me. It was like I was some bug on the window you could swat off."

"Okay, but before that you made it impossible to speak to you! It's like you weren't even listening to me."

"I bet you love that. All the attention on you. That's the way it's been since I met you. Harrison's so focused on you."

"I could say the same. He never shuts his mouth up about you, it makes me furious."

Tom gets closer to you as the two of you argue, you turn on your heel, not wanting to continue this anymore, "I thought that kiss down there could've meant something to you, Tom. To us. But you won't let me love you."

Tom's eyes go wide at the statement, "Pardon?"

You've dug a hole for yourself and you realised it as soon as the words came out of your mouth, "When I first met you, I realised that I could loose Harry and that- it scared me. But the more he talked about you, the more I felt like I was getting to know this glorified version of you. One that I would never see. I always thought you were cute. That never changed. But you're attitude towards me made me hate you, it made me not like you at all. But tonight felt different, that kiss downstairs didn't feel like just a kiss. It felt like more... to me at least. That's why I wanted to put everything in the past, to move on. Because I do like you, Tom."

Tom took a few steps back, trying to muster up anything, anything to say to you at all. But it was a lot of information all at once. "I only hated you because you hated me." He speaks, "I don't want to go back to hating you - but we've been doing it for so long. I want you to love me. I want to love you. But I'm scared that it won't work because the only thing we've learnt to do is fight."

You move towards Tom taking his head in your hands, "We can learn to love each other properly. It'll take time but we can learn."

"Are you sure you want this?" He questions you.

You simply just nod in response, "I've wanted this for a long time. I just kept denying it to myself, but that kiss changed everything. The way you looked at me today changed everything."

A shiver runs down your spine and Tom takes notice, holding you close, "Okay..." Tom breathes softly, "Then we can try this out. We can try to love each other."

"And if it doesn't work?" You question him.

"Then we can go back to hating each other, because I don't know if I can stand the thought of never being able to see you again." He presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

The two of you sit in each others embrace, warming each other as snow starts to fall.

two years later.

It was Christmas day once more, Harrison's annual Christmas party had gone swimmingly and now you were sitting in front of your own Christmas tree, admiring the presents people had dropped by for you and feeling the warmth of your socks, and pyjama's around you. A mug of hot chocolate keeping your hands warm. You turned your head watching the snow fall over London and the Christmas lights reflected onto your skin, lighting you up, in different shades of colours as they flashed.

Tom finally sat in front of you, and your head whipped around, "Took you long enough!"

He chuckled, "Yeah, well, I had to get my gift for you."

"I thought you put it under the tree?"

"Well sort of, I did get you a couple, but this one had to stay hidden."

"...Why?" Your eyes turned to the side, giving him a short glare.

"I saw you shaking all of them trying to figure out what they were." He deadpanned as you sputtered your hot chocolate.

"You're delusional, I have no idea what you're talking about." You shook your head frantically as Tom pressed a kiss to your temple.

"It's okay, Love, I don't blame you."

You smiled at your boyfriend, the journey you had been through after Harrison's first party was different. It was hard learning not to fight but something you both overcame quite quickly, embracing each other's flaws. The person who got a real kick out of the relationship was Harrison. He felt like a weight was lifted off of his shoulders. You and Tom announced your relationship a few months after you learned to love each other for everything.

He looks at you with kind eyes, and smiles. You take notice and form your eyes into a soft glare, "What?"

"No- Nothing, I just- a couple years ago it's hard to believe we would become this. That all we'd do was argue. You'd never guess." You place a hand on his.

"Tom, we made it work." You smiled, "Now are you gonna give me my present?" You asked and he laughed placing a small box in your hand.

"Yeah, yeah, Merry Christmas." He rolls his eyes.

You tear off the wrapping paper and your eyes meet a velvet box, looking at Tom with wide eyes, you just smile and so does he. It really was hard to believe you had been anything but this.

- requests are open for peter and tom fics -

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x reader imagine #tom holland x reader imagines #tom holland fluff #tom holland christmas #christmas imagines

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huenjin · 3 years

Text

unhooking a bra for dummies.

pairing: han jisung x reader

word count: 6k words

genre: smut

tw: use of swear words and name calling out of sheer affection, detailed sexual content — hickeys, breast play, nipple play, fingering, cunnilingus, clitoral stimulation, overstimulation, multiple orgasm, squirting, blowjob, deep throating, gagging, penetration, creampie.

note: this fic has been rewritten/reconcepted from my previous bts fic, the idiot's guide to unhook a bra.

The last time your boyfriend tries to remove your bra one handed, you are glad it is on your body and not his. Not with his strong history of trying to learn how to untie bras by wearing them and then snapping them only to ruin your pretty collection.

The last time your boyfriend tries to remove your bra one handed, it's on your request.

Not because you wanted Jisung to learn (not that it isn't a win-win situation) but mostly because you were so sex deprived from your boyfriend for two weeks now, thanks to his competitive arse. Thanks to his determination of wanting to learn how to remove a bra single handedly because some stupid magazine said it was cool.

Also because the movie was boring and your boyfriend seemed a lot more interesting than the movie's horrible direction.

You're on top of Jisung's lap, kissing down his neck, telling him to focus on how he's feeling and how he'd feel rather than being so competitive to remove the bra. Jisung pulls back and mumbles, "How does that work?"

"You've tried it enough for two weeks," you kiss him. "It's going to work."

"Is this a test?"

"Consider it," you sigh. "You're really killing the mood again, boy," you frown, before straightening up your spine and looking at him, "It's just a bra. Why are you so goddamn hung up over it?"

He confesses finally, "Because I saw some stupid article the day after I said everything. It told me that girls love it and that it'd make them happy."

Figures. You called out on this a week back.

You cup Jisung's face, a bit taken aback by his response, "But you make me happy either way."

"I—"

"Sungie," you press your forehead against his, smiling at how your boyfriend's eyes sparkle so brightly, "You're still going to be my star always. My sunshine."

You kiss Jisung, laughing against his lips when he coos at you. His hands are warm against that long brown sweater – way too long for you – you have always borrowed from him. He kisses you, his hands making way under his sweater, trailing slowly upwards as he draws out his kiss.

You know what he's trying to do and you choose to ignore, praying to all the gods out there that your boyfriend succeeds. He places his fingers on one side of the clasp and your thumb on the other. He moves towards your neck, peppering kisses against so as to distract you. He pinches both the sides together, sliding the right side against the left, freeing hooks from the eyelets. He pulls back from you, lips leaving your skin, at the same time your bra is undone.

"Bro," he stretches the syllable and you laugh, eyes wrinkling, commenting, "You sound like a white teenager."

"And you don't when you do?"

"Touché."

"But I did it," he screams, hugging you tight. The intensity at which he is joyous almost makes it seem like he won something great but that's Jisung for you. "I did it!"

"You did, baby! You did."

He kisses you again. Your boyfriend is so happy that he is smiling against your lips, breaking the kiss but he doesn't care and nor do you. He cradles your face in his hands, pulling back and laughs, "Hey, maybe we can sex tonight after all."

"Oh fuck, don't kill the mood. The last thing I want is Jeongin's catchphrase right before me getting hammered by my boyfriend after weeks."

"Like you haven't mentioned you don't want him around once?"

You flail your hands upwards in defense only to wrap it around Jisung and kiss him shut, mumbling against his lips, "Not today." Your lips tug onto his lower ones, latching onto it before pulling back and gazing at him. You could see how beautiful he was - his rosy lips that are parted and his nose that is good enough to bop. Han Jisung is a beauty carved from the finest and you are glad to call him yours.

"Fuck," he swears under his breath. You smile widely, eyes turning into crescents as he gazes at you, mumbling, "You're all mine, wow. I'm a lucky lucky man." You laugh, mumbling, "Yeah, you are." and lift your hand. Stretching your index finger, you poked his head, pushing it back, parietal bone hitting the bed's headboard.

Jisung gulps, his eyes turning a shade darker. You lean forward, catching Jisung midway for a kiss. You hold his face, guiding and directing the kiss, being forceful and trying to show the dominance you clearly lacked. Jisung always leads and you're hoping he takes back the reins soon.

And he does. Just as you prayed. His hands are on your hips, gripping it harder, his leg wrapping over yours in one swift motion and he has you pinned under him, hot air fanning over your face and you're giggling. Jisung frowns at you before kissing your pinna and mumbling, pouting, "You lost weight, babe. You need to eat more."

"I've been busy with this project," you respond and brush his hair.

"I'll take you out for a fancy dinner tonight after this."

"You think we could go?"

"Uh huh," he kisses your neck, sucking on the skin lightly sending tingles down your spine. "We could. I want to treat my favorite girl to some sexy food."

"I love you."

He kisses you in response not so gently, immediately coaxing your mouth open to allow his tongue inside. His hands forget all about being slow and teasing, the stress of not having you for two weeks straight sending him desperate, running all over your body, before pausing.

"This one goes off," he tugs at his sweater that you are wearing, pulling it off of you only to gasp at your covered breasts. "That bra looks beautiful on you, fuck."

He stares at the wine purple bra hardly covering your breasts now that the strap was off, ready to fall off any minute from now. Jisung gapes at how beautiful they make your breasts look before tugging it off, mumbling, "I like you better without anything though."

One of his warm hands covers your breast, fingers slowly digging into the skin. His palm squeezes your breast, thumb running over your nipple before he purposefully leans down and gives you a taste of his warm mouth for the first time that night and in weeks now. You gape open at the contact of his mouth on your nipple, teeth purposely grazing against the skin.

"I missed you doing this," you gasp for air, hand holding onto his hair for grip and to angle him slightly. Jisung hasn't bothered every time you push yourself onto him, aching and craving for more. If anything, it's always made the bulge more prominent. "You stupid boy focussed on a thing that weren't necessary like unhooking a bra when we could — ah, fuck, Jisung." He rolls his tongue over your nipple, your hand tightening around his scalp, tugging at his hair furiously. "Yes!"

He lets go of your nipple only to raise himself upwards and hover over your face. He bites your bottom lip, small kitten licks before sucking it into his mouth and you respond with a weak whimper before pulling away, breathing loud and clear and vivid enough for your chest to rise and fall.

His large hands trace along your spine, his palms trailing along your covered flesh, the figure that's carved into his head, a memory attested forever that he's glad for. Every single one of his touches sets your skin aflame with desire. Heat settles deep within the deepest cores of your abdomen, the heat slowly trailing downward stimulating your glands to release secretions that make your panties cling to your core. You moan when you feel his hardening shaft against the soft of your abdomen, involuntarily grinding against it. Your movements cause him to let out a grunt, limited and constrained, and he groans out your name.

He moves lower, tugging at the straps of your panties with his teeth, grazing the skin around it, sending goosebumps sprouting. You laugh post the rush, "You're good at this though. Like really good, Jisung."

"I know," he laughs against your skin. "Need to have you keeping me around. What if you decided a vibrator's better than me?"

You laugh loudly, hand falling on your chest, "Pretty sure a vibrator can't kiss me and love me like you do, baby."

Your mouth parts open when he kisses you, his lips brushing against the skin covering the bones and you let out a set of breathy moans, heat pooling deep within your pubic region as you find yourself growing wetter when Jisung kisses you around your acetabulum. He tugs your panties down partially with his teeth, fingers helping him out till he gets completely away from your skin.

He lifts himself up, throwing his shirt away. Dipping his head down, his attention is back on his favorite spot on your neck by your prominent jugular. Jisung kisses your neck, whispering sweet nothings into you. His hand lowers and lands on your inner thighs, goosebumps rising from your flesh and you gasp.

“Fuck," he swears under his breath. His fingers are dangling so close to your core that he can feel your arousal by your thighs. "You’re so fucking wet,” Jisung mutters, only to laugh and comment, "Maybe I should have fucked you.”

"Should have," you whine. "But guess what? My boyfriend's fucking— Ah!"

He absent-mindedly plays with strings of your arousal, coating his palms and fingers. You gasp at the sudden contact. Twisting and turning his fingers, he gathers up the dangling strings of arousal, before bringing it to his mouth and licking it clean. His gaze is still fixated on yours.

"Fuck you."

"Sure. On it, babe."

Tauntingly, he continues teasing your cunt — the tip of his finger lightly pressing against the entrance, but never enough to fully enter you. Each small action has you moving forward in pleasure as you try to push against his hand in an attempt to sink his finger into you. Jisung chuckles, kissing your clavicle, biting into the skin above and sucking furiously enough to mark you. He licks the mark before kissing down your clavicle.

He runs his finger through your core, collecting more of your juices onto his digit, before teasingly entering you barely. You find yourself hissing and bucking, your entrance twitching around the tip of his finger responsively.

“Jisung,” you whine, pushing your core further into his hand. “Please,” you implore, beg. You're desperate enough and two weeks of no contact has left you unhinged. The sensation of the pad of his thumb swiping against your swollen, needy clit causing you to buck into him, your cunt soon contracting around nothing. He pushes himself up and lowers down your body to meet your core. Your core involuntarily clenches, releasing another gush of wetness, pooling down the skin and staining his bedsheets messily.

"Your clothes—" you point, tugging at his pants. "Off, hoe," you sigh. "Now."

"Not yet," he rasps. "Need to give you that orgasm I owe you."

"Ah!" You sigh pleasantly. Jisung moans, shuddering under your fingertips. “My girl is all pretty and wet all for me," he mewls. His fingers trace small circles further into your slit, until his digits are teasing your entrance again. A low mewl falls from your lips, your hips writhing into his hand and you try to get him to push his fingers into you now.

“Jisung, shut with the teasing, you bitch,” you murmur, not even bothering to hide the want in your voice exhibiting now through annoyance, along with the greed for so much more. He laughs at your name calling, against your skin, nose brushing against your skin and with a kiss to your mound, his digits lightly push against the tightness of your entrance. He relishes and dwells himself in the way you tighten around just for him. You are just for him. A being he has been blessed with that's made for him just as he is for you. His eyes sparkle in mirth at your core clenching and unclenching involuntarily around him. You whine, “Fuck," trying to tighten around his digit as much as possible, almost as if you think your orgasm is going to rush in just by the sheer touch of your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend pushes one and then another finger into you. Your wetness allows them to slide in with ease and he gasps at how the jagged inner walls of yours feel — a memory he wishes he could remember every time. Somehow he's glad he can't because every single moment with you feels like a first time for him. The rush and excitement is unmatched. Drawing raspy breaths from you, he slowly begins pumping them into you. With each movement, you feel your entrance open and close, your eyes rolling back at the sensation. He pumps them into you, relishing every moan and swear word that leaves your lips. It's perhaps the very fact that you haven't had sex with him for so long that makes you want him more than ever, your arousal evident and dripping around, coating his finger.

He breathes in the scent of your arousal deeply, pressing kisses against your skin, softly at first before it turns into intense ones, licking and sucking on them to make a visible mark against them, staining your mound with purple and dark red hues.

“I fucking love you, man,” His voice is low, dropping a couple of octaves, and the deep sound that turns deeper every single time he whispers, thrums against your skin, before kissing against the skin again. You are so close to breaking down from just his breath against you, gripping on his hair so hard that you are worried you're going to rip his hair out. “Yes, yes, yes,” leaves your lips and letting out an appreciative groan, Jisung slides his fingers deeper into you till his knuckles touch the sides of your core and you are gasping, taking in heavy breaths of air, eyes squeezing shut.

“You're literally swallowing me,” Jisung breathily whispers against your core, pressing a butterfly kiss against your clit. His words cause you to clench involuntarily, squeezing around him tightly and then his mouth is against your core, more specifically your clit, licking on it, before sucking, inappropriate sounds hitting off the walls, eliciting a choked moan from you.

You are about to say a word before Jisung curls his fingers up into you and your back arches slightly at the rush that it sends, a moan leaving your lips loudly as you scream out, “Sungie!”

You feel him rubbing against the same spot that brings the loudest reaction from you — a discovery he makes every time all over again — before dragging his fingers back slowly only to slip his fingers easily into you again, the slick of your arousal dripping down your thighs, making a mess.

"Wet and dripping. I’ll give you what you want, baby. You were so patient with me.” He rubs your walls, his attention undivided on your enlarged clit and your hips gyrate with him, thrusting and chasing after his fingers desperately.

He lifts himself up – his hand still rubbing against your spot – trailing kisses upwards till he latches onto your mouth, tugging at your lower lip. He delves into your mouth, tangling with your tongue. The sensations are heightened, your head unable to focus on either. Breaking from the kiss, you cry out against his lips, your breaths heavily intermingling together. Jisung uses his other hand to hold your jaw and angle your head in such a way that your foggy gaze is fixed on his sharp ones and your mouth opens slightly.

"Come for me, babe," he urges. His command, along with the way his fingers rub across your clit, has you crossing off of the brink of pleasure and into an oblivion for the first time that night and in weeks. You see the stars as you squint your eyes shut forcefully, breathing loud and shallow as you chant your boyfriend's name like a mantra. You need a moment to calm down from how good that orgasm is and Jisung slowly rubs you through your high.

Skin flushing with heat and covered in sweat, you feel electric sparks jolt across your flesh under your skin as bright ecstasy rumbles in your veins all over again as your boyfriend rubs your clit vigorously. In a split second without any heed or warning, his mouth is still on you. He flicks your clit with a snap of his finger and instantly, your muscles lock up, your nerves oversensitized. Tears spill from the corner of your eyes and you tug at Jisung's hair, face falling to the side as you bite into your lower lip.

Out of breath almost instantly, Jisung hovers over you, cupping your face with one hand of his and kissing you, wiping your tears away. You breathe in his air as he kisses you, your jaw slackens sadly once he leaves. You let out a loud whineful cry as a powerful orgasm powers through you again, his hand leaving yours for a minute as you squirt on being overstimulated. Your thighs quake violently as your back raises and arches upwards slightly. Your boyfriend's other arm wraps around your back as he kisses you through your heightened orgasm, helping you settle down. Your muscles tremble and ache and soon you find your hips halting their movement as you lose yourself into pleasure, squirting slowly receding. His hand is covered in your juices, glistening in the light of the room and he chuckles against your lips after pulling back, placing you lightly on your back.

“That was so fucking hot,” he looks at you proudly, pressing his forehead against yours. Your eyes are squeezed shut post that powerful orgasm, thick rivers of tears staining your cheeks. He moves only after your eyes open, making sure you’re alright and able to breath right.

"You're a bitch, dude," you barely let out. "But I love you."

Once you collect your breath, you move down his body, overcome with the need to please your boyfriend, to please this beautiful man who just made you come twice on his tongue, overstimulated you enough to make you squirt, embarrassing the hell out of your being. You hastily grip the hem of his sweats and begin to pull them down.

Jisung pushes himself backwards instinctively when you lift yourself up. You hold his shoulders, body still trembling from the after effects of your last orgasm and ask, "On your back, please."

"Baby, you don't— It's all you today."

"Yeah, and so let me."

Jisung lays on his back on your command and you kneel between his legs. He pulls himself upwards, one arm bending to support him and the other resting beneath his head to support his head up. He watches you position yourself between his thick thighs, practically drooling at the sight of his large cock. He finally lies there completely naked, a small smile dancing on his lips at the sight of you, skin glowing in the dim light of the room, soft music from the neighbours you are grateful for, muscles straining slightly despite his relaxed state, belly button piercing twinkling every now and then as the light hits the metal.

You take his cock into your mouth, working him in small portions. You remember how intimidated you had felt the first night you tried giving your boyfriend a head. Even though Jisung was kind enough to praise you through it, cradling and caressing you throughout, it was hard. With a girth as thick as his and mouth as small as yours, it was bound to be hard. With time, you learned of the ways to take his cock like an absolute professional, though it still managed to overwhelm you at certain times, if he really wanted to give it to you good. Not that you minded. You doubt you'd ever mind it when it's Han Jisung.

You bob your head, mouth coating his skin in your saliva, as your hand works what you can’t reach yet, encasing it in your grip. Above your head, Jisung is sighing, coral pouty lips parting and clenching his jaw as he watches his cock disappear inch by inch into your pretty, pink mouth, enjoying the sight of your lips wrapped so warmly around him. He loves watching you take him slowly. Jisung loves it so much that he thinks if he could stamp one memory forever or take a picture to treasure, it is this. One of his hands slips down to grip at your hair, only holding it back loosely for now, not applying any pressure. He loves seeing you like this as much as he wouldn't agree to you directly but he thinks you know. You seem like you know. Yet again, there is nothing you don't know about him.

“Fuck, baby,” he sighs out when you take more of him in and suck firmly on your way back up, licking at the head and sucking on it leisurely, tongue lapping at the sensitive pink skin of his length. He curses once again, huffing out a heavy breath, going delirious at the sight of you bobbing on his length. The rise of his chest begins to increase its pace and his body begins to build up a sweat all over again.

He groans loudly when you go down once again, taking in the most that you’ve had so far. Your eyes are closed, hair out of your way and your tongue is at against his length. His arm supports his body and he sits up. You feel the movement and you quickly open your eyes, pulling away and moving upwards hastily. You attempt to pull him out of your mouth to see if you did anything wrong. However, he places his hand firmly to the back of your head — you feel the large hand cover most of your head, hand gripping on a ponytail he has made and fixates your head exactly where it is.

“Keep going, please,” he breathes out and your pussy practically melts at that, as you look up at Jisung, his eyelids half closing in pleasure, his grip on your hair getting tighter. He glistens in the dim light, body shining from the sweat and you press your tongue flat against his tongue suddenly and he jerks.

“Fuck your mouth is, shit—“ he pauses to groan, pushing your mouth further down and you try to fight your gag reflex as much as possible. “This is what heaven feels like, baby. This is heaven on Earth.”

He takes control of your movements now. Being the soft dominant human being he is, he clutches your hair tightly to guide your mouth on his cock as he pleases. He eventually begins to buck his hips up to fuck your mouth, the explicit stickling sound of your saliva coating his cock every time he moves, resonating and bouncing off the walls. You're gagging heavily, trying to breathe properly through your nose. Saliva is dripping down your chin because of his length which is so big that you know you'd never be able to take him without activating your gag reflex. Your eyes roll over before your eyelids shut and Jisung's controlling your movements completely now.

“Love this pretty mouth of yours, baby,” he groans, pushing your head as far down as you could go. You choke a bit, letting out a stunned noise, one out of breath but you grip his thighs in an attempt to calm yourself and relax, despite the tears stinging your eyes at your gag reflex kicking in. Jisung slows down his movements, letting go of your hair but you refuse to move. You grab his hand before he could let go of you and you place it back over your head. He smiles and guides you again.

Your arousal drips down your core again and down your thighs, and you can’t help but push yourself forward. Your rear is pushing back against nothing but sheer want and lust for the man before you and his eyes catch onto the sight of your supple soft skin up in the air while your mouth is still locked on his cock. The entire position makes him lust over this woman before him that he proudly calls his.

“You’re so pretty,” he pants, eyes fluttering for a second when you suck on him harder, tongue licking a stripe along the underside of his dick all the way to its head, taking it home. Your hand grips on his balls, carressing it lightly under your fingertips when you feel it tightening. You know he's close and so you suck at the tip of his head furiously, letting out grunts from Jisung's lips, leaving them so deliriously that it has you moving quicker, jumping your groin into nothing. He finally pulls you off his cock, still gripping your hair firmly.

You cough for a while, stained aftermath of saliva on the corner of your lips. Your eyes are teary, some spilling from the corners and your lips are swollen. Jisung somehow, weirdly likes it. He loves seeing you fucked out for him over his cock. He loves seeing your slight makeup haphazard and your entire being disoriented for him. He thinks he's a fucking masochist because he wants to make you cry on his cock — cry for his cock.

"Why?" Your voice is parched as you manage to ask. "You were close."

He pulls you close, tugging at your arm and you fall on top of his chest. He kisses your nose and smiles, wiping the tears away from the corner of your eyes before whispering, "Need to come inside of you, baby."

And he flips you over in the flash of a second and you are under him for the second time that night, ready for a million times for the rest of your life. You kiss him, your shaking hands cupping his face, rubbing small circles into the side with your thumb.

Jisung holds one of your legs by its underside and lifts it above, placing it on your shoulder. You prop your body slightly upwards, ache residing by the joints and Jisung kisses the skin at your acetabulum. He brushes his cock against your cunt and a harsh swear leaves his pretty lips. The tip brushes your clit, tingles running down your spine. Your nails dig into his hand by your side, holding onto the bedsheet and you gasp.

He slides in slowly, letting you get used to his girth and familiarise yourself with it. He pushes it in agonisingly slow and it adds further to the sensuality. The stretch causes you to curl your toes in ecstasy. With your leg over his shoulder, heels digging into the skin by his scapula, the way he is holding you allows him to move deeper, sliding in until you can feel him by your deepest parts and his thighs are pressed against your purple bruised ones. He bends forward and you watch your boyfriend.

Fuck, you love him. So much.

His face is soft and yet so affectionate, his features molded from the divine being, flawless and perfect. Jisung is panting in your ears, the grunt soft and echoing in your eardrums, amplifying on their way to your cochlea and you surround yourself in him. His muscles are tense and the words come out in a low, deep tone, "Fuck, you're swallowing me as a whole. Baby, you are so pretty."

He kisses your lips, ceasing his movements for a while in your wet warmth, whispering against them, "I'm so lucky, so lucky, so lucky—"

He pushes once more to go deeper if it's possible and you moan loudly. He watches your eyes squeeze shut and he can't believe that you're all for him, made for him just as he was for you. You squeeze around him unknowingly and he swears under his breath, his grip on your hip tightening. He knows he could come with you just wrapped around him perfectly, with all your warmth encasing him like he's lucky. He grits his teeth and pulls out. When he slams into you again, his pubic bone hitting your nether region, balls slapping against your arse, you scream. He's close already from you giving a phenomenal head and now when you're squeezing him like your life depended on it, he knows he's going to lose his sanity to you.

Jisung picks up a pace. It is fast and hard and has you gripping onto him for the life of yours. Your hips move along to match his pace and when your moans get excessive, he locks his lips with yours, owning every one of them and making them his. You scream louder into his mouth, muffled screams slipping out. You can feel him twitching against your wall and the whine that leaves you is muffled by his mouth again.

"I want to see you come again, baby," he mumbles, pushing into you, jerking you up. "I want to see you come undone because of me. All around me."

He lets go of your leg, feeling your leg move unsteadily because of the ache that rests in your joints, and moves his hand over your clit. He taps on your clit at a steady pace and you fill your mind slowly coming undone, like a pearl necklace ready to snap. His mouth is against your ear, licking a stripe at the cartilage before whispering into it, "Look at you. So fucking pretty. You're a—" He thrusts into you, hitting a spot that has you shuddering down on him fighting an urge to come undone so quickly, both you and him that Jisung has to catch his breath for a second there. "—my goddess. You're perfect for me. Need to see you come undone under my touch. Need to see you break into a vulnerable mess because of my touch. Need you to wrap around me perfectly."

Tears spill from the corner of your eyes and it's all too much. Your senses are heightened and you feel his warmth around you perfectly and in you completely. Your hand finds its way back to Jisung's hair, tugging at the ones by his nape, digging into the skin by his neck before travelling to messily hold at his scapula, arm falling over his shoulders.

"Please, fuck— please, Sungie," you cry. "Want you, need you, need you, need yo—"

Your boyfriend grunts, his grip firmer than a second before, his stomach quivering and his hips striking, picking up momentum until he's pounding you against the warmth of your bed, the bed making sounds of creeking occasionally as it pushes backwards and falls back forward. You wrap your legs around his waist, hips moving upwards wildly because you know you're close and you know Jisung is too.

He kisses you, passionate and fiery. Your brain feels fuzzy, your consciousness diminishing. Your fucked out expression is the one look that he knows he'd want to get it sketched. Your eyes hooded, cheeks flushed, face glistening in sweat, lips swollen and red and parted, with moans leaving them so softly that he knows he's ruined for. You are whining, moans leaving your lips one after another in no particular order of vocal range — occasionally screaming so loud that you know the nice lady across the hall is going to give you a earful tomorrow morning — when his cock slams into the same spot that has you losing your mind and it snaps.

"Fuck, Jisung!" You come around his cock, the white flash spreading under your eyelids and you're weeping, desperately, mercilessly. The tears in your eyes fall at that, the combination of sensations you’re experiencing right now too much to handle and Jisung quickly catches onto it with an almost sinister chuckle. Your heart swells and you feel the rushing oxytocin clouding your brain, filling you with nothing but love for Jisung.

Jisung continues thrusting into you, chasing after his own orgasm. He still whispers into your ear that makes you bloom in confidence, "There, baby. You're doing so well. That's my girl." You know that he is close and so you hold him tight, squeezing around his girth and your boyfriend moans. You kiss his neck, leaving marks on his skin as you bend forwards. His hips stutter widely and a deep groan fills your ears. You can faintly feel it as he comes undone in the sheath you are. It's pulsating, warm and hot and he holds himself in you, thrusting slowly and languidly to come down from his high, moaning into you.

His lips constantly peck yours, over and over again, lazily giving you gentle kisses as you feel his come leak out of you, once he pulls out of you, humming a soft tune against you, his voice surrounding you. He moves to lie beside you, pulling you to lie on your side in front of him, continuing to kiss you lazily as he begins to sneak his tongue into your mouth, leg draping over yours, arm wrapping around your middle to pull you closer to him and press your body completely to his, gently stroking your sweaty hair back.

The whole situation is a mess but there is something so domestic and warm about this, about Jisung just holding you in moments after sex.

You do the same, snuggling closer to him, enjoying the soft treatment and the gentle feel of his lips, your hands tracing his shoulders and biceps before going to his chest and sneakily tracing down to his belly button, poking the metal piercing. You pull away for a second with a tired giggle.

“You know,” you murmur, voice hoarse for all kinds of reasons clearly. “You’re really hot and all but this," you kiss his nose, "This is why I keep you around."

“What a bitch," he laughs. "A bitch I love a bit too much."

"Aw," you coo. "I love you too, babe."

"What's this, Jisung?"

You point at the beautiful packaged box, also tied with yet another beautiful red ribbon. It is surrounded by fresh rose petals in the side. Having known Jisung for years now, you are not completely wrong when you suspect something fishy. It's not even Valentine's.

"I swear to God, Sungie, if this is some weird shit—"

He raises his hands in defense, leaning against the doorpost, waiting for you to open the gift. He has a smug expression on his face, so ready to tease the crap out of you.

You pull the ribbon out and open the lid of the box, only to find a thong in it. A bright red colored one. You pick it up, holding the string between your thumb and your forefinger only to find the vibrator attached to it and the words, 'It Ain't Gonna Lick Itself,' on the fabric.

"You bastard."

And you chase after him, your hand stretched forward after throwing the thong back onto the bed. Jisung's already sprinting away from the bedroom and into the hall, jumping on the sofas to get away from you. You're laughing, finding the whole situation extremely ridiculous just as much as the present is; chasing after your boyfriend like you were five. And when you scream at your boyfriend as to why, all he has to say is —

"It's your fault. You were the one whining about not spicing up our sex life, babe."

"That was you!"

#stray kids smut #han smut #jisung smut #skz smut #han jisung smut #kpop smut #writings.rue

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jamiesgotchu · 2 years

Text

Why are you holding back? Laugh!

yessss!! I love this prompt, thank you so much anon!! <3 I hurt my leg today while falling on ice so like- i had more time to write this while having to sit down inside ಥ_ಥ Also, I finally figured out how to add cuts, so it should be okay no matter how long it is- sorry for the other people who had to deal with scrolling by a long ass fic last time 💀 Anyway, here it is! hope you like it! ^^

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summary: Isa's in a bad mood, and when Mirabel asks what's wrong, Isa doesn't want to talk about it. Not wanting to push her, but also wanting to cheer her up, Mirabel decides to use other methods. word count: 2,164 characters: lee!isabella and ler!mirabel !! warnings: super light swearing? !!

Isabella flopped onto her bed, the sudden force rocking it back and forth as she elevated it slowly with her vines. God, it felt good to finally be alone. She'd had the most exhausting day- and her brain felt like it was ready to shut down instead of think of anything at all. But she'd had to push through the day anyway. Which was the worst. As the bed rose higher to conceal herself behind her flowerbeds near the ceiling, Isabella slowly turned over onto her back and rubbed her stinging eyes. She couldn't wait to finally be away from the chaos of the day for a little bit. It had been so overwhelming to keep pretending she was alright while her family kept her on her toes. It wasn't all bad. She loved her family, and the most they wanted to do was hang out with her. Antonio wanted to play tag games with the animals, and of course, wanted Isa to join them. Did she love it and have fun? Yes. Was she still drained after three hours of the same game? Also yes. Isabella sat up on her bed, feeling it slow down as it reached the top behind the flower curtains. The bed rocked gently once more as she scoffed to herself and plopped her head in her hands. The worst part of all of this was how she'd handled her exhaustion. It probably would have been way easier to just say "I'm out of energy, and need to go lay down for a bit" to her family before she left, for her social battery-recharging session. But no, of course she didn't think it through at first. Instead, she'd been passive aggressive all day, and very touchy to every interaction. It was as if her tiredness was making her irritated toward things she usually never would be irritated by. For example, Camilo came up to her, asking if she'd seen Mirabel? She had answered with a quick tight-lipped fake smile, and an accidental angry eye twitch before briskly walking away. And yes, that did actually happen. She sighed, a strand of hair flying away from her face as she reflected on her ill-tempered decision based on the heat of the moment. Of course, her exhaustion wasn't an excuse to have treated her family that way. Isa had tried her best to hide her irritability, but it just always seemed to present itself in the worst ways. The passive aggressive ways. Which she hated to no end. And now, she was left here wondering if anyone had noticed her bad temper as of today. She'd hung out around everybody, and the best she'd done at hiding her emotions was Antonio. Someone HAD to have noticed.

Isabella cursed under her breath, feeling terrible for how she'd acted. No one had pointed it out, but she could see the looks she got after she gave a snarky response to even the most polite question. She didn't mean to, but she still couldn't help but feel like it was all her fault. Isa rubbed her neck and laid her back against her pillows. Maybe she just had to get to sleep. It felt awful to sleep while she might have hurt her family's feelings, but.. maybe it was for the best. Thinking clearer might help, anyway. Just as her heavy eyelids began to close, she heard the familiar opening of her room's heavy door, a loud creak echoing through the room. She couldn't see who it was, because of the flower curtains obstructing her view. However, she didn't have to wonder for long, as she soon heard a voice she recognized. "Isabela?" The voice called out, as the aftermath of speaking caused the room to imitate it lightly. "You here?" When no response came, the person announced themselves. "Isa?.. It's Mirabel.." As if Isa couldn't tell already who it was speaking. The long haired girl groaned quietly and pinched the bridge of her nose. It never fails, Mirabel always had the worst timing. Then again, she did have to find SOME kind of opportunity to apologize for the way she'd been acting all day. So maybe it wasn't all bad. Slowly, Isabella sighed and lowered the bed down to the ground, Mirabel standing at the door on the other side of the room. When Mirabel's eyes landed on Isa, she smiled. "Isa! Hey, Hi! There you are!" She jogged over, her hair bouncing as she pushed up her glasses. She caught up to the girl and crossed her arms. "Where have you been? Camilo's been distracting Antonio while I tried to find-" She trailed off, her eyebrows raising lightly while she relaxed her arms. "Isa?" Isabella didn't answer, her eyes glued to her hands perched in her lap and gripping her dress. "Are you okay?" Mirabel gently asked, her volume lowering in concern. Her footsteps echoed through the room as she stepped toward her slowly. When she stepped up the stairs, she waited until Isabella glanced up at her. "Do you mind if I.." Mirabel motioned to the bed, in the spot next to Isabella. Hesitant, the long hair girl nodded and gently shifted to the side, allowing her sister to continue walking up the stairs and sit down next to her. The bed rocked under both of their weight. They both stared ahead of each other in silence. Suddenly, Isabella broke the awkward quiet between them. "Listen, I'm sorry about today, I just- I don't know, I felt super burnt out, I'm not sure why-" She followed her words with quick nervous hand gestures. Mirabel giggled and shook her head, furrowing her eyebrows at her sibling. "Isa, you don't have to explain anything! I already know." The long haired girl's eyes widened, as she looked at Mirabel, dumbfounded. "What-? you do?" "Well yeah," Mirabel adjusted her arms, putting them behind her and leaning backwards to put her weight on them. "I mean, you're not normally like this. Especially after Casita fell, you've been regulating your emotions so well." Isabella slowly let her hands drift down to her lap again, letting them rest as her sister continued. "You've been amazing actually, and everyone knows it. And if it makes you feel any better, barely anyone but me and Camilo noticed your 'attitude'." Mirabel used air quotes for the last word. "Seriously? I thought I was being so obvious." Isa rubbed her shoulder with her left hand in guilt. Mirabel shook her head. "Nope. Cross my heart, no one else saw it." She smiled, turning to look at her sister once more. "The only reason why me and Camilo saw it was because you get mad at us most often." She grinned and nudged Isa lightly with her elbow. "And you know it's true." Isabella giggled and crossed her arms. "Of course I know it, you two are the most annoying." She said in a teasing tone. Mirabel scoffed. "You were annoying to us first, you know. We just annoy you back." "Annoying?!" Isabella said in a

fake-hurt tone, smiling. "Oh please." "Duh." The short haired girl giggled and poked her sister in the side as emphasis. "You're the most annoying out of all the-" She paused and drew her hand back when she noticed her sister had jumped. "Isabella?" "Huh? Yeah?" Isa said, nervously looking Mirabel in the eyes. Mirabel's eyes narrowed, her head drawing back in suspicion. "What was that?.." Isabella brushed her dress in a slight panic. "What was what? I didn't do anything, what are you talking about?" She cracked a shaky smile and glanced away, and Mirabel noted a small tinge of pink glowing at her cheeks. "Hey!" Mirabel laughed, leaning forward excitedly. "What was that! Was it me?" Isa flinched and drew backward, moving away from Mirabel's face now close to hers. "You?? No?? Wh.. What are you talking about??"

"Ohhhhohhohoho.." Mirabel giggled teasingly, squinting her eyes and pointing at Isabella. "We should try it again." "N-no, we shouldn't-" Isabella shook her head and scooted quickly away from her sister, looking away. "HA! So you DO know what it was!" Mirabel shouted and edged herself closer to the long haired girl. "And iiiii.." She drawled in a sing-song voice, circling her finger around while pointing at Isa. "....think I know too." Isabella's eyes widened nervously. "What?? No you don't!" The bed rocked slightly under the girl moving backward as far as she could away from her sibling. "Yes I doooo!" Mirabel grinned and only inched closer and closer, until Isabella had nowhere left to run. "And since you know 'nothing' about it, maybe I could shed some light on it?~" " There was no hiding anymore. Isa decided to make a run for it. She quickly leapt to the side of Mirabel, trying to avoid her and get to the other end of the bed. The bed moved quickly under the sudden shift, however, causing her to rock and fall forward. "Where do you think you're going??" Mirabel teased, grabbing Isa as she tried to grab the bed sheets in resistance. "HEY-" Isabella protested, trying to flail her arms to throw off Mirabel's grip. But to no avail, Mirabel had her hands firmly pinning Isa's arms to her sides. Mira raised an eyebrow and smiled, not giving Isabella a chance to process the situation before she scurried her fingers into her ribs. "MirABEL!!" Isabella's voice hitched, releasing a couple of squeaks and huffy breaths. A shaky smile spread across her face, but she refused to go through with what Mirabel wanted. Now this was personal, and she WASN'T going to give that satisfaction to her. The curly haired sibling giggled. "Don't even try lying now, I know you know what's going on." She tilted her head teasingly, and didn't slow. She didn't plan on it- not until Isabella showed what she wanted her to. Mirabel's sibling grit her teeth and denied herself the impulse to laugh. Why was it so much worse when she couldn't?? It was tough as hell, but she wasn't about to give up, no matter how many times she had to muffle her giggles. "N-..NO I. DON'T!." Isabella's sentences broke, trying to hold the laughter that wanted to separate her speech. "Oh, come on!" Her sister furrowed her eyebrows, annoyance tipping itself into her tone. As she spoke, her hands quickly brought themselves to Isabella's sides. "Why are you holding back?? Laugh already!" Isabella broke.

"NOHOO WAHAHAHAIT- MIRABEHEHEEL!!" She snorted, trying and failing to swat at her sister's attacking hands. "There it is!! Gosh, took you long enough." Mirabel smiled, giggling along with her sibling's laughter. "Why didn't you just admit it?? I already knew, estúpida." "DOHOOON'T CAHALL ME STUHUHUPID!! YOHOU WERE THEHEE ONE BEHEHING ANNOYIHIHIHAHHAAH-" Isabella couldn't finish her sentence, as cheerful laughter filled her room. Mirabel beamed at the sight of her sister so happy, after a long day of not seeing a genuine smile from her. She almost didn't want to stop, just to keep her happy. "Jeez, you're so ticklish. Keep in mind, this was your fault," Mirabel continued talking nonchalantly, tossing some curls that had fallen in front of her eyes. "Y'know, with the denial and all." Isabella was offended, but too full of laughter to make a rebuttal. The only thing she could manage to get out was the constant giggles that spilled out of her. She tried once more to hit her sibling's hand away, but could barely lift her arm. "MIRAHHAAHBEHEHEL AHAHAAHA I'M GOHOHOHONA KIHIHIHILL YOHOOHOU" She sputtered, grabbing onto Mirabel's wrists. "Kill me?!" Mirabel laughed with fake offense. "Minus ten points. You're gonna get it now." "NOHO WAHAHAIT NOHO I WAHAS KIDDING, I WAHAHAHS KIHIHIDDING!!" Isabella cackled, as her voice nervously pitched. "Hmm.... you're sure you're not gonna kill me?" Mirabel drawled, continuing. "I don't know if you know this, but I kinda don't wanna die." "YEHES! OHOHOKAY!! FIHIHINE!! I WOHOONT KILL YOHOU!! NOW LEHET ME GOHOHOOHAHAHAAH" Mirabel lifted her hands up, releasing Isabella swiftly and grinning. "Jeez. Alright, alright. I'm done." Isabella laid still on the bed, still giggling as she caught her breath. Mirabel smiled and adjusted her sitting position so that she sat on her knees, and placed her hands in her lap. "Well, that proves that, then. I don't even know why you tried to hide anything- maybe you should just tell the truth right away next time." Slowly, Isa sat up, snickering off the phantom sensations. Placing a hand on her stomach to catch up to her breath, she smiled and furrowed her eyebrows at her sister. "Hey. Hehey, Mirabel."

"Yeah?" Mirabel smiled, a leftover teasing tone hinting in her voice. "Remember what I said about not killing you?" A pause. "..Yeah?" "That was a lie." Mirabel yelped, giggling as Isabella swiftly reached over and grabbed at Mirabel's arm. Isa had pretended she'd hated it, but, She didn't even feel as tired anymore. And she was already feeling a lot better.

A/N: HEY Y'ALL I hope you liked this one! I've got like- a ton of prompts in my inbox so i'm working on a lot of them! But overall I think so far this was the most fun to make lmao (if you read this far, thank you! <33 you are much appreciated!) Thank you again for the prompt anon, and hope you guys enjoyed~

#lee!isabella #ler!mirabel #encanto tickles #ticklefic #sfw tickles #tickling community #ticklewriting #encantotwords #jamie'sfics #TRUSTINGYALLTONOTTHINKTHISISASHIP.#*platonic*#they'resiblingsbondingsojustshhhhh

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