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kasagia · 5 months

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Right hand III

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!exBeneGesserit! reader Summary: After Feyd learns the truth about your dark past, you do everything in your power to prove your loyalty to him. He has many ideas for this... but will your life be able to go back to normal after that? You will either die at his hands, be exiled, return to the Bene Gesseit, or live by his side. And you yourself don't even know which of these options is worse... Warning: 18+; violence; blood; Feyd Rautha; death; fight; brutality; smut; Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ PART II ~•♤♤♤•~ PART IV ~•♤♤♤•~

His dagger digs lightly into your neck, blood slowly trickling down it. You don't try to fight him, you don't push the blade away or try to rip it out of his hand. You know that if you did, you would have been killed by him long ago.

You had to play it smart… and fast—before he slit your throat, which was becoming a more likely scenario with every second.

"Feyd…" You choke out once more, trying to make him look you in the eyes and get him to listen to you. The blood is seeping out of you faster and faster as he presses the blade harder against your throat.

"Silience, witch! You little plague, bane of my existence, poisonous viper, how long have you been playing with me? How long have you been faking all this? Did you think you could outsmart me? That you can deceive me? Make fun of me? Humiliate me? I should fuck you raw, use you like a whore, and leave you in your ridiculous sisterhood to rot with those old hags!" He shouts, pressing his blade harder against your throat. The cool steel of the metal on your skin is becoming a more serious threat to your life. You shiver as you feel him taking more blood from you.

"Feyd, listen…" You try to speak again, placing your hand on his wrist. He pushes your hand away as if it posed a radioactive threat greater than anything floating in Giedi Prime's atmosphere and glares at you furiously.

"NO! You lied to me. You betrayed me. You know how I punish people for disloyalty. You're lucky that I won't throw you to my soldiers so they can play with you before I give you to my harpies. But don't worry, I will take very good care of you. You'll die like those cowardly rats you helped me kill a few hours ago…"

"You... you would... kill me... if I told you... at the beginning..." You gasp as he grabs your neck tightly and drags his blade down your body, creating a trail of blood leading to your collarbone.

"I will kill you now." He growls hoarsely, completely cutting off the air from your respiratory tract.

Your eyes widen as he lifts you off the ground so that only your toes touch the floor. Tears well up in your eyes as you desperately try to draw in air, but his hand is wrapped too tightly around your neck for the oxygen to reach your lungs.

When you realised that it was over and that he had decided on your death, the moment that Lady Jessica told him the whole truth about you, you relaxed. You let a blissful emptiness wash over you as you slowly waited for him to take your life away. You close your eyes, rest your head against the wall behind you, and let your body slowly go limp as the seconds pass without air.

You gasp, surprised, as the grip on your neck loosens so that you can take small, ragged breaths. You quickly take advantage of the opportunity and take a few shaky breaths. You open your eyes, staring into Feyd's icy blue and furious gaze in utter shock.

Was he going to play with you before he killed you? Torture, like many before you, until he finds in himself some mercy and takes your life? Because if you know one thing, it's that you won't beg him to let you go. About nothing. Never. You were too proud to do so.

"Fight." He growls, pressing you harder against the wall. He leans forward, bringing his face very close to yours. You shiver, feeling his breath on your cheek as he carefully observes your reaction to his intimidation. Like a snake waiting for the right moment to attack.

"What?" You ask stupidly, not understanding what he is doing. You've often watched him play with his victims, prolonging their suffering and giving them no hope of escaping his grip... so why does he want you to fight? Why does he want you to resist him? Was this another sick game of his?

"Fight! Scream! Struggle! Why are you not doing anything?! Why don't you beg for your miserable life, Bene Gesserit's spy?! Fight with me! Fight back! FIGHT BACK!!" He screams and throws you against the wall.

Completely unprepared for him to completely release you from his grip, you fall to the floor, too weak to keep your balance on your own. You place your hands on the black metal sheet beneath you and breathe quickly, trying to get as much air as possible before he wraps his hand around your throat again.

"I… I was always… loyal… to you…" You gasp, still trying to recover from what just happened. He walks slowly towards you. He presses the tip of his sword under your chin and forces you to lift your head and look him in the eyes.

“You have five minutes before I treat you like I treat your mentor. Use this time well. I can always get bored and kill you faster.” He takes a step back and slowly slides the blade across your skin. He steps away from you to pour himself a drink, but he keeps watching you out of the corner of his eye. You take one brief glance at Lady Jessica's body before you can compose yourself enough to formulate any logical response.

"I... I have no idea what she told you. Where she lied and where it was convenient for her to tell the truth... but whatever she told you I did... she surely doesn't know the one, most important thing. She doesn't know the reason for my actions."

"Oh, but I do. You wanted to run away from them so you wouldn't have to breed with such a monster as me. You thought that as my right hand, you would be safe, that I wouldn't notice you in the shadows, that I wouldn't want you, and that I wouldn't touch you. But I did. And by doing so, I destroyed your plans. Tell me, how many times have you escaped from Giedi Prime in your fantasies? How many times have you wanted to leave for good?"

With each question he asks, he takes a step towards you, which makes him stand in front of you again. But you didn't get up from the floor. You didn't feel like it. Besides, you doubted he would let you stand up and be on an equal level with him. He needed to feel in control, to feel that he is still dominating over you—that he didn't lose control over you despite your... betrayal. Although you didn't think it was any kind of betrayal at all. A slight omission of a few facts. Nothing more.

"I... you can't blame me for that. Anyone with survival instincts would not willingly live on Giedi Prime. But I stayed." You decide to tell him some of the truth this time. For too long, you managed to play your cards well. You had to bend a little to his will without losing your claw and not behaving like an obedient concubine, wanting to fulfil all his orders and wishes, because that would make him more suspicious, and he would definitely kill you for trying to deceive him and lie to him again.

"You stayed out of fear." He questions your words, keeping his watchful, piercing gaze on you as he tries to find in you any trace of lying.

You almost shiver under the furious gaze of his icy blue eyes. Fortunately, you manage to refrain from showing him any reaction. The metallic scent of Lady Jessica's blood motivated you to survive like nothing had before. You somehow manage to recall some of your lessons and training sessions with her as you think about how to respond to Feyd's words. Maybe her methods and rules didn't keep her alive, but unlike her, you knew Feyda-Rautha too damn well. You could get out of this. You just had to play it smart and sacrifice a few things…

"Out of loyalty to you. Sense of duty and honor. Something I thought we both shared." You say confidently, meeting his gaze bravely.

However, your attitude does not impress him at all. He lazily turns the dagger in his hands, playing with the sharp blade. He doesn't take his eyes off you, even for a moment. He just stands there, maintaining a completely calm and unruffled demeanor. It's hard to imagine now that just a moment ago, this man was overcome with the greatest anger of his entire life. You've seen him in many states, but you have never seen him that mad. Rabban may have been called a beast by others, but the real threat was his younger brother. Especially when his first anger was over and it was time for the cold calculation of revenge.

“Was that loyalty and sense of duty also present in you when you chose to ignore the fact that you were supposed to be mine? That you are destined to give me an heir so strong that the whole world will kneel before him?” This time, you can't help but shudder. He notices this and chuckles darkly, shaking his head. In a split second, the tip of his blade is once again pressed on the thin and delicate skin of your throat. You swallow, and when you meet his gaze, you realise that you have to tell the truth if you don't want to die on your knees in front of him.

"If your uncle told you to marry me and have your offspring with me, would you do it?" A frown appears on his forehead at the mere mention of the baron. His hand trembles slightly as a new wave of rage washes over him.

"What does he have to do with this?" He asks hoarsely, as he suspects you of working with his uncle. After all, you were smart enough to play both sides.

Feyd wouldn't be surprised if you reported everything he was doing to his uncle behind his back. That's why he preferred having you—a cunning, beautiful witch who was now kneeling before him—by his side. Because you were drop-dead perfect. He never expected you to make such a stupid mistake. To ever let him gain even the slightest doubt about your loyalty.

"Nothing. But the Bene Gesserit were to me what your uncle is to you. And after running away from them, the last thing I wanted to do was follow the last sick order they gave me." The years you spent with him gave you enough information about the family relationship at House Harkonnen.

They are like predators waiting for the right moment to attack, always prepared to hurt the other one when he shows even a tiny glimmer of weakness. You also know Feyd's past... or rather, the history of scars on his back. Unfortunately, these were not the only marks the baron left on him.

You hold your breath as he grabs your hair and pulls you up. You get up on your feet, and, being on an equal level with him, you no longer hesitate to look him in the eye. He releases your hair with the other, only to move it to your cheek and neck. He rubs tiny droplets of blood across yours, shifting his attention to your skin. He caresses your jawline with his finger and suddenly tilts your head back, giving himself a better view of your reddened throat, which has begun to form bruises in the shape of his fingers from how he choked you just moments ago. You swallow, watching him closely.

"And yet you served me for many years. You stayed with me after they wanted to link your future with mine. Why?"

“I was hoping the last place they would look for me would be Giedi Prime by your side. And that… after all, you won't be interested in me.”

"But I was. This must have spoiled your plans, right?"

"A little." You confess, hoping to gain something from your honesty.

After your words, there is a long silence in the room. He removes his hand from you, staring intently at you as he considers your words. You wait in suspense and anticipation for his next decision.

One quick move was enough to take your life.

And from the look in his eyes, you know it must have been tempting for him to add your blood to Lady Jessica's, which was already staining the floor of the ship.

"On your knees." His command is so sudden that it takes you a moment for your brain to process what he said.

All you can do is stare at him blankly, your heart beating with excitement and terror at the thought of his words. He didn't want to… he couldn't now… You look down at his pants and swallow, seeing the slight bulge. You hold your breath as he takes a step towards you and presses his hard length against your thigh, which undoubtedly confirms your suspicions. He lifts your chin with two fingers, forcing you to look into his eyes as you blush and realise what he is asking you to do.

"I love your doe eyes, my pet, but there's a time and a place for everything. On your knees or your heart will become another decoration of my chambers." He says it huskily, caressing your chin before letting go. He stares at you expectantly, waiting for your next move.

You swallow again, feeling a huge lump in your throat. Your mind is racing, but you know, as he does, that you have no escape. Your position is hopeless; you can either give him a blowjob or die, and you don't want to do any of it. Or touch him in any way after he disembowelled Lady Jessica in front of you. But the prospect of being his next victim reluctantly brings you to your knees before him.

"Good girl." He hums, tilting your chin slightly so you're looking at him and not the floor between you. He takes a step towards you and attaches the dagger to his arm. "Show me that your beautiful, deceptive, tempting lips, throat, and larynx can do more than feed me with sweet lies, and maybe I won't cut them out of you."

You hold your breath, your eyes trailing down to his pants. You hear him chuckle darkly before he takes your hands in his and places them on the fastenings of his pants, guiding your hands as you gradually free his length from his armour.

You swallow again at the sight of his full, hard length and curse him, as the rumours about him do not lie at all. He was enormous. Long and not too thick, but not thin either. You don't know if you'd rather he tried to cut your throat with a knife than pierce it with what stood proud between you.

"Rumours say you know how to do it. I don't remember how many soldiers I killed for the privilege of having your body before me. But each of them shared one opinion. Your fire burns as bright in battle as it does in the bedroom. Show me, my little witch, how much you care about continuing to be my right hand and having all the privileges you had." He encourages you mockingly when you stare at his slightly pre-cum-dripping cock for too long for his liking. But damn, his cum was black. You were sure as hell that the bastard was going to paint you with it.

You give him an angry, cold glare as you wrap your hand around his length. He lets out a soft moan, grabbing your jaw to make sure you keep your eyes on his. You swallow, stroking his length with slow movements of your hand as he gets even harder. Part of you is glad that he wants you to look at him. You doubt you could keep your composure if you had to look at what you had to fit in your mouth… and hopefully only in your mouth.

He growls when you drag out the inevitable too long, using only your hands on him. You can see that he likes what you're doing, but the impatience radiating from him makes you realise that it won't end with just a few caresses of your hands around his length.

Reluctantly, you lean down and wrap your lips around his tip, sucking him gently—like candy. You taste his pre-cum on your tongue, surprisingly taking in its… not-so-horrible taste. It's bittersweet on your tongue and thick. You shudder at the thought of what he would feel like inside you.

He groans, burring his hands in your hair as he gently pushes you on him to make you take more of his cock into your mouth. You choke as his length suddenly hits the back of your throat. Surprisingly, he stops pushing you and just keeps his hands in your hair, letting you adjust to his full length.

"I've always liked your hair..." He starts tugging on them to correct your rhythm. "A natural leash for my beautiful, dangerous pet..."

You growl around him in anger at his words. He groans throatily, feeling his cock twitch in your mouth at the extra stimulation he got from you. You feel tears slowly begin to well up in your eyes as he allows himself to move his hips more and more, lazily thrusting into your throat. Your saliva mixes with his pre-cum, staining the corners of your mouth.

It amazes you how gentle he is with you. How he doesn't push you too far so as not to cause you the pain you know he loves to enjoy. More than once, you had to call the medic to his concubines. Even his harpies occasionally got injured when he used them for his pleasure after a particularly exciting fight. You knew how… he could get lost in his pleasure. Yet he was extremely careful with you.

He starts thrusting into your throat faster and faster, guiding your head by your hair in time with his thrusts. You let your tears fall as he picked up a pace you couldn't keep up with. You close your eyes and feel a tear roll down your cheek. You open them, meeting his gaze, when you feel his thumb brush away your falling tear. He licked it off his finger, purring at its salty flavour.

You wrap your hands around his balls, massaging them in a circular motion, trying to make him come as quickly as possible. He laughs throatily, pounding stupidly into your mouth. Your jaw starts to hurt. You prop yourself up on his thigh with one hand, unable to stay on your knees for long on your own.

Seeing that you're having difficulty, he slows down a little, lazily digging into your throat. He luxuriated in the warmth of your mouth, and your tongue caressed his length. His gaze never falters, as he maintains eye contact with you the entire time. He strokes your cheek with his hand, then moves to your throat as he gently uses his fingertips to feel the bulge in your throat caused by his cock.

"I'll take you. Fast and hard. You'll cry as beautifully as you do now and writhe beneath me desperately, trying to escape like always, but you'll be so impaled on my cock and wrapped in the tight embrace of my arms that you won't move a fucking millimetre without my permission. I will fuck into you our Kwisatz Haderach, so no one will ever doubt that it should have been otherwise, that you don't belong with me. And the best of all is that you will not know the damn day or hour when it will happen. You will learn how to be my whore and baroness, just like you learned how to be my right hand. You'll do great, my little witch. You prove very well with your mouth and hands what a wonderful right hand you are. Much better than my own fucking hand. Much better than any of the fantasies I had. My little witch, always attending to my every need. Only fucking mine."

He moans, speeding up drastically, chasing his peak. You feel him getting closer to his orgasm as he becomes impossibly harder in your mouth and his balls tighten, ready to release his black cum. He keeps making you look at him until he growls loudly, coming into your mouth.

Earlier, you were gagging with just his length in your mouth. Now you really choke as his seed spills down your throat. He presses you against him, your nose brushing against his pubic bone, making you swallow all of his cum until it's completely inside you. Its taste is pungent, reminding you of a spicy, bitter spice.

He stays in your mouth for a while after he finishes pouring into you. He massages your scalp with his hands, clearly not wanting to release you. His cock twitches slightly, and you fear he's about to give you a second round.

He sighs, reluctantly pulling out of your mouth. He grabs your hands and guides them to his pants. You cleaned him and put him back in his pants without saying a word. You are not even looking into his eyes, knowing full well that a satisfied smile will spread across his lips the moment you do.

He grabs your arms and lifts you off your knees. You shiver, unable to stay on your two feet after being on your knees for so long, and you fall into his arms, leaning completely against him. He laughs huskily, pulling you closer to his chest. He uses his fingertip to collect the last of your saliva and his cum from the corners of your mouth and pushes his fingers into your mouth. You suck on them, meeting his eyes with your defiant, angry gaze.

He hums, smiling darkly as he watches with satisfaction as you lick his fingers. He leans forward, his nose brushing your cheek as he licks from your face and then from your neck the droplets of his black cum that leaked from your mouth as you tried to swallow everything he poured into you. You shiver as his tongue caresses the skin of your neck, tracing the small, sealed wound he inflicted on you with his dagger. He hums against your neck, disappointed at how quickly your blood clots.

Suddenly, he lets you completely go. You can barely keep your balance as he walks away from you.

"If that Atreides' bitch survived, so did her pathetic puppy. Send a message to our people in the desert. Paul Atredis is alive. We have to kill him before he and the rebels start a revolt and destroy our plans. Clean up here too. Tomorrow we have half a tribe of these rats to interrogate."

You nod dumbly, trying to understand what the hell just happened. Just a few hours ago, you were afraid for your life, and now that you... have pleased him, he acts like nothing has happened. You come to the conclusion that it bothered you more than when he pressed his blade against your throat.

"Ah, and Y/N." He says, stopping at the door and turning to look at you one last time before leaving the room. You can tell by the mischievous smile on his lips that he has nothing good planned for you. "I want to see you in my chambers tonight."

He doesn't wait for your reaction or response. He just walks out with a springy, energetic step, closing the door behind him with a bang.

You shiver as you find yourself alone in the room with Lady Jessica's corpse. You look around, and, in a desperate attempt to find some positives, you decide that at least your blood isn't staining the floor of the ship... or at least not yet.

His chambers in the main base on Arrakis are not as... ornately terrifying as those he had in Giedi Prime. You wouldn't guess that someone important lived there. It was an ordinary room with a bed, a chest of drawers, and a bathroom. No amenities, just a commander's room; definitely too poor for a na-baron.

You shiver as you feel his hand on your hip. He pulls you to his chest, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his nose in your hair. He sighs, inhaling your scent. The warm air on your neck is tickling you gently. You think about how it's been too easy for him to sneak up on you lately. You've gone out of shape.

"Are you planning how to escape, little witch?" He whispers hoarsely, playing with the fabric of your nightgown.

"I didn't. And believe me, I had better opportunities in the past. So why would I escape now?" You answer his question with your own one, irritated by his suspicions.

"Because unlike me, you are very reluctant to welcome our Kwisatz Haderach into this world." You roll your eyes at his words and turn your head to give him an annoyed look. He shrugs with a smirk. He presses a kiss on the bare skin of your shoulder before resting his chin on it. "You're obviously trying to distance yourself from me, too." He adds, seeing the irritated frown on your forehead.

“Weren't you the one who thought the Bene Gesserit prophecies were just bullshit from stoned old women?” You ask, raising your eyebrows in challenge.

"I did… but this particular one seems very convincing..." He purrs into your neck. He moves one hand from your hip so his finger can trace the red line of the wound he gave you with the dagger. He tilted your head back, forcing you to rest your head on his shoulder as he placed a trail of kisses on the small scar.

"Where are your harpies?" You ask when he starts showing too much interest in your neck, peppering it with kisses.

"Should I call them? Would you like them to join us?" You wrinkle your nose, at which he laughs, amused, tightening his hold on you.

"Of course not. You know that I have... no sympathy for them." You grumble, trying to break free from his grip, which, of course, he won't let you.

"The feeling is mutual. You know, they think you're stealing me from them. And that I will quickly get bored with you, like with other... oriental pets I had, and I will come back to them."

"What are you waiting for, then?" You ask, raising an eyebrow at him. He chuckles darkly, shaking his head. His hand plays with the strap of your black sleep gown, gently stroking your bare skin. He leans down, nuzzling your temple, and whispers in your ear:

“The problem is, my dear little witch, that you have taken over every ounce of my thoughts. My dreams, my nights, my days… it seems only right that I get back the time I wasted dreaming about you, right?”

You shiver, both from his words and from the way his hand slides over your body like a snake. He strokes your breasts, taking a moment to focus on them before his hand rests on your hips again. He presses you against him, clinging to you like a second skin.

"Let's go to bed. It was a very long day. For both of us..." He says, directing you towards his bed. You resist him slightly by digging your heels into the floor, but he quickly counters this by lifting you up gently, leaving your feet dangling in the air.

"Wouldn't you rather sleep alone? It's pretty warm here." You try to get out of it one last time, feeling the soft silk of his black sheets beneath you as he gently places you on his bed. He laughs mockingly, amused by your poor attempt at escape.

"Not at night. You know that well. I'd rather keep an eye on you, little witch. We don't know what monsters may be lurking in the darkness of Arrakis after we killed the Reverend Mother of those rats." He purrs, laying down next to you. You sigh as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer to him, knowing full well that your safety is the last thing he's worried about right now.

"If Paul Atreides survived, it is very likely that he could be Muad'Dib. He will come here. To avenge his mother and unborn sister." You warned him. You're trying to make this situation more… normal. Lying in his bed and in his arms wasn't the least bit normal for you, but making plans with him was. You needed to keep your mind occupied until you could fall asleep… if he let you fall asleep.

"You didn't stop me from killing her. You didn't say a word. Why? Were you afraid you'd be next?"

You shake your head. You're not going to tell him the whole truth about what you felt back then, but you know you can't lie to him. You have to tell him at least half the truth if you want to regain some of his trust... at least until you escape.

"Lady Jessica believed that Paul was the real Kwisatz Haderach, since she gave Duke Leto a son instead of a daughter. The Bene Gesserit resented her for this. She was supposed to give him a daughter. A daughter who was to marry you and give you a real Kwisatz Haderach. By disobeying their orders, she fell into their disfavour... until she gave them the idea that they might as well... fuse me with you to secure your bloodline. But the Bene Gesserit came up with the idea that I was going to be the mother of the Kwisatz Haderach. If I hadn't gone with you that night... I might as well have died at her hands. I… I guess I was glad that I survived her."

Not looking at his face helps you partially open up to him. You didn't like remembering your past. This was the one thing you had in common. You try your best to reveal as little to him as you have to, unconsciously tracing patterns in his hand as he keeps hugging you from behind. If you turned around, you would have seen his small smile at your gesture quickly disappear as he sensed the growing tension within you at the thought of Lady Jessica.

"If I had known, I would have made it more painful for her." He states, taking your hand in his and squeezing it. You look down at your joined hands and frown as he slowly strokes the skin of your hand with his thumb.

"Why?" You ask in a whisper, not moving an inch when he buries his nose in your hair.

"Because no one hurts what's mine."You snort, knowing full well the true meaning of his words. If you were just a naive young girl, you would believe in the good intentions behind these words. However, you know Feyd Rautha too well to naively believe that he won't break his favourite toys. He grabs your chin in a tight grip and turns you to face him. You swallow thickly as his intense gaze meets yours. You've never had the chance to look so closely at his icy blue eyes... "I want you by my side all the time. I need to make sure you're not planning anything behind my back, little witch."

"Haven't I proven my loyalty enough?" You ask, placing your hands on his bare chest and pushing yourself away from him gently. He chuckles darkly, letting go of your chin in a split second to grab your wrists in a tight grip. He lifts your hands, pushing them away from him and twisting them so you can't move them.

"I believe you are capable of doing much more." He murmurs against your throat, pressing kisses there and lazily sucking at your skin, which was already irritated by his dagger.

You squirm in his arms, trying to somehow protect your neck from his wandering lips. Your attempts fail, as you only give him more fun by grinding against him in a desperate attempt to escape.

Eventually, he gets bored and decides to let you go. He lets you turn your back on him again, but you don't get far. His arms wrap around you, holding you in a cage as he takes on the role of the big spoon.

"I will bring you the head of Atreides on a golden plate. There is only one Kwisatz Haderach—our future son. I won't let some dog from Caladan tell people otherwise." He whispers in your ear. You shiver, half-wishing you were stupid enough to believe in his devotion. The fact that someone can do anything you want for you. But it wasn't love. It was just an obsession. You had to remember that.

"Maybe he really is the one… or maybe it's all just nonsense made up by those old hags? Maybe there will be no Kwisatz Haderach at all? What's then?" He doesn't answer your questions. However, you manage to get some reaction out of him.

He pulls away from you, the bed creaking beneath him as you hear him turn over to his other side. The sudden chill of not having his body close to yours makes you shiver.

You find yourself regretting for a moment that whatever you said made him distance himself from you. You shake your head and sigh, sinking deeper into the pillows. You try to find the most comfortable position possible when settling down to sleep. But for some reason, you don't feel tired at all. Your eyes are wide open as you listen to his soft breathing, the only other sound in the empty room.

"How did you find out about… uncle?" His sudden question makes you turn towards him. He remains turned away from you, ignoring any movement from you. You think for a moment, staring at the scars scattered across his pale, muscular back, before answering him.

"I have eyes and ears. And enough brain cells to… deduce a few things." You whisper, tracing a particularly nasty-looking scar on his back with the pad of your thumb. "I also... I went through something similar. I've told you that before. Bene Gesserit was to me what your uncle is to you." He turns slowly to face you at your words. His eyes examine you so thoroughly that you feel another shiver run through your body.

This time, when he reaches out to cup your cheek, you don't fight him. You let him, trying to decipher the unreadable look in his eyes as he continues to consider your words.

"Tell me... how could I resist when you're like this? How could I ignore you and leave you in your shadows when everything you do fascinates me to a madness that only you can heal?" He asks, tracing the line of your lips with the pad of his thumb.

"You wanted to kill me today." You remind him in an accusatory tone. You bite the tip of his finger, which only brings a smirk to his face as he moves his hand away from your face. He places it on your hip, squeezing it in a silient warning.

"I wanted to scare you. You lied to me, so you needed some punishment. Besides, you know perfectly well that if I really wanted to kill you, you would already be dead."

"Not telling the whole truth is not a lie. Besides… your intentions don't make this situation any different to me." You huff, rolling your eyes. He laughs huskily, caressing your hip through the fabric of your nightgown as he moves closer to you on the bed. Your chest is pressed against his. Both of you are breathing steadily and slowly, staring intently into each other's eyes.

"Are you afraid of the little old me, my little witch?" He asks teasingly. You catch yourself watching the sparkle of amusement in his eyes shine surprisingly brightly under the light of the Arrakis moon. You can't make yourself turn your gaze off of him. And that's what terrifies you.

"Should I?" You ask in a whisper, trembling, not giving him an ounce of trust. Seeing your extremely distrustful and hostile attitude, he stops smiling. He looks at you more seriously, as he is deep into his thinking.

He doesn't respond to you. He places a kiss on your forehead and turns your back to him. He holds you tightly, buries his nose in your hair, and slowly falls asleep, wrapping himself in your warmth and scent. On your back, you feel his heart beating calmly in his strong, well-built chest. You allow yourself to sigh shakily, being finally 'alone' for the first time since this fateful day began.

And you realise that you're not afraid of him at all. The only person you are afraid of is yourself. That you would give in to your strange attraction to him one day and seal your fate. You didn't want to die. But you'd rather find yourself buried under the sands of Arrakis than let those Bene Gesserit witches control your life ever again.

"If you tear this, you'll be walking around with my hand around your throat." He warns you, seeing you struggling with the black leather choker around your neck he gave you. It looked like a fucking collar. And it was a bit too tight for you to feel comfortable in it.

"You give me so many options…" You snort sarcastically, leaving the damn choker around your neck. "I look like a fucking whore." You say and turn towards him to look at him carefully.

He wore his more formal black armour with a cape that was as dark as the rest of his outfit. He smiles sarcastically and walks over to you. He smoothes the fabric of your dress on your waist and places his hands on your hips.

"Whore? Not at all. More like my pet." He hums, trying to take in your form in a form-fitting black dress. The silver chains on your hips and chest connect into a spider's web that flows down with the fabric of the skirt of the dress, which surprisingly doesn't cling as tightly to your body as the bodice of the dress does.

It's... definitely a bolder outfit than you're used to wearing. And this time, your hair was loose. The maids put silver accessories and small diamond jewels into your hair. You were a nicely wrapped gift, especially prepared for the Na-Baron's birthday.

"What's the difference?" You ask, raising an eyebrow defiantly.

"Calm down, little witch. Rumours about your past spread quickly. We can't let people see me as a weak man who fell under the spell of a Bene Gesserit, can we?" He teases you. He leans towards you and nuzzles your cheek before his lips start to trace a path along your jaw to your neck. You sigh slightly and place your hands on his chest, trying to keep him at a distance.

"Please. Don't pretend you're not doing it for your own fucking satisfaction." You snap at him, still trying to push him away. He puts the dagger on your neck rather quickly and too suddenly, making you refrain from any form of protest for a moment as he decorates your neck with hickeys.

"I'm not even trying to deny it at all… you look stunning, by the way." He growls hoarsely. His blade moves from your neck to the top of your corset, pressing the tip against the valley between your breasts. You sigh, feeling the coolness of the blade against your chest.

"They are waiting for you." You whisper as he nuzzles his nose against yours.

"We have a moment... besides, it's my birthday. Don't you want to celebrate my adulthood?" His low tone of voice sends shivers down your spine. Even after he tosses his blade aside, you make no move to try to walk away from him.

"You're still acting like the horny teenager I met. I doubt you will ever grow up."

"Watch what you say… I can always show you how hornier I became." His warning is not just lip service. He shows it to you... very clearly as his hard length rubs against your thigh.

You grab his jaw tightly and take a step away from him. He laughs, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back into his arms in one quick movement. You gasp in shock, falling into his chest. You struggle in his embrace until he slaps your ass. You glare at him furiously, at which he only tightens his grip on you.

"I want you to paint my body before the fight." He mumbles, caressing your cheek as you try to pull your head back from him.

Leading members of the high houses gathered on Arrakis to celebrate his birthday and the fact that he had managed to restore the mining and export of spices to extraordinary levels.

Feyd was to put on a spectacle, killing the most dangerous Fremen who managed to be kept alive during interrogations. However, you and Feyd have bigger worries to take care of right now. Like the baron and the emperor. Or Paul Atreides... or rather, their Muad'dib, who has not been found by you yet. Something Feyd decided to ignore for now in favor of groping you and trying to get into your pants.

Over the last few weeks, he has clung to you like a limpet. It made it very difficult for you to do any work or spy, as he was literally following you around. You felt like his favourite dog on a leash, taken for walks around the building before locking you in his chambers for the night, keeping you close to him. Even his harpies couldn't take his attention away from you. Something you really hoped would happen soon.

"It's always been… your harpies' privilege." You say as he tangles his hand in your hair.

"And now I want you to do it." He says it calmly, caressing your cheek as you try to pull your head back from him. "Do you mind?" You huff at his condescending question.

"Don't ask me questions like that; otherwise, I'll start thinking that I really have a choice here." He laughs, showing you a set of his freshly painted black teeth and shakes his head at you.

"We both know you're too smart for that, my shrewd little witch." He says this and leans in, gently brushing your lips with his. He keeps a tight grip on your hair as his kiss becomes more intense and possessive. He tightens his grip on your waist, tugging at the fabric of your dress, causing the silver chains on it to clang against each other with every move of his hand.

His hand reaches for the strings of your corset at the back, but before he can untie even one of them, there's a knock on the door.

"My Lord Na-Baron, the Baron, and your brother have just landed on Arrakis. The emperor should also be arriving soon."

You feel him tense slightly as he pulls away from you. His face hardens as he puts on his emotionless mask, staring out the window, where he could probably see the ship landing.

"Come on, little witch. I don't need to remind you to be on your best behaviour, right?" You roll your eyes at him, placing your hand in the crook of his elbow.

"I think I can play your concubine for a day. Consider this my birthday gift to you, my Na-Baron." You say it sarcastically and sweetly, walking with him out of his room and towards the great hall where he would greet everyone gathered. If you were lucky enough, you might be able to escape from him for a moment or two...

"In my chambers as well?" He asks teasingly, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him trying not to smile, but the corner of his lip twitches, giving him away (at least to you).

"Anywhere but there." You reply quickly, making him smile this time. At least for a second. After all, he has a reputation to uphold.

"That's okay. We don't need to do it there. There are so many other places…" He whispers hoarsely in your ear before you enter the room where the first party is to be held. You can't stop a cold shiver from running down your spine.

Doors are opening for you. You wait for him to let go of your waist and move in front of you like he usually does at these types of parties with the concubines he brought for company, but he doesn't do that at all. Instead, he tightens his grip on your waist and holds you by his side as he navigates through the sea of people. You can't help but blush slightly.

If you had any doubts over the last few weeks that he was no longer interested in you, they were gone with his small gesture. He will indeed ruin you. As soon as he finds the opportunity suitable. You were afraid that the evening of his birthday might be considered in his eyes as a perfect time to do this.

But somehow you manage to get out of his sight. You position yourself against the wall, having a perfect view of the most important people in the room. The Baron and Feyd were talking about something with the Emperor and his daughter. You look at them curiously, especially since the Harkonnens have their backs turned to you. And looking at Princess Irulan in a silver dress that was constructed to resemble armour, you see in her your chance for freedom. If Feyd married her, he would probably get over his strange obsession with you.

"Lady Y/N." Feyd's older brother's mocking greeting reaches your ears. You turn to him, taking your eyes off Feyd for a moment, and nod to the man standing next to you.

"Count Rabban."

"I heard you and my brother dealt with the rats of Arrakis. My congratulations." You are quite wary of his civilised attitude. The last time you saw him, Feyd made him kiss his shoes. And yours. So you definitely didn't stay in... a neutral relationship after that.

"Na-Baron is a great commander." You reply with a polite smile. Your eyes involuntarily wander to Feyd. There's a knot in your stomach when you see him talking to the princess. You frown, wondering what the hell is wrong with you.

"I have no doubt." He nods, also looking at Feyd. "He will destroy you. Like any toy he had before you. When you lose your usefulness, he will throw you to his harpies. He's more unpredictable than me or even my uncle. But you know that... so what are you still doing by his side?" He asks, turning his gaze on you.

"I am his right hand. I live to serve him." You answer automatically, shrugging your shoulders.

"If I had known that Bene Gesserit witches were so devoted, I might have appointed one to be my right hand."

"Believe me, count Rabban, the overwhelming majority would not serve him or anyone else so loyally as I do. They would probably prefer to poison themselves." He laughs at your words, taking two drinks from the passing servant. He hands you one, but you shake your head. "I don't drink if I don't have to. Old habits from my home planet. My mother would slap my sisters and me on the hands until she could see our bones as a punishment for stealing a drink or two." You're half lying when you remember how the Reverend Mothers made sure you were completely… untainted by any substances that could make you less healthy. All for breeding. Like farm animals.

"And they say the Harkonnens are monsters. At least you can get drunk with us… well, before we torture you to death or accidentally kill you."

"I've gotten used to it. Fortunately, I have fast reflexes." You reply with a smirk, knowing full well what he's trying to do. He wanted to ingratiate himself with you while you were still important in the Harkonnen court. His brother currently despised him, and his uncle probably did too. He saw an opportunity to increase his political influence when he spotted you alone.

Suddenly, you feel someone's intense gaze on you. You turned your face to notice that Feyd's eyes were on you and not on the princess, with whom he was still talking. Judging by the way your skin was burning from the look Feyd was giving you, you could tell he didn't like his brother being close to you at all.

And Feyd was incredibly pissed off and furious. In his eyes, Rabban wasn't worthy enough of your time, attention, or even being close to you to have the pleasure to smell the scent of your perfumes. But not only did his brother have the courage to talk to you; he even made you smile. Feyd was already planning in his mind how to tear his head off.

Na-Baron would have done just that if an arrow had not suddenly passed between him and Princess Irulan.

Panic filled the room when suddenly, a hail of arrows hit random people. You grabbed your blade and were about to move towards the first archer you noticed, but suddenly a cold steel was pressed against your neck. The Fremen woman holds you tight. You can only stand there calmly and watch as they overpower the more important representatives of the great families, leading the less important people out of the room. Feyd's blue irises are focused on you all the time, which surprisingly makes you feel a little better.

"Silience!" You freeze when you see Paul Atreides emerge from the crowd of Fremen.

Your informants haven't told you much about him. He had done well since he was forced to live on Arrakis among the Fremen. He became stronger, smarter, and more ruthless. He had no weaknesses… except one. You look around the room, your eyes locking on the woman who stood a few metres away from you. His lover.

If living among powerful men taught you anything, it was that they only had a few weaknesses. Fear for their lives, property, title, and, among those younger and less experienced in life, their loved ones. But Paul Atreides changed on Arrakis. He wasn't the little boy you knew during your training with his mother. You could only hope that he loved his woman enough to consider rescuing her. Maybe you will buy enough time before your trops, waiting on ships above Arrakis, come to rescue you.

"Let me go. Give me your blade. Keep your mouth shut and close your eyes for the next 30 minutes." You use your voice on the woman who holds you.

While she does what you told her, you try to get to Atreides' lover unnoticed. You ignore his speech; your heart is racing in your chest, and all you can hear is the sound of your blood flowing in your blood vessels.

When you reach the Fremen woman, you quickly disarm her and press your dagger to her neck. Atreides stops his speech. Before anyone can react, you take a deep breath and say loudly:

"Everyone ten steps back. Stay still, or slit your throat with the nearest weapon." Everyone in the room is listening to you. You have to take a few steps back with the woman you have in your iron grip. You tremble as you feel the eyes of everyone in the room on you, especially Feyd's. However, your gaze is fixed only on Paul Atreides.

"This is impossible… what are you?" He asks in shock, not moving after you forced him and everyone else in the room to back away from you.

"It doesn't matter, Atreides. Take your men and get out of here. I advise you well." You growl furiously at him. You feel the blood start to pulsate in your veins. The old wound on your side is slowly starting to open up under the pressure your body is going through. You're glad you're wearing a black dress. At least not all of them will see the blood stain on your dress when it will be leaking out of you more and more by the second.

"You cannot keep them under your will forever. You'll soon get tired, faint, or bleed to death." He reasons, fully aware that your crowd control is time-limited.

"My men will be landing here soon. They'll take everyone who counts and fly away with us, raining nuclear bombs on your precious little desert. The spice from these areas may have been contaminated for several centuries, but we still have the opposite pole of Arrakis to exploit and extract it. So better choose wisely."

He frowns at your words, looking at you carefully and analysing your facial expressions carefully. You stare at him hard and unfazed, even though you feel the fabric of your dress sticking to your open wound. You have a staring fight with each other until you press your dagger a little more into the woman's throat and take her blood. He looks briefly at his girl before he opens his mouth to speak.

"We've met before, right?"

"You have one minute to make a decision before I make your woman bleed to death in front of you." You say hoarsely, feeling your muscles tremble slightly. But you hold on with all your might, maintaining your calm, dangerous, hostile attitude.

You all wait in suspense to see what he will do. He might as well attack and kill you, risking his men overpowering any reinforcements that come to your rescue. But you hope he's considerate enough to back off. If not because of the people who came after him, then because of his girlfriend or concubine, whose life now depends solely on you.

You almost sigh in fucking relief when he takes a step back. You let him get out of your control, looking at him carefully all the time. You swallowed and let go of his woman.

"Follow your Muad'Dib." You command the people of the desert. They stare at you for a moment before their eyes rest anxiously on their leader. He nods at them as he slowly leaves the room.

As quickly as they arrived, they left. You stand at attention for a long time—a minute, an hour, or hours—until you hear the ship approaching and the movement of the sands of Arrakis under the influence of sandworms.

They left. You realise this with relief. However, it is a very short-lived relief. It ends when your eyes meet the eyes of the reverend mothers, who are clearly communicating with each other. You fucked up. You revealed that you were a Bene Gesserit, or at least that you knew some of their tricks. Unconsciously, you completely let go of control over the gathered crowd.

"Why didn't you wait for your people so we could kill them? Kill him?" The emperor's voice reaches you vaguely. You raise your head and meet the gaze of an old man standing a few steps away from you.

"I bluffed, my emperor." You reply shakily, feeling blood start to flow from your nose as well.

"What?" He asks in shock, unable to believe that all your talk was a pure bluff. You don't have the strength to explain anything. You can stare blankly at the floor, feeling your strength slowly begin to drain away after you use the voice on the people gathered in the room.

"I bluffed." You repeat, feeling your heart beat rapidly against your chest. Your vision becomes completely blurry; all you can hear is the buzzing in your ears, the pounding of your heart, and the slow dripping of your blood onto the floor.

"But… you…" Whatever he was about to say, he's interrupted by you falling to your knees. You don't register at all what's happening around you. The only thing you are sure of is that there are suddenly a lot of people around you.

You're clinging to what little consciousness you have when you suddenly feel something pull you against the hard wall of muscle. You lean against the unexpected support, slowly drifting into blissful unconsciousness as you no longer feel the pain from the open wound on your side. The hoarse call of your name makes you a little more aware, enough to distinguish Feyd's voice from the indistinct gibberish around you.

"Get a medic here!"

He whispers something else to you as he brushes your hair out of your face, but you don't hear anything anymore. You let yourself go into the blissful darkness, happy that you can rest, at least for a moment. And you feel surprisingly comfortable, with the warmth of his arms and his scent being the last things you feel before passing out.

You're surprised that when you wake up in the hospital wing, there's no one at your bed, looking at you like a guard dog. Once you get used to the feeling of being fully aware, you rub your eyes. The moonlight shines through the window, illuminating a dark and empty room you found yourself in.

You ignore the strange twinge in your chest when you don't see your Na-Baron anywhere near you and slowly sit up on the bed. You check the status of your wound and are pleased to see that you are in a more stable condition than you were a few hours ago.

You place your feet on the floor and slowly stand up, testing your muscles. You're relieved to see that it's not as bad as it was in the past. You walk over to the chair where a black silk robe is hanging and put it on. You take a moment to search the room, smiling hugely when you find your daggers on the nightstand next to your bed. You attach one to your thigh and tuck the other inside the sleeve of your robe. Maintaining great silence, you tiptoe out of the room.

You sigh in relief as you wander the empty corridors again, hiding in their shadows. You feel like a newborn, like a fish that has returned to the current of a familiar river. You weren't aware of how therapeutic it was for you to wander the halls alone at night until Feyd trapped you in his arms and his bed practically every night. You missed it. Very much so.

However, today's attempted attack by Atreides made you realise that you were too focused on getting away from Harkonnen and trying to keep him at a distance. You had to take action. Otherwise, Paul Atreides will cut off your head, just like his mother once wanted to do.

You shudder as you remember the day you escaped from the Bene Gesserit sisters' sanctum.

You ran barefoot through familiar corridors in the cold, dark night. You didn't need a torch or other light. You had lived within these walls long enough to know which corridors ended in dead ends and where to turn to reach each gate. But Lady Jessica knew them as well as you. You had to be a lot smarter if you were going to escape the woman who wanted you dead.

Yesterday there was a great meeting of Reverend Mothers after Lady Jessica failed to give birth to Leto Atreides' daughter at the right time. The Reverend Mothers had to find... a new breeding mare for Feyd Rauthy, from whose blood the Kwisatz Haderach was to be created. They chose you. And now, because of this honour that had been a death sentence for you from the very beginning—a curse, an evil fate that seemed to have stuck with you since your birth—Lady Jessica had tried to kill you in your sleep and was now trying to complete her work.

You decide to go to the ramp, hoping that you might be able to capture some small ship—something flying around—that would get you away from those damn Bene Gesserit.

You knew you were too weak to fight Lady Jessica. She taught you a lot, but not how to defeat someone stronger, like her. If you wanted to live, you needed to find a way to escape.

You speed up as you hear the click of her heels behind you. You run as fast as you can, reaching the door just as Lady Jessica appears at the end of the hall. You close the door behind you with a loud snap. You sigh, leaning against it for a moment. You freeze as you feel the blade against your throat.

"Step away." You order in panic before opening your eyes. A cold chill runs through you as you see Na-Baron Harkonnen's cold blue irises staring at you in shock as he obediently steps away from you.

You stand there for a few minutes, staring at each other without saying anything. Na-Baron examines you carefully: your dishevelled state, rapid breathing, red cheeks, and bare feet. You have no idea what he deduced, but it was enough for him to not immediately slit your throat for using the voice on him.

"You should go back to your sisters, little witch. Unless you want to join me, I wouldn't say no to the company of... such a pretty mouse." He speaks hoarsely. He doesn't wait for your answer, though. He simply turns and walks slowly towards the ship his men are packing. You swallow and wonder: Is death at the hands of Lady Jessica or at the hands of Harkonnen? Your pride chooses for you.

"I'm not a mouse, I'm a warrior." You reply, gathering all your inner courage. Na-Baron stops in his way.

His raspy laugh sends another shiver down your spine as he slowly turns back to face you. He approaches you slowly, each step perfectly calculated as he stands a few millimeters in front of you, invading your personal space. You raise your head proudly and meet his gaze with your own, determined one.

Which impresses him.

So much so that he reaches for the dagger strapped to his hip. You don't flinch when he runs the tip of the dagger across his tongue. You watch him closely, waiting for him to either slit your throat or accept the challenge. Feyd is surprised. And very curious—too curious—to simply walk away and continue on his path. That's why he takes your hand in his and hands you the dagger he was just testing.

"So show me what you can do, little witch. Except for using that honeyed voice of yours." He says it mockingly and takes two steps back, drawing another hidden blade from his armour.

You don't remember the entire fight clearly. The adrenaline was pumping through you so much that you only remember snippets of that dance with him with daggers in your hands. Surprisingly, neither of you disarmed the other. You stopped as you both placed your blades against the other's flesh—at points that would guarantee instant death if either of you decided to press the blade against the skin a little harder.

"You fight well, little witch." He praises you, moving away from you. "You're wasting yourself here." He says, looking at you acutely for a long time, considering something. But finally, he nods at you and turns again to join his men and board the ship. You quickly grab his hand before he gets too far away from you. You feel him tense at your touch, but he doesn't make any moves.

"Let me go with you. My blade will be an extension of yours, Na-Baron. I'll be your spy from the shadows, just... get me out of here." He widens his eyes slightly, unprepared for such a request. He turns towards you and glares at you with his icy irises.

It could very well be a trick from those witches, but Feyd would be lying if he didn't say that you caught his attention the first day he saw you training. And he really wanted to see what you were really capable of doing. Few had the guts to challenge him. And he found it somehow charming—how your eyes shone with determination every time you held the blade in your hands.

"Your sisters won't be happy when they find out that I took one of them to Giedi Prime." He says, feigning hesitation. His people knew him well. If he wanted something, he took it. A group of old witches wouldn't stop him, not now that he saw... great potential in you. Maybe not only as one of his soldiers.

"With all due respect, your house is not known for following anyone's rules except those you set. I… I can't stay here any longer."

His heart beat faster, seeing the desperation and helplessness in your eyes. Normally, he would laugh at someone who showed him weakness and kill him on the spot without much thought. But you... when you stared at him with those pleading eyes of yours, flushed from fighting him... it did something to him.

Feyd knew the feeling of helplessness. His uncle loved making him feel this way. And Feyd himself finds great enjoyment in making others feel that way. Humiliated. Weak. Scared. Somehow he didn't like the fact that staying in the sisterhood made you... feel like that and do such desperate actions as coming with him to Giedi Prime.

However, he had no intention of letting go of such a valuable bird that was voluntarily pushing itself into his cage.

"Well, you fight better than most of my men... I will make you my right hand. And as for your Bene Gesserit sisters..." You sigh softly as he reaches for your hair and cuts it in half. He cuts your shoulder and dips the cut hair in your blood. You see him put a few strands in his pocket, before he handed them to his servant, growling something at him in his native language. You raise an eyebrow at him. "I told him to convey my thanks to the Reverend Mother for... sending me a delightful toy. He might also mention that my darlings liked your meat." You nod, swallowing. He laughs mockingly, patting your shoulder. "You have many things to learn, little witch. You better prove to me that I wasn't wrong about you, or you will suffer exactly the fate that my servant will pass on to your sisters. I don't like weakness and disappointment."

"I have no intention of disappointing you, Na-Baron."

"Good. Come with me. I'm fed up with this planet. Besides, you need to change your clothes if you don't want my men to think you're a whore they can enjoy while on our journey." He nods and walks towards the ship. You follow him like his shadow, casting cold, sinister glances at the people staring at you.

"I am perfectly capable of defending myself, my lord." You reply confidently as you walk with him up the ramp to the Harkonnen ship. You see a small smile appear on his face at your words.

"I don't doubt that. However, I wouldn't want to lose more people than necessary. It's supposed to be your job to clean up after me, not the other way around, little witch." He responds, testing you and carefully watching your reaction. You don't flinch, perfectly prepared and familiar with... the brutality of the Harkonnens.

"Duly noted. There's only one thing I don't understand." He doesn't stop in his steps, but he gives you a quick glance and hums, allowing you to continue and ask a question. "I appreciate it very much, but… why didn't you kill me at the entrance?"

He chuckles hoarsely at your question and stops at a specific door. He turns to look at you, a spark of amusement shining in his eyes as he studies you like a predator would its prey before deciding to answer you.

"You didn't apologise or beg for your life. I found it... very refreshing." He says, opening the door. The metallic smell of blood fills your nostrils. You look into the room and see several prisoners chained to the wall of the ship with some strange cuts on their chests—probably some words in Harkonnen."Your first task, little witch. My darlings are very hungry. They will need the meat of my enemies. Come back here in an hour... I should finish by then. And change that rag you wear. I want to see you only in black." He orders, closing the door behind him with a bang.

You stand in the hallway for a moment, blinking and staring at the door, as you are suddenly thrown into a new reality that you have to get used to. You mutter a series of curses under your breath as you go searching for... any clothes or shoes. The cold metal of the ship's floor and the dried blood in some places made walking around on your bare feet quite uncomfortable.

Feyd-Rautha was indeed psychopathic... but it was better for you to be the devil's right hand than his mistress. And it was certainly better to inhale the toxins of Giedi Prime than to smell the flowers from underneath your grave.

You find yourself in front of a door that you don't want to go through. But you know you have to do it if you want to remain free and independent of anyone. You couldn't escape now. Not before Feyd-Rautha. You had to pay the price of your freedom with someone else's freedom. And you were ruthless enough to do it without blinking an eye. Maybe the years of living with Harkonnen really made you one of them...

You knock and enter the cave of Feyd's three harpies.

As you might expect, they don't welcome you very warmly. As soon as you close the door behind you, you hear their hisses. They stop feasting on some Fremen and glare at you, slowly approaching you.

"Relax, ladies. I'm here... to make a small agreement." You announce, taking a seat in the only chair that, surprisingly, isn't covered in anyone's blood. The women look at each other distrustfully and approach the table where you are sitting.

"Agreement?"

"With a little witch?"

"We don't make any agreements with our meals; we simply eat them."

You don't flinch at their words. Instead, you nod and draw your dagger when they get too close to you. Two of them move away automatically, but one—the oldest of them—continues to look at you. You give her a cold and dispassionate glare as you play with the blade in your fingers.

"But that's exactly what I'm talking about. About... a food. A great meal. A feast you will remember for a long time, ladies." You try your best to sound encouraging.

Their eyes light up, interested as you meet a fresh meal. You know perfectly well that they haven't eaten anything... desirable for a long time. They probably had to drag the body of this miserable man to their chamber themselves since you didn't have time to... make sure they were fed. And if there's one thing you can get on Giedi Prime with something other than power and sex, it's food.

"The little witch is planning something…"

"The little witch is up to something interesting…"

"The little witch wants to do something against our master…"

You look at them unfazed as they read that you have no clear intentions at all when it comes to working with them. But anyone who managed to survive on Giedi Prime and Arrakis was surely a man whose conscience had gone a long time ago.

And maybe your plan wasn't good for everyone... but it was definitely good for you. And Feyd. He'll agree with you... or at least you hope so. You're still not sure if his obsession with you was just a passing whim or if he really wanted to keep you with him. But you didn't want to end up like his concubines and pets.

"Possibly... but isn't that what you want? For your master to give you his attention again instead of taking care of me?" This seems to interest them even more than the promise of food.

"What do you want, little witch?" The oldest harpy asks you, looking at you carefully. You give her a mischievous, sinister smirk.

'"Have you ever thought of feasting on the Baron?" Your question hangs in the room. The harpies watch you carefully, smiling slowly and showing a row of black teeth.

Nothing united women like a common enemy.

To be continued... Taglist: (I REALLLLY hope that everyone who wanted to be here is here...😅 I;m sorry if I missed someone <3) @skymoonandstardust @prettybubblesintheair @thegabbyh @himesuedi @wo-ming-bai @beebeechaos @mamawiggers1980 @moonsoulk @avidreader73 @heartarianagran @dreamlandcreations @ancientbeing10 @lovereadingfanfic @jeansjoie @workof-a-rr-t @aixicl @ladyredstar1991 @evangelineimagine @hobobobo-fett56 @happyant3 @marsflys @aaaaaamond @kamcrazy123 @k1swass @yum-yahgurt @tyns13 @oh-you-mean-me @menari @tyns13 @vaf24 @dacreshoney @emrennoll-blog @tian-monique @slightlypossessed @celestialadrift @lauramooij05 @flaps200 @chixnugg22 @aaaaaamond @marvelfangirl04 @sw33tsnow @emeraldsgirl @imyourbubblegumpop @tempt-ress @k1swass @alana4610 @cloudroomblog @lotus-888 @lowlyloved @spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @w3ird11 @kythefangirl25 @hobobobo-fett56 @nj452896

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cry4mina · 3 months

Text

Park Maintenance

(Jealous!Jihyo x reader)

Word Count: 6.8k Smut/A secret second thing/Smut Summary: Jihyo decides that she wants to leave you feral all day, it backfires. TW: THIS IS ABOUT FUCKING! Aggressive top jihyo, public sex, degrading, teasing, intentionally making someone jealous, there is theme park sex happening. Momo and Nayeon are present, more Momo than Nayeon. A/N: Happy 3 Months of Cry4Mina! I truly never thought it would be this much fun and I'm so grateful to all those who follow me and show support for me and my writing! <3 I guess the smut didn't really take me that long at all. Thank you to the human who wishes to remain anonymous for helping me name the fic and letting me rant about it. And also @myouicieloz for constantly keeping me sane while I write LMAOOOOO As always, DMs and Asks are open for feedback and requests! :)<3 love u mean it. drink water.

Strong arms wrap themselves around you, wiggling a little closer to your body with a few heavy restful breaths. Eyelashes graze across your neck, a few lazy kisses placed along your jaw and a soft “good morning, baby” lightly draws you out of your dreams.

You stretch, shaking off some of the stiffness of drowsiness before turning to your side, nuzzling into Jihyo further, putting your head against her chest, arms mirroring hers in the way of draping around her.

“Still sleepy, my love?” her digits gently slide up the back of your neck, twirling your hair softly while placing a few languid pecks down your cheeks.

“Mhmm..” followed by a small sigh into her skin as you relax into her.

“We’ve got big plans today, remember? We are going to the amusement park with Nayeon and Momo, but…” her fingers trail down your bare back, lips brushing across yours.

“I’d love to start the day with those cute sleepy moans you make.” Her hand grips you tightly, locking you in place against her.

Jihyo’s other hand finds its way between your legs. Ghosting her middle finger up and down your slit, her touch gets just a little more pressure with every pass of your clit. Sluggishly trying to match her pace for a moment before she stops moving her fingers all together.

Eyes still half lidded from slumber, you arch your back and press your chest into hers like it’s muscle memory. She giggles into your mouth, teasing you more with each feeble lunge of your hips.

Jihyo smirks, rolling you onto your back and sweeps one of her legs over you to straddle one of your thighs, fixing herself so she can grind down on you without removing her lips from yours.

A small whine slips from your throat and she slides her tongue into your mouth, taking the opportunity as it presents itself. She slides her pussy across your thigh, inciting a primal reaction from you.

What started slow and sweet, rapidly gets hot and heavy. Your hands are navigating around her body, desperately trying to get her to finish what she started.

Whining tandemly, the song of want emerges from the two of you tangled in each other, she breaks the kiss. Noses caressing each other while she studies the desperation seeping through your skin.

“Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want.” whispered into your mouth. The tone is seductive and irresistible.

Feeling her slick drip down your thigh, Jihyo was in a mood today and you were happy to take full advantage of that.

The question burns in her eyes and you give her the silent permission she asks for. Breath shuddering as she lowers her mouth to your chest, leaving a tightly woven line of opened mouth kisses with a few soft bites sprinkled in between.

She makes her way down your stomach and to your hips, biting your hip bones before trailing her tongue down to your inner thigh.

“I want you- shit, please” almost voiceless in anticipation of what patterns her tongue is going to draw.

“You already have me, darling. Just tell me how you want me.” Another push of encouragement, she just wanted to hear you say what your body was craving from her.

Jihyo places her elbows down on the sheets between your legs, holding her chin with one of her hands and returning to tease your slit once again, lazily gliding her finger up and down, patiently waiting for you.

“Fuuuuck- Hyo, please! I need to feel your tongue on me!” rocking your hips forward to get closer to her.

“You looks so pretty when you’re desperate like this but…” She’s stone-faced…that can only mean one thing.

“I don’t think that was good enough, honey. Maybe you should try again?” her eyebrow raises, patiently waiting for a reply. It wasn’t exactly rare to see her so…dominant, but it always kind of sprung itself on you, not that you were complaining.

“Pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeeee just fuck me, baby” wanting her was an understatement, you were absolutely spiraling down a cyclone of pure need.

“Who?” gently slapping your clit one, two, three times and you jolt under every smack.

“Sorry…-M-mommy fu- fuck, please!” whimpered between the splattering of your wetness

“Good girl.” a devious grin graces her face before she gets to work.

Aggressively swiping her tongue up your pussy and gripping your thighs hard enough to leave marks just like you liked. The slurping sounds she made on you only makes you want it more.

Jihyo is holding you down by the hips, persistently licking your clit before she slides 2 fingers inside you, not giving you any time to adjust.

Without any shame about the ache sitting in your cunt, you thrust your hips up into her mouth and back down onto her fingers. She slows her licks down, fingers digging deep into you, building and building the knot that was going to burst at any moment.

“Mommy…right fucking there, Please don’t stop! Don’t fucking stop!” The thread about to break, you are about to come undone beneath her when you both hear a vibration coming from the nightstand. Jihyo’s getting a call from Momo.

“Please keep going, I’m so close… feels so good unghh…Mommy, pleaseeeee!” still one hundred percent in this, not giving a single shit about that phone call.

A light bulb goes off in her head, you can see the sparkle in her eye as she keeps her fingers moving. She starts to suck on your clit harshly, pushing you even closer to the edge. .

“Oh fuck, right fucking there- I’m gonna cum!”

Jihyo completely removes herself from you, stands up and walks over to her phone, dragging her wet fingers up your torso as you writhe on the bed, completely infuriated that she would just stop.

“WHY would you do that?! Baby, I was about to c-”

“Hey Momo! …Yes, we are almost ready. Y/n just has to shower and then we will be on our way to come get you both!”

If looks could kill, Jihyo would be dead. You stand up, legs shaking from the tension built up that is now trapped in you and running through your limbs like an endless circuit.

Storming off to the bathroom, you fling the door open in frustration. The smack of the doorknob on the wall startles your girlfriend who is still on the phone.

“I'll text you when we are on the way, okay?…alright, I’ll see you soon…okay, bye Momo!” you can hear the grin that’s plastered on her face when she hangs up the phone. Giggling to herself, She’s so proud of herself for ruining your orgasm, she can’t even contain it.

Meanwhile, your palms on the counter, looking up at yourself in the mirror to see you completely disheveled, shaking, and dawning a thin sheen of sweat laid onto your skin. Agony wreaks havoc inside you, unable to focus on much but the feeling of emptiness between your legs.

Jihyo walks into view, leaning her shoulder and head against the door frame with that cheeky smile on her face, arms crossed to push her tits up, teasing you just that much more.

“Baby, don’t be upset” sauntering over with a pout.

She hugs you from behind, pressing her chest into your back and kissing your shoulder before resting her chin on it. Fingertips tracing down your sides, and over your thigh, grazing your heat with the lightest of touches.

Bending over the quartz surface, you back up into her. Not allowing an inch of space between the two of you, wiggling your ass on her.

“Please…I can’t be like this all day, baby. Don’t you want to taste me again?” A whiney attempt at trying to bait her into letting you cum.

“I promise that I won’t let you fall asleep tonight without cumming for me, okay?” lips brushing down your spine paired with a few tender pecks, finger still toying with your clit, and the fire pooling low in your stomach sits painfully heavy. Panting in response to the sensations.

“Fuck, you’re so sexy when you’re like this” passionately murmured between the kisses and little love bites.

“I love seeing how much you want me…” dipping her finger between your lips, gathering some of your essence on her fingers.

“Look how needy you are for me, baby” pressing her middle finger against her thumb before pulling them apart, revealing how drenched you were with a thick string of slick.

Panting as you watch her and not breaking eye contact, she licks you off her fingers. Shuddering when she grabs your chin harshly, pressing her forehead against yours, and sliding her hand down your neck. Pecking your lips enough so you get a taste of yourself before winking at you and then stepping into the shower and turning it on.

Frozen in pure lust, jaw on the floor, you just stand and take in the fact that you were going to have to go about your day like this AND she was intentionally making it worse…

“Oh, fuck you!” hissed out into the bathroom.

A cackle echos off the tiles in the shower along with the water hitting the floor and draining. Peeking her head around the shower curtain to see you standing there half way dissociated, she smirks again thinking it’s just her leaving you orgasmless that’s making you this way.

“You coming, darling? I made sure it was cold just to shock the horny out of you” ushering you into the shower, disregarding the state you were in.

“Not until later, apparently!” frustration lingers in the space. You are already trying to create a plan on how you’d get revenge on her for this.

—

The car ride was quiet, staying silent even when Jihyo would talk to you. Still pissed off and too wound up to even pretend like you weren’t second away from touching yourself in the passenger seat. Carelessly cross your legs and squeeze them together to get some kind of relief.

“No, baby!” Jihyo takes one of her hands off the wheel and swats your thighs to tell you to uncross them.

“None of that now, I want all of that for later, hm? Plus you haven’t said a word to me so why should I reward you?” The cocky smirk makes you want smack it off her face but your mind wanders to riding her mouth instead.

Sure, this was a fun game to play, but edging the entire day after a ruined orgasm and cruel intentional teasing wasn’t something you wanted to do, at least today.

“I hate you.” Arms crossed across your chest as you look out the passenger window daydreaming about satiating the painful ache inside of you.

“Honey, you know that's not true.” watching her in the reflection, scoffing at her as she starts pouting again.

Unable to see her reach over, she grabs your hand, lacing her fingers with yours and kissing the top of your hand to try to soften you a little bit. You weren’t going to budge, tugging your hand out of hers, making sure she saw the annoyed look on your face before crossing your arms again.

“You are so mad at me!” chuckling hard enough to startle you.

“Baby, if you can be good for me today…” car stopping right in front of Nayeon and Momo’s shared apartment.

Jihyo puts her car into park and turns to face you. It’s hard not to look into her big brown eyes, they were your weakness. She uses that to her advantage, another cute pout dawns her face.

“Y/n…” whined out and she grabbed your hand again, resting her chin on your palm so you hold her face, an attempt to get you to break and crack a smile. It almost works.

“I’ll give you exactly what you want when we get home, okay baby? Just be a good girl for me today and I’ll-”

Jihyo cut off by the sound of the back seat opening, Momo and Nayeon climb in and greet the two of you, prompting Jihyo to rotate and get ready to drive again. Nayeon offers a sweet happy “Hiiii!” and Momo seems to be dreading the day ahead.

The ride to the park carries on as you’d expect, soft music plays through while the three of them chat about the park you were currently headed to and the rides they wanted to go on. Not really being a theme park person, you just sat and tried to plot how you were going to get revenge on Jihyo for this morning's antics.

“What do you mean you don’t like rollercoasters?!” Jihyo’s voice carries loudly through the smaller space, pulling you out of the daydream you were having.

“I just don’t like them…I only agreed because Nayeon said that she would take me to that new expensive restaurant tomorrow if I agreed to go today…” Momo groaned, definitely not happy to be in this situation.

“Don’t worry, Momo” speaking up for the first time since they’ve gotten in the car. Jihyo was surprised when you chimed in, especially after being silent aside from the few words you have before they got into the car.

“I'll stay with you while these two run a muck, I’m not really in a roller coaster mood today, but let's do the other rides with them”

“I thought this was something you wanted to do? I wanted to go on some roller coasters with you today.” side eyeing you from the driver seat, she seems a little pissed off when you realize the possibility here.

“I’ve already been on one today, thanks.” tension now apparent to the others present.

“But you’ve got Nayeon to go on roller coasters with, baby! I can keep Momo company while you wait in the lines.” your grin is a little too wide for Jihyo’s liking and it very much seemed like you had an ulterior motive.

Before you and Jihyo started dating, you mentioned to her one time about how you thought Momo was attractive and she never let you forget it. Always seemingly a little more defensive when you were around her. Jealous when Momo made you laugh or if you got too close to her.

You didn’t really know each other too well but you knew that Jihyo would be watching you when you were close to her. That is exactly what you wanted.

Momo and Nayeon can sense something is up but they can’t see the furrowing of her brows, and the way she is biting the inside of her cheeks to know for certain. She reaches over and grabs your hand, seemingly a little anxious that maybe she made you a little too mad this morning. Maybe she teased you a little too much.

Squeezing her hand for a little for some reassurance, still not looking at her. You absolutely were still upset about that morning but it was all part of the game…the one she didn’t realize that she was still playing. Plan set in motion, you were going to get exactly what you wanted from her…and hopefully, sooner than anticipated.

–

Walking into the park, you take the path to the right and start riding the rides in order. The roller coasters were usually towards the back of the park, so most of the ones up front were a yes for everyone. The lines weren’t too long and you were enjoying the distraction from your hopeless desire for Jihyo, when they were present.

Jihyo was extremely affectionate with you when the opportunity presented itself. Maybe she did actually feel bad for how this morning went… Holding you from behind, barely letting go of your hand, and pressing her lips against your shoulders and cheeks anytime she had the opening to.

She wouldn’t let you leave her side for more than 5 minutes before searching for you, the clinginess is cute…you are almost sorry for what you were about to do.

“Wasn't this that rollercoaster you were talking about last night, baby? You and Nayeon should go on it!” pushing her to the line with Nayeon.

“Yes! Let’s go!” Nayeon takes off, leaving Momo behind with you and Jihyo who is furrowing her brows at you again. She looks too cute when she’s frustrated.

Momo and you look at each other, having not spent a lot of time alone together, she’s not really sure where to start a conversation with you.

“Uhm…do you want to go get a snack?” remembering that Momo was partial to foods and maybe you could find some common ground.

“Oh, Absolutely!” heading to the food cart near the ride that they were on so you weren’t out of sight…you wanted to make sure she watched what was about to happen.

Grabbing a churro and a large pretzel, you and momo found a bench to sit on. You talked about a few different things and found that you actually did have some common ground. Enjoying a lot of the same flavors of food broke the ice between the two of you.

You asked about her and what her schedules were like, understanding a little more than most about how time consuming they could be because of your girlfriend who was looking over and scowling every few minutes. Unable to stifle the laugh when you see it, Momo looks at you in confusion.

“What’s so funny?”

“Jihyo and I…we had a moment this morning before we came and picked you and Nayeon up. She’s been so clingy because she thinks I’m mad at her…and she keeps looking over here and making this face like she’s annoyed, I think she’s getting a little jealous because I’ve been cold with her a little today.” giggles lacing the explanation.

“Wait, why would she be jealous? I’m not going to hit on you…wait, not that you aren’t worthy of me hitting on you, but you’re obviously with Jihyo…not that I’m trying to hit on you or anything…not saying that I wouldn’t but it would be rude of me…to do that” stammering through the sentence and flustering herself, she turns bright red, unable to shield her embarrassment.

“Relax, relax” you assure her.

“Listen, I’m actually trying to make her a little jealous…Would you be interested in helping me stoke the fire? You won’t have to do anything crazy.” asking for consent before carrying on with the plan you hatched.

“...I don’t know, I mean she is my friend. What did you have in mind?” hesitant to agree, though she does have a small smile on her face.

“Wait, I have to know…what did she do that made you mad?” now wanting the context of the situation.

“Well, uhm, I don’t mind telling you but it’s definitely TMI.” a warning before the tale.

“I live with Nayeon, there is no such thing as TMI. Especially because of the sounds that her and Jeongyeon make when she comes to stay the night…trust me, I’ll be okay. Spill!” chuckled back to you.

“Okay, so you know this morning when you called?”

Momo nods her head.

“Well we were in the middle of something and I was about to…you know…and she stopped and answered the phone…and never came back to finish what she started. But she sure did come back to make sure I stayed in that state and mindset” blinking a few times for emphasis.

“Oh, she’s evil for that. Also, so sorry! I would never intentionally cock block you.” containing her laughter as best she could, she wasn’t trying to make you feel bad.

“Okay, I’ll bite. I would be so mad if someone left me like that.” agreeing to your plan.

Momo was very stunning and that was easy to admit. Her muscular arms were enough to cause a scene, beautiful face, charming voice and she cooks? She was quite the catch. Jihyo being aware of the way you view Momo made it almost too perfect.

Your hand travels up to her exposed bicep and rests there. Momo looks over at Jihyo, who is gawking at the two of you and typing furiously on her phone without even looking down.

The table vibrates.

Someone got a text message.

Momo looks at you, waiting for you to reach for your phone to see if it was exactly what you both knew it was.

“I want to see what happens if I just ignore it.” poking Jihyo even harder as you start tracing the outline of Momo’s shoulders and giving her the “fuck me” eyes.

“Do you think she’s still looking?” Momo was afraid to look where her members were waiting.

Phone pinging rapidly against the table, a slew of text messages barrage your phone. Making sure to roll your eyes just to add insult to injury before picking up your phone and seeing what your girlfriend had sent you.

Baby<3: why are you that close to her?

Baby<3: what are you doing…

Baby<3: y/n…

Baby<3: why the fuck are you touching her like that?

Baby<3: Answer me.

Baby<3: Now.

“Oh, she is definitely looking and she is definitely pissed.” giggling, putting your hand back on her arm, but her forearm this time. Swinging your head back to where Nayeon and Jihyo were in line, Nayeon is covering her mouth and trying not to laugh and Jihyo’s arms are crossed, staring daggers at the two of you.

“She looks pretty upset…are you sure you want to keep this up?” an apprehensive tone out of Momo as Jihyo and Nayeon step into the ride, getting seated, and fixing the safety equipment so it fits them the way it’s supposed to.

Jihyo’s eyes never leave you.

Winking at her and blowing her a kiss right before the ride launches off, you cackle when she’s out of sight. Momo isn’t really sure how to react to you seeing how mad Jihyo was.

“So you want her angry…as revenge?”

“More jealous, but I’ll take angry too.”

“Won’t this…start a fight or something? Wouldn’t that be counterproductive?” questioning your motives.

“You said there was no TMI right?” ready to spill the tea to her, knowing she would understand after you said it out loud.

“Right.”

“She gets very…passionate…when she’s jealous…but she knows I would never cheat on her.” letting Momo in further to the game you were playing, the roller coaster still going, slingshotting over your head.

Looking up at Jihyo as she passes over you, hand still on Momo when it happens and you can see the flash of rage on her face as she and Nayeon pass by.

“This is literally so she will be…more aggressive…with you?” finally putting the pieces together.

Nodding your head with a devious smile, she can’t help but belly laugh at the plan you put together.

“I know we are just getting to know each other now but I can see why you’re together. Especially if this is the response you have to what happened between you this morning. It’s like a game and I think we both know how competitive she is.” Nodding in agreement with herself.

“Let’s just hope it goes the way I think it will. So far, she’s losing!” chuckling with Momo about the shared information. Even if your plan fell through, at least you were sure you had made a better friend out of Momo.

Jihyo and Nayeon get off the ride, walking back over to you and the tension in Jihyo is palpable. She’s trying to mask it while Nayeon talks to her but when she approaches you, she sits between you and Momo on the bench, slamming her hand down on your thigh and squeezing as a reminder of her title.

“Let’s head to the next one, the app says it’s only a 20 minute wait!” Nayeon sings loudly before standing and taking off. The three of you stand, Jihyo in silence, and you and Momo carry on the previous conversation you were having about food.

Jihyo grabs your hand vigorously, trying to get your attention. Even with the harsh display of affection, you made sure to stay present in the conversation with Momo, much to Jihyo’s dismay.

Jihyo scoffs at you, throwing your hand that wasn’t holding hers down and walking, faster than both of you.

Another few minutes and you were at the next ride, Jihyo and Nayeon get in line, you and Momo take a seat in view and continue on with your plan. Still talking about random topics, your hands tugging on the sleeves of the tank top she was wearing, and Jihyo burning holes into your skin and sending more angry text messages.

Too bad your phone was on “Do not disturb”

“She’s really pissed, Y/n…maybe we should stop…” Momo is looking up at Jihyo, whose hands are now balled into fists, visibly clenched so tight that she probably shouldn’t even be going on this roller coaster. Nayeon is trying to get her attention, snapping her fingers in front of Jihyo’s face but it does nothing.

“Maybe I’ll lay off a little. She does look a little more rage filled than expected…” worried that you might have forced Jihyo past the point of return.

The ride being quick and easy, Jihyo and Nayeon only being gone for a little over 25 minutes, you suggest something everyone would be up for.

“There is that haunted house dark ride that’s kind of cheesy, we could do that one!” you reach for Jihyo’s hand as a peace offering, she’s quick to pull away and start walking towards the ride mentioned.

Momo and you look at each other, Momo has a tight lipped smile, concerned at the scene that was silently unfolding around you. Nayeon has some cotton candy and is so focused on eating it that she doesn’t even realize what’s playing out before everyone.

Running to catch up to your girlfriend, you grab her hand before she can pull away.

“Hey…hey” pulling her to a stop. She’s so mad she won’t even make eye contact with you, face holding a look of frustration that you’ve only seen in very heated situations that usually have nothing to do with you.

Wrapping your arms around her neck, her hands coming up to your waist like they usually did, showing you that she was, in fact, present for what you were about to say.

“I was only trying to make you jealous…I just wanted you to be upset with me and take it out on me tonight is all…I’ll stop being a brat...Okay?” almost pleading with her to see that it was all a part of the game. .

“I know what you wanted…But you don’t need to fucking hang all over Momo and throw a tantrum because you didn’t cum this morning.” tone heavy, almost spiteful.

There’s a quiver between your legs, this is exactly what you wanted but this was not the time to tell her that.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’ll stop, okay? Just please- let’s enjoy the rest of the day. You deserve to have fun and not have to worry about something so silly. I love you. No one else.”

Leaning in to hug her, she doesn’t pull away from you. Jihyo just lets you hold her, reciprocating the movement but the tension was still there. Hoping to ease the stress, you kiss her lips tenderly.

She smiles at you devotedly, squeezes your hand a little and guides you into the line of the ride.

Jihyo has this air about her now, standing behind you with her hand never leaving the small of your back. She’s almost defensive posture the entire wait for the ride, though it’s not an aggressive stance, but the vibe of it is “this is mine.”

“Alright, two people in a buggy, please!” the worker at the front of the line shouts over the crowds of people.

Momo and Nayeon get seated in the one in front of you, the line of hooded seats moves up and stops. Climbing in from the left side and shuffling a step to the end, Jihyo gets in after you. She’s oddly stoic, inexpressive about everything. Usually she was so excited for this ride.

Placing a hand on Jihyo’s forearm, you see her eyes follow your movements, carefully watching you. Taking your hand down into hers, lifting it over her shoulders, and placing your arm around her. Scooting closer to you, her head resting on your shoulder and linking your fingers together.

This is peculiar to you. She was just borderline seething, then she was too calm, and now she’s cuddling you? Something’s not right…

The covered spheres you sat in started shifting once more, gradually making their way down the track. The lights dim as you make your way down the tunnel, leisurely launching into the water as the ride begins.

The score for the ride starts to play through the hidden speakers, you feel a finger tracing the hem of your shorts on your upper thighs, getting closer and closer to where your legs meet every time they make a pass.

“You know,” snapping you out of the trance the feather light touches put you in.

“I really don’t appreciate the attention you’ve been giving Momo today…” not even bothering to look up at you, just continuing to trail her fingers.

“And I don’t like that you ignored my texts and didn’t stop after seeing them…even if it was just to get my attention” Her fingers walk up to the waistband of your shorts and pause for only a moment.

“That being said,” unbuttoning your shorts before you can protest.

“Jihyo, we are in public! What are you doing?!” through clenched teeth, trying to push her hand away from where it threatened to touch.

“I thought this was what you wanted, hm? To be punished? Isn’t this one of your fantasies? Isn’t this why you wanted me jealous in the first place? ” seductively into your ear, before she starts kissing and biting your neck.

Muffling a groan that erupted as soon as her teeth sunk into your skin, you turned your head to kiss her but she grabbed your face roughly. Fingers on one cheek, thumb on the other, and palm on your chin, she forces your head forward and holds it in place.

“Oh, no, no, baby. You don’t get to kiss me right now. You need to focus on keeping your mouth shut.” Condescendingly spat as she begins sliding her hand down your underwear and cupping your pussy.

“Rock your hips. Now.” pushing her middle finger between your lips, the contact on your clit makes you jolt, and puts you right back at being a needy mess like you were this morning.

“Go ahead, baby. Grind into my finger. I can feel how desperate you are…be a good slut and do as I say.” Lowly growling to let you know she wasn’t kidding and removing her hand from your face.

Gasping at her tone and positioning yourself in a way that would feel the best given the situation, you bucked your hips up against her fingers harshly. She’s not even looking at you as you pathetically hump her hand, trying to keep your breathing even, small whines leave your lips and you pick up the pace.

“Stop. I fucking told you to keep quiet. Now you’ll suffer.” the words echo in your brain, you halt immediately but almost cry at the loss of sensation.

The ride is still spinning and moving through scenes and stages but with the way you're sitting, no one can tell where her hand is.

“Jihyo…” a soft plea for her to make some form of movement on you.

“I’ll do what I please with what is mine.” holding her hand in the same position, it’s completely drenched from your cunt and you just need to feel something. Completely frustrated at the way she was messing with you.

“Fine! Then, if you're going to do what you want then, so will I!” stuttering your hips again, using her hand in a nearly frantic manner.

Jihyo just laughs at the act, removing her hand from your shorts and pushing you back down into your spot on the bench. She’s watching you closely, the primal need in your eyes, how you couldn’t find a comfortable seat.

You have finally reached your breaking point.

��UGH! Stop toying with me! I just need to c- cum! I’ll do anything, baby. Just fuck me already!”

A villainous laugh reverberates through her chest, a devilish grin, and a hand wraps around your neck, squeezing the sides, and pulling you in for a heated kiss.

Tongues dance amongst each other, eager in her movements and very much in control. Her hand makes its way to your cunt again and she pushes a single finger inside of you, it’s enough to incite a gasp from your lips.

Unable to control yourself, you start thrusting your hips again. She pulls her finger out of you, instantly.

“I didn’t tell you to fucking move.” taking her hand off your throat, about to remove her other hand from your shorts but you grab her forearm, grinding against her hand again.

“Please, baby…I need you. I fucking need you!” getting so close to her face that you can feel her breath on your skin.

She’s trying to keep calm but the fire behind her eyes was telling you she was anything but.

Was she actually in control here?

Only one way to know for sure.

“Mommy…please, I need you inside me. Fucking, please!” A sense of urgency in your voice and the way you grasp at her shoulders has her about to pounce when all of a sudden, the ride comes to an unexpected stop, both of you now frozen, worried you’d been seen.

“Hello! We are experiencing technical difficulties. Please keep your arms and legs inside of the attraction vehicles and we will have the ride up and running in no time!” crackles over the intercom.

Faces inches apart, Jihyo’s jaw tensing as she looks out to see that the buggy you were in was facing a wall, no one could see into it. A lucky coincidence.

Making eye contact with her, you remove her hand from your shorts. The confusion on her face shines through the darkness. You hook your thumbs in your shorts and slide them off completely.

Jihyo’s eyes widened in shock, not expecting you to remove half your clothes on an amusement park ride.The look turns to hunger in a half second and you recognize the shift in her. She was about to devour you.

“That’s how bad you want it, huh? Willing to get half naked in public, just to feel me?” Lifting your legs, she rotates your hips towards her, pulling your calves hostilely so you lay down in the seat that was roomy for 2 people.

She pushes your thighs against your chest and stares down at your drenched cunt.

Licking the padding of 3 of her fingers, she slaps your pussy with an audible smack, not worried about how sensitive you were in the slightest.

“Think you can flirt with Momo all fucking day, and then I’m just going to fuck you?” Venomously hissed through the sounds of people chattering around you. They were waiting for the ride to start again, you were hoping it would be a while.

“What is it about her, hm?” Another smack.

“Do you think she could make you this wet?” This smack harder than all the other ones, but you knew she could do better.

“Who do you think made me this wet in the first place?” with a tenseness that matched the state of your yearning.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” She slams her full palm right on your cunt, you jolt and let out a silent cry as your entire body starts to tingle from the antagonistic slaps of Jihyo.

“Can you cum like this? Should you even cum at all?” splattering your soaked cunt’s fluids all over her own legs and hand.

Without warning, she slams two fingers into you. It takes everything you have to not let out a sound. Gripping anything you could, you tried to say quiet, the hardest task assigned because all you wanted to do was cry.

“Mommy! Slow down, oh fuck, I’m gon- ungh -na cum!”

“I don’t fucking care. Be a good little whore and shut the fuck up.” lowering her head, teasing you with the tip of her tongue.

Relentlessly fucking into you, it takes all the control you were quickly losing to keep your moans in, not that the other sounds emanating from you were any quieter.

Feeling yourself making a mess, you decide to take a little control from her. Running your fingers through her hair, gripping her locks and mercilessly rocking onto her tongue at a steady speed.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck- Hyo, I’m gonna fucking cum!”

She shoves another finger into your entrance unexpectedly, causing you to cry out- pulsing around her fingers and finally gaining the release you've been chasing all day. Thighs tighten around her head, holding her in place while you ride your orgasm out but her fingers don’t stop thrusting.

“Baby, what -mmmhhhh fuck, oh my fucking god!”

“The whimpering whining whore wanted to cum so badly, right? So fucking cum.” Slapping your clit over and over again. You can’t help but get loud for her, velvet laced grunts and adrenaline filled moans flee from your lungs in a race to fill the air.

“Shhh! Keep it down or I’ll stop and leave you like this again!” stiffly whispered to you when she got up onto her knees to lean over you.

“Wouldn’t that be so sad? Let me help you.” Shoving her fingers covered in your own slick into your mouth to keep you quiet and placing the palm of the other right on your clit, fingers curling up into you so hard that you can’t even govern your own body.

Vision starts to fade, the sensations are almost too much for you to bear. Muscles tensing throughout you as you dissolve into your own pleasure. Explosions and shockwaves ripple through the fibers of your being, leaving trails of electricity across your skin.

Jerking and contorting under her, you can’t make much sound with her fingers halfway down your throat but the taste of your own cum from her finger adds to your state of bliss. You’re sure to suck every bit of yourself off her before she lazily pulls them from your mouth.

She’s got a smirk on her face like she just won a war when she watches you do it, unable to contain the victory smile she was prepared with.

You are completely fucked out, leaking onto the seat, huffing and just trying to catch your breath. Putting your hand on her cheek before she makes her descent.

“Was that what you wanted?” Jihyo questions, cleaning you with her tongue. Twitching out of sensitivity under her touch, completely swollen and unsure if you’ll even be able to sit properly for the rest of the day.

All you can do is nod your head, too weak to even think about speaking. She helps you put your shorts back on and sits you up right before letting you lean into her until you regain some of your energy.

The ride starts moving again, people start cheering as you make your way through the rest of the tunnel, not even remembering what attraction you were on in the first place. She’s pointing out the things she thinks would spark your interest indicating that she was no longer frustrated with you, at least to the same extent as before.

Momo and Nayeon get off the ride first, waiting for the two of you at the exit when your buggy pulls up. Jihyo steps over you to get out first so she can help you stand, grateful for this because of how unsteady your legs were.

Her hand around your waist as you walk out into the sun, happily feeling the warmth of the day. Jihyo points out a table with benches attached, walking everyone over to have a seat and discuss further plans.

“Y/n, are you okay?” Momo asks, noticing your energy change.

“Yes. Just a little tired.” winking at her.

“…wait…is that what I heard?…you didn’t…”

Jihyo butts in, suggesting to head over to an ice cream shop around the corner and everyone agrees. Momo and Nayeon are distracted with each other when you lean in and kiss Jihyo on the cheek.

“Thank you, baby”

“Don’t thank me just yet, I still have plans for you once we get home.”

760 notes · View notes

heartthrobin · 2 months

Text

all's fair in love and war (2)

oliver wood x female!reader

wc: 7.87k

warnings: enemies to lovers, still so damn much pining, set in poa, timeline is a bit wonky, limited use of y/n, archie being my fav oc, cheese fest

an: literally fell asleep on my laptop last night editing this, i was so exhausted from school so i’m sorry it’s late !!! but i had the most fun in the world writing this and i hope everyone enjoys :)) don't forget to comment and repost your favourite writers

summary: Oliver is still impossibly miserable, maybe more uncooperative than before, except now when you look at him: you can't think of much else beyond how sweet his lips tasted.

part one

You can’t sleep.

You're not sure you'll find sleep ever again.

“I knew it, I knew it—“ Cherry had bounced the whole way to your dormitory, howling into your ear. “I knew it!”

The image of Oliver’s fluttering eyes swum around your brain as you blinked into the darkness of the poster bed. The taste of his tongue and his words still right against your lips.

It was a riddle of a calibre that you can’t seem to detangle. More than anything, you try to remember how strong has he tasted of Firewhisky - was he so drunk to really dismiss it to nothing at all?

You lingered on it all weekend.

Cherry didn’t help at all — he’s been in love with you forever, that’s literally so obvious — and Enzo even less so once he’d been filled in: Oliver doesn’t seem a bloke who let’s alcohol make his decisions for him, something about Scottish genetics I think.

The interaction plagued you: digging a wide hole in the base of your stomach. You mourned the thought that you may never have the opportunity to kiss those soft lips again, more than anything: preparing yourself for the feud between yourselves to worsen.

There’s barely enough time to make sense of your situation before you’re racing down over the grassy hills of the grounds, bag swinging violently over your shoulder and extraordinarily late for your Herbology lesson in the greenhouse.

Your morning alarm had rung right into one ear and out the other, a product of the tossing and turning you’d been doing for the last two nights.

When you swing the greenhouse door open, panting and face flush from the beating sun, the whole room turns to you. Sprout pauses where her hands are flailing in explanation.

“Sorry I’m late professor,” you wheeze, readjusting your strap over your shoulder.

Cherry is smirking at you from her bench, sidled up with Jane Emmet.

It hadn’t escaped you that you’d be sharing the lesson with the Gryffindors, but you’d precious little time to worry about it in the five minutes you had to pull a robe over your head and stick a toothbrush into your mouth.

Your eyes are purposeful in not looking over the room. Scared to catch the wrong eyes.

“Not a problem peach, we’re just repotting some Fire-Seed Bushes.” She brings a stubby hand to her chin, “uhm … well, Mr Kumar there in the corner doesn’t have a partner. Go join him by his pots.”

Archie has a lopsided smile on his face when you approach, a thick black curl drooping over his left eye.

“Hey.” He nudges gently.

You set your bag down and grab a pair of gloves, chuckling. “Hey Archie.”

The soil is warm when you stick your fingers into the dirt, shifting it gently enough not to mess over the edge of the bucket. There’s a Fire-Seed Bush sitting tentatively at the end of the bench, spitting sparks and emitting smoke.

“So …” Archie speaks first, the back of his hand bumping yours between the black soil. “How was your weekend?”

It’s a veiled question, a poorly veiled one at that. The question draws a laugh from the base of your stomach.

You shrug, adamant on missing the point. “It was alright, I guess. How about yours?”

He shrugs right back. “Wasn’t the greatest. Penelope Clearwater rejected me for Percy Weasley.”

You don't mean to, you really don't, but it draws another bout of laughter out of you - you clap your hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry—“

“No, I get it. Percy bloody Weasley?” His brow is creased, dirt-stained hands rising messily from the soil to swipe at a fallen piece of hair in his face. “Dead sure that bloke's own mother can't say he’s handsome. I’m better looking than him, surely?”

There’s the hanging insinuation that it was rhetorical, but you reply anyways: “you’re definitely more handsome than Percy Weasley, Archie.”

His head cocks down at you, stained paws finding his waist and pressing black fingerprints into the red jumper. “You really think so?”

“Without a doubt.”

Archie smiles, bumping your side against his. You think he might be blushing. “You’re very charming. I understand what Oliver sees in you.”

You jolt involuntarily, spilling some black soil over the edge of the pot.

Swiping at the mess lazily, you play the comment off with another crumbly chuckle: hoping it convinces him more than it does yourself. “Oliver sees in me what a bull sees in a red cape.”

Archie’s reaching timidly for the Fire-Seed Bush, lifting it off the counter and holding the dangerous botanical at arm’s length. “Not true. The boy’s half in love with you.”

This conversation is getting awfully uncomfortable awfully quickly. It picks at your curiosity nonetheless.

“He said that?”

He’s quick to shake off the question, eyes still trained on setting the roots of the bush into the gap in the soil. “Oliver doesn’t have to say anything. He spends practically every fucking mealtime mooning over at your table, and he talks about you way more than necessary—“

“That’s just because I work on his nerves. Oliver doesn’t love me, he barely tolerates me.”

The boy turns on you, confusion set in his brow. “Why is this news? Last I saw you, your tongue was halfway into his stomach.”

Zachariah Smith and his Gryffindor partner look up at that. Your face goes hot all over - Archie doesn’t seem to notice.

“We were drunk.” You say softly, eyes stuck on a loose leaf crackling against the wooden counter.

There’s a special kind of fear that's crawling into your heart where you stand. The fear of putting too much faith into the words of Archie Kumar.

That it’s an elaborate ruse. A set-up, canons of confetti and a banner screaming “you’ve been fooled!” if you were to indulge his words. The danger of allowing your mind to drift too far off into the possibilities of a world wherein Oliver Wood doesn’t hate you - at least not as much as he lets on.

Archie looks at you out the side of his eye, you can feel it, but says nothing. He hands you a miniature yellow-handled spade.

Instead you fill the space. "I heard Isla Flynn has a crush on you."

He perks: "really?"

Across the room, Oliver is bumping elbows with Poppy Davis.

"Ow!"

A loose spark has evidently landed on her exposed arm. The sparks that Oliver was supposed to be watching for, the ones that he is intent on ignoring with the constant glancing back over his shoulder to where you and his best mate are in the corner of the room fucking giggling at each other like toddlers with a box of matches.

“Oliver — can you just focus for five seconds!” Poppy isn’t impressed.

Oliver isn’t either, with the situation as a whole. The pads of his fingers are blistered from the repotting of the bush and Poppy’s careless bumps and his general indifference to the task at hand.

It eats at his brain. What are you guys talking about? Is it about him?

You laugh again and it’s loud enough that it draws his shoulders all the way taut. There’s another snap of a spark and Oliver feels where it lands at his wrist, but he doesn’t react.

“Just pass me the bloody spade.” He grumbles.

The lesson passes more slowly than Oliver could swim shoulder-deep through molasses.

It feels like years later when he tosses his gloves into the box with the rest, when the class shuffles to return tools and begin slinging half-open bags over their shoulders.

Oliver doesn’t think he’s ever packed up faster - Poppy is still scowling at him, he doesn’t care - before he’s knocking through yellow and red tied students to find Archie’s head of curly black hair.

“Hey!” He catches him by the wrist, tugging on it like a dog with a bone. Archie jumps, eyes winding down to find his friend. “What did she say?”

You’re far ahead, Oliver can make out the back of your head: hips bumping with Cherry’s up the hill towards the castle.

Archie grins. “She said Isla Flynn has a crush on me.”

Oliver groans, “Not about that, you prat. About— wait, really?”

"Yeah!" He hikes his bag higher on his shoulder. "Can you believe it? She's got that hot Irish accent and everything."

Oliver nods, "Yeah ... yeah. Good on you, mate."

He's trying desperately not to steal this moment from his best friend, but he's fucking itching to know what else you and Archie had been giggling about.

"Did she ... say anything else?" He presses, more gently than his character usually allows. "Like about me?"

Archie shrugs without looking down. "I asked her, but she seemed tense about the whole thing."

"Tense?"

"Yeah, she said something about a bull and a cape, and went like all quiet when I told her you like her--"

At that, Oliver's stomach leaps up into his throat. He grabs his best friend by the arm, jolting him to a short stop. Some Hufflepuff bumps into their halted figures, grumbling before shuffling around them.

"You told her what?" His eyes flare erratically.

Archie shrugs, an innocuously confused look painting his features. "Well I said Oliver's half in love with you, or something like that and she looked all confused about it--"

Oliver's grip on his friend's wrist tightened to a degree that a ring was sure to form on his dark skin. "You fucking pinhead! You told her I liked her?"

Pulling his arm violently from his grip, Archie has the nerve to look affronted. "You don't?"

The morning sun shining over Oliver's head feels like it's growing hotter by the second, there's a dribble of sweat running down his spine.

"That's -- that's not the point. Even if I do, which I'm not saying is the case, she doesn't need to know that."

"Were you two obliviated in your sleep last night?" Archie's eyebrows are pressed down against his eyes, slouching down to meet his friend's face. "I caught you two making out like the world was ending less than three days ago! Surely she has to figure that you feeling something for her, she's not stupid."

Oliver struggles between his thoughts, worse around his words. "That was ... we'd been drinking. For all I know, she only kissed me back cause she was trollied off Dragon-Barrell--"

"She said that, too."

Eyeing him, Oliver's hands find his hips. "Said what, exactly?"

"That you were drunk, I mentioned the kiss and she said we were drunk."

A sensation he can only identify as closest to guilt seeps up into Oliver's chest from his stomach. "She thinks I kissed her just cause I was drunk?"

Archie's hand finds Oliver's shoulder. "You should probably talk to her, mate."

He sighs, eyes drifting over the silhouette of the castle in the distance. He shakes his head like it'll rattle the plaguing thoughts loose. "We're gonna be late for Transfig."

"I mean, Archie is his best friend." Cherry is trying to rationalise the whole story. "I don't see why he'd lie about it?"

You shake your head, knocking shoulders with a Ravenclaw girl trying to pass through the corridor. "I'm not entertaining it, Cherry."

"Come on," she sighs, practically skipping to keep up with the furious pace you've set. "Would it be so terrible if he likes you?"

"Yes." You don't look at her.

The redhead's eye-roll is practically audible, "Let me rephrase, would it be so terrible if he likes you back?"

You meet her eyes for the first time since you'd entered the corridor.

She sighs, "we're gonna see him in Muggle Studies in five minutes. I think you should say something."

"Forget I said anything, Cherry." Heat flares at your neck again, prompted by the embarrassment of even imagining how such a conversation might go.

The rest of the walk is quiet, but you feel Cherry's gaze warming the side of your face.

Burbage's classroom is over-populated with Gryffindors by the time you drop your bag against the marbled floor beside your desk. In the corner of your eye, your brain has already fixated on Oliver's silhouette leaned against the edge of his own desk. You flush hot all over again, as if your thoughts were transcribing into subtitles and floating above your head for the whole class to read.

The click of Burbage's heels prompt the lingering students to find their seats, "Please take out your copies of Muggle Wars: Cause and Effect. We left off on page eighty-seven--"

You suddenly regret snapping at Cherry. Wishing for the comfort of her presence, your eyes glazing over where she's perched in the first row of desks closest to the chalkboard.

Unusually, the class trickles on without disruption. There's a few glances over at your direction, like everyone is waiting for another outburst from the grade's most volatile duo. They're sure to be let down, you're adamant to not even breathe in the direction of Wood.

Burbage comments on it, too, nearly ten minutes from the bell.

"It's suspiciously quiet in your corner today, captains." she looks down through her fingerprint-smudged frames, brushing over you and then Wood three seats away. "Something the matter?"

You shrug, refusing to acknowledge the boy. He seems to be doing the same: completely unfairly, the thought that he wouldn't look at you made the hair on your arms stand straight. "We can start up if you'd like, professor?"

Her face contorts into that irritated look that you'd grown accustomed to when Professor Burbage addresses you. "You're flirting dangerously with another session of detention, miss."

"She's just answering your question, professor."

Nobody in the class seemed more surprised than Burbage, although that in itself was a feat. The two Gryffindor boys in the row ahead of you swivel all the way around in their seats to look at Oliver, who'd just spoken.

You fight the twitching urge to look at him.

"Detention for two, it seems. I'll be seeing you both Friday afternoon."

A calm air settles again over the class, as if order had been restored. You and Wood had lost the interest of the room and students shift back to the board where WHAT IS A PRIME MINISTER? is sprawled across it in chicken-scratch handwriting.

Sighing, your eyes find the clock against the wall. Eight minutes left.

You pick at the end of your quill irritably: electing to dip it into the ink at the edge of the desk and entertain yourself quietly by drawing a miniature snowman at the corner of your page, trying not to think about another Friday afternoon in too close of a proximity to Oliver Wood. There's a soft whir, barely audible if you weren't so focused on outlining pebble eyes, and a tiny paper-airplane whizzes quietly from under your desk: landing squarely on the nose-less head of your snowman.

Fear prickles at you. You don't look up for the source, lest a suspicious sideways glance earns you another weekend with the party-animal Charity Burbage.

Instead, you carefully undo the intricately folded wings of the plane. It's barely big enough to fit into your palm once open, the top of the little note marked in black ink.

It was the same handwriting that marked the sign-out sheet for equipment in the Quidditch storage rooms down at the pitch.

'Thanks for that one, smart-mouth.'

Your eyes flicker up to Burbage, who's back is turned, before you dip your quill into the ink and scribble out a response. In your peripheral, Oliver is leaned back in his stool: biceps folded over each other. There's an unexplainably airy-fairy, fuzzy feeling warming your rib cavity.

'Believe this one was your fault, dickhead.'

You quietly refold the creased edges, before tapping it lightly with the end of your wand: then watch how it takes off the airstrip of your page and zips quietly under the cover of desks to land back in front of the sender.

There's a long pause - enough for Burbage to draw out a whole flow diagram of something called "parliament" - before the edge of the paper wing grazes at your calf again. It lands quietly again.

'Maybe.

We good?'

There's a gentleness to the sentence. Like you can hear it from Oliver's mouth, like he's avoiding your gaze when he whispers it.

You hunch over the note again.

Oliver's knuckles are turning white, twisting his wand in his hands under the table. He shouldn't have said anything. He's regretting the whole fucking idea of the stupid paper-plane now.

He's trying not to watch you write, not to notice how long you stared at his writing before you picked up your own quill. He does anyways.

When the airplane flutters down into his palm, Burbage is already excusing the class. Stools are scraping against cold tile, the clutter of textbooks being crammed back into bags.

'Never :)'

His eyes run over the word once, twice, three times over. A smile is tugging at the edge of his lip, he forces it taut - but his eyes are still shining unusually brightly when Archie knocks his shoulder to his.

"What you looking so damn happy about?"

Oliver tucks the note into the pocket of his robes. "Don’t know what yer talking about."

"But professor, why can't Hufflepuff take Saturday?"

"Well, Hufflepuff already gave up our practice days for Gryff--!"

Hooch sighed so deeply she almost melted back into her armchair. "The decision is made, Oliver. The pitch is being cleaned out on Wednesday, your team can take Saturday for any extra training."

He could practically hear the smile creeping onto your face, the smug crossed-arm look he'll no doubt find when he turns to you.

Irritation bubbles up in his throat, a familiar companion in your presence, and just as he prophesied: you are grinning.

In the weeks that followed that day in Burbage's class, it seemed that both parties decided that the topic of their shared kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room was best left undiscussed.

The arrangement is working. At least Oliver thinks so.

You still bait him and he still snaps, rising to your taunts. He still finds himself in detention more Fridays than he spends free, and his body ripples with anger when you roll your eyes at him.

But it was in moments, like this now, where your little self-satisfied grin doesn't quite vex him to the degree it once did. It's now harder to find a retort, to snap at you with a sharp-edged comment. Not when amusement crinkles at the corners of your eyes where your black lashes kiss so prettily.

Hooch swivels in her chair to find a document between one of her cluttered drawers, you take the opportunity to stick the tip of your tongue out childishly at him.

Oliver draws a tight breath, he hopes his face is still taut in annoyance, because his heart has slipped like a stone down into his stomach. That's the other issue, the tiny little obstacle in these recent weeks: he can't stop looking at your mouth. It's distracting, disarming - paralysing at the best of times.

He strips his gaze away, before he can be outed by anyone in the room. "Whatever." He mumbles.

You seem disappointed in his lack of a real response, but it passes quickly - like a shadow - over your face.

"Thanks professor." You grab up your roster from her desk and turn to the door, practically skipping out into the corridor.

He huffs.

Somehow, you and Archie have become fast friends. Mornings around Fire-Seed Bushes and Venomous Tentaculas in the heat of Greenhouse Three seems to do wonders for a friendship.

It prickles at Oliver's nerves when you pass in the corridors, when you perk up with a high "hey Arch!" and he grins down from his towering height right back at you: "hey Y/n!"

You don't look at Oliver. He's notably sour the rest of the walk.

Alright, maybe the whole arrangement wasn't really working. You were a distraction to him before, no doubt, but somehow your powers of beguilement had tripled. Especially since you seem to be behaving perfectly normal: like you hadn't given Oliver the best snog of his life outside the Ravenclaw common room that night.

Maybe it was just alcohol, maybe he is the only one plagued by the knowledge of the other's taste.

The castle has turned impossibly colder, the bitter bite of winter stinging at the loose cuffs of his robes on walkthroughs of the corridors. He can't imagine how cold the air above the pitch is going to be on Sunday when Hufflepuff faces off Slytherin for a spot in the finals.

It's all Hooch has been going on about for the last two weeks.

Oliver's had to shift around at least four practices - Roger almost twice as much, he's a pushover - to allow for you and Marcus to have more time on the pitch. His complaints fell on deaf ears, Hooch dismissed him with a wave of her bony hand and a "your time is coming, Wood."

You prance into dinner late most evenings, hair in every direction and face flush with sweat: sticking it out like a bumblebee in those awful yellow quidditch robes.

Oliver only notices because, annoyingly, he's found that he is frequenting the bench at the Gryffindor table that faces over to the Hufflepuff's. His eyes drift over the yellow-tied heads to where you clump up with Enzo and Cherry, watches you talk around mouthfuls of toast lazily, giggle behind your napkin: head rolling back to showcase that smooth neck, how it runs down to the soft slopes of your shoulders: disappearing down into your button-up.

Archie has noticed, he's sure, but hasn't done more but allude to it with teasing glances or suggestive comments.

"The Hufflepuffs up to something particularly interesting over there, Ollie?"

The speed with which Oliver's eyes snap to his peas is almost comical. He shrugs and mumbles like a child. "Don't know."

On Sunday morning, you don't go to breakfast.

There's an uncomfortable gurgling in your midriff, like a snake is slithering between your organs and you're sure even just the smell of eggs on toast would bring up your dinner.

Instead you find yourself at the pitch a whole hour before the game is set to start. Marcus is running laps around the grass, something he's done since you've known him.

He offers a curt wave, face set like cold stone.

It reminds you of Oliver a little bit, the distraction in his eyes.

Oliver is never all the way there, wherever he is, you think. His eyes mist over like he's halfway between this world and another. You know it's Quidditch: he dreams it, eats it, sleeps it.

But lately he's foggier than usual.

You think it's your imagination, brush off the idea as you have all the millions of others you'd had in the preceding weeks about the surly brute that was Oliver Wood. He plagues you.

Just the vibrato of his unimpressed huff when you get your way, when you quip something purposely annoying at him. It's addictive, the feel of his sugar-brown eyes glaring a hole through you.

Lately, his reactions have been closer to underwhelming. Allowing for only a moment of eye contact: gone are the quick-witted retorts, the Scottish-laced "princess" usually attached. The thought makes you wince in embarrassment, knowing that you've been pressing him harder lately: like a seven-year old jabbing at a claw machine, outwardly desperate for that brown plushy on the top of the pile.

Maybe he's over it. So deathly mortified of your shared kiss that he doesn't want to know you anymore, much less take the effort to hate you. Your chest pinches tightly.

You dress into your match robes slowly, taking your time with the loops of your shoelaces and the buttons down the sweater you're wearing underneath everything. Oliver Wood should be at the bottom of your list of priorities, normally, but now more than ever.

The team filters into the change-room, exhibiting varying degrees of nervousness. Cedric is practically green, but Herbert looks like he's about to go down a water-slide he's waited over an hour in line for. Beyond the swinging doors, you can hear the crowd shuffling loudly into their seats.

Before your wits are completely about you, Hooch is rapping on those same doors. "Onto the pitch, Hufflepuffs!"

You muster up your best excuse for a captain's speech for what might be the last match you ever play as one. The team seem satisfied, you figure it's easy to find solace before a game when you know it's not your last. As the only seventh year, comfort doesn't come so easily to you.

The crowd is deafening when yellow robes take to the sky: Marcus looks over, offering another nod, not unlike the one he'd given you earlier. You can tell he's feeling the dread of finality too.

There's a whistle blow and the quaffle flies past your face with a speed that nearly evacuates your nose from your face. Lee is announcing in the distance and the rumble of adrenaline forces your fingers over the handle. It tilts and you dip, disappearing into the sky of players.

The winter air at Hogwarts was biting enough roaming the corridors, but thirty metres off the ground is something wholly unnatural. Your face was burning crisp from the icy wind, the feeling in your cheeks and nose lost to the Scottish cold.

Foggy white clouds puff out with each heavy breath. Cedric zooms past and Jane loops around his moving figure to knock a stray bludger in the opposite direction.

Your eyes flash between them and the fast approaching Malcolm, he tosses the quaffle at you with a grunt and you catch it at the tips of slippery, ice-frozen fingertips.

Shooting forward again, you duck under Marcus who is hurtling through the sky at you: gone is the look of friendly fondness from his eyes, replaced with a hunger for the leather-bound ball in your grasp.

Just missing the grasp of his meaty hand, the ball passes onto Heidi.

"Another ten points to Hufflepuff," Lee's voice echoes as if from heaven. "That brings the score to ninety for Hufflepuff and eighty for Slytherin!"

It's been nearly ninety-five minutes of sitting on your broom growing colder, and you're not alone.

Around you, the team is descending into frost-induced exhaustion: Jane's nose is as bright red as a Christmas ornament and Cedric has been peeping over the top of his thick woollen-scarf for at least the last half - barely enough to catch a glance of the whizzing canary and emerald robes, much less of a tiny golden snitch.

You sigh out another white breath, letting your eyes drift over the stands. It's saturated with moving heads of faces you can't make out and yellow and green swaying banners. Your gaze lingers on the top left, in the corner facing the castle. It's where Cherry and Enzo park themselves during every match, where you know they're screaming in support, clenching their teeth at every quaffle handover. You can feel them, even when their faces blur into the crowd.

Unintentionally, you think about how Oliver's mixed in there too. Somewhere between your peers. If you had been granted another moment, if the quaffle wasn't mid-air between two Slytherins just under your nose and you'd not taken the opportunity to snatch it from them, you would have meandered into the trap of hoping that deep down in his chest - even if it was core of the earth deep - he was rooting for you, too. That he seethed at a missed goal or clenched a tight fist at his side in celebration when a Hufflepuff makes a beautiful play.

Meanwhile in the stands, Oliver has decided that the desire to play his allegiances in secret has since disappeared from his heart.

He'd played it light in the first few minutes. Mumbling under his breath at a fumbled pass or a slimy move from the Slytherins, but by the forty-fifth minute he'd found himself on his feet.

"Diggory!" His hands waved in front of him, "it was right there you fucking git--"

A Hufflepuff third year a row ahead looked at him askew, but he paid her no mind.

Archie had taken the hint early. As soon as Oliver was out of his seat, so was he. Despite being Oliver Wood's best friend, Archie had somewhat limited knowledge of the game himself and eyed Oliver's reactions to find the appropriate moments to whoop and cheer. Oliver didn't say anything, but he appreciated it more than he could verbalise.

His eyes tracked you more than anything, when you were flying between players or just floating in place: eyes like a hawk, watching over the game. His heart swelled and his pride fell to the wayside.

Just short of the two hour mark, there was a rise in the crowd.

"The seekers have caught sight of the snitch!"

Oliver's stomach rose into his throat.

"They're diving for it, Malfoy and Diggory head to head-- and Slytherin grabs the snitch, winning by 140 points!"

It sank back into place, like a stone to the bottom of the river. He watched how you froze, how you twisted over your shoulder to find Diggory's figure lingering at the bottom of the field. You shoulders sagged, hanging in the air as the others dropped to the ground.

"Slytherin have made it into the finals against Gryffindor for the quidditch cup, back here at the pitch next month!"

After a long moment, the last in the sky, you followed them down.

The raucous cheers from the Slytherins were hard to drown out, he wasn't even sure Archie heard him toss a "i'll find you at the castle" before he found himself pushing through the masses of people.

He fought against the wave moving to find the stairs, eager to return to the warmth of their dormitories, but Oliver was markedly more motivated than the majority. He stomped on some toes and nearly tossed a first year off the stands to race down the stairs.

Only once his feet had found the mushy grass of the pitch, did he pause to consider that he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say. What was the rush for? To comfort you, tease you for your loss?

The latter option was definitely what he could do, what he could say. What was expected of him, if he was being honest. Recently, however, he's found it harder and harder to come up with remarks to hurt your feelings. Found that he quite prefers that little smile that tucks into the corner of your mouth when he says something unexpectedly fond. How your eyes practically gleam.

There's shoving from all sides of him -- get out the way, bloody hell -- and the teams pass ahead of him. Leading the march, despite it being nothing more than a slow trudge, is your figure: squashed between those of who he recognises to be Cherry Stretton and Enzo Musa's.

Their arms wrapped over your shoulders, talking animatedly into your ear on each side. Enzo tips his head to meet yours, a small touch of comfort.

Oliver sighs. He has nothing to say and no comfort to offer, wondering for a moment what he could possibly bare to hear in his own final moments as captain. He thinks that anything from your mouth would work.

So he waits, parks himself beside the stairs and waits for Archie: watching the six-legged figure disappear up over the hill.

You're not at dinner.

He knows because he's been watching the door for the better half of an hour. Archie pushes his plate at him, "Eat something there, Ollie."

Begrudgingly, Oliver brings his drumstick up to his mouth. "She's not eaten a thing since breakfast, it's almost eight."

Archie passes a sympathetic look over him. "Her friends are here, I'm sure she'll be by soon. There's no use you joining her on a hunger-strike."

He's right. Cherry and Enzo and some others that frequent your circle are talking around the table, around the spot that you usually fill. But dinner goes on and students leak steadily out towards bed without your return.

Eventually Oliver huffs, like an irritated bulldog, and grabs for the nearest napkin: unfolding it out in front of him.

"What are you doing?" Archie asks thickly, spitting bits of rice at him.

Oliver reaches for two chicken skewers, placing them neatly on the white square: alongside a dinner roll and a pumpkin pasty.

He wraps them over, double wraps it with another napkin too.

"What does it look like, Arch."

Placing it carefully into the deep pocket of his robe, Oliver goes to stand - lacking the patience it takes for Archie to answer, or for his inevitable teasing. "I'll find you back in our room."

He's halfway out the hall when Archie's voice calls out to him, "You don't even know where she is!"

Oliver shakes his head, brandishing a dismissive hand over his shoulder. "I know where she is." He mumbles for only himself to hear.

You’d watched close to twenty-one quidditch matches from the stands at the pitch on Hogwarts grounds: played in almost half of them.

The seat is still slightly too small, just uncomfortable enough to make a person shuffle. Beyond the rim over the other end of the pitch you can see the orange sun dipping behind the horizon, drawing to darkness over your moment alone.

By now you're sure the party in the common room has long since found momentum. The one you'd been promised by the team, "it's your last game, cap, we need to celebrate!". You're sure someone somewhere is looking for you, bracing a plastic cup of Firewhisky with your name on it, but you can't find it within yourself to face it all just yet.

The silence of the evening is enough, you only wish you'd been fast enough to retrieve your broomstick that's somewhere off with Enzo. Just for one last lap.

The serenity of your loneliness doesn't persevere, however. You can hear shuffling up the steps, you're tempted to look but the sunset is slipping so quickly out of your hands that it's not worth the time wasted.

It's only when the footfalls draw closer, stopping when a body slumps into the seat beside you. The seats are so cramped that his knee brushes yours, the figure long since identified from the corner of your eye.

"Come to gloat?" You ask, eyes never leaving the sky.

He shrugs. "Not today."

You nod. His smell drifts on the breeze under your nose, like peppermint and soap and Oliver.

There's a long silence. Your robes crease against the fist sitting in your lap, you've yet to change out of your quidditch uniform, you know it will be the last time.

"You missed dinner."

"Does it matter?"

Despite your avoidant gaze, Oliver's is warming the side of your face. The evening air cools the same spot.

There's a shuffling that finally draws your eyes. Oliver is still in his robes too, and his hand emerges from a deep pocket with a folded napkin square. "Figured you'd be hungry."

He places it onto your lap with a gentleness you're coming to find more of in him. Something frighteningly warm erupts in your chest and your hands come up to it, pulling apart the napkin to find picky bits inside.

You're fighting between smiling and starting to cry. You do neither.

"You carried this in your pocket the whole way from the hall?"

His eyes flicker between the food and your face before he shrugs. "Yeah."

By now, you were fighting a losing battle and the smile pulled up at the ends of your mouth so tightly that your cheeks started to hurt. "Gross."

You pick up a chicken skewer regardless, biting into it and facing the sky again. You offer him the other one and he looks for a moment like he's going to argue but takes it quietly in the end.

The chicken is tender and only after you'd swallowed the first bit did you realise how hungry you'd actually been. You finish it without a word, going to tear the pasty in half and offering a piece to your companion.

You're picking at the roll now, tearing tiny bits off and feeding it piece by piece to yourself like a bird. "Last game."

He nods. "I know."

"What could someone say to you after your last game, Wood?" You pick at him, eyes flittering between him and the now nearly black sky. "You know, to make you feel better?"

Oliver shakes his head, leaning back and rolling his shoulders: as if the thought itself unsettled him.

"Nothing, probably. I'd probably just walk into the Black Lake and drown myself."

You think he's joking, but with Oliver Wood that was hardly a sure thing.

"You wouldn't."

"What's there left to live for?" He says it with an airy chuckle.

Shrugging, your head falls against your shoulder. "You'd have to figure it out, because I'd go marching in right after you. Carry you out if I had to."

Oliver stills, eyes wide and blinking at you. Your chest goes tight, the ghost of a smile pressing at your face.

"Bridal style and everything ..." You add quietly, stifling your chuckle.

He seems to come back to himself, nodding. "We should get back. Been a long day."

The napkin crumples in your hand, shoved down into the depths of your own pocket. You walk ahead, the pathway to the steps is only narrow enough for one person at a time, and he trails behind.

By the time you've hit the steps, Oliver moving down beside you, you're brewing around an apology. A way to thin the air, to ease where your chest is tight: swirling around well done, now you've made things awkward you git. It's halfway up to your tongue when skin brushes against the back of your hand.

Warm fingers explore your knuckles to find your cool ones, slipping to knot between them.

You work not to look down, because Oliver's skittish like that. From the corner of your eye, you can see he's concentrating his gaze ahead.

His hand tightens against yours, palm callous from years wrapped around the wooden handle of his broomstick. It's a little sweaty and sticky but you're smiling so hard you're about to be sick.

You dare to look at him, Oliver's smiling too.

Oliver hasn't been sleeping.

His last few days of seventh year are slipping like water through his calloused hands and he can feel it. Every hour that passes, shadowy and fleeting.

Classes feel shorter than before, the terrible jokes Archie bombards him with over dinner sound funnier than he ever remembers them being and the glimpses he catches of you in the corridor never feel long enough. The ceiling of his poster bed flashes with moments of the day that's passed, feeling like a dream you'll be jolted out of as soon as it gets good.

Even over all his hours of broody contemplation, none of it makes the final whistle any easier to swallow. It hits him like he's been smacked with a bludger in the chest.

"Gryffindor has won the quidditch cup, two-hundred and thirty points to twenty!"

He can hear the crowd's roar, the whoops of the twins floating somewhere below him. Harry's standing on the grass of the pitch holding up his tiny golden trophy. The pitch is red all over: Oliver won.

He won.

Every moment building up over the last seven years culminated into the final blow of the whistle. The wind is whipping at the hair over his forehead: Oliver thinks this might be the happiest moment of his life, but he's not entirely sure.

He never realised that it would all be so fucking soaked in sadness.

It's over. He's leaving the castle empty handed. His engraving will live on the Quidditch Cup in a dusty cupboard for years to come, yes, and he might have a frame up in his future apartment somewhere, reminiscing on the old days. That's all.

He's struck with the devastating fear that in a few short years, nobody will remember him. More than anything, he can't believe he hadn't come to this overwhelming conclusion before right now. Before Angelina is yelling to him, waving a frantic hand and sporting the biggest grin in all of Scotland, before he was seconds from taking the prize he's held in his mind for so many years into his very hands.

Will you forget him?

It nearly knocks him off his broom. He finds that it scares him the most, more than the thought of the dust-caked trophy or the lonely corner at the back of his cupboard where his Hogwarts robes will no doubt live until eternity.

He won't forget you, he thinks. He knows.

You're just so damn annoying. And beautiful, fucking whip-clever and hilarious sometimes--

The handle of his broom is tilting down to the earth now, the crowd zooming into a blur on either side of him. He hits a shaky landing, broomstick abandoned on the grass behind him as he's pulled into the arms of his team and well-wishers.

A golden trophy passes over the heads of the twins and it's shoved into his sweating hands. It's cool to the touch and so much heavier than he thought it ever could be, but he can't seem to keep his mind on the situation long enough to realise any of that. His mind is racing around the castle wondering where you might be and what's the fastest way to get there.

His eyes are racing over the heads of the roving crowd. "Wood, Wood! Speech!"

Shadowing over everyone is Archie's tall figure standing at the back, grinning down at him. The team watches expectantly.

This is it. The moment for the speech he's been practicing in his bathroom mirror since he was seven.

"I--" he looks down at the cup for the first time, his face reflecting up at him in glimmering gold. He finds he can't remember any of the words. "I need to go find someone."

There's a buzz of confusion, but Oliver doesn't linger: shoving the Quidditch Cup into Harry's arms.

"That's the shortest speech Wood has ever given." He hears Angelina quip, but he can't be arsed to turn. He's already flying, moving through the crowd at such a pace he might just have been on his broom.

The sea of students had long since started moving up to the castle, particularly the non-gryffindors: trying to beat the stampede of scarlet that is no doubt to come. Oliver's legs carry him over the smooth green hill up towards Hogwarts, head craning over students to find your side profile somewhere in the mass.

He catches few oy, watch it!'s and congrats, Wood!'s but he doesn't turn, doesn't stop running. Students bespeckle the grass like ants lining up for crumbs, and he's all the way up into the stone corridor leading to the Great Hall when he spots Cherry's velvet red curls over the crowd, and sure enough, he finds you're knocking her shoulder with your own.

It only takes one shout of your name and you turn to peek curiously back, by which time he's taken both your shoulders into his hands and steered you to the wall of the corridor.

"Wood! What are you do--"

His hands squeeze around the plush at your upper arms. "Oliver. My name is Oliver."

Your eyes are wide in surprise, the window behind you showcases the gardens and the pitch in the distance. Sunlight forms a halo over the crown of your head.

With a head tilted in confusion, you nod slowly. "Alright ... what are you doing, Oliver?"

He can feel the eyes of Cherry and Enzo burning a hole through the side of his head, but doesn't bother with it. You're blinking up at him, gentle and benign in your features. He wonders when it became like this, when you'd lost the tight brow and the frown every time you looked at him.

"I won the Quidditch Cup." He says blankly.

You nod, a small smile tucked into the corner of your lip. "I saw. Congratulations."

Oliver only nods back at you. "I wanted to tell you. I wanted to come shove it in your face."

He's shuffling closer to your figure, and he's more than pleased to discover that you aren't cowering from it.

"Of course you did, because you're a prat." But you're smiling so hard now that it's impossible to take your jab to heart. "Is that all, Oliver?"

A warm sensation is spilling into his rib cavity and his fingertips are buzzing with electricity when they come to find either side of your face.

"No." His forehead is nearly touching yours and your hands have wrapped around his wrists. "I came to ask you out on a date. A sappy, disgustingly romantic date where I bring you flowers and pay for your hot chocolate. You'd hate it."

"That truly sounds horrible." Your smile is so wide he can barely see the whites of your eyes and it pumps more adrenaline through Oliver than any argument you'd ever shared over the last seven years.

"So, is that a yes?"

You're bouncing on your toes a little bit, bumping your nose against Oliver's clumsily. The babble of passing students and gawking onlookers has practically fallen mute to him.

"Depends, are you going to kiss me goodnight after?" You whisper it, like it's a secret between just you and him.

He nods slowly, "pretty desperate to kiss you right now, if I'm being honest princess--"

You don't wait for him to finish, thank Merlin you don't wait for him to finish, and push up onto your toes: crashing against his mouth. You're kiss is as dizzying as he remembers, but softer this time. You kiss like you know he's not running away, hands pressing softly over his neck.

It's nothing like your kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room: where that one was desperate and hot and angry, this time it's born from longing and tenderness and acceptance.

It leaves him just as fucking breathless as the first time.

Somewhere behind him, he hears wolf-whistling (he's sure it's Cherry) and when you pull your lips off his, your face is flush with embarrassment.

"I will go on a date with you, Oliver."

He takes your hand into his, curling his fingers between your own. You lean up to peck him softly and bat your eyelashes at him, grinning innocuously when you whisper: "If you treat me like you did with Delilah, I'm throwing your broomstick into the fireplace."

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effetsecndaires · 1 year

Text

— 𝐭𝐨𝐤𝐲𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐠. (𝐡𝐜𝐬)

INCLUDES | keisuke baji, kazutora hanemiya, manjiro sano, shuji hanma

NOTE | This is really short, I'm sorry! I'm not sure how I feel about it either, but I hope it's not too bad.

— BAJI.

Pretty much everyone in Toman knows Baji has a soft spot for you. They never miss an opportunity to tease him about it, telling him to make the first move, to stop staring like a creep and just ask you out already.

...What they don't know is that you and Baji have been secretly dating for months now.

Though you decided to keep your relationship a secret mainly to keep each other safe and avoid being exposed to unnecessary danger, you both find amusement in keeping your friends in the dark about your relationship. It became like a fun little game between you and Baji, sharing playful glances and knowing smiles whenever the others would tease him about his supposed crush.

You're pretty sure Chifuyu knows the truth, though. There's always a knowing smirk on his face that suggests he might be onto your secret, but he plays along, giving you both a nod of approval whenever he catches the subtle displays of affection between the two of you.

If you eventually decide to make your relationship public, Baji will have a field day teasing his friends for not noticing sooner that you were dating. He won't miss the chance to brag about being the one who won the 'prettiest Toman member's heart, even poking fun at those who once had a crush on you.

— KAZUTORA

In the middle of all those men, it wasn't easy for you to find your place in Valhalla.

You often kept to yourself, feeling like you didn't really belong here. You had effortlessly managed to prove your strength and loyalty to the gang so everyone respected you and treated you as an equal — but it still felt weird to be surrounded with so many men, each more violent and intimidating than the other.

But with Kazutora, there was an instant connection that set him apart from the others.

Before you knew it, you were having secret meetings away from the prying eyes of the gang, and what began as just a friendship soon turned into something more.

Kazutora's affection towards you in public is subtle yet genuine. The two of you always make sure to stand away from each other during meetings and gatherings so as to not awake suspicions, but Kazutora quietly keeps an eye on you from a distance, checking up on you without drawing attention to your connection.

During fights, this protectiveness manifests in small yet meaningful gestures. Even though he trusts in your ability to handle yourself, he'll gladly position himself as a shield between you and any potential threats. He's always ready to divert attention away from you or take the hit in your place —which you often scold him for.

While it goes mainly unnoticed by others you can always tell when he does things for you, just to protect you. Sometimes, you manage to steal a quick kiss from him when nobody's looking, leaving a flustered Kazutora behind you.

— MIKEY.

Mikey is incredibly protective of you, which quickly makes people wonder if there's something going on between you. You both deny it every time, but you're not sure how much longer you'll manage to hide it — you're pretty sure Mikey has already told Draken anyway. (or Sanzu — depends if we're talking about Toman or Bonten Mikey)

It really doesn't help his case that he's always turning down his friend's invitations to hang out in favor of spending time with you. He doesn't explicitly tell them that — and he tries to cover up the fact that he's going out with you by using the excuse of wanting to stay at home and rest— but it doesn't take a genius to figure out his real intentions. It's no coincidence that you and Mikey are always unavailable at the same time.

The gang playfully teases him about his 'resting' time when they see him the next day, not realizing that these moments with you go beyond him simply sneaking away to see his girlfriend.

Your meetings are what keeps Mikey grounded, the very last anchor in his life that prevents him from completely losing himself.

When the weight of the world gets too overwhelming for him to bear, you become Mikey's refuge — the only person capable of providing the comfort he seeks and calming his racing thoughts.

— HANMA.

Hanma is a master at this whole secret relationship thing.

He effortlessly hides his feelings and shows no sign of concern for you, even when you get hurt during a fight or are facing threats from others. To the outside world, he treats you just like any other guy in Valhalla, pushing you to get up and keep fighting —fully aware that you can handle yourself and need no savior.

While he may not shower you with affection in public, there's another side of Hanma behind closed doors that only you gets to see;

As soon as the two of you are alone, he's all over you, always holding you close and kissing you like there's no tomorrow, getting all cocky over the fact that he's the only one allowed to kiss you and touch you like he does.

Of course, don't think he'll let the men who hurt you get away with it.

The next day, Hanma will take the matter into his own hands and seek out whoever hurt or threatened you. He doesn't give any explanation as to why he beats them up, simply brushing it off and telling everyone that he "just felt like it."

#reader insert #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev x you #x reader #hanma shuji x reader #hanma x reader #manjiro sano x reader #mikey x reader #baji keisuke x reader #baji keisuke x you #kazutora x reader #x female reader #x fem reader #x fem!reader

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papiliotao · 2 years

Text

・❥・IN CLASSROOM 143

♡ — Reader: GN

♡ — Characters: Aether, Albedo, Kazuha, Scaramouche, Xiao

♡ — Synopsis: what is it like sitting next to them in class?

♡ — Content: fluff, high school AU, modern AU

♡ — A/N: classes were just better when I sat next to silly people. That's probably where I got the inspiration for this from. Have fun reading!

AETHER is the living definition of overcommitment. He's quite popular among your peers, so it's only natural that people are queuing up to ask him to join their clubs. Unfortunately, he's a bit people pleaser, so he can never find the heart to turn them down. From music to volleyball, Aether is involved in almost every extracurricular that the school has to offer, and as his desk partner in history class, you begin to notice the toll it’s taking on him.

It shows in the way he's always late and gasping for air as he sits down beside you. It shows in the way he turns to you and tiredly waves at you each class, offering you a weak smile that makes your heart skip a beat. And it shows in the way his honeyed eyes droop as he fights the temptation of slumber, all while your elderly teacher's droning voice lulls him into a state of tranquility.

He's fighting a losing battle, and he knows it. Each time the boy gives in to his weariness and lays his head on his desk to inevitably drift into the realm of dreams, his expression softens. He looks so content. You can never muster the willpower to wake him up, so instead, you leave him be and diligently take notes to share with him once class ends. After all, even someone as busy as Aether needs to set aside some time to rest in their strenuous schedule. The dark circles under his eyes tell you all you need to know about the amount of sleep he gets.

But there's no way the frigid surface of the table he uses as a makeshift pillow is comfortable, so one day, on an impulsive whim, you offer up your shoulder as a headrest instead. Aether agrees gratefully, and from then on, the sweet boy leans against you as he rests. His warm breath sends tingles down your spine, and his soft hair tickles your skin, and although his proximity makes it harder for you to take notes, you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

ALBEDO, the boy who sits next to you in chemistry, is studious yet eccentric. He’s known for achieving nearly perfect grades by utilizing his unrivalled intellect, and he’s always the first person his peers go to for help with their schoolwork despite the fact that he’s rather introverted. As a result of his reserved demeanour, he almost never offers his aid to others first, but you’re the exception.

Whenever you look as though you’re struggling, Albedo won’t hesitate to assist you. He almost appears a little too excited to talk to you, giving advice anytime he sees an opportunity to. It's gotten to the point where even your classmates have picked up on his eagerness to speak to you, and they have started speculating that the bright boy is infatuated with you. You can't deny the fact that the thought causes your heart to flutter, but you try your best not to get your hopes up, just in case your peers are mistaken. Besides, Albedo is rather difficult to understand anyway, so it wouldn't come as a shock if it turned out that his intentions were simply being misinterpreted.

One example of said contradictory behaviour on Albedo's part has to do with his participation during lessons. Despite his stellar academic performance, he has a habit of zoning out whenever a topic doesn’t interest him. In those instances, you notice that he pulls out a sketchbook and flips to a page half-filled with doodles and begins to meticulously scrawl on the paper. Soon, snowy white is dyed shades of grey and black, undergoing a metamorphosis that transforms it into the finest of portraits. You’re always curious as to what Albedo is drawing, but you’re never able to catch a clear glimpse. Whenever you look his way, he hastily shuts the book, concealing its contents as if he is guilty of a crime.

Unbeknownst to you, the ocean-eyed boy beside you is doodling the one he is infatuated with: you. His feelings ebb into his sketchbook, and his art captures every dip and curve of your face, encapsulating all your radiance with immaculate precision. And yet, he never overlooks your imperfections either — with his pencil acting as a catalyst, he records them in great detail. Albedo is in love with every single aspect of you, even your flaws, which arguably garner more adoration from the boy than any of your other features because they make you distinct — the brightest star in a galaxy full of wonders. Perhaps one day, he will be able to show you his works, but for now, he is more than content with silently admiring you.

Peculiarity is a trait best embodied by KAEDEHARA KAZUHA, the boy who sits next to you in English class. On the surface, he seems normal enough — although one could argue that he is abnormally pretty with his snowy white hair and eyes the colour of autumnal maple leaves. However, he is also strange in other ways. Six months of conversing with Kazuha have led you to the conclusion that he is most definitely odd, but not necessarily in a bad way.

Unlike most of your peers, Kazuha often appears to have his head in the clouds, daydreaming in a world that he has made entirely his own. There are times where he stares out the window, sighing wistfully as he gazes at the vivid azure sky overhead. On other occasions, he writes poems in the worn notebook he always carries around, hardly minding the way you look over his shoulder to get a glimpse of what he's writing. Most puzzling of all, however, is his tendency to absentmindedly stare at you in the middle of class. He doesn’t even have the shame to look away when you glance back at him. He just maintains eye contact and smiles at you, causing you to avert your gaze first.

Despite the fact that Kazuha is rather odd, he is still a polite and compassionate person. Whenever you allow him to proofread your assignments, he compliments your work in embellished words that bloom with praise, and he offers advice in a way that feels warm and genuine. You feel at ease with him — unafraid of being judged. However, sometimes guilt gnaws at you when you ask for Kazuha's help because he's always the one assisting you. He has nothing to gain, but he continues assisting you out of the kindness of his own heart.

That's why when Kazuha asks you to read over some of his poetry for the first time, you agree without hesitation. A quick scan of the page Kazuha directs you to causes you to raise your eyebrows. It's a love poem that is cryptically addressed to ‘the one I adore’. You can feel the affection Kazuha harbors toward the person mentioned in the poem just by reading it. When you ask Kazuha who it's for, he simply chuckles and asks if you like his poetry, effectively dodging your question. You decide to let him off easy and give him a half-hearted answer, pretending that you aren’t jealous of the person he likes.

Over the remainder of the year, Kazuha continues showing you his poetry and requesting input from you. Each time you read his impeccably-crafted works, you feel your heart race. His poems are spun from the stuff of dreams — sweeter than the cotton candy clouds that hang in the sky outside the classroom window.

Sometimes you like to entertain the idea that they could be for you, but you always shut the notion down before it can grow into a fully-developed thought, too insecure to believe someone as handsome and thoughtful as Kazuha could ever hold such feelings for you.

When it comes time for the final English class of the year, you swear that you’ve read almost every form of poem in existence from sonnets to haikus to odes. On that particular day, you notice something different about Kazuha. He seems more fidgety than usual, and he has entirely lost his ability to zone out, instead becoming hyperaware of his surroundings. The smallest movements you make cause him to whip his head around to steal a glance at you.

You discover the reason behind his atypical behaviour at the end of class when he hands you a simple white envelope. When you open it, you find pages upon pages of poetry, causing you to experience a sudden epiphany.

The one he loved was you all along.

Raiden Kunikuzushi — more commonly known as SCARAMOUCHE — is living proof that pretty privilege exists. At least, that’s what you believe.

He’s infuriating. No matter how abhorrent you find the way he treats his friends (who are honestly more akin to acquaintances), they never stand up to him. They simply allow Scaramouche to walk all over them. It's like he's put them in a trance with his breathtaking eyes, which are filled with starlight and tinted an indigo reminiscent of the awe-inspiring night sky.

But despite the fact that he is admired by many, his relationships are purely superficial. To his peers, he is nothing more than a sight for sore eyes, and that is what keeps the bitterness of envious sentiments from swallowing you whole. You’ll never be jealous of Scaramouche because his popularity stems solely from his looks.

His situation evokes a feeling of pity within the depths of your soul. The notion of your contempt for the boy still remains ingrained in your mind, but you also can’t help but pity him.

Perhaps that is what pushes you to sit beside him in your physics class on the first day of school when you notice that he is all alone. You have your reservations, but the way Scaramouche is scowling makes you think he’ll explode out of sheer rage if you don't take action.

Things start off slowly. He doesn't speak to you at first. You simply see him glancing suspiciously at you in your peripheral vision, as if he believes you have ulterior motives. However, the awkward tension becomes too much for you far too quickly, so on a typical day of classes, you decide to take your chances and pass him a note in the middle of a lesson, asking him how his day was.

When Scaramouche first sees your note, he frowns. It almost appears as though he's in disbelief because someone has taken an interest in him rather than his looks. Nonetheless, he decides to entertain you and promptly responds to you, writing a reply underneath your message in impressively neat handwriting. This sparks a conversation. One instance of the two of you passing notes in class turns to two — and two to three until you and Scaramouche are discreetly conversing each class.

Your inconspicuous discussions with Scaramouche lead you to learn more about him as a person. Whereas before you thought he was just a shallow pretty boy, now you know that he’s both cunning and witty. He never fails to make you laugh with his sarcastic comments, and despite the fact that he seems rather mean-spirited at times, you discover that once he opens up, he is more than capable of caring for others. Case in point: on days where you're feeling down, he (attempts) to tell you jokes to make you feel better, and he gives you the candy that his mother packs for him, claiming that he "doesn't like sweets anyway."

If only other people could take the time to get to know the real him. Underneath the veil of entrancing vanity and mystery that surrounds him, Scaramouche is a surprisingly entertaining and contemplative person.

However, for now, it seems that Scaramouche is more than content with the relationship he has with you. He doesn't care for any of his two-faced "friends." The only one he needs is you.

Fate has rather unconventional methods of bringing people together. There are times where you believe it is sentient, cutting, weaving, and pulling on the delicate threads that bind humans together with its steady hands.

Fate must be alive and working its magical because there is no other plausible explanation for how things ended up this way. All that is to say, some otherworldly force must have noticed your desperation to get closer to your longtime crush, XIAO, and finally decided to take pity on you.

It's crazy to think that one minuscule decision can shape the course of your entire relationship with someone, but your own experiences are indicating to you that there is some merit to the claim. After all, your computer science teacher's spontaneous choice to seat you next to Xiao is what kindles the first sparks of your relationship with him.

It all starts with music. At first, Xiao doesn’t attempt to converse with you. He seems adamant on retaining his introverted ways. It's not that he doesn't want to talk to you; he's just inexperienced when it comes to socialization. So instead of making an effort to talk to you, he simply grabs a pair of earbuds and listens to his favourite songs whenever the teacher gives the class time to work.

This all changes when you muster the courage to ask him what he’s listening to. The way his eyes widen that fateful day, gazing at you with surprise evident in his pools of amber, is something you’ll never forget.

After all the silence on his end, you still want to talk to him? He is touched by your resolve, but he is also afraid of being too blunt, so instead of giving you an overly-verbose response, he asks you if you want to listen with him, offering you one of his earbuds. Xiao's heart jumps when you accept with an endearing smile. From then on, the two of you bond over music, and Xiao begins feeling comfortable enough to speak to you.

Gradually, years of distance and rigid formality vanish. Hushed conversations at the back of a sunlit classroom, shy waves from across cramped hallways, and accidental touches of his hands to yours replace the barriers that once separated the two of you. A once hopeless situation gives way to a radiant future as you finally begin getting closer to the boy you've pined over for as long as you can remember.

Sorry if there are mistakes. I feel like I'm making this worse each time I edit it :( Either way, thank you for reading and have a fantastic day/night!

#r.archives *ೃ༄#aether x reader #albedo x reader #xiao x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #kazuha x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin imagines #genshin fluff #genshin headcanons

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sp0o0kylights · 2 years

Text

Part Two

15 days before Christmas Steve Harrington flinches when the Christmas lights strung along the arcade flicker.

Eddie only notices because he makes a habit out of keeping an eye on questionable people when he's out and about.

Watches Harrington recover with a little shake of his head and a roll of his shoulders, as Gareth finishes up his shift, swapping cashier positions with Jeff.

Dustin and Lucas stick around long enough to greet Jeff as Eddie stares, before scuttling off to Harrington's car, pushing and shoving each other the whole way.

Eddie frowns, but decides to put the whole thing out of his head.

He doesn't need his little lamb's adoration of evil high school figures to poison his day.

xXx

12 days before Christmas and Eddie is starting to realize Harrington is everywhere.

There's a little holiday display the town center has put on. A temporary ice rink surrounded by dazzling lights, hot chocolate stands, and plenty of things to see.

Wayne and Eddie, with their traditional day of Christmas shopping complete, stroll within it, a cup of hot chocolate in hand. They never buy much--can’t, but it’s still something fun for Eddie to do with his Uncle and so and he bounces about with glee as they people watch.

A familiar shriek hits the air, and Eddie turns in time to see Mike and Dustin collide on the ice, while Lucas and his sister skate literal circles around them, laughing.

Unable to pass up on the opportunity to tease, Eddie flies to the edge of the rink, waving his hand and demanding one of the kids do a flip.

"A flip!? Eddie, I can't even skate a circle!" Henderson shouts, at the same time as Wheeler adds;

“Let’s see you try and skate with these idiots!”

“Sorry Wheeler, I think getting on the ice with you might be hazardous to my health.”

“Shut up!”

Delightful banter officially traded, Eddie turns to find his Uncle in a conversation with Steve Harrington.

Grin immediately faltering into a frown, he approaches cautiously right in time to see Wayne clap Harrington on the shoulder.

“It gets better.” Wayne says gruffly, in that tone he uses when he’s trying to give deeply emotional advice without the emotional part.

The younger boy gave a hard nod, muttering something that might have been “Thanks.”

Eddie jerked to a stop several steps away, but close enough for Wayne to see him, to know he was done and it was time to go.

Thankfully his Uncle picked up the signal, and made his way over, so the two of them could finish out their lap around the town center.

"He’s one of your classmates, right?" Wayne asked, as they turned away from the rink, Harrington back to watching the kids laugh and play around the ring.

"Not anymore." Eddie scoffs. "That's Steve Harrington."

Wayne hums noncommittally.

"As in, the rich Harrington's.” Eddie prods, because come on everyone knew who the Harrington’s were, just as everyone delighted in rightfully shitting on them. They weren’t good people. “As in, the assholes from Loc Nora?"

Another hum.

Then; "People are more than their last name, Eds. You should know that."

Eddie jerks back, stung at the admonishment.

Wayne’s not mad, never is, but Eddie recognizes his Uncle’s disappointed tone loud and clear.

"One of the gifts you got from me was seein’ through people's bullshit.." Wayne continues, before sucking in a draw on his cigarette. "I'm surprised you didn't see through his."

‘I don’t want to see through his!’ Is what Eddie wants to say, but keeps it to himself.

Changed the subject instead, shoulders hiked to his ears, because Harrington having some kind of claim on his new players was one thing, but his Uncle!?

He didn’t care about whatever crap the guy was going through. King Steve has been an ass for as long as Eddie had known him, the kind of bully whose downfall you cheered for.

Sure it was petty, but guys like Harrington reveled in pettiness.

So who cared if Eddie didn’t want to look closer at him now? Harrington wasn’t a lost lamb.

He was at best, an injured wolf, and no amount of sad looks was going to make him any safer to be around.

xxx

9 days till Christmas and Wheeler is having a tantrum that's delaying Hellfire's holiday oneshot.

"I don't get why he hates Christmas so much. He didn't even know Will when he disappeared!" Mike snips with his arms crossed.

Dustin is across from him, a furious scowl on his face, as Lucas stands between, a physical barrier between the two.

"As usual, you're talking out of your ass, Mike." Henderson spits, furious. "He was in Will's house with Jonathan and Nancy. That's reason enough!"

As if that makes any kind of sense, but then this isn’t the first argument that went into weird territory like this. Eddie’s always prided himself on pulling stories out of people, earning secrets and truths with a well trained ear and a smarter mouth.

The freshman though, were proving to be a hell of a challenge.

Mike throws his hands in the air. "I'm just saying, we all have way more reasons to hate Christmas, but none of us are acting like the grinch!"

“I know you can only have two good thoughts a day without breaking your brain, but you're being so stupid." Dustin thunders. "Did you ever think Steve might have other reasons to hate Christmas!?”

Eddie almost groans aloud, because of course, of fucking course, this is about Harrington.

The guy was a goddamn ghost at this point, hellbent on haunting Eddie’s entire life.

Didn’t even have the courtesy to die first!

"Guys." Lucas stressed, hands now firmly pressed against Mike and Dustin’s chest. “Come on, we’re wasting time. We can talk about this later.”

“Oh don’t worry about that Sinclair,” Eddie purred, making the three of them jump, as though they had forgotten they had a full ass audience in the form of the rest of the club. “I’m just docking their HP points for every minute they hold up the game.”

“Shit!” Dustin and Milke yelled as one, scrambling to get to their chairs.

Gareth and Jeff snicker, Grant making it known he was over their antics with a look that could have burnt gold.

Eddie clapped his hands once, hard enough for it to echo throughout the room. “If everyone is done bickering,” He announced, slipping into his DM voice, “we can begin our tale…”

He launches into the story he’d planned, and enjoys pulling everyone into it, all thoughts of Steve Harrington left behind.

xXx

5 Days before Christmas and Eddie is panic shopping.

He’s not the one panicking, nor the one shopping, but he has a car and friends who know where he lives, so he’s woken up at an ungodly hour of the morning (10 am) by Gareth, Grant, and Henderson of all people.

“Gareth’s sister took the car again.” Grant explains with dramatic, rolling eyes at Eddie’s exasperated face.

“I’m sorry you planned going shopping five days before Christmas?”

“Well--no-” Grant continues at the same time Dustin and Gareth yell protests.

They talk over each other for a moment, loud enough to make Eddie crave coffee and the comfort of his bed.

He runs one hand through his frizzy, bedhead hair before yanking it out and waving it around to catch his friend's attention. “Alright, I get it! You all decided to do white elephant gift thing last minute, and are now scrambling."

"Speaking of which, you're invited." Henderson tells him with a cheeky grin. "We're doing it on Christmas Eve."

Of course they were.

"Please man? It'll be fun." Gareth pleads, as Grant shoots him his patented puppy dog eyes.

Eddie sighs.

"I'll do it, but!" He sticks a finger in the air as grins broke out, "I'm demanding food and coffee and payment!"

With that he retreated from the door, stomping back to his room.

"Good coffee, too!" He hollers as he throws on clothes, happy chatter breaking out among his friends.

Several arguments and one run to the best to-go coffee shop in town, and Eddie was following his buddies around as they wandered through downtown Hawkins.

Since the mall had burned, shopping options had been rather limited, shops slow to reopen.

It made it difficult to buy things last minute, but Eddie found it was actually kind of fun as Henderson explained the rules they'd all agreed on (hopefully, Gareth added, because the rules had been passed along in pieces.)

"The goal is to get outrageous, funny stuff." Dustin explains as they browsed the local bookstore. "Nothing more than fifteen dollars, and nothing Christmas-y."

Eddie raises an eyebrow. "Nothing Christmas-y?" He echoes curiously.

Dustin nods, serious.

"Yeah. Christmas can be kinda a downer for some people. We came up with this as a way to celebrate without all the holiday stuff involved."

"Some people like Harrington?" Eddie guesses, sinking feeling in his stomach.

There's no way Grant and Gareth would've agreed to do a gift exchange with Steve Harrington.

Right?

Dustin sighs dramatically, whole body heaving.

"I know you've got a weird hate-on for him, but this time of year is really hard on Steve." He snaps, exasperated. "It's not my place to talk about it outside the Party, but he doesn't deserve to deal with it on his own."

There's that word again, Party.

Capital P implied, just as it implies that it's a group that Eddie is firmly excluded from.

It stings as it lands, an unintentional insult that reminds Eddie that his newest little lambs have secrets they refuse to share.

Nevermind the fact that Steve is clearly included.

Eddie collects secrets like candy, but his poking and prodding had yet to get him a solid answer on the mysterious "party."

Rather than press, Eddie raises his hands in surrender.

"Easy there, tiger. No offense meant."

Full offense meant actually, but Eddie wasn't in the mood for a full blown Henderson Rant.

Dustin narrows his eyes, but takes his words at face value. "You know, you guys would really like each other if you both just got over yourselves."

Eddie snorts, but covers it by playfully shoving Henderson's cap down into his face.

"When hell freezes over maybe. Now look, they have a new science fiction display!" The last part is sing-songed.

Thoroughly distracted, Dustin lets the conversation drop, much to Eddie's relief.

(Because really him? Liking Harrington?

Not in a million freaking years.)

xxx

It's Christmas Eve and Eddie is staring furiously at Steve Harrington's house.

"No one told me he was involved." He hisses angrily, knuckles white on his steering wheel.

"Oh my god, stop being dramatic." Dustin rolls his eyes as he talks, unbuckling himself. “I told you Steve hates Christmas, so this is how we’re including him!”

Jeff is looking equally uncomfortable, even as Lucas and Mike fall out of the van.

Gareth's car is behind him, Grant with him.

No doubt they too, are staring at the massive house in front of them in horror.

Slowly the elder Hellfire members file out, standing in a clump as the younger members rush forward.

They storm the door like they live in the damn place, fluttering about like moths.

"What the hell." Jeff mutters quietly to Eddie's left.

"Yeah guys, what the hell." Eddie repeats, shooting a glare toward Gareth and Grant. "No one mentioned this part!"

"We didn't know." Gareth defends angrily. "This was all the freshman!"

"Are you idiots coming inside or not!?" Robin Buckley of all people yells, appearing in the now open front door.

Or rather, one of the front doors, because Harrington is rich enough to have two.

"Shit." Eddie mutters.

"It's not weird if we just--leave, right?" Grant mumbles, shuffling from foot to foot.

"It's very weird if we leave." Jeff responds flatly.

A flare of anger ignites in Eddie. It comes from Steve Harrington invading this entire holiday, and Eddie finally has a chance to catch him off guard.

He'd be damned if he let it pass by.

"Brave faces men." He says, tossing his hair back with a jerk of his hand. "We're storming the castle."

Struts forward determinedly, present in hand, fully planning on making Harrington as uncomfortable as he had made Eddie.

Unintentional, or not.

xXx

It's the day before Crapmas, the one holiday Steve hates, and he's somehow been sweet talked into hosting the kids white elephant exchange.

Which was fine--they were welcome in his home anytime and they knew it--but they'd conveniently forgotten to mention this was a Hellfire Club event.

As in, Eddie "the freak" Munson and his crew of three other dudes whose names Steve doesn't know (but who probably knew his.)

"I dunno man, I wasn't the best person to a lot of people." He worried at Dustin this morning, when the brat had sprung it on him. "This probably isn't the best idea."

"Please Steve!? It's too late to change the venue and you promised you'd do a holiday thing with each of us!" Dustin whined on the other end.

At least he had the forethought to not actually use the word "Christmas."

"You did everyone else's, you can't skip out on mine!"

Everyone else's was simple shit like taking them ice skating, or shopping, or making gingerbread houses.

Not hosting a whole ass party with four people who likely hated his guts--and for good reason.

Which Steve repeated to Dustin, staring vacantly at his carefully decorated house.

Once again, his parents had called in designers to come keep appearances, sending along their usual message that they may or may not be home depending upon various work factors.

"We just never know anymore with your father's job honey." His mother slurred on the phone, four years ago. "We'll make it up to you, sweetheart. Promise."

Like more money on his credit card could fix years of ruined holidays.

(At least them being gone was better than forcing Steve to perform in their horrible holiday parties. Dressing him up like a doll, gathering drunk adults around the piano to make him play horrid Christmas songs.

Showing him off like a well trained dog, complete with finger snaps to signal him to move on to his next trick. )

“Steeeeeeve-!”

As always, Steve crumbled under Dustin's badgering.

"Fine, fine!" He’d said. “You're responsible for letting them know me and Robin are gonna be there though!”

Robin, who’d been laying on his couch, poked her head up at her name.

“They’ll know!” Dustin had promised.

Then abruptly hung up, like the brat he was.

Now four half-terrified, half-murderous looking dudes were staring Steve down as they awkwardly stood in his living room, and he had the wondrous realization that Dustin had probably sprung this on them too.

‘Little. Asshole.’ Steve thinks, but plasters the best non threatening smile on his face.

“Hey, uh, guys.” He says with an awkward little wave.

He gets three sets of glares and one impressive looking spooked face back.

Mike and Lucas were already tackling the snacks he’d put out, cheeks full of chocolates and popcorn. Dustin was re-arranging furniture to his liking, and Robin, in-between her four classmates and Steve, glanced at both sides and rolled her eyes.

“Steve, go pull the pizza out of the oven. You lot, come sit down, you look like you’re about to bolt.” Robin snaps, making everyone sans the kids jump.

Happy for the distraction, Steve quickly retreats to his kitchen, overhearing Robin try and get the elder Hellfire members to identify themselves.

Chatter fills the room, slow at first, but it becomes more fluid with Robin’s ruthless prodding. The pizza ends up needing another five minutes, which suits Steve since he hadn’t had time to pull out drinks.

He’s bent at the waist, pulling out various cans when Dustin loudly announces his presence by barging into the fridge and smacking Steve’s ass with it.

With a yelp, cans fly everywhere as Steve drops them, bouncing off the floor and rolling across the kitchen.

“Henderson!” He gripes, standing up as the kid grins at him. He has all his teeth now but the smile will probably always feel cute to Steve. By-product of knowing the little shit for far too long.

“Sorry Steve.” He says dismissively, before stepping aside with a dramatic flair. “Now stop being a total housewife for a second and meet Eddie!”

The sound of cans still rolling ringing in his ears, Steve finds himself staring into Munson’s eyes.

Who looks all too delighted to have seen Steve fumble.

“Thought you were a jock, Harrington. What happened to those reflexes?” He smirks, and Steve feels his face flush red.

“Yeah well,” Steve says, hand reflexively rubbing the back of his neck, “Turns out hanging around kids kinda ruins them.”

This is clearly not the response Eddie was expecting.

Nor is he expecting Dustin to loudly announce that; “Steve once played a D&D campaign with us, but he totally ate it as a cleric. You should give him some tips, Eddie!”

Now it’s Steve’s turn to smirk, because Munson looks completely thrown.

“Is…that a joke?” Eddie asks carefully, looking between the two of them.

Dustin shakes his head. “Nope! You can ask Lucas’s sister, she was there.”

He then glances down at his watch, and gives the biggest fake gasp Steve has ever heard (and Steve once sat through Will and Mike acting in a play for their English class, while Nancy and Jonathan silently suffered second-hand embarrassment next to him.)

“Oh shit, I forgot something! Be right back!”

“Language!” Steve calls, as Dustin shoots out of the kitchen. “And be careful not to trip on the cans!”

Munson, who looks like he’s taken a wrong turn and ended up in the Twilight Zone, stares at him. “Did you seriously play a cleric?”

“Weave Healington was a brave man who sacrificed himself in a time of need.” Steve tells him seriously, just to see the guy’s reaction. “May he rest in peace.”

“Weave Healington.” Eddie deadpans.

Steve, keeping his face blank by the skin of his teeth, nods.

“Please tell me that wasn’t the pizza you just dropped.” Robin says as she flies into the kitchen, interrupting Eddie’s face rapidly cycling through different emotions with a badly wrapped present in her hands.

“Stevie boy dropped the pop, Buckley Bird.” Eddie says, recovering quickly. “I would not recommend drinking out of anything currently laying on the floor.”

“Noted.” Robin says, pausing to stare at the cans scattered about. “Hey Steve, did you wrap your weird eyeball thingie? Or do you want me to do it? I dunno how long the kids are gonna wait.”

Like a dog hearing a whistle, Munson’s whole head tips sideways. “Weird eyeball thingie?”

“Oh my god, it’s this--I don’t even know how to describe it. Like an alternative ouija board? It says it’s a “fortune telling game.” Robin makes the quotation marks with her hands. “It has this giant, ugly eyeball in the middle.”

She leans forward conspiratorially to add; “It glows in the dark.”

“Oh my god, Steve, your gift is Ka-Bala!?” Dustin says, bouncing up like a damn jack-in-the-box. “I’ve always wanted that game!”

“Robin!” Steve hisses, because of course she’d announce that right as Dustin would pop back up.

“Oh shit.” Robin says, shooting him an apologetic glance. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin your gift.”

Steve sighs dramatically, but keeps a small grin on his face so Robin knows he’s not really upset. “Guess I’ll have to go find a new one--which means your punishment is that you and Dustin are now in charge of the pizza. And also picking up all the cans.”

“Curses.” Robin says flatly, before breaking out into a grin herself, while Dustin whines.

“It’s probably for the best.” Eddie says, though the guy sounds weirdly like someone desperately off balance and scrambling to fix it. “You know you weren’t supposed to pick cool gifts, right Harrington?”

Steve raises his eyebrows at him. “Cool? It’s kinda weird. It’s disgustingly neon green. And Robin forgot to mention it’s a board game.”

He pushes Dustin’s hat down as he walks by, and laughs aloud when Eddie follows up by knocking it right off Henderson’s head.

“Hey!” Dustin squeaks, hands darting to cover his hat hair.

He’s ignored.

“Neon green, giant eyeball, fortune telling board game?” Eddie sums up. “Yeah might have to murder Buckley because that sounds rad as hell.”

Steve snorts as he walks down the hall and up the stairs, somehow unsurprised to find the metalhead is following.

“You want it, Munson?” He asks as they hit his second floor, Steve aiming for his fathers office. “You’re welcome to it, I never even opened the thing.”

“What do you want for it?” Eddie asks, following Steve right through the door, before stopping dead.

A typical reaction to someone walking into his fathers stuffy, stupidly expensive office. Like the rest of Steve’s house, it looks as though it was transported straight out of a magazine. Everything is shiny and worse--unused.

“Nothing, man.” Steve said, standing in front of said desk now with his arms crossed. “I mean it, it’s still got the plastic on it. You’re gonna have to sneak it by Dustin though.” He turned to smile at Eddie, feeling like they were sharing a joke, “He might physically fight you for it.”

For some reason this made a hell of a blush streak across Munson’s cheeks, before the guy coughed and swung into the office behind Steve.

“He can try.” Eddie managed finally, voice a shade higher than normal.

As he always did to social things he didn’t understand, Steve just ignored the change.

“Why’d you never play it?” Eddie asks, as Steve scans the shelves of stupidly expensive knick-knacks.

“Someone trying to impress my parents got it for me one Christmas.” He says with a shrug. “They wouldn’t let me open it then, and I forgot all about it until I was digging for something else.”

“They don’t care about it now I take it?”

Steve can’t help the snort that leaves his throat. “They’d have to be around to care.” Then to get the conversation back on track, says; “Okay, I’m thinking the shitty World’s Best Boss trophy.”

He points to the gaudy thing, all shiny from the ass kissing the person who’d purchased it had done in hopes Steve’s dad would give him a raise. Or not fire him, Steve never knew which it was.

"I take it your dad’s not gonna be here to care that it’s gone?” Eddie asks, walking up to stand next to Steve.

Another grin appears on Steve’s face, shared conspiratorially with Eddie when he looks over to the metalhead. “That’s my gift to myself man. I’m gonna see how long it takes before he notices it’s gone.”

Eddie whistled, quiet enough to not hurt Steve’s ears. “Fuck the old man, huh?”

“Absolutely.” Steve agreed, stepping forward to fish the trophy down.

“Gotta say man, you’re surprising me. I didn’t expect such a thing from you. Especially since Henderson told me you hate Christmas.”

Steve shrugged as he turned back around, new white elephant gift in hand. “Yeah it’s a thing I’m trying.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Not hating Christmas?”

“Not being a dick. Which,” He shook the trophy, “--means sticking it to the biggest dick in my life. I think I’ll always hate Christmas.”

Eddie snorted a laugh, then looked startled, like he hadn’t expected that reaction out of himself.

Steve grinned at it.

“You uh--you know if you ever want to talk about the hating Christmas thing, I think I get it. Or can relate. Sorta.” Eddie says, and it’s so stilted that it takes Steve a moment to figure out what he’s offering.

He almost asks him if he’s kidding, but thinks better of it.

“I think I’m less cut up about it then the kids are but, for what it’s worth--thanks.”

Doesn’t think he’ll ever take anyone up on that offer, epically not someone who doesn’t know that an entire hell dimension exists under them but--

It’s nice. To have someone recognize that Steve hates it. That there are reasons he might.

He recalls suddenly that the man at the ice rink who’d also seen through his melancholy was in fact, Eddie’s Uncle, and briefly wonders if this just runs through the family.

“Come on, I gotta wrap this and then get back downstairs before Robin and Dustin burn the house down.” He says instead, because he doesn’t want to get in his own head about it. Not tonight, when he knows the kids have gone out of their way in an effort to celebrate the holiday without making him feel like he was celebrating it. “Or worse, they start the white-elephant without us.”

“After you, my liege.” Eddie says with a dramatic bow.

Steve pauses awkwardly for a moment, before giving the world's most careful curtsey back.

(Laughs loudly as Eddie almost falls on his face in surprise, before the older man scrambles to chase after Steve, out of the office.)

xXx

It’s 12:00 pm, making it officially Christmas day, and Eddie Munson is rapidly re-evaluating his entire life.

Well perhaps not all of it, just the parts with Steve Harrington.

They’re playing the best white-elephant game Eddie has ever participated in, a cutthroat competition that’s filled the house with shrieks and laughter.

Henderson’s gift, cat-paw shaped mittens with “You’ve gotta be kitten me” scrawled on the back is the current winning prize, with Mike’s salt and pepper shakers made in the shape of two pigs “porking” being a close second.

The worst gift is a tie between the eye searing scarf Gareth’s mother had created (complete with bedazzled gems) and an abomination of a stuffed animal Grant insists is an ET doll.

It looked like a deformed llama sat on its ass, and Lucas already scared Mike with it twice.

Eddie’s own gift, ( a mug with Tom Selleck posing shirtless) was jokingly fought over by Robin and Steve to the bitter end, while Gareth was defending the blue circular cookie tin (the kind that mothers shoved needles and sewing threads into, but shockingly enough actually held real cookies) with his life.

Literally at one point, as he laid over it while Jeff tackled him.

Eddie himself had gone for the gold, wanting the trophy Steve had procured. He too, was defending it aggressively against Dustin, who was currently stuck with Lucas’s gift (one of his sister’s pet rock creations she’d apparently tried to sell to her classmates.

It was hideous.)

Now stretched out on his bed, legs in the air as he stares at the Ka-Bala game Steve had snuck into his arms with a wink, Eddie finds he’s the guy’s managed to go from haunting his whole life, to trying to haunt his heart.

Made him want to do the thing he’d angrily been against this entire time--take a look at the guy closer.

See past his bullshit, at the person hiding underneath.

Find out what Steve was talking to his Uncle about, and why his house looked like a Christmas themed tomb.

Why his parents were gone. What the hell made him he pick a cleric in D&D. How he met the kids and why Dustin thought the sun shines out of his ass.

But most of all?

Why the hell had Steve Harrington put a note on the back of the Ka-Bala game?

‘Hope you like the game..’ It read, with the dorkiest little smiley face. ‘I wouldn’t mind hanging out again.’

Below it was a number, and Eddie felt himself go red in the face.

Steve Harrington was a fucking mystery, but one Eddie himself, had been personally invited to solve.

‘Merry Christmas to me I guess.’ He thought, and tried very, very hard not to kick his legs in the air.

#I invite you all to end your xmas with some steddie fluff #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things 4 #0o0 fanfics #xmas special #fluff #Ka #Ka-Bala is a real game and its the goofiest looking thing ever.#white elephant

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icantdothistodaybruh · 1 month

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[[Tumblr ate another Anon's ask about my way of drawing\painting I can't with this app😭😭😭 If half a year later this ask mysteriously reappears in my notes like previous I'll edit screenshot of it up here, other then that I just hope you'll still see this post, dear Anon🕯🥀]]

Hello Anon!

I made a quick timelapse of one of my old-ish work for you, under the cut I'll go into more details about the process! I hope it'll be of use to you, but don't expect some crazy insights, I'm a messy artist ahjkakhj

So, step one! When the sketch is clean enough for me, I go in with plain colours to block out objects that I'll be refining on separate layers later. At the same time it helps me take a step back from details and break down the image into bigger, simpler shapes, so it's easier to find better composition and proportions.

Step two (actual colouring) Usually my brain shuts down on me on that part too, Anon… Basically I use a very limited palette at the start and gradually build up more hues and contrasts as I go. Sometimes I do a gray scale drawing first to get my values right, but this one is simple and was more of a vent&relax piece for me so there is none of that haha Also, since I tend to work on as little layers as possible and merge sketch layer and colour layer together at literally the first opportunity I get, most of the times I have a copy of my sketch saved on a separate hidden layer in case I overdo the painting part and need some roughness back.

Step three, Details! And when I say details I mean

D E T A I L S .

There is simply something magical in squiggly lines and dots… I can never fight them…

There is not much of advise I can really give you here, just do what feels right to you, what looks beautiful to you. Make your art finished in the way you see it finished, take another step back and ask yourself "what's missing? what feels undone? empty?". Combine styles, find new patterns and brushes, most importantly HAVE FUN!!!

Sooner or later you'll find the perfect algorithm for painting and drawing, only to 5, 20, 50 works down the line realize that's something in your own style doesn't sit right with you anymore and feels rather routinish and start that journey anew.

Never stop your searching, chase after your own definition of beauty because without you there will be nobody to show it to others.

#damn I took that personally with last couple of paragraphs #sorry anon couldn't help myself #IT IS STILL A GREAT ADVISE THOUGH #ask #kuroshitsuji #black butler #ciel phantomhive #my art #timelapse #tutorial #??

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kathaynesart · 2 years

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I'm turning Future Leo years old tomorrow (39) so to celebrate I drew fLeo going through all the trials and tribulations I've been dealing with at this age. Also thought it'd be a fun opportunity to put him in some of my outfits. He understands my pain.

TED talk about aging and fLeo below here. Just my thoughts as I was drawing all this.

So 39. Seems like a big number that I’m sure feels so far off to many of my followers. I thought as much too. The oddest thing is I never felt much different from who I am now to what I was like at 25. But then I hang out with 20 something and realize: oh… there was a change. But what?

I will say this. A lot of people have told me that your 30’s will be the best years of your life and honestly I would have to agree. In my experience (as well as my friends) something happens to you in your 30′s. A calmness takes over. Not in a bad sort of way, but in a way where you no longer have any F’s to give. All those things that used to stress you out and work you up sort of fade into the background and you’re left with this immense sense of freedom. You finally come into your own and enough people have come and gone from your life that you realize that you don’t have to strive to meet everyone expectations even the ones you once set for yourself. Again I’m sure it’s a little different for everyone but this has been the overall experience of many I’ve spoken with.

Life is messy and as you age you get a better sense of what matters in the mess. Because we have only have so much energy to give, 30 something’s have to focus their energy on what really matters. It helps you hone in on the important things. For many in my age bracket, that is child rearing. For me, a single cartoon loving cat lady, it’s my personal projects and my self betterment. No one option is right and there are many many more than the few I just mentioned. It’s just about finding those things that really matter to you, and letting go of what society told you should matter.

I’ll be honest, I literally got into this fandom because of future Leo. Not necessarily because I “kinnie” him but because it was so wonderful (if even for a few minutes) to see a character my age not treated as some sagely old dude or antagonist, but the actual hero with a whole batch of flaws yet somehow still cool. You don’t get to see that much anymore in media geared towards younger audiences and the response to him from the fandom was so dang heart warming.

Middle aged characters can be cool, goofy, imperfect, and still be figuring their sh*t out. I know I still am. I thought by this age I’d have everything figured out. That was the point of growing old, right? But you don’t. You never do. But you can learn to come to terms with that, and realize that the important thing is to just enjoy the ride the best way you can.

Thanks for helping me on that journey.

#rottmnt #save rottmnt #leonardo #future leo #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #unpause rise of the tmnt #kathaynesart

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purpurkatart · 3 months

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Hello! After having some time to get over my loss for the Pokemon TCG Illustration contest, I decided to write up a small blog entry about the process and include some WIP pictures. Feel free to look below if you want to read my ramblings on the process.

Idea Generarion-

So coming into this contest, I knew I wanted to make a mixed media piece. In terms of theming I chose something that not only reflected a “magical moment” for a Pokemon (in this case meeting a legendary Pokemon), but also a moment when playing the games myself. In fact this piece was inspired by my awe when I first encountered a box legendary in game, as before I thought my teacher was lying to me when he said you can catch the legendary on the box!

This is the concept sketch that started it all! At the time my main concern was getting ideas down and seeing how they looked. Thinking about things like how would the composition would look, how would the colours look. So on and so forth.

I didn’t want to focus too much on the sketch and wanted to start making the physical object, so out of some cheap paper I started making a set up testing out size, scale, composition. I didn’t want to get too attached to the original sketches only to realise I couldn’t make it in real life… I went though a few drafts trying to get things right, slowly adding in aspects such as background objects and higher quality drawings.

After completing the draft I bought the images back into procreate to experiment with colours. This is the point where I made the mistake of thinking I had plenty of colours to choose from, not realising I would be limited by what I could buy from various yarn shops. That or hope I could find the right colour online, but that was always a gamble. If I don’t stop talking about this now I’ll get sidetracked talking about how much I miss yarn shops…

Anyways, I cut out the individual pieces that I would make within the background and used them as a guide for crochet assets. For this part I wanted to use different stitches to create textures such as the ripple stitch, bobble stich and some cable stitches, I feel bad as I never took any work in progress photo so of them. Let’s pretend you’re looking at a photo of a half finished crochet abstract shape.

Finally onto the main event, the Pikachu (and Suicune). The decision to make Pikachu a plush was based on what I would have liked to make for the 2022 illustration contest (if I wasn’t geographically challenged!!) Despite being British I decided it would be fun to make anyways, so I could experiment. I never got around to that but decided it would be fun to try for this edition.

Making the pattern was HARD! As I wanted Pikachu to have a unique pose, I had to work out different methods to plush i’ve made in the past which have been somewhat relaxed in their posing. I ultimately ended up making each part individually, pinning it together and then making adjustments as needed. It didn’t start out great however I ended up with this weird Pikachu shaped thing that did the job. Throughout this process I would regularly photograph it in the background to try and catch any issues early on. For example if the ground needed to be a different shape.

Photographing the final price was interesting. I felt bad for my partner as I essentially turned my dining table into a mini photography studio! I spent several days waiting for different lighting opportunities and experimenting with different light. Marking down different camera angles to ensure I have all of my bases covered. I easily took over 100 photos to get the perfect shot! In the below photo you can see washi tape being used to rest out different positions for the sculptures.

And that leads me to the peice! Even though i’m sad I didn’t make the top 300, I am pleased with the work I did for this piece (and my flygon entry too!). I’m glad I decided to experiment with ts peice and look forward to refining my methods in the near future!

#pikachu #ptcgic2024 #ptcg contest #Plush #Pokemon #pokemon plushie #pokemon plush #pokemon illustration #crochet #electric type #Gen 1 #creative #pokemon art #katart #katblog #katplush

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the-lavender-clown · 10 months

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MORE COWBOY AU STUFF BECAUSE I’M OBSESSED!!! The au I’ve made with some friends is called Fool’s Gold! I may or may not write some fics for it 👀

Here’s an infodump on it if anyone is interested!!

Raph is tired sheriff who sighs at every newspaper & new wanted poster showing off his blue and purple brothers as well as Donnie’s partner in crime but a he can’t help but be a little proud because he knows their doing good, just in their own special & questionable way.

Mikey is a nomad that travels around & sells self-woven clothes and blankets as well as hand carved & painted trinkets or whatever else he’s made. He treats weary travelers to home cooked meals & tales & legends of four brothers! He’s also the only brother not *constantly* making trouble for Raph.

Leo is a lone hero. Going town to town & over throwing whatever greedy mayor/banker/outlaw has that town in its clutches. He’s able to masterfully manipulate whoever he’s dealing with & using his many resources to gather important information. He ties them up to a post for the sheriff’s convenience when he comes by the town to pick them up.

Donnie & Cass are bounty hunters/mercenaries. They used to chase each other for their bounties & because Cass was a part of the Foot before the brothers took them down & Donnie just so happens to often be the closest to her trail once she popped up again. After awhile of constantly failing to catch each other they started thinking of each other as *their* targets & everyone knew better than to try and catch the other. A fun little song & dance/game of cat & mouse if you will. Eventually they ended up having to run from the same person together & realized that they honestly make a good team & have stuck together ever since!

Shelldon is adopted by Donnie before he & Cass teamed up. He was told by the Purple Dragons to get close to Donnie so they could catch him in exchange for enough money to set him for life, money they had no intention on giving him. He did get close to Donnie but in the end didn’t want to betray him but the Dragons had accounted for that & set off an explosion in a mining tunnel to get rid of them both. Donnie ended up being able to get Shelldon a little clear of the crumbling tunnel before he was trapped under the rumble. Shelldon doesn’t want to leave him but eventually does & immediately goes to try to find help, coming across Leo who had found Donnie’s spooked horse & was trying to find out what trouble Donnie had gotten himself into since his horse never leaves unless something really bad happened. Donnie ends up losing a leg cuz is it truly an F!Donnie if he doesn’t?

Casey is adopted after Donnie & Cass team up. They were in town for some groceries when Raph told them about this kid in some not so great circumstances & said it’d be a shame if someone were to beat up his guardians & kidn@p him while he was busy with all this paperwork. Donnie & Cass were gone before he finished. They weren’t gonna pass up an opportunity where they had permission to do a crime after all!

The main difference between Leo & Donnie’s work is that Donnie always cashes in the bad guys for money & can be hired for jobs as well as uses semi lethal methods while Leo mainly does it for fun & justice (& to mess with Raph) & takes like a free drink as payment before moving on. Leo will leave notes on the bad guys for Raph for when he comes to pick them up.

“The Bread Winners” is the name of Donnie, Casey, Shelldon, & Junior’s gang because Casey’s brownie scouts & my Donnie baker hc. It also shows that they’re in it for the money & fits with how the go undercover as a family often. Plus it sounds innocent enough to disguise how insane they really are.

That is it for now!! Hope some of y’all like it!!

Here’s the drawing without the text in the middle

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peachesofteal · 1 year

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Calculation Theme

Dead Disco masterlist / this can be read as standalone

Ghost/Soap/female reader 5.6k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Threesome - M/M/F. Explicit sex. Barebacking. Oral sex - fem receiving. Creampie. Come eating. Praise kink. Top Simon Riley. Bottom Johnny MacTavish. Feelings of anxiety, insecurity, complicated emotions. Angst. Alcohol consumption. Darling is her/your own tag/warning. Reference to pre established limits and negotiation. Reader is bad at feelings. No established relationship. The 'first time' in Dead Disco. This is pre relationship, and I think it shows. Little lore note: this is the first time you're called Darling.

Your fingers find the neck of the bottle easily enough, condensation slicking beneath your skin as you lift it your lips.

You wish the beer was a shot. Or an entire bottle of some hard liquor. Something that could stop your brain from spinning eight million miles an hour, something that could turn you off so that you could relax, so you could try to enjoy yourself more.

Your excitement for this evening is being turbulently tossed with anxiety, and it’s making your stomach hurt a little bit.

You curse yourself for not just ordering a shot. A double, even.

“Ye alright, love?” Johnny asks, light and happy but tone pulling with concern. His hand slides across the table. A lifeline. A sweet gesture.

But if you take it, you’ll look too needy. Too clingy. Too… much.

“Yeah, I’m…” A thought occurs to you in the middle of your assurance, a rash decision that's quite rotten. “I actually have to use the bathroom; I’ll be right back?” Simon still isn’t back from when he went, and you feel bad for leaving Johnny alone at the table, but this is too perfect of an opportunity.

His eyes squint before he nods.

“Alright.”

“Can I get a double vodka please? On the rocks.” You half yell to the bartender, flashing a card. They deposit it in front of you succinctly, and just the sight of the clear liquid draws tension from your shoulders.

This will make it easier. This will keep you from second guessing every word that comes out of your mouth. This will make you more fun. This will make them like you more.

You need all the help you can get, honestly. You’re… woefully unprepared, too excited, clumsy with your eagerness, too nervous for what was discussed earlier, and the clock ticks closer and closer to the moment when you’ll be leaving the bar as three, to go back to their place.

What if you’re not good? What if you don’t live up to their expectations? What if they don’t like you?

You’ve never done, this. Never had a threesome before. You told them, of course. Confessed it a few days ago when you all met for drinks. When Johnny pressed you against the wall of the dimly lit dive in a heated kiss, and Simon watched. When it became clear where this was all going, when Johnny told you that they’d love to have you in their bed, would love to have an opportunity to get to know you a little better, make you feel good.

You hadn’t bothered to tell them that they should be careful what they wish for. You knew they would find out eventually. It was only a matter of time.

But the alcohol will help with that. Will help with everything. Will help delay the inevitable.

And you can still have some fun, before it all comes crashing down.

You clutch the glass greedily, lifting it to your lips to knock it down in one go. You can smell the burn of the liquor, the noxious fumes like sour tinged rubbing alcohol filling the air as you tip it back, ice cubes slotting against your lips and-

A hand wraps around your wrist with firm, insistent pressure and pulls the glass away, plucking it from your palm and placing back onto the bar top unceremoniously.

You turn in the same moment, irritated, outraged, until you’re face to chest with Simon, and he’s staring down at you, severe gaze seeking yours above the black cloth mask.

“Uh-“ you squeak. His hand returns to your wrist, and he’s stroking circles into your pulse point. “I was just, gonna have a-“ he shakes his head, releasing you to produce a note that he hands to the bartender.

All while never looking away from you.

It’s like he’s studying you, and you burn with shame, embarrassment heating through your belly and you look away, opting to study the sticky floor instead.

He looks too closely at you, all the time, and it’s unnerving. Two weeks ago, he hardly said ten words to you, but you practically crumbled under the pressure of his gaze all the same.

The people around you can't help but stare, and you don't blame them, although you're not afraid like some of them seem to be. Your undeniable attraction to him, to Johnny, to both of them together, draws you in like a sacrificial lamb to the slaughter. Willing, and foolish. Take me.

There is no fear of them hurting you, doing something wicked or cruel, but of something worse. You’re scared of wanting them more, and more, desiring something that is not even feasible, not within the realm of possibility. You’re afraid every time you catch Simon staring at you that he’s reading your mind, seeing down past everything you display and into the truth of who you are. You’re already afraid of the day it ends, when Johnny will shake his head with a sad smile and tell you they’re no longer interested.

You grit your teeth. You’re getting so far ahead of yourself.

“You don’t need that.” The way he says it sounds so believable, convincing enough that you nod in stunned agreement. “We’re leaving now.” He directs, and then folds his entire hand over your collarbone to steer you through the crowd back to the little table. Johnny’s expression shifts when he sees you, flickering into curiosity and something else, something you can’t name, before it clears and he smiles at you, beautiful face changing into something brilliant that makes your knees go a little weak.

“Everything alright?” It’s asked so innocently, but he’s not looking at you, the person who’s currently being pivoted around like a doll, instead he’s looking at Simon, who rumbles a yes before jerking his head towards the door.

“Ready?”

“Aye.”

Johnny kisses you in the cab. Your back stays flush with Simon, and his hand has drifted from your shoulder to your waist, easy touch stroking up and down your ribs. Johnny kisses you, just like last time, with gentle passion. It’s soft and incredible, the feel of his mouth on yours, and you could melt into him, disappear inside of him, let him lavish you with sweet affection and dizzying kisses until you ceased to exist.

He kisses you over and over, until the cab is pulling up outside their building.

Until you’re standing on the sidewalk with the two of them, and he’s asking you that fateful question:

“Well, do ye still want to come up?”

Their bed is massive. It’s not surprising, considering their size. Johnny is not slight, and Simon makes him look of average build, so of course, their bed feels like an entire island.

It’s just so big, in this moment, when you’re lying in it alone, on your back, blinking up at the ceiling and trying desperately to not think about the fact that they excused themselves for a moment.

They’re talking about you.

You know they are. They must be. Even though they told you to stay put, that they were just going to get a few things, you can’t not think about them out there and you in here. Why else would they have stepped out?

You’re not even undressed yet; you could easily slip out. Make a dash for the door. Run while you still can. You could give them an easy out.

You rally yourself, swinging your feet over the edge and sliding on your little ballet flats, your favorite black ones that you wear almost all the time. They feel like a second skin, and it comforts you, to have something so familiar in a moment when you feel so out of sorts.

“What’s wrong?” Johnny asks from where the door has re-opened, and you freeze. Fuck.

“I was just going to go…” you trail off. Simon’s standing behind him with a glass of water and a pitcher of more, a folded bath towel tucked under his arm.

“Ye want to leave?” His face crumples so slightly, a shadow of disappointment appearing and disappearing with a blink. Simon’s body tenses, brow furrowing, watching his partner intently before flicking back to look at you.

“I thought, I-“ you swallow a dry lump that’s building in the back of your throat, and to your horror, a burning sensation starts to tingle in your nose. The precursor to tears. No, no, no. Fuck. “It just seemed like, m-maybe you… you guys changed your mind, and I didn’t- didn’t want to be in the way, here.” You spit the words out and they burn, embarrassment circling back to incinerate your good sense.

Simon’s eyes slide shut, and he takes a deep breath.

“No.” The water and towel are dropped onto the bedside table, and then he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, gesturing for you to take the spot beside him.

When you do, he pulls your hands apart, and intertwines his fingers with yours.

“It wasn’t right of us, to leave the room like that.” The bed shifts behind you, Johnny’s chest pressing to your back, his hand squeezing your upper arm sweetly. “One of us should have stayed with you, I’m sorry.” Your eyebrows raise.

“Oh, it’s fine.” You bluster, but deep down you’re surprised. Nearly stunned that they recognize their actions as a mistake.

“It’s not. I should have known it would bother you. I used poor judgement.” What the fuck? You cannot fight the way your spine straightens, muscles solidifying beneath your skin, indignation blooming across your tongue. How would he know? What kind of assumption is that? They don’t even know you; they have no idea how you feel.

It’s a lie, and you know it. They’re both learning you, you’re making it far too easy for them. Simon already watches you like he’s anticipating your movements, your words. Johnny already reaches for you when it seems like he knows you need touch.

But it’s just fun. Just sex.

You let out a burst of a breath, tension sagging away from your back.

“Easy.” Johnny murmurs in your ear, warm breath tingling across your skin. He punctuates it with a kiss to your temple, and then to your cheek, and you calm even more, relaxing into him. “We wanted to discuss some things with ye, boundaries, and such.”

Oh.

“Okay.”

“We know you haven’t done this before.” Simon pulls one of your legs onto the bed and massages your calf, nearly holding its entirety in his hand. “And we want to ensure that we’re all comfortable. Has anything changed since last week? Since we discussed testing and protection?” You shake your head. Your IUD is unchanged as ever, and your STI status being clean is still the same.

“Nothing has changed for us either.” Johnny chimes, fingers tracing across your clavicle. It tickles, and the flutter of a giggle slips free from your lips. Simon’s eyes crease, lifting at corners, and something flips in your stomach when you realize he’s smiling. “Ticklish, love?” Johnny whispers, mischievous, flirty, and you try to shrug to play it off.

“And your limits?”

“Still the same, yeah.” You lick your lips, eyes darting over to the water. The motion seemingly pushes Simon into action, and he reaches for the glass, pressing it into your hands with a nod. “Are we…” Your face is hot with anticipation, and your question gets lost when you trip over yourself. “Are we- I mean, am I… do you want to-“

“Not tonight. You’ll need extensive prep for that.” Simon soothes your frayed nerves. “If we all decide to see each other again, if this goes well, and you decide it’s something you want to try, we can discuss it and see how you feel.”

“Oh, okay.” You’re subtly disappointed, even though you know you shouldn’t be. They’re right, of course, and you try not to dwell on all the ‘ifs’ in Simon’s statement, about it going well, about everyone making decisions.

“Anything else?”

“The mask?”

“It stays on, unless the lights are out.” He answers quickly, and you gulp.

Most of your anxiety, your trepidation goes out the window once you get undressed. They both follow suit, and it’s thrilling, standing on the edge of something like this, with them, excitement flooding your veins, making your heartbeat faster.

They take you in slowly, hands roaming over your body, exploring you, feeling the way you curve and dip, touching your scars and marks, laying you on the bed, still clad in your underwear. Simon strokes down the back of your thigh, over your knee, and he murmurs something low, something you cannot quite make out, but whatever it is, it makes Johnny smile so big your chest hurts a little. He presses his mouth to your navel.

“We’re going to make ye feel so good, love.” He moves to drag your thong down, but Simon holds his wrist and pulls it away, shaking his head once. “We’re going to take it all away, all of the worries, everything going on in that pretty head of yours, yeah?” He whispers, and you breathe a whimper of need, of desperation.

“Please.” You’re still spread out for them, and Johnny leans over you, skin against skin. His chest, his entire body, is etched muscle, primed and perfect, and you can’t help but run a hand over his ribs, feeling the way his breath stutters. Beautiful.

His biceps cage you between them, and a sense of security falls over you, relief to be so close to him, to be pressed against him like this. It’s like happiness, but more, more than contentment, more than bliss, more like something you cannot name, and you file away the terror that you feel over it away for when you’re alone.

“So beautiful.” He whispers into your neck. “Have I told ye that yet tonight?”

“Only like ten times.” You quip, and he glides his lips down your chest, tongue swirling around a taut peak, taking one of your nipples in his teeth with a nip that has you gasping out a moan, desire pooling between your legs.

“What’s this?” Simon asks from where he kneels on the bed beside the two of you, tracing a thumb over the slice of a scar that carries over your hip, towards your back. It’s old, but you’ll always carry it, always get this question. Johnny tips over to inspect what’s being referenced, and his brow creases in concern.

“Christ, love. That’s jagged. What happened?” You shake your head.

“It’s nothing. Was in an accident when I was younger. That’s my souvenir.” They glance at one another, and you shrink inward a bit, self-conscious. The truth is too much, too awkward, too telling, to be confessed to these two.

Simon’s thumb is replaced by warm breath, and then Johnny is kissing it, so slowly, so tenderly it makes your heart ache, makes you gasp aloud, momentarily distracted from the drifting of Simon’s hand, fingers that graze down your waist, circling where you’re currently soaking through the cotton. He skims up and down the seam of your cunt, and you moan, hips jerking towards his hand, looking for friction.

When his thumb finds your clit, you squeak, and Johnny chuckles into your skin.

“Eager.” He hums, painting a warm trail towards to your thigh with his tongue.

“Responsive.” Simon counters, but there’s something in his voice. Something reverent. “Let’s take these off then.” He encourages you to lift your hips with a tap, pulling them free, your last scrap of clothing gone.

Johnny’s freed himself too, and your mouth pools with saliva when you see his cock, length curving outwards, flushed red with want, precome dotted at the fat tip. Your hand reaches subconsciously, and he steps forward just as eager, shuddering when you make contact, fingers curling around the satin skin of him.

“Can I?” Your mouth seeks, and they both give a resounding yes. Your tongue flicks over the head, salt and earth beading across your tastebuds, and you suck and lick in tandem with your fist, clutching him tightly, slicking him with your spit.

“Ach-“ He holds the back of your head, cradles it with gentle touch. He’s not rough with it, or demanding, and you take him as deep as you can, swallowing against where he’s lodged in your throat. You do it again and again, chasing the push of your nose into his curls, salt blurring your vision. “Shite.” He hisses, pulling away, cradling your face in his palms, and takes your mouth with his, guiding you back against the bed again, laying you flat with your legs spread wide, and you float in a hazy heat of warmth as he moves down your body, his mouth leading the way. His breath puffs over your cunt, hopeless need swelling inside of you with wild desire, your eyes round and nearly glassy, close to begging.

He looks to Simon once, and then licks a long stripe from bottom to top.

“Fuck.” You pant, his tongue pressing to your clit, your back arching with pleasure. You jolt under his touch, expert ministrations pulling noises from you that you weren’t even sure you could make. He eats like he’s starved, lavishing attention around your swollen clit, lighting your entire nervous system on fire, building the pleasure inside your body higher and higher. “J-Johnny.” He slides a finger inside of you, crooking upwards into the sweet spot that has you seeing stars, and a strangled moan punches from your chest with his attentions.

You’re floating, coming closer and closer to an orgasm, so buried beneath the mountain of pleasure that he’s giving you, that you’ve lost Simon. You don’t know where he’s gone, where he is in the room, what’s even happening until-

“Bloody hell.” Johnny enunciates into your cunt, the words vibrating against your flesh. Your eyes snap open and you crane your neck, twisting in the sheets.

Simon kneels behind Johnny, working him open slowly, hand moving between him, stretching him wide. It’s beautiful, the way he knows how to please him just right, the way they know each other’s bodies, the way Simon stares down at Johnny like he’s the universe and heaven, all rolled into one. Your breath hitches, and his eyes flick to yours, locking you in under his gaze. He holds you there, tendons in his wrist flexing, muscles in his forearm and bicep pulsing as he makes Johnny groan into you, his tongue nearly too much as you clench around his fingers. It’s so…intimate, an overflow of something settling between the three of you, the ghost of something that waits, so intense and overwhelming that you look away before you break apart.

It's too much. It’s not enough. You want more. Want to feel them both. Want to taste them like they taste each other, want to insert yourself inside their universe, soak them up, crawl inside of them, have them burrowed inside of you. You want them, need them, you-

Your orgasm smacks. It seizes all your muscles, lower belly tensing deliberately as you explode, star lit vision blasting across the backs of your eyelids. You make some sort of noise, you’re sure of it, something loud like a cry, or a scream, erupting from your shaking body, Johnny’s strength pinning your thighs wide, refusing to let your legs close, continuing to lick away at you, pulling zaps of lightning from your overstimulated clit. It’s a mixture of pleasure and more, more of the too much, more of the not enough, and you’re babbling something like ‘please, yes- more- oh god- too much’ when Simon praises you from his vantage point, watching over the breadth of Johnny’s shoulders.

“What a good girl.”

You nod on instinct.

Yes, you are good. Yes, you’ll be good. You’ll be good for them. Just for them. Only for them.

Your mind is slipping further and further, trying to turn off, trying to slink away and leave you to this bed, to these two men who seem to already know what you need.

The mattress dips, someone shifts, and then the room is dark. There’s a little bit of light that spills from the crack of the door, enough to see some outlines, some shadows. Enough to maneuver in, but not enough to make out anything distinct.

There are no hands on you in this moment, and the room is quiet save for the sound of something- something wet and soft sliding together for a precious second. You hold your breath.

“Right here.” Johnny coos, and then he slips two fingers back inside your cunt, his entry easy, your body weeping with want.

“Alright?” It’s Simon’s voice, close. Close enough that you can hear the pitch of the gravel, the baritone low in his chest.

“Yes.” You make your approval as definite as you can, remembering something he said last week, something about making sure you’re using your words clearly.

A big hand touches your neck, tentatively, searching until his palm is cupping your jaw. The fingers are wide, thicker, and you know it’s Simon. He pets you, strokes your skin while Johnny fucks you open on his own touch, and then you feel the breath on your lips.

The breath of Simon kissing you. The taste of you, of Johnny, the taste of the three of you together. His tongue crowds your mouth, snaking between your teeth, insisting you open, and you do so, eagerly.

He kisses you deep, curling his body over yours, pressing you beneath his shoulders.

He kisses you, until Johnny is moving, until your legs are now bracketing Johnny’s thighs, and the crown of his cock is brushing your cunt. You ache for it, for him, for both, and you spasm around nothing, just the barest touch of heat to your skin. Please, please, please.

“Please.” You whimper.

“Give it to her, Johnny.” Simon urges, even though it takes none, and you wheeze out a bitten off groan when he pushes inside.

“Mmmph,” You cry when he fucks into you, not seeking all the way, taking his time with small thrusts, working deeper and deeper with each plunge. He’s drawing it out, the pleasure, your noises, everything, and Simon drifts down to circle your clit, stroking the desperate nub. You scramble, hands seeking, hips moving with him, in time with both of them, sweat slicking off your skin. Johnny pushes your knees wide, and then stuffs you as full as he can, tongue tracing a bead of salt across your chest. “Fuck, ff- you’re so deep.”

“Ye take me so well, love. So good.” You bloom for him, for his words, and he groans when you clench at the praise, spurred on by Simon pushing you further along to the edge. Johnny picks up his pace, movements more frenzied, more hurried, rutting against you. You buck in response, unable to control it, fire burning in your stomach, your thighs. You’re going to come, again, it’s explosion just on the precipice.

“Oh my god, oh-“

“That’s it.” Your spine curls forward, pushing your face into Simon’s chest and he holds you there, whispering in your ear. “Come all over his cock like a good girl. I know you can, give it to us.”

It’s like a switch. The words, the feeling of Johnny’s cock buried to the hilt, the stroke of Simon’s fingers against your clit. You come violently, breaking apart, muscles pulsing around Johnny, and voice fracturing with pleasure. There are words being said, being exalted, something like “so good, so pretty when you come-“ and “is that little pussy squeezin’ you, sweet boy?” but they all blend together, dizzying and hot, like you’re holding onto a pan straight out of the oven. Johnny sputters, trapping your hips down, fucking you wildly through your orgasm, battering through the tightness of your cunt with stuttered words in a language you don’t know. He doesn’t stop, and you don’t want him too, even when you shiver and tingle with aftershocks. You want to feel him fill you, want to feel the spread of his warmth, the pressure of him coming inside of you.

Two bodies smother you, holding you until you’re not sure who is where, only that there are fingers, and mouths, and tongues, lavishing you and separating your mind from the rest, shoving you into a cloudlike plane of existence, flying you high in the sky somewhere. It’s bliss. It’s nothing you’ve ever had, ever felt. It feels right, feels so safe, so secure that it nearly overwhelms you, happiness and contentment brightening your soul until a warm tear is sliding down your temple.

“Gon’ come.” Johnny rasps out, and Simon says something in response, but you’re gone to the words, lost in the moment. All you can do is hold on, pleading for him to fuck you harder, fill you up, give you his come. Mark you. Possess you. Ruin you for anyone else. Except him, except Simon.

Maybe then they’ll keep you.

“Please, please- Johnny. Fill me up.” your hips chase his, his mouth pressing against yours. Now he tastes like you, and Simon, and you lap at him eagerly, breathing in his grunts.

“Ah-“ He shouts, and then slams forward, plugging deep, spilling against your cervix in waves.

Your eyes slip closed. Just for a fleeting moment. Floating. Riding high, riding away, melting into nothing. You seek them instinctively, pushing and kneading against their bodies, and they oblige you, holding you close, whispering sweet words in your ear, sweet praise that nukes you.

You’re safe here. It’s okay.

For once, you don’t snap back at yourself for being stupid. For being a fool. You don’t remind yourself of your flaws, you don’t count down the laundry list of the things that makes others turn away.

You just exist, between them. Happy. Sated. Bones liquid, chest loosening with a huge sigh.

A big hand strokes along your ribcage.

“Good girl.”

You drift for what feels like hours, even though you know, rationally, it’s not.

Slowly, you come back to earth, eased into back into your mind by the feeling of Johnny spreading your legs, opening you wide for him while something else is happening at the same time, the sound of his pleasure and Simon’s grunts, his accent roughening as he fucks his partner, praise flowing from his lips like a river. You stare through the dark at the shadow of Simon feeding his cock into Johnny’s tight ring of muscle, making him keen and wail against you.

“Good boy.” He coos, and Johnny moans, teeth sinking into your thigh. “Gon’ give her another one? Eat your come out of her cunt?” Heat floods through you, pussy clenching around nothing, and you whimper in approval.

“Please.” Your plea is not unheard, and Simon moves with an exceptionally swift thrust, forcing Johnny forward more, until his face is pressed against your leaking hole. He fucks you with his tongue, licking through the mess of wetness, your arousal combined with his seed, a mixture that he consumes like he’s dying, all over again, tongue flicking against your clit with frightening accuracy. He’s a god, a god between your legs, a god making you come for the third time, a god that doesn’t even belong to you, but your fingers grip his shoulders like he’s always been yours. He plucks your pleasure forward so quickly it nearly hurts, and you sob against the pillow, bucking your hips against him, cunt rocking against his face.

He keeps one hand pinned to your thigh, and the other finds yours in the sheets, breaking your grip free to replace the blankets with his grasp, keeping you tied to him, to Simon, dragging you upwards through the burn of your muscles to the cliff of another orgasm.

“Darling.” He hisses, vowels long on his tongue, fingers clutching yours. The cramp of muscles in your lower belly tenses with each stroke of his tongue, your body moving in time with his, his body moving in time with Simon’s. He moans into your cunt, strung out on pleasure, the dip of his spine curving like bridge between the three of you, connecting you, pulling you into the water with them, deeper and deeper until you can’t swim anymore. Until all you can do is cling to them, beg them to give you release, crying out when Simon pounds into him, thrusting into him wildly, forcing his mouth against you harder, matching the pace of your desperate hips. You drown in your orgasm, the same way Simon drowns in his, and Johnny tethers you both, keeping you steady, his body clutching onto the cock that’s buried in him while Simon strokes him to another orgasm, come spurting forward all over your belly, and the three of you collapsing together in a heap.

“You’re brilliant.” Johnny whispers in the dark, his chest pressed to your shoulder. “So wonderful, darling. Everything we dreamed of.” A warm washcloth sponges across your skin, wiping between your legs and over your stomach, followed by tender kisses.

“You were perfect.” Simon follows up, moving you to your side, pressing his front to your back. Johnny adjusts, and then your face is against his chest, and you’re listening to his heartbeat. “Such a good girl for us. Did so well.” You blink furiously, chasing away the overflow of emotions that are surging inside of you, clamoring to break free. Don’t fucking cry. Only a psycho, unstable nut would be crying right now. Is that who you are? The girl who cries in their bed after they’ve fucked you? No.

You keep your mouth shut instead, opting to sink back into the affectionate warmth of their bodies, closing your eyes and soaking in their touch. The threat of tears stays constant, lurking, waiting, and you force yourself to take long, deep breaths, that spin into a web of semi-consciousness, lost and floating between two pillars.

You shudder awake when Simon gets up to go to the bathroom, low light flicking on, and you know it’s time.

“I should probably get going.” You whisper. Ask me to stay. Say you want me to stay. Keep me. Johnny blinks owlishly, confusion rippling across his face.

“We’d like it, if ye stayed.” He rubs a palm down your arm, and you smile politely. He’s just saying that. Isn’t he? Tears prick along your waterline. “Hey, look at me.” You turn your head, but close your eyes, avoiding whatever will be staring back at you, hiding your own turmoil. “What’s wrong? Was it not good?” There’s worry in his voice now, anxiety, and guilt thrashes against your heart. Get it together. You’re making him feel bad.

“It was great. So great, you’re… you’re amazing. Both of you are. I- really enjoyed it.”

“So, stay the night. Stay with us, we can get breakfast in the morning. Ye can be breakfast in the morning.” He raises an eyebrow, and you can’t help the little smile that tugs at your lips. Fuck. God. Why is he so stunning? Why is he doing this?

The bathroom door clicks closed.

“Si.” Johnny implores, hint of insistence. “Tell her, we want her to stay.”

Simon stands with one knee on the bed, hand cradling Johnny’s thigh possessively. He doesn’t speak right away, just stares at you, watching over the mask.

“Why are you trying to run away?” Jesus christ. What is with these two? How are they so far under your skin already?

“I’m not. Just…” Lie. Make something up. “Just have a lot to do, in the morning is all. It will be easier if I wake up in my own bed.” Johnny huffs.

“It’s so late, darling. We want ye to stay.” He protests. Simon squeezes his knee, a firm hold, and looks down at him, something echoing across the two of them that you can’t discern.

“Let’s get her a cab.” He murmurs, and you shake your head.

“That’s alright, I can catch-“

“No.” There’s no additional, nothing further to argue. His denial is absolute, and you nod with a small smile.

“Thank you.”

The goodbye happens at the door. You’re dressed, face washed, bathroom needs attended, hair somewhat re assembled although you’ll need to properly deal with it before you fall asleep. You look halfway presentable, although if someone looked too close, they could probably tell you’d just been fucked within an inch of your life.

“Thank you, again. This was a lot of fun.” Johnny holds you in a hug, nosing against your scalp and then down, drawing you in with a languid kiss. It’s sweet, and perfect and you want to fall into him, let him take you back to bed and hold you close until the sun comes up.

“Text when ye get home safe, alright?”

“I promise.” He only releases you when Simon steps forward, and they trade places. He doesn’t say anything, just soothes a wide palm up and down your back.

Cloth covered lips press against your jaw, trailing upwards until they land at your cheekbone and then pull away.

“Call or text us, if you need anything.” He instructs, and the nod comes automatically.

“Okay.” Your fingernails press into your palm with a sting. “Well, goodnight then.”

“Goodnight, darling.” Johnny rests his head on Simon’s shoulder, the mournful look on his face nearly enough to make you throw everything out the window and crawl back into their gigantic bed.

But you can’t. They’re not for you. They’re for each other. You’re just a passerby.

“Darling.” Simon calls when you get a few meters away, and you turn to look back at the pair, still standing in the doorway, watching you leave. He tilts his head, something serious in eyes, something that scratches beneath the surface. “We’ll see you soon.”

#peaches writes #dead disco #ghost x soap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #soap x ghost x reader #john mactavish x reader #ghoap x reader #john soap mactavish #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mctavish x reader #cod x reader #cod mwii #soap mactavish #ghost x reader

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randomyuu · 1 year

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the way it follows you home, the stories i never told

My guy Vox once again graced us with lovely Goyuu fanfics, and the way it follows you home, the stories i never told, made me go FERAL.

Time travel? Two Gojou Satorus? Double affection for our sunshine Yuuji? Yuuji sandwich? What feels like possible continuation of (you'll whisper, serpent tongue) what you fear you have become???

FUCK.

I need to stop indulging my imagination too much. I should’ve been content with writing long-ass comments but noooooo, my brain goes “you gotta draw it”. DAMMIT VOX, YOU AND YOUR DELICIOUS WRITINGS HHHHHH

So… usually I should’ve picked a favourite scene that is within my drawing capability, but I just… love all three chapters??? So I made a questionable time investment? I can’t stop??? Help???

This is probably the most ambitious fanart project I’ve ever done so far. Fair enough, considering I might combust if I keep these welled-up emotions inside from reading Vox’s Goyuu fics. Fuck.

Fic info:

Title: the way it follows you home, the stories i never told

Author: @voxofthevoid

Pairing: YuuGoGo. Future!Yuuji, Future!Gojou, Teen!Gojou

(idk why I laugh writing YuuGoGo. I’m beyond help)

Currently, it is 3 chapters out of 8. And it’s gonna be NSFW chapter 4 onwards, so don’t forget to read the tags first, folks!

The drawings are under Read More, because I have lots of thoughts surrounding each chapter and drawings. It’ll be hella long if I didn’t hide it here. It was a mess down there. A combination of hours before, during, and after I read said fic. I’d say good luck finding the art among the sea of jumbled words but… you’ll find them easily. Don’t worry about it haha

SPOILERS FOR ALL 3 CHAPTERS! I highly recommend reading those first before diving into these drawings!

Also for the comics, read from right to left please!

From here on, I will be referring to the Future!Gojou as Gojou and the teenage one as Satoru.

Overall, drawing all these is fun! Really fun! This project pushed me quite hard, forcing me to test my limit (because I rarely draw this much back to back). Since this is a combination of drawings and comics, the coloring style will not be consistent. In a way, I want to try some brushes I never get to use, as well as try out my new graphic tablet. Drawing these got me giggling because I was finally able to let loose during line art. It's much easier to do so, and sometimes I just get to reread the fic and giggle to myself for the nth time.

CHAPTER 1:

Whooo. Whooooooooo—

Ok, ok, the premise is just that good. It intrigued me, fascinated me, and I just… oomph. I cannot refuse a Time Travel Yuuji Sandwich. Sign me up.

Honestly, there are two scenes that are just… a bit too clear in my mind when reading this chapter. That would be the one I drew above, and the other is when Yaga called Gojou to come outside of the class. I love, loooove how Vox wrote Satoru’s POV. And when Yuuji fucking giggles?

I lost it.

Can you imagine, drawing Yuuji grins, with shiny stuff, maybe some sunlight, just purely happy and indulging Gojou?

Help me, for I am drowning in my love and adoration for Yuuji.

Page 2 is an experiment on using harsh black as shading (kind of?). I really enjoyed colouring Yuuji, and drawing those buffalo skulls! I wish I can grasp the concept of contrast a bit better tho :v

CHAPTER 2:

This is probably the only chapter where I picture still images instead of comic panels. A bit like those cool chapter covers in mangas. The one I really, really want to draw is the scene with Satoru on the table. Can’t pass the opportunity to highlight Satoru being a brat, albeit a really cool brat.

Cool idea drawing always proves to be a challenge, because of course my artistic skill just so happens to be below the requirement. Thank you, Sketchfab, for the chair and desk’s perspective otherwise I’m screwed lmao

The second scene that I want to draw the most is this:

Gojou is one step away from climbing Yuuji. Also, I have a bit of a problem picturing a man pouting that makes him look crazy instead, so please have Gojou pouting adorably instead. Because, as Yuuji said (with love), Gojou is (also) a brat.

This is possibly my favorite art in this project, after Yuuji's in Chapter 1 page 2. It's clean because I don't have to draw background, and I was having a fun time drawing Yuuji. And Gojou's squishy cheek as well.

Oh, actually, there is a “manga” scene in this chapter. It’s when Yuuji said, “I love Satoru.”

I just—

AAAAAHHHHH YUUJIIIIIII YOU AND VOX ARE GONNA BE THE DEATH OF ME. That secure relationship between Yuuji and Gojou? Satoru’s description of how Yuuji’s smile could blot out the sun??? Not me screaming 💀 I also see bits of hints of possible co-dependency, though I could be reading those wrong, but either way I’m good. Secure and possessive relationships are fun to consume hhhhhh

But yeah. There are too many wholesome Yuuji smiles in this fic, and I… I am not confident enough to draw genuine happiness. It’s too much for me ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

For this chapter, another reason why I chose these two scenes is just because I want to try and draw cover-worthy pictures of Yuuji and Satoru, and Yuuji and Gojou (cough)

CHAPTER 3:

We start the chapter with Nanamin. Ah, Nanamin. I forgot what his teen self looked like and was surprised to see his design again lmao

I want to draw Yuuji and Nanami scene because… I just want to, I guess. I have never drawn him before (Yaga as well) so that's an interesting challenge. I got two ideas on how I want to draw it. One is a bit painting-esque, and the other one is like another chapter cover. In the end, I chose the cover one because I want to emphasise the difference between teen!Nanami and the Nanami from Yuuji’s original timeline, and how the watch feels like a connection between the same (yet not) person. It’s a bittersweet feeling? In a way?

I’m not really good at explaining my intention ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

I love Yuuji’s answer to Nanami's question.

AND FINALLY.

A Yuuji SandwichTM scene.

And oh B O I do I love it. Have I told you I like every chapter? I probably have. But this one? Satoru’s curiosity, Yuuji’s on-brand self-deprecation, and Gojou come strolling down to show more of Yuuji to his mini-self. I want to draw this whole scene, from Gojou finding them, feeding Yuuji snacks, bitch-slapping Satoru into the backroom, to Yuuji growling. Them trying to hide a boner from Yuuji’s growl got me cackling so hard I LOVE IT 😭

I love it all. Please love Yuuji in my stead, Satoru and Satonyan :3

Oh! Also! 40-finger Yuuji sounds really, really cool! I’ll be happy with whatever Vox will give us in future chapters, but 40-finger Yuuji… possible scene with this timeline’s Sukuna… my god. The action! The drama! The bloodshed! One can only hope.

However, as much as I love that whole scene, it’s still too much for me :”) I’m still not yet confident in delivering the humour and action. Also my already-long drawing plan had my brain groaning in protest so I can’t push my luck :'D

When Gojou said "He looks sweet, but he's a bit of a beast", I kept picturing Yuuji staring innocently, but there was an edge to his look. As if the moment Satoru looks away, he will pounce. But in the end I just stick with innocent-looking Yuuji because I accidentally drew his eyes that way and I want to keep it in lol

Since Satoru points out how soft and cuddly Yuuji is, I also want to draw soft Yuuji :v

And the last one… is the last scene. For some reason, I read that both Gojou and Satoru share Yuuji’s lap and was having a frustrating yet fun time figuring out how it’s… physically possible, without having their butts on the ground because they both are not small at all. As I lined the art, I reread it again and… perhaps I read it wrong? Satoru is beside Yuuji, and not on his lap? So yeah, this one might be the least accurate, but hey, at least you can view it as a crack drawing or something :v

AAAANNNDDD I HAVE EXCEEDED TODAY’S BRAIN CAPACITY OF FORMING WORDS

Have I told you I love this fic?

…I probably have.

Have an amazing week (❁´▽`❁)*✲ﾟ*

#yuu's art #jjk-fic-fanart #jjk ship #jjk-ship #五悠 #goyuu #goyu #5u #gojou x yuuji #speedrun this bad boy of a project in 3 days #from planning #now I can sleep in peace

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megamindsecretlair · 8 months

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Camp Wanderlust, Part 1

Pairing: Camp Counselor!Franklin Saint x Black!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, one use of n-word, kissing, mentions of female and male anatomy. FLUFF.

Summary: Welcome to Camp Wanderlust! We're so glad you're here! Inner city kids have been granted the opportunity to spend their summer here, getting introduced to a new world. You and Franklin are camp counselors who can't seem to stop ogling each other.

Word Count: 6,966k

Part 2

A/N: I have no clue where this idea came from but I couldn't stop thinking about college Franklin and how adorable he is! I miss him! So enjoy this new mini-series. I'm also zooted so all mistakes are on me. Please, please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! I can't get better if I don't get feedback!

Taglist: @planetblaque @notapradagurl7 @miyuhpapayuh @henneseyhoe @mybonafidefeelings @blackerthings @wide-nose-and-wonderful @halfofmysoulsblog @sevikasblackgf @slippinninque @nerdieforpedro @bratzmaraj @browngirldominion @thecookiebratz @we-outsiiiide @kindofaintrovert @theunsweetenedtruth @theyscreamsannii

The cool cotton shirt was already starting to stick to your skin. You fanned yourself, wondering if you had enough time to make it back to the cabin before the bus got here. You couldn’t find your scrunchie and your braids were starting to itch as sweat threaded around the parts.

Girls stood to your left, guys stood to your right, all nervous and full of energy. Orientation started three days ago as everyone met each other, went over rules and regulations, and then had real fun later that night as flasks and mini bottles of booze were passed around.

The owners of the camp were a silly white couple who just loved to help inner city kids. They stood off to the side from the group of counselors looking like concerned citizens complaining about a large group of Black folk for no reason. They were nice and all, but funny how their compassion only extended to the kids. Every counselor here came from colleges all around Southern California. Not one street kid.

You had never been to camp though and you had to admit, this was a nice way to show inner city kids that there was more to life than weed and going to jail. You switched your weight to your other hip, looking behind you for the hundredth time.

“You lookin’ for your boyfriend?” Dana, your bunk mate, nudged you with her elbow. She was a really pretty, dark-skinned woman with good hair. Her afro was fluffed out and shining in the morning sun.

“What are you talking about?” You asked.

“Franklin,” she said, drawing his name out in a song.

You giggled and shook your head, nervously looking around to make sure no one heard her. Despite what she kept insisting, you were not going to throw yourself at Franklin Saint. Your eyes sought him out but if you looked any longer, it would be too obvious. You snatched your eyes away from your right side and looked at Dana.

“No,” you said. “Not happening.”

Once everyone found out that nearly everyone was single, the energy shifted in the room. People started eyeing each other in a new light. Now hookups were dancing through people’s eyes, eyes drooping below the chaste limit, seeking out the most pleasurable mate for your time at camp.

Where else were you going to find people who got you? Certainly not at your respective schools where it felt criminal to be seen consorting with your fellow Negro. If two gathered in a space, it was a warning. If three or more joined, suddenly you were a gang and there were board meetings and secret handshakes banning that sort of thing.

No, here, you were surrounded by woods and a lake. Here the predominant color was as brown as the earth and just as beautiful. Here, anything could happen. So people began pairing off and gossiping. Laying claim on the curve of a hip or soft shoulders to lay on, or perhaps the way a smile made your insides flutter.

Looking over the men, there were certainly some fine specimens. Some tall and broad, skinny and lanky, rounded and thick as molasses. But there was only one for you. He was so dreamy.

His dark skin soaked up the sun. Such a cute, kind of shy smile. But his eyes were low and mischievous. Like he had a secret in them about you. He had worn blue jeans and a striped green shirt, the collars popped open.

When your eyes landed on him, you were ready to drool and fall all over yourself. You had never felt that way about anyone. No one in your neighborhood, no one in your schools, and definitely no one at your college.

And it seemed like he saw all of this float through your brain as he locked his eyes on you and smiled, dipping his chin a bit. You gave him a small smile, in shaking fear that he could see the lust on you, and you turned away from him.

You were not the only one to notice him. Snippets of their conversation had floated to you about the cute boy on the left. No, the far left. Girl, the one who look like my next boyfriend!

You were not going to compete for no man. But your eyes floated to the other men, some who looked your way with genuine interest in your curvy body, and they just weren’t doing it for you. They didn’t set your palms sweating or chest heaving or pussy throbbing. Well, there were maybe one or two you wouldn’t mind entertaining the next four weeks. Let someone else have that man.

Except he had made his way to you. He had introduced himself, voice low and full of dark promises. He had made you laugh and roll your eyes, twist your hair, and find ways to touch him. You had talked all night, completely ignoring everyone else who pointed and gossiped and wondered about you two.

A bus horn honked twice and you flinched as your thoughts snapped back to reality. You did not need flashbacks of that night, finding out everything you could about each other. Bus after bus pulled into the turnabout to offload a flood of preteens. They brought a jittery nervous air to the balmy June day that were directly at odds.

Your eyes scanned the kids as they clutched their little sleeping bags, pillows, and backpacks too heavy for them. They weren’t quite that loud yet. The extroverts had already found each other, forming up groups and surpassing that line between the “popular kids” and the “weird” ones. You weren’t sure who was in your group yet, but you hoped they weren’t little shits.

The owners of the camp, Mr. and Mrs. Coleman but you can call us Doug and Anne, erupted into excited giggles and clapped their hands. Some of the counselors began hiding smirks and smiles and giving each other the Look.

“Welcome to Camp Wanderlust!” Anne yelled in the too quiet air. Nature hadn’t been encroached upon today and was taking its time waking up. The arrival of kids to run across the ground or play in its leaves were a new addition and nature needed a minute.

Anne rushed forward and waved. “We are so excited that you’re here. How excited are you?” Anne continued.

The popular kids cheered and threw their hands in the air while the shy ones stood there staring straight ahead like zombies. Maybe they just weren’t morning kids. Because you sure as shit wasn’t a morning person.

Anne began to list off some welcome bullshit about learning and having fun and going swimming, supervised of course. About making lifelong friends because you could keep in touch with letters. Building bonds and telling some good stories while you’re at it.

She talked about how the cabins were divided. For their safety, girls and boys are in completely separate cabins and lights out at 10pm sharp. No one was allowed outside at night without a chaperone. They were free to go to the bathroom but it was straight back to bed.

She told them the names of each cabin and the cabin badges were important to remember. Doug came forward with a clipboard and started to rabble off badges, cabin numbers, and their assigned counselors.

In unison, you all waved to the kids with bright smiles and held up mini signs you made yourself yesterday. It stated your name. Three guesses on who your partner was. Doug then rattled off names and numbers. Kids began to separate and walk toward you.

A line of girls formed in front of you, bright eyed and cute in their little pigtails and afros and braids. Some looked so painfully shy, you vowed to make sure they felt included and had fun. You thrived in college but you were a shy girl just like them. It cropped up from time to time, but you felt more yourself now than you ever did as a kid.

Doug finished and everyone had their group. The counselors began fanning out to gain some distance and introduce themselves without yelling over a nearby group. You stayed put, not wanting to walk unnecessarily in this heat.

You had been lined up in numerical order, so Franklin was on the opposite end from you. He faced you and you swore you saw him smile at you before turning to his group of Cabin 5 boys. You turned to your own Cabin 5 girls and gave them your name, making them say theirs and their favorite color.

You talked some more, trying to find areas of interest where they might all intersect. You doubted you could get total consensus, but it never truly hurt to be optimistic. You took your group of ten to the Raven badge house and let them decide how to pick beds. You weren’t going to help with that. You watched as they worked to decide which bed would be theirs. The assertive ones announced which ones they wanted and if no one objected, then that was fine. The shyer girls took their time trying to be polite and give up whichever one they wanted. The whole process was over pretty quickly and you were back outside, giving them a tour and dodging other groups.

Your eyes immediately found Franklin coming out of the cabin next door. He moved between shadow and sun as he left the cover of the cabin. He lit up, that sun hitting him all over his gorgeous body. He wore khaki shorts and a blue shirt with Camp Wanderlust written across the back. You wore a similar shirt and let yourself picture being snuggled up with him.

You shook your head and faced your group, leading them out and around Camp. You showed them the shower and bathrooms, mess hall, activity tunnel which was the bridge to the rest of the camp. You showed them the Traveler bridge which took them to the lake and boat house, and finally to Curiosity Hill which led to the woods. The hill was a long slope that led to the woods proper full of bugs and small animals.

You looked at your watch, making good time. You faced your group and started answering questions so they could get to know you. They called you pretty and asked which school you went to, your favorite color, and the like.

“I bet ya’ll hungry, huh?” You asked.

“Yeah!” They all said, loudly. You giggled and waved for them to follow you to the mess hall. Groups were following behind you, following the unspoken signal for lunch. You made them line up, grab a tray, and move down the line.

You told them where to sit and told them to get to know one another. You grabbed your tray and went to sit at the counselor’s table.

Dana was already there digging into her tray all neat and polite. She smiled when you sat down and you breathed a sigh of relief. You were out of the hot ass sun, finally had some water, and could eat. Why did you agree to this again?

“You know your boyfriend been checking you out all morning,” she said.

“Shut up with that,” you said and began eating.

“He has! Sharonda said he told Jason that you were fine as hell,” she said.

“And how did Sharonda hear that?” You asked.

“Supposedly, Keisha and Jason are a thing which is a little funny because Jamika said the same thing. But Keisha and Sharonda are bunk mates,” she said.

You shook your head. “Oh, you stay ear-hustling,” you said.

“I like information. I don’t care how I get it,” she said.

“Okay, so then who you got around here?” You asked.

“I’m still looking. They ain’t that fine compared to Mr. Saint,” Dana said.

“Ya’ll talkin’ about her boyfriend?” Jamika asked, coming up behind you. She dropped her tray onto the table and then scooted onto the bench. “I swear them girls already getting on my nerves. They gave me the bad little mu’fuckas,” she complained.

“Where are ya’ll getting this boyfriend from and why are ya’ll all in my business?” You asked.

“So there’s business to be had,” Jamika said and looked at Dana. “Told ya.”

Jamika sucked her teeth and sighed dramatically. She dug in her pocket and pulled out a dollar bill and handed it to Jamika.

“Ya’ll betting?” You demanded.

“I told her there was something between ya’ll. Ya’ll must’ve met before today or something because ya’ll literally can’t keep your eyes off of each other.”

“I said that ya’ll ain’t even had an opportunity to do anything or spend time together,” Dana said.

“Ya’ll are so foul!” You could only shake your head at the two girls who instantly clicked with you. Both were similar to each other, favoring each other’s tone and speaking in nearly the same mannerisms. They had never met and yet bonded like sisters. Somehow you got scooped up between them and you were so grateful.

“When he lookin’ that hard? There’s always something there,” Jamika said.

“What ya’ll betting on anyway?” You asked.

“We can’t tell you that. We can’t interfere,” Jamika said.

“Is everyone in on it?” You asked.

“Everybody but you,” Dana said, cackling loud and hi-fiving Jamika.

You shook your head, looking over to your cabin kids. They were actually talking which was a good sign but a few were still too quiet. Jamika sighed loudly as she did the same. There were two girls fussing at each other.

“Ain’t you gonna help?” Dana asked.

“Uh-uh, I wanna see who wins,” Jamika said, a little smirk on her lips.

On the opposite side of you, you felt a tug on your braid. You turned, ready to be mad when you saw Franklin’s wide grin and his pretty eyes. The heat died down in your chest as you sighed.

“Boy, you was finna get hurt,” you said.

“I ain’t scared of you,” he said. He scooted onto the bench with you, making you scoot over since you were on the end. Dana and Jamika threw knowing glances at each other.

“What are you doing, Franklin?” You asked.

“Came to see you. Ain’t had a chance all day,” he said.

You rolled your eyes, dabbing your lips with your napkin. Franklin straddled the bench, smiling at you. Just staring and smiling like he could do that all day long. It unnerved you when you looked at each other like this. But you watched him right back.

“Why are you really here?” You asked.

“We’re sitting next to each other at the bonfire right?” He asked.

“You pulled my hair just to ask me that?” You meant to sound playful and teasing, but your voice was quieter than that. Filled with some other emotion like expecting a different answer. As if hair-pulling was acceptable in a different context.

He seemed to see your thoughts and he smiled. “Just say I get to sit next to you,” he said. He leaned over and took one of your chips. You popped his hand and he yelped, rubbing his hand.

“I don’t play about my food,” you said. He laughed and shook his head, diving in for another one. You tried to pop his hand again but he kept moving it just before contact.

He gave you another panty-melting smile. “You are so pretty, did you know?” Franklin asked.

You rolled your eyes. He got on your nerves already and you had only known him four days. “I can’t control where you sit, but I wouldn’t mind it next to me,” you said.

Franklin knocked on the bench with a wide grin. He turned to Dana and Jamika. “Ladies,” he said.

He stood up and walked back to his table where the guys whooped and hollered from where they were sitting. You had a flashback to middle school, the same age as these kids, and you felt sick. You hated when so much attention was on you and now all of the counselors were gossiping about your so-called relationship with Franklin.

“Fuck, where do I get one of him?” Jamika asked.

“Right, like where his brother at?” Dana echoed. You all watched Franklin’s retreat and him talking to his buddies.

The rest of lunch was uneventful as you spoke about your groups and how you hoped the first activity went well. You cleaned up after yourselves and began to lead your groups out of the mess hall and across the land towards the activity side. There was an obstacle course set up with things to make these kids stretch their legs and build some friendships.

You walked alongside Franklin and he nudged you with his elbow. You nudged him back. You had family, you were no pushover. You lightly pushed each other all the way down to the course. You were not setting a good example for the kids.

At the course, Anne and Doug greeted everyone and told everyone about the course. She announced prizes at the end of each activity and at the month to the team with the highest scores. Anne and Doug would score the kids with input from their counselors. So it was all about playing fair and working with each other to win.

One of the counselors, Jason, showed how hard it was to get through the course alone. He was playacting for the kids. Jason was as tall as a tree with rich ebony skin and thick muscles. Basketball guy definitely. He was built for speed and agility but he struggled.

He returned to his group and Doug and Anne stated that they went in cabin order. Being last in line, you told the girls that they’d have a chance to search for weaknesses. They loved that idea and got a lot more interested in the rules. First, the cabin mates would introduce themselves to each other.

The girls turned completely shy, backing away from the boys. The boys returned in kind, eyeing each other with slightly nauseous faces.

“Come on guys, what do you say?” Franklin encouraged.

Reluctantly, a boy stepped forward and held out his hand. One of your girls did the same and they introduced themselves. You looked at Franklin. “Did you teach them that?” You asked.

“They were nervous about being here. I gave them some tips,” he said. He slanted his eyes towards you with a smirk.

You watched as the kids opened up and started talking. Anne and Doug got the course going with kids going through it and working off the food they ate. When everyone was done, prizes were handed out. That earned them a few hours to relax in the rec room. The counselors were free to rotate shifts and watch the kids.

It wasn’t your shift yet so you went to hang out with Dana and Jamika back in the cabins. The heat was killing you and you needed to cool off somewhere. You immediately searched for a scrunchie to get the fresh braids off of your neck.

“So we just not gon’ talk about Franklin asking our girl out?” Jamika asked.

You laughed with your friends up to the cabin while you dodged their questions about you and Franklin. Nerves bubbled in your gut thinking about the boy with the cute smile. You couldn’t describe this feeling between you but you knew that you wanted to explore it. If only you could do it in peace.

You stared up at the stars as you sat on your log. Anne and Doug were really going all out for the experience. These kids were in for a better treat than you ever got. You didn’t have fancy white people paying for your camp stay so they could pat themselves on the back. Selective performism wasn’t around when you were growing up.

The stars twinkled overhead, spattering the sky with little dots of light. There were more stars than you had ever seen in your life. Too much pollution where you lived and went to school.

You sat around the campfire with half of the larger group. Anne was with your group, asking the kids about what they thought of the camp so far. Some were excited and they went around in a circle saying what they liked about it.

You were among the first to get there. By the time Cabin 5 boys made it down, Cabin 2’s counselor was already sitting next to you.

“No!” Franklin said when he approached. “Aye, switch places with me,” he asked.

The girl, Michella, rolled her eyes and stood up with a smirk. She hi-fived her counterpart. He smirked at the two of you. Ugh. This was so fucking childish.

Anne missed all of it as she focused on getting her free feedback. Franklin was overwhelming. He wasn’t a big man, but he felt big. He felt larger than anyone else there. He leaned over with his elbows on his knees and listened to every kid speaking.

Every now and then, your knee would brush his. You didn’t know if he was doing it on purpose but it only made you ache and shiver. When he stretched, you couldn’t help ogling him. Those skinny but powerful arms. The groans he made when he went a little too far.

You licked your lips and hung your head. It wasn’t normal to be this attracted to someone, right? You wanted to snuggle into him and never leave. He could be annoying, but there were times where he seemed to be undressing you with his eyes.

While Anne was distracted, Franklin turned his eyes to you. “Meet me later?” He asked.

“Where? Lights out at 11 or didn’t you hear?” You asked.

“Break the rules with me, c’mon. They know we gon’ break ‘em,” he said.

You shook your head, fighting down little deranged bubbles of laughter. He wasn’t being intentionally funny, but you weren’t used to such persistence. You had your fair share of men interested in you. But it was hard trying to find worthy Black men among the sea of white people.

“I wanna see you, alone,” he said.

You tuned back into Anne who was giving some background on the camp and why it was named Camp Wanderlust.

“You know everyone is talkin’ about us and taking bets,” you said.

“So? I’m trynna bet on us too,” he said.

You shook your head. “I’ll think about it,” you said. You weren’t a goody-two-shoes but you were just as excited as the kids at being here at camp. Your mother never wanted you to go, hiding behind excuses like she thought you would be boy crazy after. Which was ridiculous. You were already married to Marcus Murray. You just knew he was going to be your husband forever. Until he moved away in second grade and you never heard from him again. You didn’t want anything to jeopardize you being here. Not even for the likes of Franklin Saint.

He smiled at you and turned to Anne.

“Of course, that’s nothing compared to…” Anne looked around her dramatically. “No, I can’t say his name. Anyone who says it gets taken in the night!”

You shared the Look with Michella and shook your head. You didn’t know who Anne thought she was fooling with this routine, but you supposed that it wouldn’t be a proper bonfire without scary stories.

You stood up with Franklin and went over to the cooler. You opened it, grabbing bags of marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers. Franklin helped you, somehow managing to reach across you for everything. His arm grazed your tummy and you sighed. You tilted your head at him.

“Will you stop?” You asked.

“What?” He asked, innocent as a button. You were not fooled. He smiled at you, tilting his head back in response.

“You keep…you know,” you said.

“Tell me,” he said and stepped closer to you.

“Oh, you get on my nerves,” you said. You smiled at him.

“Meet me at Traveler,” he said.

You shook your head as you brought back the supplies towards the group. You began passing the bags around, picking up sticks that you had collected earlier. Anne continued her tale of the leader of the lost kids.

You were pretty sure she was talking about an evil Peter Pan but the kids didn’t seem to mind. Some were really engrossed in the story, looking over their shoulders towards the pitch black night.

She spun the tale of kids who got lost wandering in the dark by themselves. Snatching up anyone who calls them by name. She wasn’t going to say it for their safety. They absolutely must not go looking for his name on the plank where people had been signing their names for years. One signature is not like the rest and they must never seek it out.

The kids promised but you already saw some sneaky faces. Faces that screamed trouble. You fought a smile.

You took turns, trying to keep up the legend of this mysterious leader. No one knew who it was, it could be anyone out there. They could be right over someone’s shoulder and you wouldn’t know.

A few girls squealed. The boys were trying to seem cool, but you saw their eyes darting around as well. You munched on smores as tales were told and laughs were shared. The entire time, you were in sync with Franklin. If he moved, you moved. If he shifted, you did so as well. It was maddening.

The kids were dismissed to their cabins to unwind for an hour before bed. You walked your cabin back, Franklin walking beside you. He asked you about what you were studying. You told him your favorite subject and your face practically lit up talking about it.

You asked him what he was into. He said business. “Business! Why?” You asked.

He shrugged. “I got a mind for numbers. I can do something with that,” he said.

You really needed to get control of your dirty mind. When he said that, your mind instantly went to his lips. The moon poked through the trees and you were able to see him glow faintly silver. You licked your own, wondering what his lips would taste like. What his hands would feel like on you.

You dragged your gaze ahead of you. The overhead camp lights shone a giant spotlight on you and your group. You walked to each respective bunk and bid farewell to the kids. You crossed paths with Franklin once more as you walked to the counselor cabin.

Franklin’s hand brushed against yours. Your fingers tingled. As if it could already feel his hands tangling with yours. “Tonight?” Franklin asked.

“I’ll think about it!” You said and shook your head.

“You’re breaking my heart,” he said.

“Shut up!” You giggled. You went to your cabin, flopping onto your bed with a soft sigh. You brought the pillow to your face and squealed, questioning the butterflies in your stomach. You weren’t a teenager but, fuck, you felt like you were back in high school. Possibly earlier. Back to middle school where you couldn’t stop thinking about Chris Johnson and how sweet he was.

“Ugh, ya’ll need to go on and make it official. I need to win some real money around here,” Dana said. She emerged from the closet on her side.

These cabins were much smaller, big enough for two people and set up like a dorm room. You didn’t have that much money for school, it all went to books and classes. You weren’t able to stay on campus and you took the bus to and from the bastard.

“Stop,” you groaned.

“I don’t know why you leavin’ that man hanging like that,” she said. She was already dressed in her pj’s: sweats and a tank top. Your pjs were similar but you still weren’t sure if you were going to meet Franklin later or not.

It made you delirious to think about it. Sneaking off in the night. Wings took flight in your stomach. You flipped onto your back and placed your hands against your tummy. You had to see what he wanted, right?

It wasn’t to talk. You knew that much. He could be a gentleman all he wanted, but you weren’t that oblivious. You saw the way he looked at you or the way he found little ways to bother you. It was so childish but it grew on you as you formed an instant connection.

“I’m not trying to,” you told Dana.

“Look, we only here for four weeks. May as well have some fun and have something to tell your future grandkids,” she said.

You laughed and leaned onto your elbow to face her. “Why would I tell my grandkids I had something with some random boy at camp?”

“Because grandmas are always talkin’ out the side of they neck. I wanna be like my Grandma Sadie. She told us all kinds of things when my parents weren’t around,” she said.

“That’s why you’re so wholesome now,” you told her.

You talked and joked while Dana spread the latest camp gossip. You weren’t the only subject of people’s comments. People were already finding themselves tangled up with each other. Try as you might, you couldn’t get Jamika to see what a fuck nigga Jason was. She lost her collective marbles with him.

As it got later, your nerves got the best of you. You were hovering outside of the door, peeking out to see the distant house where Anne and Doug went to bed. There were still lights on in the house. Across from the house, there were similar bunks with the camp staff. Kitchen, groundskeeper, the like. Other volunteers who agreed to help watch the kids.

Your foot tapped against the wooden floor, your Converse beating a steady rhythm. Dana had explicitly told you to go while she drifted off to sleep. You took a deep breath and left the cabin. Your curiosity was going to eat you alive.

You scurried across the open courtyard heading toward Traveler bridge. The bridge itself crossed a small creek on a curve. You stopped at the entrance, under the light. You waited there, the chilly night and insects chirping making the woods seem creepier. Like Jason was going to pop out at any moment and go on a murdering spree. You should have brought a jacket. You rubbed your bare arms, feet shifting back and forth as you looked around you for any sign of Franklin. He wouldn’t tell you to meet him and then just not show up right?

“Hey, it’s Franklin,” Franklin whispered, making enough noise to let you hear him approach. You turned to face him, smiling softly at him.

“I’m glad you came. Took forever for my bunk mate to fall asleep,” he said.

He held out his hand and you took it, going over the bridge with him. There was a stretch of woods here, the trees loomed over you. Gnarled branches twisted and arched overhead, blocking out bits of the artificial light.

You reached the edge of the woods, where the trees broke up and allowed for a wider entrance towards the lake and the water supplies and equipment. Franklin stopped you from heading towards the dock.

He paused while the moon hit you two perfectly. You saw his face and how nervous he seemed. Franklin? Nervous?

“You’re so beautiful,” he said.

“You’re pretty cute too,” you said with a smile. He moved his hands to your hips, fingers sliding down your sides to loop his fingers through your belt loops. He pushed you backwards until your back gently hit a tree wide enough to accommodate you.

Franklin stared into your eyes. “I ain’t the only one feeling this, am I?” He asked.

He threaded his hand through your left one, watching as the pale light played over your combined hands. You swore your hand was electric from touching him. Little zips of energy flowed between you. Your body was learning him. Learning how he moved and spoke, resonated with his energy to match.

“No. Is it crazy?” You asked.

“Absolutely crazy. I like talkin’ to you,” he said.

He leaned down but didn’t kiss you. His lips hovered just there, just out of reach. He was so tall and broad, your hands came around his shoulders. You couldn’t stop grasping him. Your body heated up from the inside out. Your mouth dried feeling him beneath your fingers.

He let you explore his body. You were too shy to go further, to truly explore him. His hands stayed respectfully on your hips.

“I want to know everything,” he said.

You giggled. “We’d be here all night,” you said.

“Shit, I can lose some sleep,” he said.

You shook your head. “Are we going down to the dock or not?” You had did this yesterday too. Sneaking out while everyone was supposed to be sleep. You were sure that other couples were doing the same thing. Finding hidden spots that no one would stumble across at this time of night.

“I just wanted to look at you,” he said. He smiled and you couldn’t help smiling back. He didn’t even have to say anything and he had your lips curling, your tongue sliding across your teeth, and your cheeks hurting from smiling so hard.

You were lost in the world of Franklin and you didn’t mind. You would gladly stay in his orbit if he kept looking at you like that. Like he wanted to spend the rest of his life by your side, listening to you speak.

He finally moved away, allowing oxygen to flow to your brain once more. You shook off his subtle clean scent. He tugged you by the hand towards the dock. Your shoes clanged against the loose boards. It was a wonder the damn thing didn’t collapse by now.

Franklin let you sit down first. You took off your shoes and socks, dangling them over the dock. The water was a little out of reach. Only your toes graced the surface of the icy water. Franklin joined you, taking off his own shoes and socks. He sat back a little, his legs a bit longer than yours.

He sat close, close enough for you to feel every rise and fall of his chest. His shoulders grazed against yours and you had to sit on your hands to keep from reaching out and touching him like you owned him.

You spent an hour or so there, talking and learning about his aunt and uncle. His momma working for a piece of shit real estate agent. How he wanted to find a good paying job where his mom could retire and he could take care of her.

You didn’t bother asking about his dad. From the way he spoke about his mom, it was clear he wasn’t in the picture. You told him about your family, your schoolwork, and how hard it was to always be on stage while at school.

You bonded about how students and teachers alike didn’t know what to make of you. They didn’t know what kind of Negro you were. The loud type? The ignorant type? The quiet, good ones that they were comfortable reaching for your hair or asking intrusive questions? It felt good to bond with someone over these things.

Franklin was able to stay on campus but he hardly spent time in his rooms. He could be found in the library somewhere, doing his work like a true little nerd.

“You won’t hold it against me, will you?” He asked.

He sounded so adorable when he asked you that you shook your head. You leaned back, resting on your hands, as you looked at the stars above you. They were breathtaking. The air was clearer. You wished you could afford this much land. That you could have a place to yourself where no one else was allowed.

A private lake where you could do anything you wanted. You could swim naked for all you wanted and no one would be around to stop you. Perhaps not such a big land though. You wouldn’t know what to do if a psycho killer came crashing out of the woods.

“Nah, you good,” you said. He matched your stance, looking skyward. He then turned his head. You turned to look at him as well, not realizing just how close you were. His eyes dipped towards your lips.

You licked them absently and his eyes tracked the movement. You found yourself leaning forward, closing the distance towards those lips of his. They looked so big and juicy and were probably warm.

He rested his head against yours, smiling against your lips. “Let me kiss you,” he said.

It wasn’t a question but you smiled and nodded. He crossed that final distance, that tiny gap keeping you apart, He sighed against your lips. His big, warm hand reached up to cup your neck.

His fingers feathered across your pulse points. You felt your heartbeat there, beating wildly against his fingers. His lips were even more heavenly. His other hand cupped the other side of your neck. His long fingers slid through your braids.

You were lightheaded. Dizzy with pleasure as your lips tingled against his. Shivers ran down your spine. Your hands rested on his forearms, holding onto each other as you gave in to this thing between you. This all consuming thing that made you push forward, press against him, trying to get closer than what you already were.

Your harsh breaths seemed to echo in the still night. The sounds of the woods were muted here, lending itself to a type of quiet that you never experienced. There was always a plane or helicopter overhead. Some type of siren or dog barking.

It was hard as hell to go to sleep in a place so quiet. It was eerie. You kept expecting to hear a gunshot disguised as a firework. Here, there were just your loud and racing thoughts picturing this exact moment.

Franklin’s tongue danced with yours. Sweeping across your lips and diving back into your mouth to taste more of you. His breath was faintly minty. Even after dinner and the smores.

Your pussy throbbed. Beating in time with your wild heartbeat. You felt him everywhere. All over your skin. Every kiss had an answering call in your tummy. Every squeeze around your neck you felt down to your toes.

You reluctantly drew away at the same time, panting and turning drunk eyes on each other. “I’ve been dreamin’ about that,” he said. His head rested against your once more. You huffed, breathing each other in.

“Same here. I felt like that should've helped dull this,” you said.

After your taste, you wanted more. You wanted to keep going. You wanted him to lay you down and unzip your shorts. Or makeout with you while his hands explored under your shirt. To rub your aching nipples that were straining beneath your bra for any type of stimulation.

“Ain’t gon’ happen,” he said. He pecked your lips. But a quick peck turned into two and then three until you were moving into his lap. You straddled him and kissed under the stars. It was just you and him.

Him gripping your thighs and squeezing them for dear life. You running your hands around his back. Your lips crashing against each other over and over, like waves crashing against a shore. You felt weightless in his arms. He hadn’t looked all that sturdy under that skinny frame, but he handled you with ease.

He squeezed your ass and you groaned, couldn’t help yourself from grinding on his crotch. He was thick, warm, and solid under you. He was pressing against your core but there wasn’t enough friction.

You found a natural break again, opening your eyes to look at him and smile. It still was nowhere near enough but it would have to be. You had already been out too late. You were going to be so tired in the morning.

“We should get back,” he whispered.

You licked your swollen lips and nodded. Fuck, you wanted to keep going. Wanted to know how far he would push you.

“Will you meet me tomorrow too?” He asked.

You bit your lip but nodded. “I’ll meet you tomorrow, too,” you said. The other counselors be damned. It wasn’t like they weren’t around, confessing their own feelings. Or already hooking up. Clothes flying in the heat of the moment.

“Let me walk you to your cabin,” he said.

His hands slowly slid from your hips to your sides to help you maneuver off of him. You stood and he stood up after, taking your hand and walking with you back to your cabin. His cabin was further down and you thanked him for the sweet gesture.

He tapped his cheek for a kiss. Your cheeks hurt from trying to hide another smile. He got on your damn nerves. You pecked his cheek, your lips lingering for a fraction too long. “Good night, Franklin,” you said.

“Good night,” he said. Your name fell from his lips softly, sacredly.

You gave a small wave and went inside, closing the door and resting your back against it. You were still so lightheaded. Drunk on his kisses and needing more. Dana was still fast asleep so you changed and slipped into bed as quiet as you could.

You didn’t know how you were going to sleep tonight but you hoped that Franklin would dream of you too.

There's always more Franklin to explore: The Secret Franklin Saint Files | Part 2

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