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chickenparm · 7 months

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doctor's note (Wriothesley/dfab!Reader)

banner by @lemonemlyn my sweet..... :^) you can see the full piece here!

AO3 Link

Wriothesley/Reader (afab genitals, no mentions of breasts) 2,170 Words - NSFW (Mild blood kink, P in V, semi-public in that someone could walk on in, Reader's a bit of a freak)

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If you liked the Duke any less, this job would be significantly worse than it already is.

Long hours, untraditional pay, low vitamin D levels… Sure, you're allowed to leave, but then that comes with the caveat of being unable to return unless it's in handcuffs.

Maybe the Duke's handcuffs…

Sharply, you shake your head. No matter how many times you've done it, stitches still need at least some focus to keep them straight and even. Not to mention the patient has been chatting at you the entire time. You've done six without realizing it. They’re a little uneven, but seem fine to the untrained eye. They’ll do.

“Don’t move your arm too much, no heavy lifting. Do you need a note for the supervisors? You’ll be out of the coupons for whatever days you take off, but they won’t be able to use the absence against you during duty assignment.” You say, gathering your tools and carefully disposing of the sharps in the special little container that Sigewinne had recently provided.

Again, the patient says something or other, but even after trying to shake yourself free of your thoughts, somehow they wander back to the other day when you’d seen the Duke walk by and his coat has shifted just enough so you could get a nice eyeful of his-

“Give me a moment and I’ll get the note written up for you.”

You bite down hard enough on your tongue that you’re almost certain you’ll have to give yourself the same half-assed stitch job you just gave this foundry worker. Thankfully, he doesn’t bat an eye as you finish cleaning up and disposing of your gloves, then move to the desk to write out the same familiar, rehearsed lines detailing how long he could use it for.

The patient thanks you profusely, secretly tucking a few credit coupons into your palm as he takes the note. Healthcare is free down here in the Fortress, but some remnant of the overworld lingers in everyone and they feel some need to compensate you for your service.

Your pay comes out of the Fortress’ coffers, but that doesn’t stop you from pocketing them with a smile and a wave for him to get a move on. The next shift will be starting, and he’ll be expected to report there if he knows what’s good for him.

And then it’s quiet once more.

Or as quiet as Meropide can be. The production zone is always a faint noise in the distance during working hours, a constant clang-clang-clang of forged gears, consistent enough that it lets you fall into a rhythm of cleaning used tools, restocking supplies, looking over paperwork that’s filled with Sigewinne’s little doodles in the corner. Is that supposed to be the Duke…?

“Keeping busy?”

No, that’s the Duke.

You spin and nearly knock over the lantern on the table, blindly reaching to grab it before it can topple to the floor. At the bottom of the steps is the Duke, one hand wrapped around the railing while the other is pressed to his cheek. For a moment, he looks just as bewildered as you before he swiftly regains his bearings and pulls his hand away from his face.

Tacky threads of red stretch and snap across the short distance, and you realize that he’s bleeding. Again. For the third time this week.

Making a sound behind your teeth with your tongue, you cross the room to reach for his elbow and guide him to the bed that hasn’t been used yet today. The sheets are fresh enough to not smell like anything at all - almost the best you can get in Meropide. With any luck, by the time he’s finished here, they’ll be inundated with the smell of spices and black tea.

And if you’re quick enough, Sigewinne won’t even notice you’ve swapped the bedding out to be ferretted back to your quarters.

“What was it this time, your grace? Pankration ring? Breaking up a brawl over who got a better meal from the cafeteria?” You ask, pulling his hand away and gently grasping his chin to turn his head so you can see better in the light. With the light hitting its sharp angle, his jaw works back and forth for a moment before he shakes his head minutely.

And when you don’t say anything to encourage him to be a little more forthcoming, he finally says, “Do you think I should do something about the top shelving in my office? Seems a bit weak…”

“You didn’t.” You murmur in quiet disbelief, letting your hand slip a little from his chin. His clean hand grasps at your wrist as if to keep you there. “A book…?”

“One of the old accounting ledgers. With the metal binding.”

Another sound of disappointment behind your teeth as you take better note of his injury. It’s a clean one, all things considered. Shouldn’t need stitches, just a disinfecting and a bandage, you think. But something feels tense in the air, and your fingers slip from his chin as you try to diffuse it with, “I think I’ll need Sigewinne for this one, it looks bad. She’ll mix up some medicine for you to down-”

“Leave me to die.”

It’s delivered with such a straight tone that you’re caught off guard. A snort of amusement leaves you, and your hand raises to cover your mouth. Wriothesley isn’t quick enough to grab your wrist again before you leave a few oval smears of his blood on your cheek, thoughtless of the hand you were using.

Wriothesley’s hand is smudged with his blood as well, leaving little streaks on your wrist as he looks up at you from his seated position. Your weight shifts to your other foot, your knee brushes his, somehow you gravitate closer. Tea and spices and dull iron seeps into your senses, and for a moment you forget where you are, what you’re doing, and all that attention is shifted to who you’re with.

Wriothesley, Duke of Meropide, His Grace. His jaw tweaks again, the light catches the smallest rivulet of blood welling up in the bright red of his injury. The smears on your skin are rapidly cooling, and Wriothesley is so warm.

His tongue darts out, just for a moment, wetting his lip and catching the smallest bit of blood at the corner of his mouth. How does that flavor stack up against his tea, you wonder? Would he let you try? He’s never been a selfish man before now.

A low murmur leaves him, just barely forming the syllables of your name. If you were any weaker, you’d have dipped down to take what you have your eyes on - that flash of pink from his tongue, the burnt red, the warmth of his skin, everything and anything you could get your hands on before he banished you away.

But for all the things you want to take, something should be given in exchange. You don’t even get to make the offer before Wriothesley proves you very wrong. He can be selfish. It’s in the way his bloodied hand wraps around the back of your neck to pull you close, in the way his tongue pushes into your mouth and you’re treated to the taste he’d been savoring only a mere moment before.

Wriothesley takes everything down to the very sound of surprise that leaves your throat, his neck bobbing as he all but swallows it and exchanges for one of his own. The bead of blood on his jaw is smeared by your thumb as you grasp and push, enticing more as he hisses between each movement of his mouth on yours.

But then he grips harder against the nape of your neck, tugs at the front of your shirt until your balance is lost and you’re all but perched in his lap. Wriothesley accepts you with open arms, all but suffocating you with his scent, his breath across your cheek, his lips moving along your jaw and smearing your face further with the mess.

His skin is a pretty canvas for the stark red that turns darker as it cools and hardens and flakes away. Maybe yours is pretty as well, with how he sucks marks into your neck and digs his teeth in hard enough that little crescent shapes will show what you did here today.

Dirtied fingers weave into his hair and tug, and he groans against your skin before bucking his hips upward, grinding against you in a desperate bid for some kind of friction, some sort of reciprocity for you drawing that sound out of him. You’re a little selfish too, but he keeps sweetening the deal. In return, you press harder down against him, roll your hips until he detaches from your skin with a breathless sound of appreciation.

“Mmh… -time? What time is it?” Each syllable drags his teeth against your skin, and you have trouble comprehending anything at all until you’re able to piece some semblance of rationality together.

It’s threaded like beads on a string, loose and spaced out, but you gather enough of yourself to answer, “Thirty to twelve-”

“An hour, perfect.”

And then the bed groans and its springs squeal as you’re tossed down, trapped in by long limbs and a thick coat that cuts off the surrounding world. Wriothesley lavishes attention on your neck, your collarbone, his fingers working at buttons and clasps steadily. There’s more than enough time for you to dispute any of this, to mention that there isn’t really a door on the infirmary and anyone could walk in.

But you don’t, because nothing quite matters to you as much as this does. You don’t get paid enough to care otherwise.

Wriothesley pulls back, looks down at you as your gaze travels downward between you. A quiet laugh precedes, “Eyes up here. Don’t you think you’ve ogled me enough lately?”

Despite lying down, you’re not going to just take that accusation that way, so you shoot back, “Maybe if you didn’t make it so easy.”

“Cute. You think I just sit around in my office thinking of ways to be your eye candy?” He asks, hooking a hand beneath your knee and hitching it up to his waist, opening you enough that you can feel him against you. Hot, heavy, a pulse that might be his, might be yours.

And when you don’t answer, his laughter curls beneath your jaw, up around your ear as he leans in, “You’d be right, you know. Now look me in the eye… there you go.” And as if to emphasize himself further, he rocks forward, sliding into you with one, two, three little thrusts before he can bottom out. Before the sharp buckle of his belt digs into your stomach. Before you’re treated to the pretty sight of his eyes unfocusing, just for a moment.

And you don’t miss a second of it, even as your legs tighten around his hips and your mind grows fuzzy and thick. The Duke had made a simple request, and you’d be damned if you broke away from his gaze to even blink.

Wriothesley leans closer, drowns you once again in a thousand sensations from sight to scent to the incredibly full feeling of his cock driving into you with startling precision. Hour or no, Wriothesley fucks you like he’s only got moments remaining on his lifespan. Like his own thoughts have been just as consumed by you as yours have been with him.

Your eyes roll, his fingers curl around your chin, another murmured, “Eyes on me,” and when you comply, his thumb drags along your bottom lip. Instinctively, you open, letting him press the pad into your tastebuds and you’re given the metallic taste once more.

His thumb - cleaned, slick with your spit - slips out of your line of sight to press against you. The timing of his thrusts match the circling of his thumb, pushing and pushing and pushing at you until your cheek stings with how you bite down to hide your sounds of approval. No door, you remind yourself with dreamy thoughts. It barely holds substance in the wake of his smile almost turning into a grin.

It grows wobbly, the world growing less interesting to look at in the wake of his relentless pursuit of your release. Despite how much you’d like to drag this out, Wriothesley doesn’t seem interested in wasting any time on keeping you fucked open. Just for the moment, just long enough for you to dig into the sheets and a sound that’s near painful with how you fail to stifle it. Only long enough to leave darkness at the edge of your vision, and a warmth seeping out as he pulls away and presses another bloodied kiss to your lips.

Another kiss to the corner of your mouth, his tongue dragging along the skin of your cheek, his words heavy against your ear, “You gonna steal these sheets, too?”

#mind the a/n for content tags #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley/reader #genshin #genshin impact #mdni #tw blood

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anakin-pilled · 3 months

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𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘰𝘶𝘴 - anakin skywalker x fem! reader (part three)

pairing: anakin skywalker x fem! reader

wordcount: 9.4k

warnings: no use of y/n, mentions of EDs, body dysmorphia/body issues, fainting, mistreatment, hospitalization, crying, reader being emotional, anakin being a reckless driver, half proofread bc i got lazy (will probably edit another day, its late af as im posting this)

rating: 18+

author's note: hi, i'm so sorry for the delay on chapter three! life got really busy and i found myself not having enough time to write, but now life has settled and i finally had enough time and inspo to finish this chapter. i literally forced myself to stay home this weekend and finish this chapter bc i'll be traveling this week and won't have time to write. i hope i made up for it by making this chapter longer than usual!! let me know if u have any questions or comments. reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated xx

creds to saradika for the divider!

You originally had no plans this weekend, but after much persuasion from one of your closest friends, you decided to attend some party that a friend of a friend was hosting. It was better than being locked up in your apartment all weekend, letting the thoughts of Anakin consume your mind and slowly pick away at your sanity. After all, it gave you the chance to dress up prettily, consume free hooch, and maybe find someone to get under and help you get over Anakin.

The water in your porcelain sonic tub was doused in a fragrant Crimson Jelly Spire oil and mixed with the fragile petals of a Jasmine flower. The combination of spice and sweetness left your skin refreshed and smelling good. The midday light of Corscant filtered through the windows and cast the nearly all-ivory refresher in an ethereal lighting. The water swished around you as you hugged your knees to your chest and laid the side of your cheek on top of them. You trained your eyes on the refresher’s ceilings before blowing a loose piece of hair out of your face. You ran this bath about an hour ago, but you had yet to get up because your mind was occupied by him. Staying away from Anakin was harder than you anticipated. Your mind recalled, for about the hundredth time today, two instances that happened over the last few rotations.

The first instance with Anakin left you unnerved and unconfident in your self-proclamation to stay away from him.

The benefit concert was only a few rotations away now, so you started practicing. Even though you were only performing songs that you already performed and rehearsed before, it still didn’t hurt to practice even more. This was going to be broadcast across the Republic, so you had to be perfect.

You holed yourself up in your practice room for the majority of the day. The only time you saw Anakin was in the morning when your protocol droid prepared breakfast. You told Anakin that you would be practicing with your team of dancers for the day, so there was no need for him to stay with you all day. You encouraged him to take the day off and reassured him that your practice suite was located in a safe building with 24/7 security watch. Anakin insisted that he at least drop you off. He could take the time to stop by the Temple and check in on Ahsoka’s training.

That was hours ago. It was nearing your twelfth hour of continuous practice and you were exhausted, to say the least. Your vocal cords felt raw from the amount of singing you did today, and the legs in your muscles were spasming from the constant repetition of your dancing. You dismissed your team members around two hours ago, you didn’t think they should be subjected to your perfectionist tendencies. One of them, a Pantoran girl named Chione, voiced her concern for you. Chione was one of your oldest dancers, she joined your team during your first mini-tour around a few Core planets and has never left your team since. You considered her one of your closest friends.

“Are you positive that you’re okay to practice on your own? You’ve barely had any food today. I don’t want you fainting with no one to help,” voiced Chione in a dulcet tone. She was always looking out for your well-being, especially because she knew how hard you could be on yourself. Chione was a source of bright life in your life and one of the most genuine people you’ve ever known.

“I’ll be fine, Chione. I had a heavy breakfast, and I’ve made sure to eat energy pudding bars and stay hydrated during our breaks,” you reassured your friend. She looked unconvinced, but you rushed her out of the room with a kiss on her cheek and a promise to send her a message once you arrived home.

Now that you had the studio to yourself, you decided to go through a few more drills and focus on the routines that you struggled with the most. You weren’t always a perfectionist. Back when you lived on Bar’leth, you were neither the smartest student in your grade nor the dumbest student–you were perfectly average. You didn’t feel the need to engage in your classmates’ cutthroat competition or push yourself more than you required. Even when it came to your musical prowess, you sang and studied instruments because you enjoyed it and it brought you happiness. If you were stuck on learning a certain composition or hitting the right note, you would always put in your best effort, but you never lost any sleep over it. You knew that if you were to put pressure on yourself, it would take the enjoyment away. Music was yours, without any strings, expectations, or attachments to soil your relationship with it.

That swiftly changed once you were signed a record deal with one of Coruscant’s most famous record labels, Interstellar Records. You didn’t even know it was possible to become famous at the intergalactic level. Most of the artists you listened to on Bar’leth were artists from your planet. The galaxy’s population is enormous–Coruscant alone has around three trillion people! You never imagined that your name would known anywhere besides Bar’leth. Yet, luck seemed to be on your side on that one fateful day.

The story of how you were discovered is quite simple. Your school hosted an annual festival for the anniversary of the formation of Bar’leth’s government. It’s a joyous holiday where students are encouraged to promote Bar’leth’s culture through food, traditional customs, and performances. Families and regular citizens flock to the school to join and watch the students at the festival. It’s a day you look forward to every year. Each class section is assigned to a particular event. The graduating class of that year is always assigned to open the festival with a choir rendition of Bar’leth’s national anthem. You were asked to lead the choir since the music instructor knew of your talent, which meant that you would be the main singer. Little did you know that one of the executives from Interstellar Records was at the school festival. One of his nephews attended your school, so that was his reason for being there. As soon as you got off the stage and the festivities started, you were immediately pulled to the side by your school’s headmaster who introduced you to the executive. He spoke to you about your talent, and how he believed that you could make something of yourself with proper training and a recording label to manage you.

That was five years ago, and a lot has changed since then. After finishing your last year of government-mandated education, you moved to Coruscant and began your career as a professional artist. Life suddenly flipped. Your upbringing on Bar’leth was humble. You came from a decent, middle-class family and lived in a standard home. Suddenly, you lived in a fancy Coruscant apartment with the former senator Sheev Palpatine, and you were always surrounded by a team of managers who dictated your schedule from morning to night. You were given vocal training, attended dance classes, and sat through etiquette and media training courses all while trying to produce your debut record. The first year of your career was marked by sleepless nights due to the sheer amount of activities on your daily agenda. Many times throughout the first year, you debated if this was a smart decision.

You continuously pushed yourself through it because dreams weren’t achieved by themselves. You had to work to make your dreams come true. This was just part of the process. At least that’s what you said to reason with your inner self to avoid any feelings of regret and anxiety. Yet, throughout that first year, you were also exposed to a darker side of the industry that you weren’t equipped to handle as a barely legal adult. When you signed that contract with the label, you also signed away any right to individuality and personal autonomy.

You had a certain image to uphold as a public figure and this image was controlled entirely by your label. You were like clay that they could bend at their will–constantly being prodded and

molded until you were nothing short of perfection. Your clothes were preselected each day, hair was only done in styles the label wanted, and pre-answered scripts were given for interviews. Worst of all, even your diet was dictated by the label. How much you ate, what you ate, and even when you ate was all at the discretion of the executives. They even went so far as to weigh you weekly to make sure you were staying on top of your weight. If you weren’t at their goal weight, they subjected you to intense periods of exercise. It was an abusive cycle that fundamentally altered your self-esteem. Slowly, you became a shell of the person you once were. You didn’t find enjoyment in your career anymore, something you were once so passionate and excited about. The harsh regime of your management extinguished that flame. All that mattered to you was if you were meeting your label’s expectations. You were consumed by the weight of their expectations. You drowned under their judgment, and each criticism was like a blaster shot straight to your heart. The executives weren’t satisfied no matter what you did. Practice hours went from a few hours of your day to half of your day. You slowly cut contact with your friends from home and lied to your family when they asked how you were doing. You couldn’t bear to tell them the truth. You were miserable.

Eventually, the constant overwork and abuse by the label became too much for your body to handle and one day you fainted in the middle of practice. The medic at the medcenter informed you that your body shut due to exhaustion and malnutrition. Due to you being one year away from being a legal adult by the Republic’s standards, the medic was forced to report this incident to the authorities. Holonet tabloids somehow got a hold of this information and leaked it on their celebrity gossip pages. This prompted an investigation from the Intergalactic Federation of Musicians, the trade guild dedicated to musicians, performers, and songwriters, who determined that your label was not properly upholding their side of the contract. The IFM fined Interstellar Records and voided your contract, which left you free and away from their abuse.

It took you a few months to recover from the whole incident. The best course of action was to move back to Bar’leth while you healed. Your career didn’t stop there, however. Right before the situation, your debut album was released. Hence, you were practicing for upcoming promotions the label scheduled you for. The release of your debut album was quiet–until your face ended up on the Holonet’s hot spot after the initial news broke. The people of Coruscant, and even some people from neighboring planets, pitied you. You never intended for anything to be this way, but the story that the tabloids ran against you worked in your favor. You, a young fresh-faced, and doe-eyed girl from a smaller Core planet, were a victim of the cruel entertainment industry. Everyone blamed the label, rightfully so, but the amount of support and influx of love from Coruscant’s citizens catapulted you into fame and stardom. The public wanted to see you win (until they didn’t). Other recording labels were knocking at your door, trying to get you to sign with their company You were hesitant, not wanting to experience the same trauma. Senator Palpatine offered his help in negotiating the contract bids as an apology for not noticing what you were going through before. After all, you were still living with him while you were still signed to Interstellar. You didn’t blame him as you hid your problems well. Regardless, it all worked out in the end as you were signed to a new label, under terms and conditions you saw fit. Four years have passed since you signed onto Nebula Music Group. Your fame instantaneously increased after signing with them. Gido was assigned your new manager, and you were extremely thankful for him because he played a major role in ensuring you were properly treated and supported by the label. Nebula Music Group had more trust and faith in you than Interstellar, so they allowed you more authority and creative liberties in the music-making process. Because of this, you could produce authentic, critically acclaimed, popular albums. Your last album, Last Words of a Shooting Star, broke a record with the highest sales of sound slugs in history for a female artist. You did mini tours around the inner and mid-Core planets. Despite your initial hardships, life was turning out better than you envisioned. You had a second chance at your dream. You liked to consider yourself fully healed from the situation, but that was far from the truth.

Take now for example.

In moments like this, when it’s only yourself and the mirror, your mind can’t help but flashback to the horrible treatment you suffered at the hands of those people. You know that no matter how much therapy or how far removed from the situation you were, a part of you was still stuck in the past.

Chione was right to be concerned. This wasn’t the first time you stayed behind and continued practicing on your own, often to the point of exhaustion and breaking down. She’s caught you in these moments before, where you were so focused on perfection that you failed to take care of yourself properly—staying dehydrated, skipping meals, and not sleeping just so you could devote more time to practice. You would gladly damage yourself for it. You couldn’t help it. Insecurity was embedded in your bones. You knew that as a young female in the industry, you had a short shelf life (or at least that’s what your previous label hammered into your brain). Once the industry deemed you expired, you would be nothing. Thus, you needed to be so perfect, that even past your expiration date, people would still want you. You were nothing without desirability.

You looked at yourself with hard eyes in the mirror. Your eyes landed on the deep, heavy-set eye bags under your eyes. A scowl appeared on your face. You then moved your eyes to your arms, which never seemed skinny enough for you. A knot formed in your throat. Lastly, you laid your eyes upon your stomach. No matter how many meals you skipped, what diet fads you went on, or what food you prematurely threw away to avoid finishing, your stomach never looked the way you wanted. A sigh escaped your throat.

It was futile to worry about these things now. At a time so late in the day, nothing good would come of it. You inhaled and exhaled breathing as if you were absorbing and releasing all of your previous negative energy. Putting on a fake smile that didn’t reach your eyes, you gave yourself one last look before continuing to practice.

The song you were currently dancing to belonged to the glimmick genre–a genre of music that was associated with frenzied sounds and rapid beats. As an artist, you were most comfortable with the sparkle-bop and pop genres. That was your domain, and it was the genre that made you famous. However, you wanted you wanted to experiment on your recent album to get out of your artistic comfort zone and reach a wider audience, so you included songs of different genres, with glimmick being one of them. Due to the nature of the glimmick genre, your song “Atom of the Pneuma,” required an intricate, fast-paced dance with movements that you were not familiar with. The choreography for this dance was sharp and pristine, contorting and bending your body to resemble straight, angular lines. Most of your choreography featured lighter dance moves, with flowy movement and softer forms. It was the reason you stayed later than the rest of your team–you wanted to hone on this particular routine before the benefit concert.

Your legs were bent, hands placed on top of your thighs as you caught your breath and prepared to replay the song just a few more times before calling ending the day. You got into position. The song started and filled the room with a pounding, rich techno bass that bounced off the walls. You began to move your body to the beat while your right arm was simultaneously moving it to create a pattern that extended from your body outward. Your head followed the beat as well, which left you slightly dizzy. You learned to block out any negative sensations when dancing, a practice you learned from the days when you danced on little sleep and little food. The unpleasant sensation went ignored until you spun your body around and lost your balance resulting in an unceremonious fall toward the hard wooden floor. You placed your arms to cushion your fall out of reflex, but the fall never came. A pair of large, calloused hands were placed on your waist, holding you steady. The hands gently guided you toward the floor, forcing you to sit.

You raised your face toward the ceiling, trying to see who it was that miraculously saved you from your fall. The bright lights of the practice room invaded your eyesight and you could only make out the fuzzy outline of the person. Tiny, black dots swirled your vision as you tried to regain your composure. The feeling was overwhelming. You could feel your breath quicken as you tried to calm yourself. This wasn’t the first time you have fainted from overdoing it, but it was never any easier each time. You hated the feeling, you hated the coldness that washed over your body, you hated how your vision failed you, and you hated the dull panging inside your head.

You shut your eyes, barely focusing on the person next to you. Your nails dug into your palm, the pain distracting you from the uncomfortable feeling and forcing you back into the present. After a few more moments, you opened your eyes again and turned your vision to the only other figure in the room. You could feel the warmth of their body next to yours–the warmth overpowering the previous coldness your body felt.

“Anakin,” you whispered.

“You okay there, pop star?” Anakin softly replied. “You almost took a nasty fall, you could have sprained your wrist or hurt your head. We wouldn’t want that before the big day, now would we?”

His brown curls gently caressed his face as he looked down at you. He was kneeling over you, eyes scanning over your body to make sure you were okay. You didn’t even hear him enter. How did he get inside? Access to this room was only allowed by people with logged fingerprints and/or other DNA indicators.

“Just give me a minute please.” You still felt lightheaded.

Anakin stood up and walked toward your practice bag and grabbed the container of water that was sitting next to it. He then proceeded toward you, sat next to you, and put the tip of the container to your lips. You titled your head back as you drank. After a couple of gulps, you answered Anakin’s question.

“I apologize if I frightened you. I must have overdone it and got lightheaded because of it. I assure you that I feel better now and can continue my practice,” You tried to stand up before Anakin’s hand caught your wrist and dragged you back toward the ground. Your response was cold and robotic. That’s because you were in a different mode right now, your more “professional” mode which consisted of one thing only–to never give up until you were blue in the fact. It was ingrained in you from your past training that even if you felt like complete bantha shit, you couldn’t stop practicing just because you felt slightly off. Perfection could never be achieved if you stopped every single time you felt bad.

“Just take a moment to relax. You nearly fainted. You’re only going to hurt yourself more if you continue to practice in this state,” Anakin reasoned. He pitied you because he knew the exact look of determination on your face.

“I can’t stop. The benefit is only a few rotations from now. I have to get this routine down, or else I’ll look like a fool on stage,” you argued back. You turned, but Anakin kept a firm hold on your wrist.

“Stop being stubborn and just take a quick break.” The seriousness in Anakin’s tone made you want to cry. His voice projected across the now silent practice room. You were already feeling bad from almost fainting and now you were being emotional too. You slipped to the ground and hung your head low as tears welled up in your eyes.

“I-I’m sorry,” your voice wavered. Putting in this state always puts you in a weird headspace. You swallowed the tight knot that formed in your throat. You didn’t want to cry in front of Anakin.

Anakin noticed the waver of your voice and how you refused to meet his eyes. He didn’t mean for his voice to come out so harsh, but he didn’t want you to hurt yourself either.

“It’s okay. You have nothing to apologize for. I didn’t mean for my voice to sound that way,” Anakin hesitated before putting a hand on your shoulder for comfort. He felt slightly awkward. He didn’t know you very well yet, so he didn’t want to invade your personal space, but he recognized that you needed some comfort.

“You should leave. You don’t have to deal with me. I know the Chancellor asked you to watch over me, but this is too much. I promise I’m fine. This isn’t the first time this has happened.” You don’t know why you let that small detail split to Anakin. Perhaps you just wanted someone else to know that you weren’t fully healed from your past. You tried to do your best to hide it from the rest of your team, only Chione being the most knowledgeable on the subject.

“I’m not going to leave you. It’s late and you should be heading back to your apartment. I came to pick you up. Gido said you hadn’t arrived home yet and that I could find you here.”

You sighed at Anakin’s response. There were a few moments of silence before you began speaking again. “I’m sorry. You’re just being a decent person, and I’m here trying to push you away. I don’t mean it.” You took a deep breath, “I just get in a weird headspace whenever I’m practicing sometimes.”

Anakin didn’t want to pry, but he could tell there was a deeper meaning behind your words.

You started speaking before your brain could even comprehend what you were saying. You were desperate to let out all of your negative feelings. “Do you ever feel like you’re not good enough sometimes? Like the whole world is waiting for you to trip and fall?” You glanced at Anakin with glassy eyes.

You continued to tirade. “I know my life may look glamorous, and it is. But no one ever talks about the dark side of being in the public eye, especially as a female. They treat you as if you’re some spectacle for their entertainment as if you’re not a living being with consciousness and feelings. Even those who are supposed to be there for you end up on the same side as the critics and haters.” Your chest was now heaving up and down as a result of your heightened emotion. “Even when I work my ass off to be perfect, so I can meet their standards and so they can finally shut the kriff up, they find another thing to comment on just to tear me down.”

“Yes, I understand the feeling.” And Anakin truly did understand. Anakin wanted to comfort you, he felt empathetic as he watched you cry. Do you remember how I told you how I joined the Jedi at a later age than most?” You nodded as you sniffled. “The Jedi council didn’t want to take me in at first…but Qui-Gon convinced them to take me in because he saw potential in me, potential as the Chosen one. Master Qui-Gon died before he had the chance to train me, so his Padawan, my former master, requested that he take me up as his Padawan. No Padawan had ever been trained at such a young age, but the council accepted his wish as a dying request from Qui-Gon.” Anakin still recalls that day–he was waiting outside the council’s room–in wonder at the grand pillars of the Jedi Temple. It was so grandiose and had a sense of holiness, two things he never witnessed on Tatooine.

“I had to work twice as hard as the other younglings to get up to speed. Most of them already had years of experience with the Jedi, they knew how to properly wield the force and the Jedi scriptures were ingrained into their beings by that point. Eventually, I surpassed the younglings and surpassed the expectations of the council. But even then, the council has never fully trusted me. I feel they’re always scrutinizing me, watching for my next mistake too. I’m not the most conventional Jedi, and I don’t always play by the books, but I’m a Jedi through and thorough. No matter how many times I prove that the council, or even my former master, they don’t believe in me. We’ve been fighting this war for Maker knows how long, and they still refuse to make me master, despite being the poster boy for this war.”

“Wow, Anakin…I didn’t expect that from you.” You honestly didn’t expect to find yourself relating to Anakin, you were on completely different sides of society. How could you, a pop star, relate to a Jedi? It comforted you in a way, to know that you weren’t the only person to go through feelings of inadequacy and frustration. “How do you deal with it?”

“When I was a Padawan in training, I didn’t deal with it most healthily. I was snarky (he still is), and rebelled against my master’s teachings. I was stubborn, hoping that if I showed off my power, I could finally be appreciated by the council. I was wrong to do that, it’s how I lost my right arm.” Anakin then slipped off his glove to show you the silver mechanical prosthetic. You gasped, not expecting to learn this information. Anakin continued, “I still like to show off, but as I matured, I realized that I didn’t have to define myself by the approval of others. I know that I am capable, and I will keep working hard until the council recognizes that.”

“You don’t deserve that. I know we only just met, but I’ve only heard remarkable things about you. The Republic wouldn’t stand a chance against the Separatists against you. I mean no offense to the other Jedi, they’re all vital to the war effort too, but we need someone who takes risks and isn’t afraid to be unorthodox. I don’t know much about the Jedi, but I know one day you’ll make a great Master.”

This heart-to-heart chat with Anakin was unexpected but welcomed. You appreciated that he was honest and open with you–someone who was practically a stranger still. He didn’t have to come all this way to pick you up nor did Anakin need to comfort you in an hour of need, but he did. However, Anakin didn’t let the conversation marinate too long, suddenly embarrassed at the information he shared with you.

Anakin stood up from the ground and reached his hand toward you. You accepted his hand and Anakin pulled you up as well. “Are you feeling better now?”

Despite the dried tear marks on your face and the incoming headache you were about to face, you told Anakin that you did feel better. You weren’t ready to divulge your entire past with Anakin just yet, but maybe one day the two of you could become friends. Did that count as an attachment? You weren’t sure.

“Let’s get you home, pop star.”

“Thanks, General.”

The second instance with Anakin was in an unconventional situation, but it brought a smile to your face when you recalled it. It was only the fifth day of him being assigned as your bodyguard. The incident at the practice room happened on his third day there. You wanted to speak to him more after that night, but you found yourself pulled in all directions by your management team. You supposed you should be thankful–you promised to stay away from Anakin. The only issue is that you didn’t want to stay away from him anymore.

Anakin walked into your living room after talking with Obi-Wan through his commlink. Obi-Wan was updating Anakin on his most recent diplomatic mission on a nearby planet. A heated conversation was taking place between you and Gido.

“You’re being ridiculous! It’s not even that scary and you can’t keep on relying on others to transport you places,” Gido said as he pinched his nose with a hand, a look of frustration on his face.

“Of course I can! I’m rich. I can just hire chauffeurs!” you taunted in reply. You knew your argument wasn’t sound, but you just wanted to vex Gido at this point. Deep down, you knew your manager was right.

“What about when you’re old and retired? Who’s going to help you then? Certainly not I. I’ll be dead!” He pointed an accusatory finger at you.

A glare embraced your face at Gido’s words. You scoffed before turning your body, not realizing that Anakin entered the room. He had to stop sneaking in like that. Those damn Jedi.

Anakin looked at you two with a curious look. Having joined the conversation toward its end, Anakin did not know what you two were talking about. Heat ran up your neck and toward your face as Gido explained with a deadpan expression.

“My dear friend here does not have her Republic driving license, despite being an adult. I’ve been telling her to get her license for years, but she always manages to procrastinate. And every time I tell her, she brushes me off her shoulder.” He pointed at you with an accusing thumb.

With a high-pitched tone, you defended yourself, “I know how to drive!... Sort of. Look, I just don’t like driving. The skylanes are always chaotic and the last time I visited the Ministry of Transport, it took me hours to update my identification and the workers were extremely rude. I’m not going back there if I don’t have to!”

“And I keep telling her, she needs to get her license. Kid, don’t be stubborn. Wouldn’t you feel more independent if you could drive around yourself?”

“Oh, stop bullshitting me, Gido. You just don’t want to drive me around because you hate the sky lanes as much as I do!” It was true. Gido groaned and mumbled every time he had to drive you places, complaining that he wouldn’t need to take you to run your errands if you had your own license. You couldn’t help it–you enjoyed dragging Gido along and you knew he secretly enjoyed spending time with you.

Anakin had a solution to both of your problems. Driving was one of his fortes. Obi-Wan and Ahsoka would disagree, but Anakin knew he was the best pilot in the galaxy. Yes, Anakin could be reckless, but there was never a landing or move he couldn’t pull off. The innate talent he had as a young boy flourished when he moved to Coruscant and began his Padawan training. Having access to much more refined and newer technology allowed Anakin to perfect the craft of piloting.

“I can teach you how to drive. I’m the best pilot in the galaxy.” The seriousness on Anakin’s face indicated that he wasn’t joking.

You gulped. The heating sensation returned. You began to shake your head from side to side with wide eyes. Your hands moved in front of you as if to mimic the movement of your head, waving off Anakin’s solution.

“I don’t think that necessary,” you protested.

“Actually, I think it’s very necessary. Only the Maker knows how long you’ll push this off. Anakin, would you mind doing this favor? I have a few meetings with the company, we need to finalize the last details for the benefit. Feel free to use her airspeeder parked outside–it’s one of the newest models,” Gido stated.

Anakin grinned. He really did miss his yellow Eta-2 Starfighter, but he would never deny the chance to operate new technology.

That’s how you found yourself outside sitting in a neatly parked J12 Twin-pod on your apartment’s landing platform. The airspeeder belonged to you, though you’d never driven it before. The airspeeder was one of the newer models on the market. The surface was wrapped with a special pink-tinted chrome wrap making the car look sleek and expensive. Gido, your chauffeur, and occasionally Chione, were the only people to ever drive it.

You looked out the window and saw Anakin approaching the passenger side of the airspeeder. “Karking hell, I’m really doing this,” you thought. You detested driving. It made your palms sweaty and shot your nervous system. To make matters worse, you would be stuck in the confined airspeeder with Anakin! So much for trying to keep your proximity from him. You were both scared and embarrassed. Here was Anakin, the most famous Jedi at the moment, teaching pathetic you how to properly drive. Surely he had much better, more important things to do–like lead a war planning meeting or something.

The passenger door opened, and Anakin effortlessly climbed into the passenger seat and sat down. Your back stiffened, and suddenly the airspeeder seemed tighter. You shot an uneasy glance toward Anakin, who only smiled in excitement.

After the other night in the dance room where you had that conversation with Anakin, you felt less apprehensive around him. He was more human to you and less of a mysterious figure, less of a pretty face who made you nervous. You still found yourself mousy and internally reeling in his presence, but Anakin was becoming akin to a friend. You started conversing more during mealtimes, slowly getting to know each other.

“Alright, pop star, first we’re going to start with the controls. You have to fire up the engine by flipping this red switch. After the flip is switched, check your mirrors to ensure you can view directly behind and on your sides. Be careful with your blind spots. You don’t want to get rear-ended because you forgot to check for it. Coruscant sky lanes are no joke. With an airspeeder as pretty as yours, I’d hate to see it get destroyed. ” Anakin pointed toward a red button near the right side of the console, located next to the steering gear. “You got that?” Anakin questioned with one eyebrow raised.

Once again, Anakin felt your energy through the force. It was way calmer compared to the first day, but he could still feel your energy buzzing. Perhaps you realized that his presence was nothing to fear.

“Go on. Turn it on,” Anakin commanded. Butterflies erupted in your stomach when you heard the baritone voice command you. It reverberated several times in your head. Anakin’s voice was manly, and extremely attractive. You felt jealous that his soldiers got to hear that voice every day.

You reached toward the switch and flipped it upward with a shaky hand. The airspeeder lit up from inside, indicating it had come to life. There wasn’t an initial turbo–this was one of the main features of this model. It was supposed to fly seamlessly through the air. You placed your hands on each side of the steering gears. Not knowing what to do next, you looked at Anakin for guidance.

Anakin stood up to stand directly behind you. He reached out his arms and placed his hands on top of yours. He then leaned down to the side of your face and explained, “I’m going to show you how you properly place your hands on the steering gear and how to move it while you’re driving.” Anakin moved your hands toward the middle of the gear.

“Have a tight grip on the gear. The tighter the grip, the more control you have over the speeder. The higher sky lanes get more wind traction, so it’s especially important to have control in those lanes.” You nodded to show you were following. Anakin suddenly turned the gear harshly to the left, “Don’t do what I just did. When you turn the gear harshly, you jerk the speeder. If you’re switching lanes or turning a corner, switch on your indicators so other drivers know which way you’re going.” Of course, Anakin never followed his own advice, but for your sake, he played it by the books.

It all felt too intimate. Your head was in a rush, which probably wasn’t the best state to be in while you were about to drive. Anakin’s hands engulfed yours. The difference between his callused hands and your perfectly manicured hands drove you crazy. You could see the veins exposed on his ungloved hand. The sight of the green veins made your stomach turn warm. Much like his face, Anakin’s hand was sculpted by the Maker themself. Not even the finest marble statues could compare to the piece of art that was Anakin Skywalker.

“...Lastly, when you’re making a turn, do not turn the gear all the way around. The speeder has a built-in function that automatically rotates it. If you turn it all the way, you’ll make a sharp turn, ruining the internal tachyon drive regulator. Do you think you can handle this? Gido told me about the last time you tried to drive.” The last time you tried to drive, it resulted in several fines and almost caused a crash–the tabloids were on your ass for weeks after that.

You completely spaced out while Anakin was speaking, too focused on your inner thoughts. Hearing the teasing tone of his voice brought you back. You hated being undermined. You would prove to Anakin, and Gido, that you can drive perfectly fine and that you have nothing to be scared of.

“I can you assure that not only can I handle this, but you’ll be amazed at how quickly I learn,” you sassed Anakin back. You were lying. You couldn’t handle this, yet you couldn’t look like a ditz in front of Anakin.

“Let’s start flying. Don’t be nervous. I’m right here if you need me.”

Anakin sat back in his seat and observed you as you started maneuvering the aircraft. He directed you toward a sky lane to merge into. “I’m going to guide you to a specific path where the air traffic isn’t so busy. It should be easier for you to fly since there isn’t as much chaos.”

You kept a strong grip on the steering gear. Coruscant Prime, Coruscant’s only sun, was shining bright. The Weather Control Network did a splendid job at keeping Coruscant’s weather optical today–it wasn’t too windy and the sky was clear. You took it as a positive sign.

The airspeeder flew steadily through the air. Anakin was surprised. The way Gido described your driving, he assumed that he would need to take control of the speeder earlier. You weren’t doing a terrible job so far. Aside from the occasional jerk or harsh turn, you managed not to crash so far.

Maybe Anakin thought too soon. “Watch out! Watch out to your right!,” Anakin exclaimed. You tried switching lanes, but the speeder behind you wasn’t slowing down to let you in. You narrowly avoided an accident at the last second by going back into your lane.

“Oops–I didn’t mean that,” you said with a giggle and a shrug of your shoulders. “How am I doing so far?”

“You’re not doing too bad, with some more practice, you should be able to get your license in no time. Why do you hate driving so much?”

While still focusing on the sky in front of you, you explained to Anakin, “I love Coruscant and all that it has to offer. But the sky lanes in Bar’leth are much calmer and less congested. I grew up used to that. Even after all these years of living here, I still can’t stomach the driving here. It’s horrendous! I much prefer to have someone else drive, that way the pressure won’t be on me. I know Gido’s right, I need my license, but can you blame me? We’ve already witnessed almost two accidents! How did you get so good at flying?”

“I’ve always wanted to be a pilot since I was a little boy. I used to tinker in the garage, building and modifying parts for my own podracer. I even won the Boonta Eve Classic on Tatooine,” answered Anakin.

“Why did you want to become a pilot?” you wondered. Anakin seemed like like an intentional type of person–his actions, thoughts, and opinions were direct reflections of him and what he felt inside.

Not many people outside of the Jedi temple knew Anakin’s true origins–that he was a former slave. The first ten years of his life were filtered solely through this lens, it came to impact much of his opinions on life, politics, and society. He didn’t like speaking about it and avoided the topic as much as he could. Anakin hated his life as a slave and he hated slavery with every fibre of his being. However, Anakin especially hated speaking about this past life now because every time he did, he was reminded of how he willingly chose to leave his mother on Tatooine. Anakin felt like he was the reason she died. He wasn’t strong enough or fast enough to save her from the Tuskens, but maybe, just maybe, if he stayed with his mother instead of leaving with Qui-Gon, Shmi Skywalker’s death could have been avoided.

Anakin didn’t respond to your question. When you looked at him, his face was scrunched up in a deep thought.

You were about to say something else when you saw something approaching the speeder from the corner of your eye. You quickly glanced to your left, only to spot a human male nearly hanging off the side of his airspeeder with a cam held up to his eye. You groaned out loud which caught Anakin’s attention. They came at the worst time possible. You were trying to learn how to drive for Kriff’s sake!

“The paparazzi are following! Can’t they just leave me alone” you ranted. You needed them to get off your trail, fast. You had a complex relationship with the paparazzi. You hated the way they invaded your privacy and fed the Holonet tabloids with material to gossip about. For every bad picture, outrageous rumor, and leaked news, there was a paparazzi behind it. They caused you so much pain. At the same time, the very nature of your career relied on the paparazzi to dispel news and reveal your current state of affairs through pictures. They were unofficial members of your public relations team. Every celebrity knew that they needed the paparazzi as much as they hated them. You couldn’t imagine what ridiculous headline they would come up with now.

The man got closer and closer to your speeder as he tried to record you on his cam. He was mere inches away from crashing into the side of your speeder. You started to panic and your hands lost your tight grip as you started to tremble. Even the slightest movement to the left would cause a crash, potentially sending both of your speeders tumbling below.

“Anakin, what do I do? I don’t know what to do! They’re too close,” you yelped. Any closer and the paparazzi’s camera would touch your speeder’s window.

“Stay calm, pop star. I got this.” Anakin’s tone was cocky. He had something up his sleeve. This wasn’t his first high-speed chase, and it certainly wouldn’t be his last. Anakin switched into General mode. His hands swiftly moved across the dashboard as he pressed a multitude of buttons and flipped several switches.

“What are you doing?!” You hated how high-pitched your voice sounded, the fear slipping out of your voice a squeak.

“Relax. I’m just taking control of the speeder. This speeder model is programmed so that in case of emergencies, the co-passager can take control of the speeder and drive it.” A panel opened on the console and an additional steering gear emerged into view. Anakin gripped the gear and turned it to the right. The speeder lurched to the right, putting more distance between you and the paparazzi.

No longer needed to grip the gear, you turned toward Anakin and shielded yourself by facing your back toward the window. The Holo Net wouldn’t be getting anything out of you today. Those insatiable nerfhurders had no boundaries sometimes.

“You better hold on tight. Things are about to get bumpy.” The only way to get these paparazzi off your trail was by speeding up and losing them in the endless zigzags of Coruscant. Anakin wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize your safety. He felt his fingertips buzzing with anticipation–the past few rotations with you have been enjoyable and peaceful, but he needed an outlet for his energy. Ever since the Clone Wars started, Anakin was constantly on the go, so his body and mind were accustomed to this. Fortunately for Anakin, flying was the best outlet for him.

“What do you mean? Anakin, I’m begging you. Please don’t do anything crazy. I get motion sick-” Your words were cut off as the speeder accelerated. “ANAKIN!!!,” you screamed. You then quickly shut your eyes again. You couldn’t bear to witness the scene in front of you. Even with your eyes closed, you could tell Anakin was driving significantly faster than what was allowed by the law.

The speeder weaved in and out of lanes. At one point, Anakin squeezed in between two speeders before hitting the turbo boosters. The paparazzi were still hot on your trail, but at least they were no longer directly next to you. You finally opened your eyes and saw that you were nearing the retail district, CoCo Town. Suddenly, the speeder nosedived toward the ground and you tightly clung to the gear in front of you for stability. The paparazzi were still chasing you, their speeder also diving below.

“Anakin do you have to be so reckless?!,” you shouted as Anakin laughed.

“My apologies–it was either that or let the paparazzi stalk you. Which one did you prefer? I didn’t have time to ask while you were panicking,” he replied in a sarcastic tone. You were about to rebuttal, but Anakin continued talking. “As soon as I land this on the ground, we’re going to get out and run. Let’s try to lose them in the crowd.”

The speeder lowered onto the ground and Anakin quickly parked the vehicle on a landing platform where several other speeders were parked. The doors unlocked and you both quickly stepped out. Before you could even completely step off, Anakin grabbed you by your waist and lowered you onto the ground. He then grabbed your hand and started running in the opposite direction of the speeder. You looked behind you, only to see the paparazzi had caught up and were now looking for you. After a quick scan, one of their eyes caught yours and they looked toward each other before running in the same direction as you and Anakin.

You could barely think about the paparazzi chasing you down as your mind relished the feeling of Anakin’s hands engulfing your waist. Anakin was a statuesque man, it made sense that his hands would be the same. Your skin burned at the touch. You shook your head to wane off the thoughts and redirect your focus in front of you.

Anakin’s back was facing you, his wide shoulders moving up and down as you ran through the crowds together. His curls bounced with each step. You apologized to each person you bumped into, slightly embarrassed to be in a situation like this. Why did this have to happen to you? Couldn’t they have picked another celebrity to torment today? You heard from the jogan fruit vine that the Holodrama actress Alexis Cov-Prim was getting out of rehab today. Wouldn’t that be a juicer headline than you learning how to drive? You already had one bad story from driving, you didn’t need another.

Anakin made a sharp turn around and corner and dragged you into a store named “Madame Acantha’s Emporium.” You kept your head low as Anakin greeted the storekeeper. You didn’t want to risk being recognized again. As you looked around and observed the store, you noticed the store sold a variety of womenswear from dresses to accessories. Anakin scanned the store for any suspicious figures before turning towards you.

“Grab something to disguise yourself with. We can’t stay in here forever.” You started browsing through the racks of clothes, pulling out a large knitted sweater before walking over to the accessory area and picking out a pair of daytime spectacles and a vibrant magenta wig with a bob cut. Anakin couldn’t disguise himself as he was too big for the clothing sold here. That didn’t matter as long as you could disguise yourself.

You quickly walked over to the changing rooms before switching out your outer layer for the sweater. After putting on the sweater, you grabbed the only elastic on your wrist and tied your hair so the wig could fit on. Once the wig was secured on your head, you put on the daytime spectacles and walked out of the changing rooms. You rushed towards the cashier and quickly asked her to ring up the transaction before throwing your credit chip on the counter. The employee, a humanoid woman of a species you couldn’t name, quickly rang up the transaction before handing you a receipt and bidding you a good day.

You turned towards Anakin and asked, “Does this look alright? Do I look like myself?”

Anakin stepped closer to you and grabbed the sides of your face. He slipped some of the wig’s hair through his fingers before adjusting it so it sat properly on your head. His fingers lingered for a second before he nodded. “I can’t even recognize you. Let’s go before they catch up.”

Anakin walked out of the store first and scoped the street. He looked left and right before quickly going back inside. He grabbed you and shoved the both of you behind the first rack of clothes he saw. You were about to protest when you saw the two men from earlier, the one who was recording had his camera by his side. They went up to the shopkeeper at the cashier and began to converse with the lady, most likely asking her if she had seen anyone with the same description as you. While they were distracted, you and Anakin looked at each other and secretly decided to make a run for it.

You both ran out of the store and into an alleyway nearby. You saw the paparazzi running past the alleyway as you were catching your breath. Then, you started to giggle. The whole situation was absurd. You, standing in an alleyway, with a bright wig and sunglasses–obviously a terrible disguise–and Anakin Skywalker, the most famous Jedi at the moment, dressed in all of his Jedi garb with his lightsaber attached at the hilt.

“What are you laughing at?,” Anakin asked, one of his perfectly shaped eyes arched. You must have looked crazy.

“I’m laughing at the situation. I look like a clown,” you replied. “Let’s go, I’m hungry after all that running and chasing. Let’s get something to eat–my treat.” You then walked out of the alleyway together. Before you stepped into the public view, you turned towards Anakin, “Thank you, by the way. I don’t know what I would have done without you to save the day.” You gave Anakin a look of genuine gratefulness.

The both of you proceeded in the direction of the shops.

“Come on, pop star. I know a great diner that my old master loves. It’s called Dex’s Diner. Have you ever been there before?” Anakin asked.

The both of you arrived at Dex’s Diner and proceeded to order half the menu. You spent hours in the diner, the both of you enjoying each other’s company after the crazy events of the day.

You spent the same evening replaying all of the times Anakin touched you and how each touch made you feel.

You decided it was time to get out of your head and back into the present. If you stayed in the sonic tub any longer, you wouldn’t have enough time to get ready without feeling rushed. You stood up from the sonic tub and grabbed the plush white robe sitting on the table next to it. You then put the robe on and walked toward the mirror.

You grabbed the brush and started brushing through your hair to ensure that any tangles and knots were out. After deciding your hair was neat enough, you put the brush down and started moisturizing your body with your favorite lotion. You would let your hair air dry until you figured out how you wanted to style it. The lotion was made from the musk-rose plant and mixed with tiny hints of vanilla. When you were done moisturizing your body and applying your skincare, you walked out of the room and into the closet directly in front of the refresher.

To say your closet was huge is an understatement. When you finally earned enough credits to afford a high-rise apartment, the one thing you told your realtor was that you would not compromise on a small closet. The closet was lined with shelves and racks, each holding either your clothes or your shoes. In the middle of the closet sat an island, constructed with cream-yellow Selonian marble, that stored all of your accessories. A floor-to-ceiling mirror and lounging chaise were perched at the far corner of the room. You walked over to the shelf that held your dresses and began to sift through them. You felt the soft silks, thin taffetas, and the gorgeous gemwebs of your collection.

“Aha,” you muttered as your hand finally landed on the gown you were looking for. The gown, designed by one of the most in-demand fashion ateliers, was a floor-length, demicot silk-lined tight velvet black gown with a curved necklace. The upper half of the gown was pale pink and covered in a multitude of tiny sequins and pearl studs. One shoulder extended out into the shape of a single petal, which was also fabricated with sequins and pearls. You paired it with a pair of black gloves that extended to your mid-bicep. The dress was as much haute as it was a piece of wearable art. If there was one thing you loved about being wealthy, it was the clothes.

You laid your evening gown on the chaise before traveling to your vanity and beginning on your makeup. Since the gown was extravagant in itself, you decided that a more subtle makeup look would complement the overall look more. You wanted people to focus on the gown and all its intricacies and craftsmanship. After glossing your lips with a matching shade of pink, you finished your makeup and moved on to your hair. You settled on a suitable hairstyle and allowed your loose face-framing layers to enhance the shape of your face.

You looked at yourself in the mirror once more before deciding you were ready to go. You walked out of your room and towards the living where Anakin was waiting for you.

To be continued...

(Here is a link to the dress, which was designed by Miss Sohee. One thing I love about the SW universe is the fashion, so I wanted to include a dress that reflected that. Like, come on. Have you seen Padme’s and Satine’s outfits?)

taglist: @angie2274 @bunnylovesani @0709fullofstars @js-favnanadoongi @payton-dixonreader

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#kendra's works !!!#anakin skywalker #anakin #star wars anakin #star wars #star wars fandom #star wars fanfiction #tcw anakin #anakin x you #anakin x reader #anakin skywalkwer x reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin fanfiction #hayden christensen #darth vader #darth vader x reader #darth vader x you

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romeoandjulietyouwish · 2 years

Note

I do not want to steal Kiss Anons thing so I will give you a hefty hug if you could write a small thing about when Keyleth first says to percy that she just needs to be perfect

but of course! <3

It's not often that Keyleth and Percy rehearse together but with Vax currently out injured, Keyleth needs someone to dance with and since she is still on the fence about Vax's understudy, Percy was more than willing to come in on his day off to rehearse with Keyleth in an empty studio.

When he gets there, he can immediately tell that something is off. Keyleth's already drunk her entire coffee and as far as he can tell she doesn't have any snacks with her. Keyleth always has snacks. And as he accesses her, he notes the heavy bags under her eyes.

"Keyleth?" He asks gently as he sets his bag down. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," she says shortly, tucking her feet into her pointe shoes.

"Did you have anything for breakfast?" Percy asks, a question she's asked him nearly every day since they've known each other.

"Uh huh," Keyleth says quickly as she ties her shoes. "I did." Keyleth is an awful liar. "Come on, I don't want to waste time, we only have this room for a few hours."

She stands and rises onto her toes, warming up quickly as Percy puts his shoes on. Red flags are popping up in Percy's mind, but he brushes it off. She's probably just having an off day, Keyleth can't be upbeat and happy all the time. Especially so close to the anniversary of her mother's disappearance.

It's when they start dancing, the music playing from Keyleth's bluetooth speaker, that Percy starts to feel like something is wrong, something more than that. He knows how Keyleth dances, she's graceful and almost seems like she's floating. But today, she's stiff and controlled, she doesn't smile.

The way she's dancing sends uncomfortable chills up Percy's spine. It reminds him almost of...

He dismisses that thought quickly, she's just having an off day, that's all. But he can't dismiss it anymore when Keyleth falls out of one of her turns and doesn't get back up.

She's sitting on the ground, one leg tucked under her, head bowed, shoulders hunched. Percy is at her side in an instant, "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

But as he touches her back and kneels down beside her, he realizes that she's crying softly. "I'm sorry," Keyleth tells him softly, her voice shaking. "I'm sorry, I just...I need to be perfect. This role is huge for me and I can't fuck it up, I just can't. I have to be perfect."

I have to be perfect, Cassandra told him as she stopped eating.

I have to be perfect, she said after she fainted in rehearsal.

I have to be perfect, she cried, body full of bruises.

In that instant, Percy realizes two things. The first is that he thinks of Keyleth like a sister. The second is that he needs to get her out of here right now. He would rather die than see Keyleth go through anything like he and Cassandra did.

So he pulls her into a hug, one hand on the back of her head. "You are perfect," he tells her softly as she hugs him so tight. "You're already perfect. And we're done here for the day."

"But-"

"No." Percy stands, hauling Keyleth up with him. "We're going home and I'm making you food and you are going to rest. No arguments." Maybe some fear creeps into his voice, but Keyleth nods and pads over to her bag, switching her shoes.

The entire time Percy brings Keyleth back to their apartment and makes her some lunch, all he can think about is Cassandra. He could have done these exact things for her but he didn't, he was too scared. So when Keyleth curls on her side on the couch, watching some tv, Percy sits next to her. After a moment, she extends her legs, stretching her feet into Percy's lap.

"Percy?" Keyleth asks softly.

"Yeah?" He lays a hand on her ankles.

"Thank you. It's been a really hard few days," she tells him.

"I know." Percy has seen Keyleth every time she gets an email from tabloids asking for an interview or is tagged in tweets about her mother or is followed on the streets by reporters. It's weighing on her, how could it not be? He should have noticed sooner. But all he says is, "That's what friends are for."

#ballet au #critical role #vox machina #lis makes hcs #my fic

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talkfastromance4 · 3 years

Text

supportive baby//poly!cashton oneshot

the photo below stirred a little bit of something and I owe my thanks to @in-superbloom and @polycashton so thank you for giving me a small nudge to write something. this is for you🥰😘

a/n: this is also written in a 'you' format which is swaying from my usual poly!5sos writings (usually used in third person and pronouns of she/her) but it seemed to fit better this way with the idea I had. I'm sorry if I fluctuate a lot between the two but...yeah. I hope you enjoy. This is the first semi-decent thing I've written in a while.

****

Ashton always floats with an air of confidence, it's evident in his posture and the aura he puts off. So it isn't too abnormal for his confidence to waver, everyone has bad days, but when it knocks him down a peg or two, it's very noticeable and makes you and Calum sad. You hate seeing him doubt himself and you've picked up on the signs where his confidence sinks.

He constantly runs his fingers through his hair, tucks the strands behind his ears or places a curl in front of his eyes, and checks how it looks in the reflection of his phone. He changes his outfit a dozen times, shirts are tossed about the room, pants landing atop the dresser until his side of the closet is nearly bare. Stripped away of all things that make Ashton Ashton and he's left with more discouragement. When it comes to picking out shoes, you usually find him sat in the middle of the closet staring at the shoe rack.

When he announces he's going to practice his drums, you and Calum are met with radio silence for hours on end. Knowing better than to try and get him out of a creative funk, you leave him be until he's ready to discuss and process what he's going through or for the music to start if he comes to the conclusion on his own.

His actions are no different now that the album is nearly finished and they're going to be playing live together as a band this weekend. Calum is stressed about it as well, Ashton's emotions radiating onto him and he's constantly air playing his bass, his fingers moving along the fake strings. He's worried he's forgotten to play all of their songs.

You try to be as helpful as you can be for the both of them but you feel out of your limit because they process their hang-ups differently and yet it feels similar. Because they're similar. Ashton and Calum are a cohesive unit, not just the rhythmic backbone of the band, but also within your relationship.

So when they're off kilter, you're off kilter.

The night before they're supposed to go to band rehearsal to prepare for playing the first time this Saturday, Ashton sighs heavily before plopping next to you on the couch. You're looking up new soup recipes to try this fall on your tablet and then Ashton's face is in your lap.

"Hi," you smile down at him, your fingers immediately carding through his hair.

"Will you come to rehearsal tomorrow?" he asks, hazel eyes imploring up at you.

"Really? I can see you practice?" You sit up a little straighter at the notion, you've always wanted to see them rehearse but didn't want to be in the way or something.

"Yeah. You'll...I'll feel better with you there. I think Cal will, too."

"I'd love to," you grin. "What time do we have to be there?"

"Eleven."

It's the morning of rehearsal and Ashton dipped out of bed quietly, but not before giving you and Calum a swift kiss on the cheek, so he can meditate. You and Calum are currently watching him from the sliding door window as he sits in the center of the patio on a blanket in the sunshine. He's taking deep, shallow breaths.

"How're you feeling today, babe?" you ask Calum.

"Better. Once we're all together I'm hoping things will just flow...hopefully Ash's meditating will help him, too," he nods towards your love.

You both stare at him for a few moments and then you're struck with an idea.

"He's been feeling down and out about his art, right?" you ask out loud.

"Yeah, which is insane. Knucklehead," Calum scoffs but you can sense the loving tone beneath it.

"I have an idea. Come on," you take his hand leading him to your bedroom and into the massive closet you all share. "Which is your favorite of his merch shirts?"

"Umm...this one, I guess," he points to the long sleeved shirt. "Why?"

"Put it on," you take it off the rack and riffle through his t-shirts until you find your favorite electric blue shirt of his.

You and Calum remove your shirts to pull on Ashton's and you smile as soon as the fabric covers you. It smells like Ashton and you feel surrounded by his presence.

"I love wearing his clothes but how is this going to help him, baby?" Calum asks confused.

"He's feeling down and out about his art, he needs to be reminded that what he creates is genuine and wonderful."

"Cal! Y/N! We better get going!" Ashton calls up from the kitchen.

You and Calum rush down the stairs, Ashton is gathering his phone, wallet, and keys in his pockets before pulling on his pink button up. He glances up at you and Calum then does a quick double take at your shirts of choice.

"What are you two up to?" he asks.

"Nothing," you and Calum say simultaneously.

"We don't want to be late," you smile and kiss Ashton's cheek.

***

The three of you are the first to arrive so they take the time to set up their instruments. You're sat near the door on a stool watching them and waiting for Luke and Michael to arrive. Ashton and Calum talk quietly amongst themselves then sit in front of Ashton's drum set, Calum has his bass in his lap.

You can hear the faint chords from his plucking, Ashton nodding his head along and murmuring what you're sure are words of encouragement. The love and respect is evident between them, especially when they're in their music element.

You're anxious to see them play, it's been so long, and then Ashton is scrolling through his phone. Calum stops playing and they converse a bit more, their eyes flickering to you every so often.

Ashton pockets his phone, squeezes Calum's wrist and leans over to give him a quick kiss. Then he stands up and makes his way towards you. Before you can speak, he's pulled you against his chest in a tight, warm hug. He kisses the top of your head.

"Cal told me your idea about my shirts," he murmurs. "You're such a sweetheart, thank you."

"You're welcome," you squeeze his waist tightly, loving the softness of his body and the warmth radiating from it. "You're an amazing artist and an even more amazing human being."

Ashton leans back so he can look at you, there's a slight blush to his cheeks. You frame his cheeks in your hand smiling up at him and you press your lips to his delicately.

"See? Beautiful art."

***

Taglist: @calumance @in-superbloom @calpalirwin @karajaynetoday @wiiildflowerrr @sunshineeeluke @littledrummeraussie @suchalonelysunflower @hoodhoran @Fobodob @thew0rldneedsmcreycghurt @sunshineeashton @ashtonsunflower @mymindwide @itjustkindahappenedreally @seanna313 @fivesecondsofonedirection24 @mulletcal @pandaxnienke

#poly!cashton #poly!cashton fluff #poly!cashton oneshot #cashton fluff

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wonwoonlight · 3 years

Text

📣: boyfriend!Jun // idol!au // am not sure what to tag this lol a little angsty i guess? // hurt and comfort? //1441 words

warning: reader fainted

A/N: thank you for the prompt anon!! i rarely write junhui bc ive only written him like...once so i hope this isnt to ooc of him😭 enjoy!

find the rest of requested drabble here

People around you have always said you can be too hardheaded for your own good. At times, it brings you good things because your determination to push for the title track of your group’s last comeback has turned into a very good decision to say the least. Now your group even gets to perform somewhere near the last half of an award show due to the success of that comeback.

Sometimes, though, it’s probably the bane of your existence. You’ve been feeling like you’re going to get sick since at least a week ago; the tell-tales your body is showing you says so. A lot of time you get a sudden wave of headache and a few days ago it hit so hard you couldn’t even stand on your own.

Junhui knows about this from your members. One of them has called him, telling him to stop you from pushing yourself too hard because even they can tell you’re nearly burnout. He has called you right away, nagging you with his lecturing tone on why you should rest now so you can perform your best later.

His words only last a day.

After that, you’re back to forcing yourself because the award show is two days away and you can’t afford anything less than perfect. A trip to the hospital with your manager to inject vitamins and such seems to be enough conviction for you to tell the company things should be okay until d-day, that you’ll rest after that. They’re sceptical, but you do seem a little better so they let you be.

[14:22] Junpiii: saw you on rehearsal earlier

[14:22] Junpiii: you sure you’ll be ok? The choreo seems harder than usual

[14:34] You: im fineeeee. Its gnna be cool and youll see why im pushing this performance

[14:34] You: ill rest immediately after this, dw

[14:35] You: gtg eat and do my makeup

[14:35] You: see youuuuuuuuuuuu

[14:40] Junpiii: be careful ok?

“I really think you shouldn’t perform,” your leader tells you in concern.

You look up from your phone, rolling your eyes. “Seriously, why are you and Jun always nagging at the same time? It’s literally hours away, I can’t back away now.”

“We’ve literally been telling you to slow down,” she crosses her arms. She remembers the way your body just gave up at that one-day rest Junhui has forced you to take: you slept for almost 15 hours straight, your body finally happy with the rest only to be forced back to work the next day.

You just shrug, there’s no need talking about this again when the stage is right in front of your eyes. Plus, you feel fine enough now, just a little lightheaded earlier but it’s nothing compared to the headache from the other day. That should mean you’re good to go, right?

Walking out of your waiting room to go to the restroom, Junhui catches you by the elbow as you’re passing by, having gone back from one of his idol friend’s room.

“Oh, hi!” you greet him happily, it’s actually been a few days since you get to see him this close. The end of the year has always been hectic for idols, having to prepare different stages back-to-back for year-end shows and music festivals. “You looking good as usual,” you nod approvingly at him, patting his broad shoulders.

“And you’re not,” he says bluntly, frowning at you. How is it possible to be able to tell you seem less lively even when you have makeup on?

“Geez, what a way to support your girlfriend, Jun,” you scoff, pretending to be upset. “I know you think I’m pretty.”

“I’m not saying you don’t look pretty,” he exhales a deep breath, his hand carefully moves your hair behind your shoulder. “I really don’t think you should perform today.”

You hold back a sigh, not wanting to upset Junhui. You understand these people are trying to look out for you, but it can be disheartening to hear it over and over again when you just need to wait for a few hours more and be done with it.

“I can’t disappoint my fans, Jun,” you settle. Fans are always a sensitive topic, and you know Junhui would understand where you’re coming from once you bring them up. “They’ve been waiting for this special performance; I can’t let them down over some headache.”

“You know it’s not just headache,” he tries to reason with you, there are some staffs moving around the corridor, a few idols bow to the both of you in greetings. “You know I’m not the type to say this easily.”

You gently grasp his hand, giving it a firm squeeze before letting go. “I’ll be okay.”

Junhui has never been this much uncomfortable during an award show.

It’s almost your group’s turn now and there’s just a bad feeling hanging around his chest. For once, Junhui hopes his guts are wrong and you’ll really be okay, that you’ll finish the stage like it’s a piece of cake and then you’ll sleep until tomorrow once you’re back in your dorm.

But of course, bad feelings always prove to be right.

So far, it has been okay. Your stage is amazing, even, much more powerful than what he’s seen during rehearsal. But Junhui can’t even enjoy the stage when his eyes are too busy following you, making sure everything is okay and you’re feeling well.

Your smile might seem like you’re the happiest person on earth, and maybe you are, Junhui understands what it feels like to stand on the stage and perform for the people who support you. But the way you subtly miss your cue, the way you wince once the camera is off you, and the way your legs wobble a little when staying still tell him otherwise.

There’s about a minute left now, and Junhui genuinely hopes it’ll pass soon so you can go off stage and sit down for a while. One minute more, he digs his nails to his palms. One minute more and it’ll be okay.

For a moment, it really seems like it’ll be okay. Junhui almost lets out a sigh of relief when the song comes to an end, his vision darkening because the lighting is turned off for dramatic effect.

Yet, the sound of his heartbeat can’t be louder to his ears as he sees you fall down just in time the camera switches from you to your maknae, your leader catching you by her arms as you limply stay still.

His members subtly throw him concerned glance, worried and confused. Junhui stays still, his body tense with worry and shock from what he’s just witnessed. Five minutes later, when Seungcheol tells him to go to the restroom, he doesn’t reject the offer.

“Oh, Jun,” your leader greets him as she sees him by the door. “She’s… she’s conscious but she’s still laying down.”

He just nods, following her in with his heartbeat still ringing through his ears.

“Hi,” you greet him weakly as he catches your eyes. There’s a staff holding a fan to your face, another one massaging your overworked legs. “I’m sorry?”

Junhui doesn’t even know what to say, he whispers a thanks when the staffs leave you both for privacy, taking the seat near your head. His hand moves to caress your head, he really wishes the situation is as easy as telling you he’s told you so and he can move on with a laugh. But it’s not. You’re laying weakly there and he has to go back in a moment.

“Did you get a bed rest notice?” he asks instead, his fingers softly waving through your hair.

“For a few days, yeah,” you tell him sheepishly. “It’s not as bad because I came to in a few minutes.”

“You know that doesn’t make it any better, right?” Junhui says again tiredly, holding your hand in his as he drops a careful kiss there.

“This won’t happen again, I promise,” you say first. You know Junhui’s worried sick and he’s trying to stay calm under this situation. You’re lucky this didn’t happen in your practice room, to be honest. You know Junhui would openly freak out if that had been the scenario.

There’s something unreadable in his eyes, but he eventually nods before he checks his watch again. Junhui leans forward to drop a soft kiss on your head, mumbling into your hair before making his way out right after.

“You better rest after this, I’m going to check with your members if it comes to it. Will tell you if I can drop by later.”

#jun scenarios #seventeen scenarios #jun angst #jun fluff #seventeen x reader #seventeen au #seventeen fic #seventeen oneshot #seventeen imagines #svt fic #svt jun #seventeen scenario #junhui scenarios #junhui fluff #junhui angst #wwreq #jun x reader #svt scenarios #jun oneshot

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barberzbunny · 3 years

Text

Lights. Camera. Action. - Prof. Barber x Reader

Word count: 3.7k (also on wattpad)

Warnings: Affairs/Infidelity, Massive Age-gap, Teacher/student relations, the Reader is a nymphet— and Charlie glamorizes the fuck out of it, Sexually explicit thoughts, Innocence Kink, Size difference, Filthy talk, Daddy Kink, Fingering, Sex in the photography darkroom, Heavy cheating kink, seriously, it's crazy, Homewrecker Kink (yes, It's a thing)

Mr. Barber's hands were splintered with a magic that only he possessed. Capable of eliciting the most pain— and applying the most pliantest of touches.

They were tasked with many things; writing in his signature, sloven cursive, slashing markings with the pen his hand dwarfed, gesturing ardently as he lectured.

But they were better at touching you.

Caressing you, inflicting an elating pain out of you, rousing bliss from the center that anchored you down.

Your thighs were his favorite to explore... winding up that supple, jiggly, stretch-marked flesh... kneading, venturing, slithering up the backs, sneaking under the flowy breadth of your skirt. The skirt that tested his craving for a curious, innocent little girl like yourself.

He loved a curious little kitten, so eager to pounce and gnaw and play....

His fingertips ghosting the curve of your ass, fondling gently, but with sinister intent. Nails embellishing tenderly into the flesh, as his teeth embark on a quest that involves exploring your throat, brushing, but never fully nipping.

Like that one evening on a picnic blanket somewhere, with the suns scorning summer rays and the breezes humidity— where that short, chastily white, bohemian dress clung onto your skin where the sweat harvested, accentuating your curves, glistening your features with perspiration.

Wind tousling your hair, billowing through those locks that his fingers skimmed and tangled through, roughly, because it always evoked a primal, stunned squeak from your mouth.

The wind would jostle with the flowing hem of your pure, docile, nearly transparent dress, and reveal just enough of your cotton baby pink panties that had that silky little bow he loved embedded into the top.

The way your sweat-slicken features were painted golden under the suns evening hue, as you straddled his lap and only slightly gyrated your hips, cupping his cheek, grinning that pearly, glowing smile at him as he only basked in your glory. Watching you with a stoic ripple of his brow and a faint curl of his lip.

"Mr. Barber," a boyish voice chides.

Charlie blinks profusely, bewildered. His nose skewers up, chest swelling with his deep breath, when dozens of pairs of concerned, inquisitive eyes gape back at him.

"Yes?" He appoints gruffly, clearing his throat. Scratching at the sweat beading on his brow.

The boy swallows nervously. "Uh, you... were just saying how we need to improve for... next weeks show." He states heedfully.

Charlie's throat bobs as he gulps, eyes flickering around the plethora of intrigued students— darting to you. Doing a thorough, calculated survey of your persona, that radiated prudence.

Your cheeks were famished red with timidity, smile feigning innocent, false purity. Short skirt riding tumultuously up your thick fucking thighs, that he would love to just be smothered by right now.

Your fingers twiddle, fidget with the fringe hem. Toying with the small, tethered strand that unroots from it. Your doe eyes blink back at him coyly.

"Yes," he felt as if the simple word punched through his lungs, hoarse and uncertain. He shakes his head vehemently, "Yes." He confirms assertively, gesturing towards the curious student with his ink pen. "You know how much I appreciate your compliance, and dedication to my class— but there is much altering on my and your behalves to be done before we premiere next Thursday."

Considering his meticulousness; it should've wounded him to mandate modifications at a time so close to curtain call, but it didn't. Maybe because something, or someone else, was torpedoing throughout his easily tantalized mind instead. That somebody gleamed at him with poisonous, candied eyes, making it hard to relish in the task at hand, as being the director of one of broadways most critically-acclaimed stage adaptations of Don Quixote.

His eyes flicker to the standard clock mounted to the wall— the tedious ticks taunting him with each, beating chime.

"I've wasted your time today," he apologizes haphazardly, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, pen still stuffed between two slender, thick fingers. "We'll be reconvening in the East auditorium this evening, as preparation for tomorrow's rehearsal. It's not mandatory— but if you ever want to see a stage with me behind those stage-lights ever again; I suggest you attend."

The clock strikes noon as he affirms his potently delivered speech. The bell rings boisterously, dismissing the cluster of students as they file out of the dome-constructed classroom giddily, yapping murmurs.

He eyes you as you flounder charily through the group, sandwiched between the congested crowd, your shoulders high-strung, binder embraced tightly to your chest. Scrambling out of the room in those tiny, polished black clogs you always paired with those chivalrously pastel skirts.

He saddles up his tawny, worn-leather bag, cramping it full of overflowing portfolios, scripting logs, and the canister of beefy-vegetable soup he prepared for himself yet refused to touch, slinging it over his broad shoulder once the class was cleansed of students.

He glanced around the lecture hall, glimpsing the pristine face of his watch, sloppily shoving up his sleeve with his index finger, narrowing his eyes to squint out the digits articulating on his watch. 12:02. Two more hours, and he could have his hands of expertise exploring your body.

That imperfectly-flawless body that belongs to him, belongs to the curves and crevices and callouses of his palms. Belongs to the breadth of his body that was a slab of pure formidability and muscle, triple the size of yours, brittle and brisk with natural goddess-like curvature.

The fantasies that vanquished his mind just moments before would shift to reality in just a couple more hours of leisure lectures and diligent planning for next weeks substantial events.

***

A neon, scarlet, beaming red illuminates your frame, tainting your skin with its scandalous sheen. The darkroom was secluded, a dominion for you, and you alone, as you horizontally dip one of your freshly curated photographs into the tank of polyvinyl fluid registered before you.

It was quaint— the distant clank of the air conditionings robust blast rattled the darkroom, that was small enough to encompass just a cranny of the campuses main Art colony.

It was your safe place.

The diabolical shading of the compact rooms blinding, cherry red lights was enough to submerge you in an essence of something purely pacifying, and yours to tranquilly bask in. The majority of the academy turned a blind eye to the entire photography region of your school, so the darkroom remained rather vacant and desolately lonely at times.

You hum a mellow tune, fingers coated in the creamy, transparent substance glossifying the photographs you snapped at your local German-villiage (with Mr. Barber by your side, big hand engulfing yours) only a couple days before.

Wispy baby-hairs scraggle into your face, shielding your eyes, as you work gently at the pictures you perfected. Allowing them to absorb the liquid, and the enhancing nutrients from the frivolous red LED's.

You were at peace, content just bathing in the artificial lights automatic warmth, singing off-key under your breath, swirling about the darkroom as you maneuvered from station to station; smothering the photographs in the liquid, swiveling around to clip them up to dry.

That was before the corridor screeched open, broadcasting the white, fluorescent lights from the classroom just outside the darkroom. You hiss, using your body to shield the progressing photographs as best as you can before they got exposed to the shift in brightness.

"Darling," Mr. Barber leers, voice low and mystifying, as if his tone was accommodating to the silence filtering the space. The corridor emits one final string of creaks as he cautiously latched it shut behind him.

"Mr. Barber." You whisper through the smile you start to suppress, shimmying away from him to check on the progress of your photos.

His hands clasp your hips, kneading pliantly, thumbs rolling tenderly into the dips. "Mm." He hums, a husky growl of appreciation, as his chest expands to swell into your back. The way his hulking figure towered over you was tactile; his shadow looming over you in the pool of red-tainted polyvinyl.

His wedding band chafes on the fabric of your plaited, demurring skirt, as his hands slither from the curves of your hips, up to your waist, brushing the breadth of your underboobs, then trailing back down.

His hands escape your frame, sliding beneath your underarms, bracing the edge of the scuffed-up counter. Barbing you in with his bulky arms. His colossal frame moves ethically to pin you, softly, into the counter. He slovenly kisses across your shoulder, pecking sweetly, purposely distracting you from your objective.

He suckles pliantly into the seam of your neck, groaning, teeth navigating your skin as you whimper at the graze of his teeth and subconsciously arch your back. Fingers now clammy, quivering, as you move to release them from the frigid liquid and hang them dry.

You stand on your tiptoes, to retrieve the previous batch of dried photos— Charlie's mouth follows your movements, lips delving into your neck, higher up, tongue flicking at that tender spot encompassing your earlobe. This elicits a primal squeak from you, as you wrack forward, hanging the freshly waxed photos up to dry with trembling digits.

You deliberately resume the cycle you had accustomed yourself to, starting a fifth batch. He huffs through his nostrils, as you quiver with each subtle movement, the air ghosting your pulse— creating a ripple of goosebumps that flake across your skin, a shudder surging up your arched spine.

He snickers, finger lazily brushing at a tendril of your hair, "Is my little girl happy to see me?" He murmurs gravely, a hint of amusement clinging to his dark tone.

You nod skittishly, stifling a whine, as his face lowers vehemently to your ear. He observes you from this angle, head stoically tilted, hands aimlessly peeling the drenched photographs out of your grasp.

"That was a silly question of me to ask, huh?" He croons, lips lowering to your jaw, passionately etching in a kiss on the brim. One hand abandons the counter to snake down your leg, cold wedding-ring indenting into your thigh as he gives it a pliable squeeze. "These legs are already shaking, and you haven't even looked at me yet."

At that, he whips you around, pivoting your body to face him. His hands plant back to the counter, his face hovering over yours, gaze captivating an intensity that made inclination stir and harvest in your core. He smirks, eyes penetrating through your lips.

He was doused in a devious red hue, every contour of his brooding face was blanketed in a neon-scarlet. Even the quirk of his plump lips as he smirks down at you dauntingly was painted a devilish red.

"You've been my distraction all day." He accuses sinisterly, jaw clenching, fingers ascending to level with your face. His wedding-ring ricochets the red glow, mimicking the wicked gleam in Charlie's eyes when the symbol of his infidelity reflects off of your enthralled pupils. "Now suck."

His long, stout, strong fingers wriggle in your face— without reluctance you dive for his ring and middle finger, taking them rigorously into your mouth. Your lips seal brashly around his knuckles, sucking, tongue swiping brazenly at the ring garnering his finger.

You ogle at him with wide, obliging, submissive eyes, staring him straight in the eye, as he guides his fingers through your lips.

Your tongue laps at the ring, ravenously flicking across it, easing it off of his finger leisurely. When it reaches his fingertip, you apply a final lick to the calloused pad of his finger, as his wedding ring loops around the tip of your tongue.

"Show me." He commands monotonously, sneering at you from the length of his long nose, pinching your jaw to quirk your mouth open. Your tongue shoots out to broadcast his ring, shimmering with saliva at the edge of your tongue. "Good. Now show me where it belongs."

Bewitchingly, your fingers wind up to your bottom lip, propping it open with the bare ring finger of your left hand. You tweak the ring with your tongue, using the drool that laps in the back of your throat to ease the ring down your finger, tunneling it all the way down to the ridge of your knuckle. It dangled, slick with spit, as it rests multiple sizes too large and wet around your ring finger.

"That's right." He purrs, corruptly satisfied, damp finger resting on your chin and tipping it upwards. His thumb untucks to caress your jaw bleakly. "That's a good girl..." the words rumble huskily from the depths of his chest.

You mewl, protruding into his touch that was like silk— coercing and soft— when a flicker of dull light emerged from the corner of the darkroom.

You squint your eyes to adjust to the salaciously red lighting, surveying the object that conveys a small, appending flash.

It was one of the Cameras that one of the photography students potentially misplaced or disregarded the idea of storing.

And it was recording.

He follows your bewildered gaze, a smirk instantly toying with his placated expression.

He uses his mouth to retrieve his ring back from your finger, tongue working skillfully, methodically, calmly to gather it. His hazel eyes boring through yours, deadpan, as he removes it from your finger and sucks it into his mouth. Placing it delicately back on his finger.

"Spread those legs." He orders, pointing with his saliva-slicken digits. He glances ominously at the camera, smirking. "We're gonna show my wife the way this pussy cums for me."

He scoops you off of the ground, settling your ass at the ledge of the counter, urging your legs open, spreading them for his own lecherous, greedy access. The proof of your libido was visible, even beneath the red glow, the puddle of your arousal seeping through those little cotton panties Charlie adored.

"Did you wear these for me, baby?" He husks sinisterly, caressing your wet folds through your panties, evoking a shaky whimper out of you. He fidgets with the tiny, sleek ribbon at the top of your dainty little panties, smirking. "You know how much Daddy loves these..."

"Y-yes," you admit bashfully, breathily. Nodding friskily to confirm.

His fingers twirl around the hem of your panties, securely looping them around his digits. Tediously, he pulls them down, unraveling your glistening pussy— to his gloriously smug eyes, and to the camera.

He situates them in the pocket of his crisp, suave blazer. "Show her how wet you get for me... a married man." He snarls, gripping both of your thighs, expanding them to broadcast the juices that leak from your core and drizzle shamefully upon the counter. "Let her know that nothing compares to this pretty little pussy. Let her know it belongs to me."

The tips of his ring and middle finger swirl at your entrance, teasing, easing in, and then out, lashing you with a leisure torment.

"You want me to fuck you with my fingers... hm." He coos, voice raspy and sweetly amatory, as he slides the tips in belligerently. "Tell Daddy what you want."

You clamor, bucking your hips up out of dire desperation for his touch, "I w-want you to fuck me with your f-fingers." The words squeal pathetically from your lips.

He hums gruffly, chest huffing. "What ever happened to please, daddy?" He feigns a pout, antagonizing you.

"Please, daddy!" You whine enthusiastically.

He rewards you by wisping his thumb over your needy clit, sheathing your entrance with two long, rough fingers.

You gasp, air forcefully smothering your lungs, nails clawing fraughtly at the counter as his fingers fill you to the hilt, wedding ring grating your slick walls.

He grunts, pounding his fingers into you, the squelch of his digits slamming into your dripping pussy reverberating around the room. Your moans hitch with the force of his ravenous pumps, one of your hands escaping the counter to fist his blazer raunchily.

His ring persistently catches on your folds, grazing your walls, that clench lewdly at the thought of the cold titanium being wedged into your cunt— his betrayal was the catalyst of your craving, that sent ripples of wreathing desire through every crevice of your being— for you know that despite these illicit affairs, and his disposition being owned by another woman; you were the downfall of his fidelity... and there was something empowering in revoking ones loyalty to another.

"That's right," he rasps, curling his fingers, plucking that tender spot that extorts a guttural, wanton moan out of you, your legs spasming vigorously. "My ring feels good, doesn't it. It feels good to know that even a married man would play with this tight little cunt."

The tub of polyvinyl-liquid rattles and splurges around, as you jiggle the table with the rocks of your hips, meeting the deep, ravenous thrusts of his fingers.

"Yes, fuck, yes." You groan croakily, nearly frothing at his words, fluttering eyes reeling to the back of your head— ascending to your peak, brinking on the edge of ecstasy.

He shreds his fingers from your blazing core; you choke on a cracked sob of defeat, jaw slacking as you mewl meekly. His digits glisten with your juices, as he takes them into his mouth, sucking them dry of your creamy slick.

"Now. Let's show her how well you take Daddy's big cock, hm?"

He lurches you off of the counter, briskly wreathing you off, hauling you to the opposite side of the room— slamming your face into the rigidity table, squished only a couple of feet away from the still-rolling camera. The little red light blinking haphazardly to indicate it was catching every moan, and cry, and whimper that crawls up your throat. Your eyes bore through the lens with a quiver of desperation.

His fingers thread through your hair, wrenching your head back, molding your back into a subsequent arch. Ass grinding back into the bulge that tints through the dress-pants he was cladding.

"You're not the only one who loves this..." he murmurs gravelly, "Do you feel what you do to me, little girl?"

He prods his bulge into your ass, stroking it against your wet cunt, his belt-buckle dragging across your tingling slit. You stifle a whine.

His free hand works methodically at his belt, flawlessly unclasping the buckle, tearing it off of his waist. He unzips his pants, and caresses your back with the leather, trailing all the way up to the back of your neck. You stiffen, when he loops the belt around your throat— cinching it in the back, clasping it, keeping it loose enough to not restrict your airflow.

He fists the end, giving you a sharp, aggressive jerk backwards. Your chin cranes automatically, a scraggly little moan fleeing your lips, hands planting to the cold surface of the random desk.

Every muscle in your body strains when his cock sheathes your cunt, stuffing you full with his dangerous length, easing in through the slick that coats your already clenching walls.

Both of you emit salacious, breathy groans, your features scrunching together in pure pleasure at the elating pain of his big cock expanding your walls, stretching to take every inch of his girth.

"Fuck," he hisses, pumping his hips into your ass savagely, cock plunging into your pussy, railing you into the table. "This pussy's so wet."

His tip nearly reached your cervix, dick thrusting ravenously, as if the whole objective was to plow you through the creaky desk.

"Oh my god, Charlie," you gurgle pleadingly, gasping, eyes rolling back, cheeks famished with your appending high, lips parted.

He prominently strokes your sweet spots with his cock, constantly hitting you in all the most rigorous places. The fap of his dick spearing through you resounds; loud, slushy, delicious.

"I-I'm gonna cum, Mr. Barber!" You squeal, voice hoarse and strained, as you harbor your breath in your lungs, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"Do it... show her how you cum for me baby, come on." He heaves, hand slithering down your front to spread your folds, fingers rubbing swiftly at your clit. "Cum on this cock."

The humidity surfacing around the compact space flushes your cheeks, whipping them with a ferocious heat, breaths wheezing out and moans hiccuping purely from your stomach. Your body convulses as you milk his cock, squeezing his dick, wringing out every last drop of his cum.

His chest slams into your back, hands pinning to the table around your frame, pants ricocheting into your ear. You were completely spent beneath him; drool tumbling from your lips, lapping your cheek to the desk. Mascara clumping all over your cheeks, smudged and streaked. Sweat greasing your forehead.

He slips out of you, tucking himself away quaintly, both of you recovering from your climaxes. He examines the indentations that the belt had embed into your neck, before securing the belt around your throat, leaving it gripping your pulse tightly.

"I want you to walk out of this room just... like... this..." he murmurs haphazardly, adjusting the belt on you, eyeing every disheveled part of you; from your dripping, bare, ransacked pussy, that the hem of your short skirt barely concealed, to your bunched up knee socks, to the leather that garners your throat.

His eyes flicker to the camera, and he smiles a wicked, pearly grin. "Come here, little one." He directs, hoisting you from the table, bending you over the crook of his elbow like you were a ragdoll easy to be mobilized. He flashes the camera your ass, spreading your cheeks, to showcase the creamy mess he had made of your pussy— still leaking his seed, drizzling it down your thighs.

He aids you in ascending fully to your feet, rubbing your arms in alleviation, helping you stand as your knees threaten to buckle. He strokes your chin with his thumb, smiling at you, radiating a riveting pride.

"I'll take care of all of this," his eyes rake over the pictures you were in the midst of soaking before he interrupted, "All you need to do is leave this room just like this... and let everyone know who you belong to."

#adam driver #charlie barber #charlie barber x reader #kylo ren smut #marriage story #daddy charlie

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lostcoves · 3 years

Text

ft. tendou satori x fem!reader

genre: fluff & a lil angst

wc & warnings: 3.1k | none

premise: tendou satori has a massive crush on you. could performing with you in beauty and the beast be his chance to finally get with you?

tendou satori loved you.

plain and simple, he loved you. he loved the way you walked, the way you talked, everything about you screamed beauty and grace. you laughed at his poor jokes and smiled whenever he smiled at you.

tendou didn’t understand why you were so kind to him.

you were a beauty while he was a beast.

an irony that would come forth during shiratorizawa academy’s annual charity fundraiser.

“hello i’m (l/n) (f/n) from the drama club!” you greeted tendou’s homeroom class one cloudy morning. tendou was in the middle of trying to balance a pencil on his finger when you began to speak about the annual charity fundraiser. apparently, the drama club was putting on a musical and needed more male participants.

“you should try out, tendou-san!” his classmate– a freckle faced boy by the name of kawasaki hitoshi– proposed to tendou. tendou paused from balancing his pencil and asked, “huhhhhh? how come?”

“cuz everyone knows about your massive crush on (l/n)-san,” kawasaki snickered. other boys joined in on the snickering and kawasaki exclaimed to you, “(l/n)-san! tendou-san will participate!”

your eyes brightened at the mention of tendou’s name, “really?!”

“well, i mean– oh thank you, tendou-san!” you cut him off with an embrace. tendou’s cheeks turned as red as his hair at your touch, you were so soft and squishy. you released tendou from the hug (much to his dismay) and handed him a flyer, “auditions are tomorrow! can’t wait to see you there!”

tendou watched as you scurried off to the next classroom before examining the flyer. it was in bright, obnoxious colors with the words ‘BEAUTY AND THE BEAST AUDITIONS’ in bold.

oh the irony.

─────────────────

“you’re trying out for a musical, tendou-senpai?!” goshiki yelled at tendou during lunch. tendou shot him a stare and signaled him to lower his voice. goshiki covered his mouth and nodded before resuming his eating.

ushijima, reon, and semi stared at tendou and the four didn’t speak, unsure of what to say to one another.

“will this interfere with volleyball practice?” ushijima asked.

“i don’t think so,” replied tendou before picking up a chunk of white rice, “the practices would be during school hours since it’s a charity event and what not.”

ushijima nodded, “good. you should do it then.”

tendou choked on his rice, “are you serious?”

semi nodded along in agreement, “i think so too. i mean, why not? now you’ll have an excuse to be around (l/n)-san without being a creep.”

tendou scoffed at semi’s commentary and fought the urge to give him the finger. reon chuckled at the exchanged and added his two cents, “i think it would be a great idea, as well. it would also look great on college applications from a community service and extracurriculars side of things.”

“not you too, reon..” tendou groaned, “i’m not–”

“hi, tendou-san!”

tendou nearly screamed and whipped his head around to see you standing behind him, smiling happily. tendou cleared his throat and attempted to be a cool guy, “heyyyyyy, (l/n)-san! what’s uppppp!”

“just wanted to say hi!” you answered, batting those gorgeous lashes of yours, “you’re still coming to auditions tomorrow, right?”

tendou looked back at his friends, all of which gave him double thumbs up.

“yeah, of course! wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

tendou just dug his own grave.

─────────────────

tendou nearly forgot how big shiratorizawa’s auditorium was. it felt daunting, as he stepped inside and made a beeline towards the stage. a group of students stood by the stage, practicing their lines and singing their songs.

“tendou-san! you made it!” tendou looked down and saw you approaching him. he swallowed his nerves and greeted you with a smile, “heyyyyy, (l/n)-san! how you doing today?”

“i’m doing great!” you answered, “are you ready for your audition?”

“yup!” tendou smiled, “but if you don’t mind me asking, (l/n)-san, who are you trying out for?”

“i’m going for belle!”

the lead? of course, you would get the lead. tendou remembered seeing you perform in the blossoming of kamiya etsuko where you played the titular character. you brought tears to the audience’s eyes with your amazing performance.

“oh that’s cool! i– er.. i’m going for the beast!”

damnit, tendou! were you trying to embarrass yourself?

your eyes sparkled like diamonds at tendou’s words, “really?!”

tendou masked his anxiety with a laugh, “haha! for sure!”

“i can’t wait to see you perform!” you gave tendou a high five, “break a leg!”

oh he would break a leg, all right. hopefully, in a literal fashion.

─────────────────

“tendou satori?” the director– an over zealous english teacher by the name of hasegawa ryuji– called tendou onto the stage. tendou felt like his legs were jelly, wobbling with each step he took. he gripped onto his sheet music tightly, as he made his way on stage.

“what song will you be singing for us today?” hasegawa-sensei grinned.

“i’ll be singing–” tendou scanned the crowd and found you among a group of girls. you locked eyes with him and mouthed, ‘break a leg! you got this!’ to him, “–if i can’t love her.”

not many people knew tendou’s secret but he took vocal lessons from the ripe age of five and until he entered high school. his parents forced him to go in an effort to improve his social skills and make him more approachable. while it didn’t improve his social skills, tendou gained a nice singing voice.

“you can begin at the start of the music.”

tendou took a deep breath.

do it for (y/n).

the music began to play.

and in my twisted face there's not the slightest trace of anything that even hints of kindness and from my tortured shape no comfort, no escape i see, but deep within is utter blindness

tendou’s voice was gentle yet powerful.

hopeless as my dream dies as the time flies love a lost illusion helpless unforgiven cold and driven to this sad conclusion

tendou pictured all those times people made fun of his looks. every person who laughed at him, every person who shunned him. he channeled that into his singing and thought of you, you with your kind nature and you with your warmth.

no beauty could move me no goodness improve me no power on earth, if i can't love her no passion could reach me no lesson could teach me how I could have loved her and make her love me too if i can't love her, then who?

who would love him? tendou was but a beast. hideous and unworthy.

long ago i should have seen all the things i could have been careless and unthinking, i moved onward

tendou looked out among the crowd and stared at you.

no pain could be deeper no life could be cheaper no point anymore, if i can't love her no spirit could win me no hope left within me hope i could have loved her and that she'd set me free hut it's not to be if i can't love her let the world be done with me

i could only wish you could love me, (y/n).

the music came to an end and a shush fell over the auditorium. tendou’s cheeks flushed a warm red, did he mess up?

applause suddenly exploded among the crowds. tears were in the eyes of hasegawa-sensei, “that was amazing, tendou-san! your voice was just perfect!”

“o- oh!” tendou cleared his throat, “thanks..”

he could only hope he was good enough to get the role.

─────────────────

“are you going to check the cast list?” ushijima asked a few days after the auditions. tendou saw people crowding outside hasegawa-sensei’s classroom, the bulletin board containing the cast list for beauty and the beast.

“i rather not,” the redhead grumbled.

“tendou-san!”

tendou perked up at the sound of his name. it was you, standing before him with that dazzling smile of yours.

“wanna check the cast list with me?” you offered to tendou.

how could he say no to you?

“sure thing!” he chuckled before approaching the cast list with you. the crowd parted like the red sea upon your arrival. tendou’s eyes started from the bottom of the list, thinking he got an ensemble role.

“hey tendou-san?”

“yes, (l/n)-san?”

“look up.”

tendou looked at the top of the cast list and choked when he read who got the role of the beast.

TENDOU SATORI – THE BEAST

his eyes darted up above it and tendou nearly fainted.

(L/N) (F/N) – BELLE

tendou was in for a whirlwind.

─────────────────

tendou paced outside the auditorium, unsure if he should head inside. today was the first of ten six hour rehearsals for the musical and tendou was panicking. should he face the music or cower in fear?

“tendou-san? are you okay?”

shit, it was you. tendou couldn’t let you see him like this. he plastered on a grin and turned around to greet you, “hiya (l/n)-chan! how you doing!”

“i’m fine–” you cut yourself short, “–oh, (l/n)-san? that’s a new one. i like it.”

tendou laughed nervously, adverting his gaze from you. damnit, why did you have such an effect on him?

“well, i’m heading to rehearsal so come along,” you grabbed him by the hand and dragged tendou into the auditorium. you were surprisingly strong for such a short person, or at least someone shorter than tendou.

the auditorium was jam-packed with students conversing excitedly about the show. tendou felt as if he was the only one not completely invested in the show. after all, he only auditioned for you.

“attention, cast members!” hasegawa-sensei called everyone’s attention. he then launched into some speech about rules and expectations, to which tendou toned out. all he could focus on was you.

rehearsal went by at an agonizingly slow pace. tendou managed to introduce himself to the rest of the cast, most of which knew him from the volleyball team. still unused to the environment, tendou stuck by your side like a lost puppy dog.

tendou remembered sprinting out of the auditorium the moment hasegawa-sensei dismissed everyone from rehearsal. he wasn’t sure how he was gonna balance schoolwork, volleyball, and the musical. but the one thing he did was it would be worth it to spend more time with you.

nighttime fell over shiratorizawa academy by the time tendou got out of volleyball practice. he dragged himself out of the gym, not even bothering to see his goodbyes to his teammates from how exhausted he was.

“tendou-san?” you approached the redhead outside the gym. tendou rubbed the guck out of his eyes and waved to you, “oh hey, (l/n)-san.”

“tired?” you offered tendou a sympathetic smile.

tendou nodded and let out a yawn, “very.”

“here,” you handed tendou some canned coffee, “this should help.”

“thanks,” he cracked it open and took a generous sip. tendou let out a satisfied sigh and smiled, “this is some good coffee.”

“glad you like it!” you returned tendou’s smile. tendou could feel his chest tightening at the sight, you were just.. beautiful. it wasn’t fair, you were too beautiful for this world.

“oh, by the way.. whatcha doing outside the gym?” tendou questioned to you.

your cheeks heated up, maybe from the cold air or maybe from embarrassment, “i– i just wanted to tell you that you did a great job at rehearsal today! that’s why..”

tendou’s chest tightened at the praise, “oh really? that means a lot, coming from you!”

“of course!” you brushed back a loose hair from your face, “and i wanted to extend an offer to you.”

“oh?” now tendou was intrigued.

“if you need any help with rehearsing our one on one scenes, i’m more than happy to help! like our kissing scene!”

tendou grinned, “alrighty! thanks, (l/n)-chan!”

wait, rewind.

kissing scene?

─────────────────

tendou paced about outside of the auditorium. rehearsals were half way through and tendou had yet to confront the fact that he had to kiss you in the show. he should have had read the script ahead of time; what did he get himself into now?

“tendou-san, are you alrighty? you look pale in the face,” hasegawa-sensei greeted tendou by the doors to the auditorium. tendou nearly puked on his shoes but put up his typical tendou satori charade, “oh hey, sensei! how– er.. how are you doing?”

“i’m fine. tendou, what’s wrong? you can be honest with me,” answered hasegawa-sensei with a frown. tendou broke character and confessed to his director, “i’m scared about the kissing scene.”

hasegawa-sensei patted tendou on the back, “oh, it’s more than fine to have some first time jitters! if it makes you feel better, it will be a stage kiss. you won’t actually be kissing (l/n)-san.”

tendou wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or disappointed.

“tendou-san? hasegawa-sensei?” speak of the devil– or in your case, the angel.

“morning, (l/n)-san! ready for rehearsal?” hasegawa-sensei turned his attention to you with a grin. you nodded and fist-pumped the air, “ready as i could ever be! we got this today! right, tendou-san?”

“yup!” he chirped in response, trying his hardest to conceal his fear.

did tendou really got this?

─────────────────

tendou laid on the auditorium’s dirty stage, eyes closed and pretending to be dead. this was the moment where he would be revived by true love’s kiss. he anxiously waited for you to pretend kiss him.

“please don’t leave me.. come back,” you stage-whispered your line, leaning in to “kiss” tendou on the forehead.

then the worst thing imaginable happened.

some dust from the stage floor got up into tendou’s nose and he jerked upwards in an attempt to sneeze. his lips collided with yours in a messy kiss, the two of you kissing one another with wide eyes.

tendou could only stare when you pulled away with wide eyes. he felt like vomiting, as the crowd in the auditorium fell silent. hasegawa-sensei broke the silence and exclaimed, “take five, people!”

tendou stormed out of the auditorium with you hot on his tail. he managed to find a quiet place to hide when you appeared, covering his face in shame. tendou looked back up at you and his voice croaked, “hey.. (l/n)-san..”

“what happened (l/n)-chan?” you asked.

“i don’t think i have the right to call you that after what happened,” grumbled tendou in embarrassment. you took a seat next to him and rested your head against his shoulder, “hey it’s okay! i know it was an accident! the stage floor is so dusty, it’s only natural for you to sneeze.”

“that was my first kiss.”

“what?” you blinked once, then twice. your face erupted in a fierce blush, “oh– oh my god! it was?! d– did i take your f– first kiss?!”

“hey, hey!” tendou gently gripped you by the shoulders in an effort to calm you now. you stared at him with an erratic look in your eyes, “i– i’m so sorry! you should have had your first kiss with someone special!”

but you’re someone special, (y/n)-chan.

“i’m glad it was you.”

“wh– what?” you stammered.

“i’m glad my first accidental kiss was with you, (y/n)-chan,” tendou replied.

your face flushed at his words, “n– now, i’m (y/n)-chan? god, y– you’re gonna be the death of me, tendou-san..”

“you can call me satori if you want,” tendou commented to you.

you smiled, “well.. okay, satori-kun. let’s head back to the auditorium.”

god, you were going to be the death of tendou satori.

and you two haven’t practiced the second kiss yet.

─────────────────

today was the day, opening night for shiratorizawa academy’s production of beauty and the beast. tendou was being held hostage by the makeup crew, as they applied his beast makeup. it itched, the fake fur itched against his skin.

“we need tendou on stage in five!” the stage manager called for him. tendou rose from the makeup chair and examined himself in the mirror. the makeup crew did a great job, he truly looked like a beast.

“ready to wow the crowd, satori-kun?” tendou turned around and found you standing in the doorway, dressed in belle’s village girl costume. god, you looked adorable.

“ready whenever you are,” tendou gave you a thumbs up. you returned the thumbs up with a smile and extended a hand to tendou, “let’s wow this crowd.”

tendou took your hand and squeezed it, “let’s wow this crowd.”

the musical progressed quite smoothly, tendou nailing every line of dialogue and music. the crowd was mesmerized by his singing voice and acting skills, as well as yours.

then it was time, time for the kisses.

tendou laid motionlessly on the ground, thankful that the tech crew dusted the floor beforehand. no more accidental kisses! you approached his still body with heartbreak in your eyes, “please don’t leave me.. come back.”

tendou felt your sweet lips against his forehead, his eyes opening wide and the music playing to play. he “transformed” before the crowd, morphing from a hideous beast into a handsome prince.

tendou stood before you, dressed in his princely garments and smiling bright, “belle,” he greeted you breathlessly.

nerves overtook tendou’s mind, as the second kiss– the kiss on the lips– quickly approached. he took a step forward and covered both of your lips with his hands, just as hasegawa-sensei taught him.

then something unexpected happened.

you pressed your lips against his, a full blown kiss. tendou remained still as possible, unsure what to do. you– his crush– were kissing him. you were kissing him, tendou satori of all people.

fuck it, he thought to himself and allowed himself to get lost in the kiss. the curtains closed on the two of you kissing. tendou didn’t pull away, too into the kiss to realize what was happening.

“wow,” tendou whispered when the kiss was broken. you touched your forehead to tendou’s and giggled, “that was great, satori-kun.”

“that almost felt.. real,” he sighed with a smile.

“that’s because it was,” you answered, “i like you, tendou satori.”

everything came to a standstill the moment those words came out of your mouth. you liked him? you liked tendou? for real? you weren’t kidding? you actually liked him for him?

“i like you, (l/n) (f/n),” tendou finally responded after a moment. you broke out into a grin and kissed him again, the two of you unaware that the curtains were rising. a shush fell over the crowd at the sight. you two didn’t realize that your mics were on for the long exchange.

“go tendou! go (l/n)!”

the silence broke. the crowd erupted in cheers, essentially derailing the show. you and tendou looked out onto the crowd sheepishly, both of you holding one another’s hands.

the beast got with the beauty.

tendou couldn’t have asked for a better ending.

#bee scribbles #haikyuu!!#hq!!#haikyuu!! x reader #hq!! x reader #shiratorizawa x reader #tendou #tendou satori #tendou x reader #tendou satori x reader #original work #hanimehub

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morning-might-arrive · 3 years

Text

Here’s the continuation of my last post. Thank you so much to everyone who liked and reblogged! This is becoming a lot longer than I thought, so there will be another part soon. Feedback is appreciated!

A series of misunderstandings involving a limousine and Spectra’s blog lead Jackson to the realization that he has way more friends than he thought.

Wednesday

Jackson sighed as he silenced his blaring alarm clock. 7:00 am. As he walked to the bathroom to get ready, he was suddenly struck by a memory.

“It’s nothing personal, normie. You just look like such a freak.” Manny told him as he shoved him off of the lunch table. Jackson looked towards the other mansters, but they said nothing. So they all agreed. Even Clawd.

He cringed. He’d had to eat lunch in a bathroom stall that day. He looked at his reflection, desperately wishing he could change it. He sighed and got dressed. He had to leave early since he now had no car and his parents weren't home. He plugged his headphones into his phone. Holt had gotten them into this situation, only fitting that he deal with it.

Holt Hyde cursed under his breath as he walked to school. Although the weather was warming, mornings in March were still frigid. He sighed in relief as he approached Monster High.

“Heya there, sweetpea,” Operetta drawled in greeting as Holt waltzed through the front doors of the school.

“What’s good, Oppy?” Holt responded, his usual loud and energetic self even at the early hour.

“Just peachy keen like always, hun. Say, you seen the Ghostly Gossip lately?” She asked.

“Nah, we usually stay away from that garbage ever since that story about us and Frankie. Humiliated the poor ghoul and almost tanked our relationship. It really ain’t cool what they're doin’.” He replied nonchalantly.

“Oh. Okay. Well sugar, you know you can tell me anythang you wanna, right?” She continued.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks Oppy.” That was kinda weird for the rough and tumble ghoul to say, but honestly Holt was just glad their botched attempt at dating didn’t mess up their friendship. Oppy was a cool ghoul.

“What’s the word, cool cats?” Came a new voice.

“Johnny!”

“Johnny.”

Johnny spirit sauntered casually down the main corridor of Monster High, and students jumped out of his way as if he had the plague. He put his arm around Operetta’s shoulder. “Hey, babe.”

Holt snorted. “I’ll never get why everyone lets you float around like you own the place.”

Johnny shrugged. “Guess they don’t have a choice. Besides, I never see you doing anything about it,” he replied with a bit of challenge in his tone. Holt rolled his eyes.

“You know you don’t scare us, Spirit. Anyway, it seems like Oppy’s got you on a leash without our help.”

Johnny bristled at that “Y’know Hyde, I’m gettin’ real sick of-”

“Why don’t we scamper on down to the catacombs and finish that new song we been workin on, sugarpie?” Operetta cut in. She really didn’t want to deal with a fistfight this early.

The couple walked away and Holt made toward the auditorium. He found the symphony on stage setting up and dashed up to join them, plugging his guitar into its amp. Jennifire was nearby greasing the corks on her clarinet. He huffed and sat down next to her.

“Another run in with the phantom pianist?” She asked, not even looking up.

“That guy is such a jerk!”

She chuckled and shook her head. “You boys are so easily provoked; I may never understand it. My brothers were just the same. He has done not to insight your anger.”

Holt really hated to admit it, but she was right. Johnny really didn't scare Holt, and he knew a little better than to try that tough guy act on Jackson. Plus, it was kinda funny seeing guys like Heath and Manny faint when he walked past them.

“Your emotions run like wildfire, I am very impressed you came to terms so easily with your end.” She continued.

Wait. What. “My what now?”

“Of course, it must be so hard for you to talk about. I am sorry.” A tear fell from her eye and promptly turned to smoke upon hitting her face.

“Jen, are you okay?” Holt asked, facing her.

She smiled. “Yes, I will be okay. So kind of you to think of me.”

“Okay, Okay, enough chit chat. Places people!” The director yelled as he approached the stage. Well. That was weird. Holt took his place in the stool beside the amp and looked up as the director began counting them off.

After an awkward hour of rehearsal, they were dismissed to second period. Holt emerged out into the crowd of students in the hall. Jennifire was nowhere to be found, so he made his way toward the art room. His Spotify playlist suddenly changed to a song by Pierce the Veil. He pulled out his phone to skip it and saw he had a message from Jackson. He scoffed. If D-low had told him what was wrong, would he be asking? JJ could be so oblivious. Maybe it was just a normie thing.

He took his usual seat in front of his canvas and continued his painting for this week.

“Psst, Holt.” he heard a whisper. He turned and met the shiny magenta eyes of retired popstar Catty Noir. “We’re turning up at Cleo’s place on Saturday, you in?”

“Yeah totally- oh, nevermind. We can’t make it, we kinda got a...thing that day.”

“Oh,” she said, looking kind of taken aback. “It’s that soon?”

“What was that?”

“ I said I’ll see you soon!” she hastily corrected herself as she got up and turned in her painting, promptly leaving the art room. Man, everyone's acting off today. He touched up his work and quickly followed suit.

He basically had the rest of the period to himself, so he decided to riff on his guitar for a little bit. He couldn’t do it in the building anymore ever since that one time Headmistress Bloodgood caught him, so he moved to the front steps and set his bag beside him.

“Hey Holt!”

Holt turned towards the front of the school. “Frankie Fine-Stein! Where have you been hiding?” Her skin glowed a light mint green and her eyes sparked in the sun. Just as bootiful as ever. She sat on the step beside him.

“I was actually just in the library. I found this book about the original Jekyll and Hyde. It was way harsh; It said that Edward Hyde trampled a child in the streets of London, is that true?”

“Nuh-uh! Those stuffy normie’s didn’t like that grandpa’s were different so they dragged their reputation through the dirt!” Holt declared passionately. “Some of the people they charged him with killing didn’t even exist in the first place! Then they made Dr. Jekyll out to be a complete basket case and threw them both in jail! That is until they got bailed out by our great-great-grandma, Lucy.”

“Oh, man. I didn’t know any of that!” Frankie replied. She actually knew all about it, she had heard the exact same thing from Jackson before. They were both incredibly salty about the smear campaign launched against their great-great-grandparents that made their family flee to America in the first place, and you could hardly bring it up around them without a passionate rant. Frankie felt a little bad about bringing up something she knew was a sore subjet for them, but she had to make sure Spectra and the other ghouls didn’t get caught. It was for their own good, right?

Her phone buzzed in her lap and she glanced down. “Spectra got something, meet us back in the library.” Clawdeen. Frankie jumped up. “Sorry, Holt, I really gotta go.”

Holt watched her go in curiosity. He checked the time and quickly jumped up himself and dashed back inside the building. The only way to not be late now was to go through Section C, the so-called “vampires only” hallway. It really irked them when other monster’s used it, but he didn’t really care when it was either that or detention. As he made his way through he felt someone glaring at him, and met eyes with a large group of the former prep-school vampires. He braced himself, but instead of giving him grief like they usually did, they just let him pass. They were acting weird, but so was everyone else. Oh well, he didn’t really have time to think about it now.

Holt’s third period was Chemistry 2 with Mr. Hack. No thanks. Science was never his strong suit. Plus, there was seriously something off about this particular teacher. He just took a little too much pleasure in the cutting open of living things for Holt’s liking. He pulled out his phone.

“Keep an eye out. Today’s been weird, Bro.” He typed the message out and then disconnected his phone from his headphones. The world went dark.

Jackson blinked a few times. What was that ringing sound? “Oh, shOOT!” He bolted through the closest door- which just happened to be the right one- and took his seat as the bell finished ringing.

Mr. Hack passed out a hefty amount of worksheets to the class. “Okay class: no whispering, no talking, no looking around, no coughing or sneezing, no you can’t use the bathroom, and if I catch you on your cell phone the whole class gets detention. You have until the end of the class to complete the worksheets or it's a 0 for today.”

Everyone groaned. Good old Mr. Hack. Charming and likeable. Jackson tried to ignore the stares and whispers in his direction as he did his work. He knows he’s different, don’t they ever get tired of reminding him? Were they all paying more attention to him than usual, or was it just his imagination? He blazed through his work in about 20 minutes, it was just some simple thermodynamics equations. He looked up and noticed that Mr. Hack was asleep. Typical. Half the class were on their phones and the other half were talking amongst themselves. He pulled his phone out and saw Holt’s message.

Huh. Maybe it wasn’t just his imagination then, everyone was acting a little odd. Granted, every day at Monster High was pretty weird. Last week they had lost their school crest in a rollerblading contest and the school nearly toppled over, so maybe he could just ignore whatever this was.

The bell finally rang for lunch. He set his work on Mr. Hack’s desk as he jolted awake and practically ran from the room. He shot Clair a text

“Okay, transportation is set and decorations bought. Am I forgetting anything?”

“Measurements, goofy.” She responded almost instantly.

“Oh, right. I can get a tape measure from the woodshop teacher and get them during lunch.”

“Have you told the other monsters about Saturday?”

“No. I just don’t know how they’ll react, y’know?”

“Aren’t they always telling you about how you don’t belong? So why would they care?”

“Yeah you’re probably right. It’s just a difficult situation.”

“Yeah, I hear you. Let me know how it goes.”

Looking down at his phone, he didn’t notice Draculara until he bumped her as he passed.

“So sorry!” He exclaimed.

“It’s alright.” She reassured him as she walked away. She made her way to the library where her friends were already gathered around in a circle. Spectra floated in the center.

“What’s this all about?” Draculara asked.

“While Frankie had Holt distracted, Spectra looked in his locker.”

“Well what did she find?” Cleo demanded.

“Just this. It appears to be a receipt for some kind of car rental.”

Clawd glanced at his phone. “Heath says Jackson is in the boys locker room right now taking measurements of himself and writing them down.” He told the group.

“Then what Spectra said is true.” Fraknie finally admitted. The room fell into extended silence.

“Well we can at least show Jackson he means something to us.” Draculara spoke up.

“Yeah,” Frankie agreed, “we can do something nice for him and Holt.”

“What are we going to do? Hijack the gym and throw a huge party during lunch?” Cleo asked sardonically.

“You’re on a roll Cleo! It’ll be closed tomorrow, but we can do it Friday!” Clawdeen agreed.

Cleo smiled. Very well then. Friday would be a day for the monster history books.

#jackson jekyll #holt hyde #frankie #draculara #clawdeen #spectra vondergeist #operetta #johnny spirit #monster high #mh

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corruptedcaps · 3 years

Text

Penny Lame

This is a sequel to the absolute must read story from the fantastic Evie Hyde. Read it here first.

It had been a rough day for popular mean girl Paige. Her beautiful hair had been cut off without warning by Caz a girl in her class. It had been such a shock that poor Paige fainted right there in class. When she came to at home her parents explained what had happened and Paige broke down crying.

“Why would someone be so cruel to her?” She had sobbed. Her parents were worried about her. It was uncharacteristic for Paige to show such vulnerability. In fact her parents had always been somewhat scared of their cruel daughter. A daughter who held sway over her peers like a Queen bee. By the next morning she seemed like practically the opposite. She was now introverted, emotional and shy.

In fact Paige herself seemed to realize this about herself too and hated the person she once was. She quickly repressed everything that had made her such a feared bitch and purposefully started to forget everything she had once held so dear.

Fashion know how, makeup skills, sex appeal, manipulation techniques, all escaped her mind like waking from a dream. She even started going by her given name of Penny feeling it was more friendly, soft and non-threatening.

Her parents, fearing that is was only a matter of time before their mean daughter came back, seized this opportunity to send her to a different school, one that wouldn’t foster her cruel personality re-emerging. They sent her to Darkstar Finishing School for Young Women. Here she would learn proper manners and discipline. Without her bitchy attitude she would fall in line.

“Welcome to Darkstar Finishing School Penny, I hope your trip wasn’t too bad. I am the Principal here but please call me Chloe. You can leave you bag down here, you won’t be needing it until the end of the semester.” The kind Principal said when Penny arrived. As Paige she had always been standoffish with authority figures but she felt she could trust Chloe.

“But all my clothes are in there.” Penny said weakly protesting. In truth Penny only had slutty revealing clothes left and wasn’t feeling confident enough to wear them anymore.

“Here at Darkstar we provide a uniform for you to wear just like the other young women. When we all look the same, we all work the same and so we work together instead of against.” The Principal spoke as if rehearsed. It certainly was a change from Penny’s previous life where she was the top of the hierarchy.

“But what about my deodorant, lotion and shampoo?” Penny said suddenly realizing that maybe she would need somethings from her old life.

“Not to worry dear, again we provide everything so we all are equal here. Don’t worry you’ll love it here. I keep all your things safe right here in my quarters until the last class of the semester. Now you must be tired, let me show you to your room.” Chloe said leading Penny out.

Over the next few weeks Penny had to admit that she was enjoying the Darkstar life. It was kind of freeing to not have to worry about what to wear and then agonize over whether it was the right choice or not. She even made quick friends with some of the girls. They weren’t friends with her out of fear, they were friends with her because they liked her.

Even her teachers seemed nice and she felt engaged in class. She was actually learning instead of figuring out ways to blackmail her way to top grades.

However she had noticed she hadn’t seen the Principal since their first meeting. The other girls had told her that it was unusual not to see her roaming the halls each day. They told her that Chloe loved interacting with her students. Penny thought nothing more of it until during class one day she heard the unmistakable sound of high heels slowly approach.

It was highly unusual to hear that sound anywhere around campus as high heels were strictly forbidden but then again the woman that soon entered the room was a head to toe walking violation.

All the girls instantly knew it was their Principal but she had undergone a shocking transformation. She was wearing a tight black shirt that clung to her chest nearly exposing her now large breasts. Her incredibly thin waist was wrapped in an elegant black corset. Long black boots adorned her sleek legs giving the false impression she wasn’t showing as much skin as she actually was.

Her lips were set in a permanent sexy pout. Her previously short sensible brown hair was now blonde, long, thick and perfectly straight. She looked effortlessly hot and had an air of superior confidence she had previously lacked. Pairing this with the fact that the kindness seemed to have been drained from now her piercing eyes instilled fear in each of the girls sitting in the room. The 40 year old educator looked easily half her age.

Each step she took towards the front desk make loud almost deafening sounds. It helped that each girl in the room had become deathly silent, unable to believe what they were seeing.

“Hello losers. I know I have been absent for some time but that all changes today. However that is not the only change either. Starting effective immediately uniforms are now longer necessary. In fact they are banned. That is unless you can somehow make the atrocious outfit sexy. Secondly we will be introducing new classes into the curriculum. Fashion, Make-up application and Gold-digging classes will now become mandatory to make each and every one of you it into a hot a piece of ass worthy of my presence. Finally and most importantly I will be no longer addressed as Principal or Chloe. From now on I will only answer to Headmistress Claudia.” The Headmistress said with a smirk as she saw the looks on each of girls face.

“Class dismissed.” She said in a breathy tone causing all the girls to quickly pack up their things and file out unsure how to feel about the changes. Penny was the last to walk towards the door but was stopped by the Headmistress.

“Penny I would like to see you in my private quarters later tonight, we have something to discuss.” The Headmistress said in almost a whisper before smiling unnervingly at Penny and leaving her staring at her ass as she walked out. Something about all of this gave Penny such déjà vu.

She was nervous all day for what the Headmistress could have in store for her. She had seen that mischevious look before when she used to look vainly at her own reflection. It was a look that had an evil plan in mind.

Hours later sweaty palmed and heart racing she knocked on the Headmistress’ door. A sultry ‘come’ came from within and Penny opened the door.

The Headmistress was dressed in tight yoga clothes with her hair in a ponytail when she entered looking into an open suitcase. Penny’s suitcase to be exact. Despite her dressed down appearance she still looked stunning. She gestured Penny to sit.

Claudia stalked around to Penny and stood strangely close to the her. Penny could smell the perfume waft off her and felt a tinge of nostalgia. It reminded her of her own perfume she used to wear and she realized it probably was hers seeing as she had packed it in the suitcase that was wide open.

“When you first arrived here at Darkstar all those weeks ago you weren’t completely honest with me were you Penny?” Claudia finally said peering down at Penny.

“I was Headmistress, completely.” Penny said nervously unsure what this was about.

“Don’t lie to me girl! I know about your secret! After all how do you think I have become this sexy and powerful? But I want to be even hotter and bitchier and it’s running out so you are going to tell me where to get more.” Claudia said slowly reaching behind her back for something.

“I’m sorry Headmistress I really don’t know what you’re talking about.” Penny said really starting to fear the crazed look in Claudia’s face. The Headmistress grabbed her by her hair and took out a pair of scissors that she had been hiding from behind her back.

“Listen you pathetic worm I can make your life here at Darkstar a living hell or I can elevate you back to your Queen bee status so tell me how I can make more of the shampoo that I took from your bag. I want to be even hotter and meaner than I am now and you’re going to help me or I’ll cut what’s left of your hair off and grind it down into a paste that I can use instead.” Claudia said through gritted teeth.

Shampoo? Penny thought. She had forgot she even brought any but then again it wasn’t some store bought kind, it was a special homemade kind her rich Aunt had showed her how to make years ago. It always struck her as odd that her wealthy relative work resort to making her own shampoo but Penny forgave it as an excuse for her Aunt to spend time with her. At the time Penny was being bullied tremendously at school and her Aunt took pity on her. She had said it would make her feel better.

That’s when it clicked for Penny. The shampoo had transformed her into a bitch all those years ago. The more she used it the more of a bitch she had become. Caz cutting off her hair removed all her bitchiness in one fell swoop. She hadn’t used the shampoo since so she reverted back to her normal self.

Looking at the beautiful but unhinged Headmistress she knew she had to do what Caz had done to her if there were ever to be peace at Darkstar again.

“Oh the shampoo. Yes of course I can tell you how to make it but it’s rather complicated. Do you have a pen?” Penny said. Claudia eyed her suspiciously but let her go of her grasp and put the scissors on the table. The Headmistress turned around to find a pen and paper on her desk which was when Penny struck.

Grabbing hold of the scissors she quickly sliced through Claudia’s hair above the hair tie while holding the blonde locks in her other hand. Immediately Claudia turned and fire burned in her eyes.

“What have you done?! My beautiful hair! Give it back you brat!” Said the rapidly transforming Headmistress. Second by second she was reverting back to her older self.

Penny ran to the door closest to her which unfortunately happened to be the bathroom. She was trapped. She locked the door just before Claudia (quickly becoming Chloe) was about to burst through.

“You open this door at once you little slut and give me back my hair! I’m not going back to being a weak nobody again!” The Headmistress yelled pounding on the door.

Penny knew that she had to destroy the hair before the Headmistress got in but she also knew that when she eventually did get in that there would be hell to pay for her. She would certainly be punished and probably forced to give up shampoo recipe. She wasn’t strong enough to withstand the pressure that would be coming her way.

But Paige was.

Only as her old mean self would she be able to escape the predicament she was now in. She also had to admit that holding the long luxurious hair in her hands made her long for her previous bitchy self.

The longer she held the hair the more she remembered how good it felt to have such beautiful hair. The hair of a sexy alpha. The hair itself seemed to whisper to her to put it on, it wanted Penny as much as she was starting to want it too.

She wasn’t even sure anything would even happen but her hands seemed to be on autopilot as they brought the hair up to her head.

Immediately the hair strands came alive as they reached her own hair and gripped on tight to her short bob. The blonde strands recognized Penny’s hair as being once corrupted and found it easy to assimilate with her. They could feel the years of shampoo use in the roots and fed on the corruption.

She moaned as the Headmistress’ hair became one with her. Her mind was instantly flooded with the memories she had suppressed. She remembered her time stalking the halls of her high school instilling fear in all the pathetic losers like Sarah and Caz. Caz! That bitch will pay for taking away her power, for reducing her to less than a beta! She had kid herself into thinking she didn’t miss this thought but she suddenly couldn’t wait until she was back to her bitchy self.

However her body was aging up. No longer was she the young 18 year old Paige but now instead she was early 30’s with delicious evil knowledge flowing into her. Her own desires of being a bitchy bully we’re coming back but also new more recent thoughts from the Headmistress were infecting her mind. Instead of resist it she embraced it!

As a student she only had so much power but as Headmistress she would have control over the entire student body. A student body she could mould into a generation of evil bitches that she would command like an army. The whole idea was making her panties positively wet which was why she was glad when her clothes started to change from the boring uniform to a tight sequinned dress. It was just the perfect outfit for the now evil older woman.

As the perfect makeup settled on her face giving her a permanent stone cold look and her hair fused on the atomic level with the Headmistress’ her mind became clear of what she would do now that she was not only back but she was even badder than before.

She took one look at her resurrected form in the mirror and let a soft moan escape her lips. She couldn’t believe what a loser she had let herself become in the past few weeks when she could of been this big breasted bitch instead. Penny was gone once again and Paige reigned supreme. She had so much lost time to make up.

Swinging open the bathroom door she was confronted with the pathetic image of a crying Chloe now back to her old self.

“Do pick yourself up off the floor Chloe it’s unbecoming of a Deputy Headmistress.” Snarled Paige as she walked out of the bathroom over to her open suitcase.

“Deputy? B-but I’m...” Chloe started but was silenced by one look from Paige.

“Yes of course Headmistress Pen- I mean Headmistress Paige. I’m sorry, I’ll go clean myself up.” Chloe said picking herself up off the floor and heading for the door.

“Not so fast.” Paige said causing Chloe to stop in her tracks. The new Headmistress sauntered over to the Deputy loving how frightened and subservient she was. It had been so long since Paige had felt such bitchy power over a weakling that she wanted to ring out every drop but unfortunately she had a plan that needed to be put in motion.

“Here this will be enough for you to become a fraction of the hot slut you were in my absence. Do a good job and I may even bring you some more when I return.” Paige said handing the remnants of the shampoo bottle to a grateful Chloe. It made Paige disgusted seeing how desperate she was.

“Oh thank you so much Headmistress but where are you going?” Chole said while never taking her eyes off the shampoo.

“There is a personal matter I have to attend to my old school. Let’s call it a discipline problem that only I can fix.” Paige said with a smirk on her lips and revenge in her eyes. No one cuts off Paige and gets away with it.

#f2f #corruption #corrupted #corrupted hair #evie Hyde #evie sequel

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itsthestutterforme · 3 years

Text

A Lustful Mistake (Armie Hammer)

This is by far my favorite thing I've written. Armie Hammer is such an underrated actor and deserves more credit.

Y/N is a new actor that was casted in A Man from UNCLE and she was the love interest of Armie's character, Illya. While they were rehearsal for their sex scene in the movie, Armie his divorce and hos he fell in love with someone else. He just couldn't help himself.

Characters: Henry Cavill, Armie Hammer, Armie Hammer x reader, (heavy smut)

Today was the first day that I would meet everyone on the set of A Man From UNCLE. To be honest, I'm really nervous about this. This is the first high franchise movie that I was casted in. I didn't think I was going to be casted into this movie until my agent got the call. I walked into set and saw Henry Cavill, Alicia and Elizabeth all talking amongst themselves.

I hide behind a corner and peeked over at them. They all look so sophisticated and elegant like. I can't match their energy. I lean my back into the corner and close my eyes for a moment. "Are you okay?" A deep, voice grumbled. My eyes snapped open and I saw Armie Hammer towering over me. Oh God.

"Yes, I'm fine. I'm just nervous." "About what?" "Everything, it kind of makes me wonder why I was casted for this role when there are plenty of women that have more experience th-" "Hey, you're here because you busted your ass to be here. Don't let anyone tell you different." I peer straight up to look into his eyes.

"You're my love interest right?" he adds. "That is true," "Great, I look forward to working with you." he says. He holds out his hand and I shake his hand gently. "Come on, you can do better than that. Shake my hand like you're meant to be here." "You see, I would, but I wouldn't want to injure your hand with bursting strength."

He pulls away from me and chuckles lowly. "Now we're getting somewhere," "Armie, nice to see you!" Henry greets. "Uh, Y/N right? Armie's love interest." he adds. "Correct," "Nice to meet you," He offers his hand and I shake his hand firmly. "Ouch, you've got quite a grip there." Henry says. "Huh," Armie says.

I look up at him and the director says, "Okay, let's get this party started."

Two months later and we're halfway done the film and Armie and I have a sex scene coming up. He wanted to go over everything so things would seem natural on film. I was in the middle of making my chicken alfredo when I hear the doorbell chime. I put the alfredo on low before I head over to the door. I open it to see Armie.

"Hey," "Hi, how's it going?" He ducks his head a little so he can fit into the door. "I don't think I can ever get used to that. You want some alfredo?" "Yeah that sounds great,". Something seems off about him. "Is there something you want to talk about?" He looks down at the floor for a few moments before meeting my gaze. "We can practice the lines later on today if you want to talk about something else."

He sighs as he sits down on the couch. I sit down next to him and "I served my wife with divorce papers today," "Wow, I'm--I'm so sorry to hear that. How long have you guys been fighting?" "Years. I've just been so tired with everything." "I bet you have. But the pain goes away with time." "You sound like you've been through this before. Have you been married?" "No, I've just had enough friends that went through it."

"What was the reason that things aren't going well, if you don't mind me asking." "I fell out of love with her.'" "Well, there are a few things that I learned in my psych classes." "You took psych in college?" "What? I like messing with people's heads sometimes. But that's beside the point." "What I meant to say is, falling in and out of love is temporary. It lasts for a few years and then it dies. But committing to love, that lasts a lot longer." I add.

"Well what if I fell in love with someone else?" he asks, his deep, blue eyes searching my face for a reaction. "Honestly, I would say follow your heart. You don't want to look back at your life with regrets." "No regrets," he states. "No regrets," I repeat as I place a hand on his thigh comfortingly. I smile at him before standing up to check on my alfredo.

When I notice that the alfredo was ready, I turn off the stove and turn around to grab the stove when I see Armie standing behind me. "Jesus, Armie, you nearly gave me a heart attack." "Armie?" I say as he walks closer to me. I could feel the heat of the stove on my back but I was frozen in my spot. He holds the side of my neck and I close my eyes as I expect a kiss from him. Instead I feel his breath fanning against my lips.

I lean forwards to kiss him but he moves his face so his face is in my neck. "Don't tease me," I whisper. He chuckles deeply and when he moved his hand behind. I grab his arm so his hand didn't touch the stove. "Careful, it's hot." His ocean eyes narrow at me as he grabs me and sets me on the counter. My entire lower half jiggled as it hit the counter. He licks his lips and ran his hands on my thighs.

"I fucking love your thighs, baby girl." I gasp softly at the words baby girl. He pulls down my shorts and underwear in one swift motion. He squats down to kiss up my thighs gently. His warm lips burn against the tenderness of my thighs. "Please, Armie." My pussy throbs as touch neared it more and more. He pulls my ankles forward so I am on the edge of the counter.

Without warning he takes me into his mouth and started swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud. I hold the back of his head and grab at pieces of his hair. "Fuck, Armie, don't stop." He grabs the top of my ass to hold me in place as he moves his tongue side to side motions. He switches from side to side to up and down as he sucks at my clit harshly.

"Oh God!" I find myself rock my hips against his face, making his moan against me. He dips his tongue into my pussy and rolls it at just the right angle to make my legs shake. I let out a breath when I come down from my euphoria. Armie pulls away from me and holds the sides of my face as he kisses me. Wetness pools as I taste myself on his lips.

He wraps my legs around his waist and pulls away from my lips to ask, "Where's the bedroom?" "First door on the left." Our lips became locked and his hands slowly slide down to my grab my ass. When we get to the bed, he throws me down and kisses up legs again. "Get on top of me," "I want to savory you, princess." I grab one of his arms and wrap my legs around one of his legs. I twist my body so that I am on top and hold on to his neck.

"You do as I say when I say it. Got it?" "Fuck, you're so hot." he moans. I slam my lips on his and tug on his bottom lip. He whimpers and I pulled off his shirt. I gently kiss up his chest and suck on the sensitive skin of his collarbone. I reach into his boxers and take his semi hard length into my hands. I pump him slowly until his entire dick was hard.

I pull down his boxers and slowly sink on his member. I rest my hands on his chest and bounce on him. I move my hips in a j motion and my entire body jerked when I feel the tip of his dick brush up against a g-spot. His hands hold onto my hips to keep him inside of me. He rests himself on his knees and moves his hands so one hand is on my upper back. The other hand was on the back of my thighs.

He rocks into me, mercilessly hitting my g-spot and my feet hurt from curling my toes so hard. A whimpering moan leaves my mouth with every one of his thrusts. I feel his dick twitch and he pulls out to release himself into the bed sheets. I lean my head backwards as I come back from my high. He kisses the base of my neck warmly and he continued to hold me in his lap.

I rest my chin on his shoulder and he says, "That was fucking amazing,". I turned my head and ask, "Are you sure this is what you want?" "I have never been so sure about something in my entire life."

Three weeks later, I've been having some doubts about our relationship. I've seen videos about his relationship between him and his wife and it was so epic. I would hate to be in the way of that. I stare off into the distance of the Paris landscape in my silk robe as Armie comes back with take out food. The door opens and closes and I hear faint footsteps behind me.

I feel one of his arms wrap around my chest and another hand on my hip. "You look beautiful," he says before kissing the crook of my neck. "Armie, I.." I trail off. My heart sinks into my chest at the thought of losing him, but it was the right thing to do. "What's wrong, beautiful?" "My conscious," "What about your conscious?" "I think you should try to revive your marriage," "Excuse me?"

He pulls away from and I turned around to look into his eyes. "The relationship you have with your wife is beautiful and epic. Those kind of things don't just die like that." "Where is this coming from, Y/N?" "I was just think about things." "I take you on some romantic getaways and you're thinking about my marriage." "I'm thinking about your happiness," "You make me happy,"

"No I don't. I'm the mistress. I'm temporary, Armie." He holds the sides of my face and pulls me closer to him. "I never want to hear you call yourself a mistress again, do you understand me?" I hold onto his wrists and narrow my eyes. "I know that I am. You have commitment to your wife. You have two kids with her. The only thing keeping you with me is what's in between my legs."

"Damn it, Y/N!" I pull away from him and say, "You're only getting angry because you know I'm right!" He crossed his arms and clenched his jaw as he peered down at me. "So that's it? You want things to be over?" "If you lose something as amazing as her because of me, I would never forgive myself." "And what about losing you?"

I walk into the room to pack up my things. "Y/N, wait," "This is the best thing for everyone," I zip up the suitcase and put it on the floor. "Baby, come on," He puts a hand on my arm and my body is instantly put at ease. I put my hand over his and caress it with my thumb. This is going to be harder than I thought.

He turns me around and presses one kiss on my forehead and another kiss on my lips. I lay on the bed and he lays down with me. He rests his head on my chest as I run my fingers through his hair. "I love you too much to let you go," he grumbles.

It's been a month since I left Armie in France that one night. It's been a nightmare trying to avoid him and ignore his calls. The mere sound of his voice calms me down. I was just starting to get over him when I realized that we were both casted into the same movie. And to make matters worse, I was the love interest once again.

When I first saw him as I walked on set, I could feel my heart slamming against my chest. The minute he set eyes on me, I felt a burning sensation all over my body. I literally had to drink water and iced coffee the entire time on set. His deep, dark blue eyes calls out to my soul and it took everything in my not to give into it.

N"You ready?" Armie asks as he towers over me in his black Calvin Klein boxers. Today was the first and only sex scene in the movie. Thank God there was only one. I don't know what I would do with myself if there was more than one. I nod and pull off the silk robe to reveal my underwear and pasties that are on my nipples.

We both stand at the end of the bed with the bed sheet wrapped around our bodies. We wait for ready and action cue. "Ready, set, action," Armie pushes me on to the bed and climbs on top of me to kiss my neck. I open my neck to give him more access and hold the back of his head. "Wait, but my sisters, they're on the--" I trail off into a moan when I feel him suck on the skin where my neck and jawline meet.

"They can wait," he says as he reaches down to my thighs. He rubs my inner thigh so it appears that he's rubbing my vagina. I arch my back and grab the sheets of the bed. "N-no, they will kill me if they find out you're here." "Y/C/N, if you don't shut up, I will something in your mouth to keep you quiet." He presses a series of soft kisses on my lips and I hum into the kiss.

He rocks his body back and forth, I can feel his hard on rubbing against my inner thigh. The bed creaks with his thrusts and I reach into the bed sheets to move his hips so he was rubbing himself against my crotch. I gasp at the sensation and hold the back of his neck as I kissed him. He bit at my bottom lip and rolled his hips against me, making me whimper. I was just about to reach my peak and from the pounding throb of his dick, so was he.

"And cut! That was a great job guys. We're done for the day." Both of us were a hot and sweaty mess with our breaths fanning against our faces. There was a split second where Armie looked into my eyes and a flicked went off. I push on his chest and he stepped out of the bed and immediately put on his robe. He hands me my robe and I wrap it around my body.

"I think we should talk," he whispers as he walks beside me to my trailer. "No we don't," "Y/N," "We have an interview together in three days. We don't want to say or do anything to jeopardize that." "You just-" "I know what I did and I'm sorry that I did it." "I'm not. I.. I miss you, Y/N." "Don't, Armie, please." We look at each other for a few seconds before he says, "Fine."

He walks back to his trailer and I close the door to my trailer. I change into shorts and an oversized shirt. I pull my hair into a messy bun and put on my slides before walking out of my trailer.

Later that week, I had an interview with Armie in the Jimmy Fallon show. It started off good, there was common talk about the movie, but then Jimmy asked a question about the chemistry between me and Armie.

The fans wanted us to look into each other's eyes like we were in love with each other. And that was it for me. That was the final straw that sent me over the edge. I left that interview without saying a word to anyone else.

I hear the ding of my doorbell when I was in the middle of going over my lines. I spent most of the day sitting down because of the fresh thigh tattoo I had done later today. It hurt just to walk. I waddled over to the door to see Armie on the other side. I take a deep breath before opening the door. Without a word, Armie walks into my house. "Well come on in," I say.

"I told my wife about us." he says abruptly. "What?" "I told her that I have someone I care for that I met in the process of our divorce," "What did she say?" "Didn't say much, but at least she knows." "Please tell me you've missed me as much as I missed you." he adds as he caresses my cheek with his thumb. I rest my head on his chest and wrap my arms around his waist.

He held the back of my head and pulled me closer if that was even possible. "I did," I whisper into his chest.

#armie hammer imagine #armie hammer #armie hammer x reader #smut

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cali-holland · 4 years

Text

Forever and Ever, Ch. 1: The Proposal

Tom Holland X Osterfield!Reader, Wedding Series

With the help of Harrison and Charlotte, Tom picks out the perfect ring for you, and now the time’s come for the perfect proposal.

Warnings: sexual themes, swearing, a lil bit of blood/violence and kind of an abusive ex? (it’s a flashback though)

Word Count: 4100

Series Masterlist

Masterlist Tom Holland Masterlist

“We keep this love in a photograph

We made these memories for ourselves

Where our eyes are never closing

Hearts are never broken

And time's forever frozen still

So you can keep me inside the pocket of your ripped jeans

Holding me closer 'til our eyes meet

You won't ever be alone, wait for me to come home”

Photograph, Ed Sheeran

~~~

“How’s the online shopping coming?” Harrison asked, strolling into the living room when he knew you were away at work the next day. Tom let out a frustrated groan, throwing his head back on the couch.

“There’s too many choices! I don’t understand how there can be so many shapes.” Tom stated and Harrison sat beside him to look at the engagement ring website on Tom’s laptop.

“I believe they’re called cuts.” He laughed, looking over the categories and images. “God, you’re right. How are there so many options?”

“This makes no sense.” He sighed, “How do I know which one Y/N would like the most?”

“Might sound cheesy, but I think she’d say yes even if you gave her the shittiest ring.”

“Well, that’s helpful.” Tom rolled his eyes at his friend.

“Why not go in person tomorrow? Y/N will be at work anyway.” Harrison suggested, standing from the couch.

“I don’t really want paparazzi to find out, but I guess I have no choice.” He paused, “Do you think you could come with me?”

Harrison laughed, turning back to his friend. “You’re talking to the wrong sibling. I’ll call Charlotte and see if she can go with you.”

By the time you got home from work, Tom had cleared out his search history to make sure there was no evidence of his ring shopping. You had no clue anything was up, even when you saw that your younger sister texted him while you two got ready for bed that evening.

Spotting his phone light up on the bedside table just as you were about to get into bed, you asked, “Why did Charlotte text you?”

“Probably just asking if I’m back home. I think Harrison said something about your mum inviting me over for dinner this week.” He lied with a shrug as he climbed into bed on the opposite side. While his room (which was actually your room as well) was big, it still only had one night stand on your side of the bed. Any other night, Tom wouldn’t care about it, trusting you completely with his phone, but now he was worried you’d get curious and check Charlotte’s texts. It wasn’t that strange for Charlotte to text him when he got back into town, but he got lucky by remembering Harrison’s mention of family dinner plans, something he’s gotten accustomed to at the Osterfield household.

“Oh yeah, she did tell me that. Friday, right? I just assumed you’d be free.” You laughed, making yourself comfortable under the covers by snuggling into Tom’s warm embrace. “If you don’t want to-“

“No, of course I’d love to. Your family’s my family.” He reached up and knocked on the wall behind him, just for Harrison, whose bed was on the other side of the wall, to hit the wall back. “See?”

Through your fit of laughter, you managed to say, “God, he’s going to think we’re going at it.”

“Hm, well, why don’t we?” Tom winked at you, his trailing down your waist.

“As much as I missed you, I’ll pass. One of us actually went to work today.” You teased, nuzzling your face into his neck and pressing a chaste kiss to his sweet spot. “Besides, I’m still sore from last night.”

“That good, huh?” He smirked and you leaned up to kiss him.

“Watch it, Holland.” You joked, and he couldn’t help but think that one day you’d have that last name too. Tom pulled you closer to him, intertwining your left hand with his, as you laid down with your head on his chest. As you drifted off to sleep, he mindlessly traced over your ring finger, mind racing with what the perfect ring would look like right in that very spot.

The next day, you went away to work as usual, and Tom put on his most incognito outfit- dark hoodie, dark jeans, sunglasses (though it wasn’t actually too bright out), dark baseball cap. He was completely unrecognizable for the paparazzi.

“Why are you dressed like that?” Harrison asked as he and Tom got in the car because, while Harrison still felt that Charlotte was the better sibling to ask for help, he wanted to go as moral support for his best friend. You know, best man duties and all that. In his casual white t-shirt and jeans, he looked the exact opposite of Tom.

“I’m not having anyone recognize. Not today.” Tom insisted.

“Whatever you say.” He laughed.

The two of them met Charlotte at the ring shop, after they parked a little ways away (because Tom didn’t want his car to be parked right in front of the store- that’s too “obvious”, according to him). Charlotte, just as Harrison had, commented on his rather dull outfit, but yet again, he always wore black in some form. Despite their fashion remarks, Tom was glad to have your siblings with him, or rather his future in-laws, you just didn’t know that yet.

“What about this one?” Charlotte asked, pointing to yet another ring. She’d shown Tom nearly a dozen rings that she thought you’d like, meanwhile Tom was overwhelmed by the choices. They lost Harrison to the men’s section shortly after walking inside because he wanted more.

“I don’t know. This is all so much.” Tom sighed, looking at the pretty engagement ring in the glass case. It was delicate and beautiful, but he still didn’t know. He had been told that the ring will “speak” to him, that he’ll just know when he sees it. He wished it was as easy as knowing you were the one for him; all it took was one glance at you and he knew he wanted to be with you forever. You were his forever.

After what must have been the twentieth “what do you think of this one?” from Charlotte (which he did deeply appreciate her help), Tom was ready to give up hope on this store. Maybe this store didn’t have the perfect ring. Shoving his hands in his hoodie’s pocket, he scanned over the rings again, the shiny silver beginning to blur together.

“Check this out.” Harrison called to them from across the store.

“Haz, mate, I don’t want to look at one of your rings.” Tom answered, running a hand over his face.

“No, you div. I like this ring for Y/N.” He replied, and both Tom and Charlotte immediately came over to him. Sitting in front of Harrison, in the back corner of the case, was the most perfect ring Tom had ever seen. He was speechless, and he knew it was the one.

“Can we see that one please?” Charlotte asked the worker, reading Tom’s slacked jaw expression as one of pure amazement. The worker pulled out the ring from behind the glass, and Harrison and Charlotte both exchanged a look of ‘that’s it’ while Tom examined it.

“Yes. That’s the one.” Tom nodded, and the two siblings let out their bated breaths in relief. As Tom and the worker settled out the measurements and price, Harrison waited with his sister by the door.

“And now he just needs to propose.” Charlotte laughed.

“I bet he’s going to faint before he even gets the words out. Y/N will just have to piece it together.” Harrison joked.

“Do you know how he’s doing it?” She asked.

“Oh yeah, she’s so going to cry.” Harrison watched the cashier slide the pink ring box over to Tom, finalizing the deal, and he felt a wave of pride overcome him. His two favorite people in the world were getting married; he wasn’t sure if he’d make it through this without shedding a few happy tears himself.

~~~

Tom let out a sigh, taking a step back to examine his bedroom. From the Christmas lights strung around the room to the bed sheet hanging on the wall across from the projector, everything was perfect. There were even a few rose petals scattered on the floor. He ran a nervous hand through his hair, his other hand slipping into his pocket to fish out the little pink box. Opening the box, his heart started to beat impossibly faster. It had only been two days since he bought it, but he felt like he could stare at it forever, and, well, if you said yes, then he’d gladly stare at it forever.

“Y/N,” He mumbled under his breath, beginning to pace a little. Another deep breath escaped his lips as he continued quietly rehearsing, “Y/N Osterfield, will you marry me?”

“Yes.”

Tom had never jumped so high in his life, but he eased up immediately when he realized it was just Harrison in the doorway, arms crossed as he took in the new look to Tom’s room.

“So? How does it look?” Tom asked, closing the box and pocketing it once more. His hand remained in his pocket, thumbing over the object, like he was worried the box would vanish into thin air. He felt his hands start to shake a little at the unimpressed look on Harrison’s face.

“Like you’re going to be engaged by the end of the night.” He said encouragingly, unable to hide his happy smile any longer. “Now, come on, lover boy, she’ll be here any minute.”

“Do you think she’ll be able to tell? I want to surprise her.”

Harrison looked at the room again and then at his nervous friend, who was a little too nicely dressed for a casual movie night in; yet again maybe Harrison just wasn’t used to Tom wearing anything but sweats and a hoodie around the house. It seemed obvious, but maybe you would be too tired from a day at work to notice. Before he could reply, Harry shouted from downstairs.

“She’s here!”

Quickly, Tom and Harrison rushed out of the room, closing the door softly behind them. They went to the kitchen, where Harry and Tuwaine also stood, all four of them trying to act casual as they waited for you to come inside.

“Ed Sheeran? Are you sure?” Tuwaine asked, questioning Tom’s choice of music for the night.

“Yes. What’s wrong with Ed Sheeran?” Tom refuted.

“It’s a little unoriginal.” Harry added, and his brother narrowed his eyes at him.

“Unoriginal?”

“I brought dinner!” You announced, walking into the house. Tom sent his brother and friends a quick look of “don’t say anything” before he went to greet you at the door. His smile widened as he saw you, kicking off your shoes beside the shoe bin, balancing two bags of takeout.

“How was work?” Tom asked as he took the bags from you.

“Boring. Wish I could’ve been here with you.” You replied with a smile, your arms wrapping around his neck to bring him in for a kiss. His hands found your waist, the takeout bags hanging from his wrist, as you kissed him like you hadn’t seen him in weeks, not that he was complaining though because there was plenty of lost time to make up for.

Just as your tongue brushed over his lips, making him smile into the kiss, Harrison walked in the room, scoffing, “Get a room.”

“Don’t worry. We will.” You stated, not stepping out of Tom’s embrace as you looked at your brother. Harrison just rolled his eyes at you. You let go of Tom to make your way to the kitchen with both boys following behind you.

“Remember when you hated Tom?” Harrison teased, his normal playful smile on his face as he eyed you cuddled up to his best friend across the dinner table.

You rolled your eyes at his attempt at a joke, “Hate is an overstatement. Besides, I obviously got over that ruined dress a long time ago.”

“What happened to change that?” Tuwaine asked innocently. All eyes fell on you and Tom, and you remained uncharacteristically quiet, opting to drink some water instead of responding.

“Just time, I guess.” Tom shrugged, doing his best to save you from the topic.

While you did spend the first year of knowing Tom completely ignoring his attempts at being nice to you (which ranged from him offering to help you with groceries when you and Harrison still lived at home together to him greeting you when you walked in a room), your hostility seemed to change over night for the bystanders that were your siblings, his brothers, and your mutual friends.

It was sometime in the fall of 2014; Tom didn’t really remember the day exactly, or rather the night. He just remembered that he wasn’t in the mood to go clubbing with Harrison in some no-name London nightclub, but he went nonetheless. He soon lost his friend to some girl in the crowd, and Tom found himself perched on a barstool, nursing a beer. He checked his phone with a sigh; it’d been only half an hour since he walked through the door. He scanned the crowd in front of him, looking for any sign of Harrison, when his eyes caught sight of you.

Out on the dancefloor with a carefree smile on your face, you still managed to take his breath away. It had been over a year since the incident, and you hadn’t backed down from your grudge against him. Meanwhile, for Tom, he wanted to keep trying because, maybe one day, you’d tolerate him enough that he could actually talk to you. All he heard from your mutual friends (not Harrison because he’d never speak highly of you to another guy, especially one that he already knew was crushing on you, even if Tom refused to admit it) was that you were incredibly sweet and kind and funny and smart and basically everything Tom was looking for. Sighing again, he took another drink of his beer and returned to his previous task of seeking out Harrison.

When he still came up empty handed looking for his friend, Tom’s eyes managed to find their way back to you, but this time that same smile wasn’t on your face. No, you actually looked pissed off, an expression that Tom was very used to seeing. It was then that Tom spotted a seemingly very drunk Richard beside you, Richard from the party, Richard who had been your boyfriend for the past few months, Richard who Tom absolutely loathed. He hadn’t heard much about your relationship, except for the fact that Harrison thought Richard was a “conceited, manipulative asshole” who wasn’t good for you at all. Curiously, Tom watched you interact with him as you crossed your arms, saying something that made Richard roll his eyes at you and grab your elbow forcefully. As Richard dragged you out to a hallway of the club, Tom immediately shot up to follow you two.

“Let me go. I told you, Richard, we’re done.” You said, trying to get out of his painful grip.

“No, we’re done when I say we’re done.” He barked back. Tom took that as his cue to step in, standing a bit taller as he did so.

“Hey, leave her alone.” Tom interjected, and you looked at him, surprised by his appearance.

“Tom, what the hell are you doing here?” You asked. It was Tom’s turn to be surprised; you’d spoken to him, and you’d used his name- up until this moment, he thought you didn’t even know that.

“Pool boy?” Richard scoffed, and you and Tom simultaneously rolled your eyes, “Run along. This is between me and my girlfriend.”

“Sounds like she isn’t your girlfriend anymore.” He hardly got his taunting comment out before Richard let go of you just to punch Tom square in the nose. Tom stumbled backwards a little and regained his footing to punch him right back. Richard staggered in surprise by the force of the blow, and you took the opportunity to grab Tom’s hand and run from the hallway back into the crowded club. He didn’t protest as he followed you through the swarm of people, allowing you to take him out of the club.

“Why did you do that?” You said quietly, once the two of you were outside in the cold night air. You let go of his hand and didn’t even turn to look at him, opting to pace the sidewalk a little while he leaned against the wall, clutching his nose.

“He was harassing you.” Tom stated. When you heard the slight nasaliness to his voice, you turned to look at him and your eyes grew wide as you realized his nose was bleeding.

“Oh god,” You winced.

“Dick packs a punch.” He tried to laugh, but the humor was lost from his grimace in pain.

“Come on, my place is around the corner.” At your offer, Tom furrowed his eyebrows at you in confusion. Playfully, you added, “I can’t leave my knight in shining armor to bleed out on the side of the road.”

“I doubt I’d bleed out from this.” Tom mused, and the two of you began to walk back to your apartment.

A comfortable silence fell between the two of you until there was a particularly brisk gust of autumn wind, making you instinctively shiver. Your sleeveless dress did nothing to shield you from the chilly air, and Tom noticed. Ever so awkwardly, he started to try to shimmy out of his jacket, mindful of his bloody hand. You paused, looking over at him in confusion, “Are you trying to give me your jacket?”

“Shut up.” He mumbled, embarrassed but still trying to take off his jacket to offer it to you. Biting your lip to keep yourself from laughing at the humor of it all, you helped him.

“What is it with you and jackets?” You joked, slipping it on over your shoulders. Seeing as he was in a long sleeve shirt and jeans, and that your apartment was just ahead, you weren’t going to decline his offer.

“I don’t know.” Tom shrugged, laughing a little at the memory, “I’m just trying to be chivalrous.”

“Very chivalrous, indeed.” You nodded as a laugh escaped your lips.

“Maybe one day, I’ll get it right.”

Tom felt that maybe this lighthearted air between the two of you was a step in the right direction for the two of you, even if he was clutching his bloody nose the whole time. Back at your apartment, he propped himself up on the bathroom counter and you got a few rags together to clean him up. With his legs spread, you stood in between them, wiping the blood on his nose off with a wet rag.

“Thank you, by the way.” You mumbled, concentrated on your work.

“Anytime.” He answered, his eyes studying you closely, memorizing every detail of your face. This was the first, and hopefully not the last, time that you had been this close to him and, damn, did he enjoy it.

“Let’s not make this a regular thing.” You teased. “And can you, um, can you not tell Harrison? He tends to get overprotective.”

“Shit.” Tom groaned and you immediately stopped your actions, thinking you’d somehow managed to hurt him. “I forget Harrison.”

“At the club?” You asked, a small smile coming over your face, and he nodded sheepishly.

“He was off dancing with some girl.”

“So he forgot about you.” You joked, before seriously adding, “You should probably let him know you left, but-”

“I won’t tell him. This is our secret, I promise.”

And Tom still fully intended to keep that promise. Years down the road, Harrison still had no clue that your ex was the one who almost broke Tom’s nose, but it’s not like your brother remembered that night anyway. All he knew was that the very next day, when you came over for drinks with him and the boys, you and Tom spoke to each other. And, well, Harrison couldn’t help the small flicker of happiness that filled him to see his best friend and his twin sister getting along... finally.

“Yep, just time.” You nodded, sending Tom a small, grateful smile.

Dinner seemed to last forever for Tom; you just did not eat fast enough for him. He even started doing the dishes while you sat at the table and talked to Harry just to distract himself from the itching nerve to just drop down on one knee right in front of you. It didn’t help that Tom knew Harry, Harrison, and Tuwaine were all anxiously wanting you to leave; they didn’t want to contain the secret any longer either. After nearly an hour of self-restraint on his part, he finally suggested you change out of your work clothes.

“So what movie tonight?” You asked as you made your way down the hall with Tom.

“I was thinking we could do something a little different tonight.” He said, a small smile playing on his lips. You eyed him skeptically before turning to open the bedroom door. You felt yourself choke up at the scene before you. Taking in the roses and lights as well as the room’s overall new romantic atmosphere, you were speechless.

“C’mon.” Tom slid past you in the doorway, holding out a hand for you. When you took it, he led you all the way inside the room, closing the door behind you.

“You did all of this for me?” You breathed out in disbelief, still processing the dramatic transformation.

“Of course.”

As you sat down beside him at the foot of the bed, in the perfect position to view the projected image, Tom quickly got out his phone to play the slideshow. Hearing the familiar tune of Ed Sheeran’s “Photograph”, you smiled, snuggling into Tom’s side. You watched in admiration as various pictures floated across the screen.

The very, very ugly first picture of the two of you together at 17 (with Dick cropped out and Harrison’s face replaced with a heart emoji). One of the many pictures the two of you took together when you went to Paris for your three year anniversary a few months ago. Goofy selfies you’ve taken together that should never be seen by anyone else. One taken by Harrison when Monty and Tessa’s leashes got tangled, trapping you and Tom together, before you were even actually together. A photo of you two in the world’s worst matching Christmas sweaters two years ago because Tom thought it’d be funny (and it was). Another photograph taken straight from a gossip magazine of the two of you at the Far From Home premiere (it was your favorite picture from the red carpet but also you couldn’t find it without the watermark); immediately following that one was Tom helping you remove your make up after the after party, make up wipe in hand (you two weren’t 100% sober when that was taken).

All of them were pictures of the happiest, most memorable days in your life, all moments that happened with the love of your life. As the song came to its bridge, Tom shifted out of your embrace to stand up, his hand deep in his pocket. When he turned to face you, his face dropped, realizing you were very teary-eyed.

“Darling, no, you’re not supposed to cry.” Worry was flowing through him now. What if you didn’t want this? What if you said no?

“Tom, yes.” You nodded, biting your lip to refrain from full on crying.

“Yes?” He repeated, suddenly confused.

“Are you going to ask me to marry you or not?” You teased. With a laugh, Tom got down on one knee in front of you, pulling out the ring box and opening it to present you with the most beautiful ring you could’ve imagined.

“Y/N Osterfield, the first time we met, you called me a dumbass, and I still am, but now I’m your dumbass that doesn’t know how to write one of those cheesy proposal speeches. You’re my best friend and my soulmate, and you know me better than anyone else. There’s no one else that I’d rather spend forever with, so will you spend forever with me and marry me?” Tom asked, hands shaking a little due to the nerves. Smiling and nodding, you leaned in to kiss him, despite the awkward angle from you still being on the bed and him still kneeling.

“Yes, yes, yes.” You mumbled happily between kisses.

Laughing, Tom pulled away from you, “Don’t forget about the ring.” He took the ring out of the box and you held your left hand out to him for him to slide it onto your ring finger. You looked at the ring in awe for a moment.

“I love you, fiancé.” You said, eyes trailing for your ring to Tom.

“I love you, too, fiancée.” He replied and leaned in to kiss you. With his lips moving with yours, he brought himself up off the ground, blindly climbing onto the bed as you laid down on the blankets. Murmuring into your lips, Tom repeated his words happily, “My fiancée.”

~~~

Tag List: @viagracex @theamazingtomholland @Hellomoveonby @heyitsshrez @harrisonosterfieldhazmyheart @joyleenl @t-o-m-hollands @lonikje @sleepybesson @sunkisseddreamer @hollandsamor @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh @gorrillaglue23 @petersoftboyparker @musicalkeys @duskholland @biebsmylife95 @dummiesshort @perspectiveparker

Tom Holland Tag List: @quaksonhehe @tomkindholland

Series Tag List: @thefallenbibliophilequote @wassup-peoples @thevelvetseries @greatpizzascissorstaco @tomhollandsotherpinkytoe

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fanfic #tom holland series

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mlqcconfessions · 4 years

Note

So i think tumblr sent my ask before I could even tell you what’s on my mind. Lol. Oh well. Let me start over, heyyyy!! So big fan of your blog here. ☺️💙 Never fail to brighten my day. May I ask, how do you think it would be like if MC isn’t a producer but have a different job? (Like say, a medic or whatnot) How will she be able to interact with the guys (and possibly fall in love with them?)

Thanks for the request! Sorry this took so long to answer.

To make things interesting, I gave MC the boys’ occupations (minus Shaw, because he doesn’t have a clear job(?) yet). There may be slight spoilers regarding certain backstories. Also, MC will already be in a relationship with the guys.

Enjoy!

MLQC Headcanon - More Jobs than Barbie

Victor (MC as *police officer*)

Victor wasn’t always supportive of you joining the police force

He was concerned that you would be overworked by the other seniors in the station (but who would dare to, honestly)

But when he saw how passionate you were, he quickly changed his mind

He technically owns a part of the station? (as a part of a partnership with LFG)

Despite his extremely busy schedule as THE CEO of THE LFG, he always finds time to pack you lunch

He won’t hear any excuses as to why you had to settle for 3 choux buns today

“Victor, we were trailing a suspect!”

“If you faint on the job, it’s a bother to your co-workers” (he says while feeding you his homemade fried rice)

He was irritated one day when he noticed you came home without your lunch box

“Oh, Tony (bringing back the LEGEND) forgot his, so I shared mine with him”

“........did you now....”

You know that face too well

“Don’t worry! I made him promise to return it tomorrow” (Dummy, that’s not the issue here)

The next day, Victor didn’t leave a lunch box on the table like usual

Maybe it’s because Tony still has my lunch box?

You went to your shift without giving it much thought

Lunchtime came around, but you still didn’t have anything to eat

“MC? Here’s your lunch box” (you turned around to see Tony standing there with your box)

“Ah, thanks!”

“Uh...if you don’t have any plans, do you wanna go eat somewhere?”

“Yeah sure, I didn’t bring food anyways!”

“Who says you don’t have food?”

A chilling voice suddenly appears behind you

“Vi-Victor?” (Tony’s jaw drops in fear)

He’s holding a lunch box you’ve never seen before, stacked with 3 layers of cooking by Souvenir’s finest

He tosses your old lunch box back to Tony

“She won’t be needing this anymore”

Kiro (MC as *neurologist*)

Your work as a scientist was demanding, without a doubt

But it’s not as tiring as answering Kiro’s endless array of questions

“MC! What does this one do?” (Kiro, stop pressing those)

“Will this turn my hair purple?” (Kiro, that’s anesthesia)

“Look at this! My knee is going all bouncy!” (Kiro, put that reflex hammer down)

It’s like setting a kindergartener loose in a zoo

It’s not like you hated him being there when you worked

If anything, it was really adorable (especially when he looked at you so intently with those bright, shining sapphire eyes)

He has his own corner in your lab (he spent 5 days decorating it)

He bought a mini-fridge to hold the sweets, and a pantry for the chips

He doesn’t visit ALL the time, though (and it actually feels lonely without him)

When he has work, he would call beforehand (he says you can eat the cake on the top shelf of the fridge)

Kiro likes taking naps on the couch by your desk

It was originally meant for YOU to use (something about letting your brain rest along with your body)

But he’s the one sleeping in it (Savin has to drag him out when he has a schedule)

Because he’s not authorized to handle the materials in your lab, he just stands close to you while you work

But he INSISTS on wearing a lab coat like yours

“We’re matching, MC! Do I look like a scientist?”

One day he brought stole glasses from his stylist because he wanted to look smarter (gosh he’s precious)

He spends so much time at the center that all the other scientists keep expecting him

Some of them were fans of Kiro, and figured out the way to his heart was by feeding him food

Which was a lie, since the only person he opened his heart to was you

He just doesn’t turn down food

Lucien (MC as *CEO*)

He was always proud to call you his fiancée, especially when you’re running such a huge company as its CEO

Lucien’s job as a neurologist and researcher meant he wasn’t able to be with you for long (and same with you)

You became so lonely that you decided to invest in Lucien’s lab

“MC, are you sure you don’t want to discuss this with Anna and the others?”

“Yeah! I’m just happy I get to see you more often now!”

Lucien laughs softly (What am I going to do with this sunshine)

But that doesn’t mean you’re terrible at your job

If anything, your ability to run one of the biggest companies in Loveland is immeasurable

Before your father passed, he made sure to teach you everything there is to know about entrepreneurship

Thanks to him, and with the help of your trusted employees, you’ve never ran into major problems

You’re happy with your job, and satisfied that you can continue what your father did when he was alive

Plus, you get more time with Lucien

He sometimes visits your office to give reports on how the various projects the lab is working on (it gives you a boost every time)

“Wait, hold that pose!” *click

When he’s reporting, he always changes out of his usual lab coat and into a suit (because he is meeting his “Boss”, after all)

And you take OOTD pictures to save in your hard drive

He never says anything about it

In fact, he enjoys it as much as you do

He loves it even more when your face turns red after Minor walks in on your photoshoot session

“HA HA! Boss, have you been doing this every time Mr. Xu comes?”

You say nothing, and just bury your face on your desk

Lucien doesn’t say anything either, but the smile on his face marginally grows more sinister

Minor senses something is wrong and nearly drops the files he was holding

“We-well, have fun Boss!” (he dashes out the door in an instant)

You look up and see Lucien tidying your messy hair

“What’s wrong with Minor?” (didn’t he bring the files I need to sign?)

“(he tucks your hair behind your ears and smiles) Hmm.... who knows?”

Gavin (MC as *idol*)

He had heard from his sources (Minor) that you graduated Loveland University with a major in the performing arts

He knew you would pursue this field from the beginning

After all, he would listen in on your rehearsals for the plays in high school (he never told you, of course)

He was afraid that you might be uncomfortable if he was there, with all the rumors going around about him

That’s why he never attended any of your plays (he paid no mind to Minor’s constant begging)

Instead he liked sitting on the theater roof, happily drowning himself in your voice (the same voice that saved him that day, when he discovered his Evol)

The day you reunited with him was when you were filming a show outside

He had to do a double-take when he saw you surrounded by cameras and fans (Isn’t that guy getting a little TOO close??)

You actually spotted him too, but pretended not to (you were still caught over the scary rumors about the upperclassman)

But that was nearly a year ago

Now the two of you are in a relationship (something neither of you thought was possible)

He knew you weren’t allowed to date publicly because of scandals, but he still wanted to show off his beautiful “Ginkgo” (which is what your name is saved as on his phone)

The only other person who knows is Minor

He doesn’t go around blabbing about it, but he does tease Gavin any chance he gets

“Hey, Gavin. Guess what I have for you (he hands a limited issue of your exclusive magazine)? There was only 1 copy left, and I got it for you. Now you can go brag to your cop friends”

Gavin promptly yanks the magazine away from Minor, who has an unbelievable grin on his face

“Shut it”

He doesn’t give back the magazine, though

This was such an interesting prompt to write! Thanks to @aliaisreal for the amazing request!

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etoileholland · 4 years

Text

lead me to your door

@mayberosey asked: The Tom and reader are neighbors (apartment setting) and every time he passes by her apartment, she plays different types of genres. She would play classical to jazz to rock to indie and so on. Tom finds it endearing that she has such wide range of music taste, but one day it just stops. And it lasts for maybe a week or two. So he’s worried but doesn’t do anything. When he finally hears music playing, the sounds are more mellow and it doesn’t change for a few days. That’s when Tom decided to knock on her door...

Pairing: Tom x female reader

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: none

A/N: so I've been on a lil hiatus from writing but I finally finished this so I wanted to share it. Requests are open and I’m personally out of ideas, so please don’t hesitate to send something in. Although please don’t send in any requests about drama revolving around Tom’s girlfriend, I’ve already received a few and I won’t write those xx also the gif isn’t mine, all credit goes to its respective owner

“L, is for the way you look at me. ‘O’ is for the only one I see, ‘V’ is very very, extraordinary…”

Tom smiled to himself when he heard the faint music from the other side of the wall. It was 8am and his neighbour was already playing music. It was something that he had to grow accustomed to when he moved in about a month ago. At first it was a bit annoying to always hear some form of music from the apartment right next to his, but now, he welcomed it.

He was eating breakfast in the kitchen, and the music accompaniment was a nice way to start the day. He mouthed along to the familiar words, a smile erupted on his face as he enjoyed his scone.

Tom had grown to find there was a schedule with the music that he heard from next door. Since today was Monday, it was usually old jazz tunes, like Sinatra, Benny Goodman or Louis Armstrong. Tuesday’s were a mix of contemporary pop music, Wednesday’s were nothing but music from The Beatles, Thursday and Friday were dedicated to Harry Styles, Saturday’s was an array of songs and genres from the ‘60s to about the 80’s, and Sunday's were nothing but sad songs, the theme usually revolving around unrequited love.

He often wondered why there was such a distinct schedule, and why you only listened to sad songs on Sunday’s. It had become a bit of a game for him to try to figure out why, but so far he’s settled on the idea that maybe you had your heart broken on a Sunday, and therefore, dedicated sad songs to that day only.

On the weekdays, the music would stop around 10am, and would pick back up again around 6pm, and would cease around 9pm. It was rare to hear music past that point, which made him think that you went to bed extremely early. And on the weekends, the music would go from noon to midnight, which suggested you stayed up later.

He loved building a fantasy around the person he deduced based on your patterns and music choice, but the truth is that he had never met you. He had no idea who his neighbour was, and he didn’t want to knock on your door in case you were a creep or something.

He figured his neighbour was a female, since he often heard a light airy laugh from the other side of the wall, but it could be a man with a really high pitched laugh. Or you could be married, or old, but he had no idea, and frankly he had no intention of finding out.

Until one day, the music stopped.

It happened abruptly, he awoke one day on a Tuesday morning and realised that there wasn’t any music coming from your apartment. But he didn’t worry since he figured you were either sleeping in, or you had left early for work or something. He was gone the whole day at a rehearsal for the show he was in, so he didn’t think twice about the silence.

The next day, Wednesday around noon, he was hoping to hear the melodic voices of Lennon and McCartney from the other side of the wall, but once again it was silent. Usually at this point in the day, you had already finished the first two Beatles albums, and were quick to put on ‘A Hard Day’s Night’. He began to wonder if maybe you were out of town, but the nagging thought in the back of his head wondered if something bad had happened.

I’ll give it a few more days, and then if I still hear silence, I’ll check up on them, he thought to himself.

—

A week had gone past, and still radio silence. It was beginning to worry Tom, and he knew that he would have to go check on you, but every time he tried, he couldn’t.

He would head out to go to the gym, and would walk past your door, hesitating to see if he should knock. His hand would hover over the doorbell, but always stopped a centimetre away from pushing it.

Maybe they moved, or maybe something really bad happened, he thought, or maybe they’re out of town?

The thoughts swirled around his head, making him anxious and flustered until he decided that he shouldn’t bother you. And besides, how would he even start the conversation?

He backed away from your door, but then swiftly took a step forward and nearly knocked on the dark wood grained door.

What am I thinking? He thought, before beginning to pace the hallway while he thought of the best way to handle this. Don’t be dumb, there’s no good way to start a conversation with them. Would I really be stupid enough to say, “‘Hey, not to sound like a creep but I noticed I don’t hear you playing music anymore?’ or ‘hey, so I’ve never once spoken to you before but I can always hear you from my apartment and I find pleasure in knowing you’re alive but now I hear nothing and I’m assuming the worst?’” They’ll call the cops on me for sure.

He paced around in front of your door for about a minute, until walking back in the direction of his apartment, surrendering to his ever-so-increasingly intrusive thoughts.

—

Today had marked two weeks without hearing music from your apartment, and Tom had grown increasingly worried. If it’s still silent by this time tomorrow, I’ll confront my fear and knock on the door.

Miraculously, he didn’t need to knock on your door at all. When he awoke at 9am on a Tuesday, he almost didn’t hear the faint music playing from the room on the other side of his bedroom wall.

He pressed his ear to the wall and could hear a somber song playing. His eyes nearly welled up with tears when he realised that you were okay. But as the day went on, he grew worried. Tuesday’s were your ‘pop music’ days, but he only heard sad Taylor Swift songs.

Well that’s odd, they only play those on Sunday, he pondered.

The next four days were filled with heart wrenching ballads, somber piano music floating through the air. The nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach never went away, and he knew that he would have no choice but to knock on your door.

He figured the best way to go about it was to inquire about the music, and say that as a caring neighbour, he wanted to make sure all was well.

Standing in front of the mirror, wearing his favourite pair of jeans and t-shirt, he left his apartment and walked over to your front door.

You can do it Tom, just say you’re concerned about their health and well-being.

As he lifted his arm to knock on your door, you had just opened your door and were startled to see someone standing in front of your door.

“Holy shit!” You exclaimed as you closed your door, but Tom put his hand out to keep your door open.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t trying to startle you.” He exhaled, stepping back into the hallway.

“I figured, I’m sorry for that, I just wasn’t expecting anyone to be standing on the other side of my door.”

“Me either.” He breathed, holding an arm out and propping himself up against the wall. “Were you about to head out?”

“I was just going to go down to pick up a package from the front desk, but it can definitely wait.”

He nodded his head and unsuccessfully pushed a stray curl away from his face, it falling right back near his eye in a matter of seconds. You stood there admiring the man in front of you, making a mental note of the loose curl in front of his face, and his slightly awkward demeanour. He was handsome, and you found it cute how he was speechless.

“Well, do you mind telling me why you were just about to knock on my door?” You inquired while Tom let out a small laugh.

“Right.” He placed his hand on the back of his neck and took a deep breath in. “I don’t want to overstep, but I was wondering if everything was alright with you?”

He saw a distinct shift in your facial expressions, but he continued to ramble on. “It’s just that I can always hear you playing music from my apartment right next door, and I love hearing it, but I noticed that it stopped for about two weeks. And then when it started again, it was only sad songs and you only usually play those on Sunday’s. Oh gosh, now I sound like a creep for observing that and I promise I’m not, I just thought it was odd and I wanted to make sure you were alright.” He took a deep breath out and paused before saying, “I hope that wasn’t too weird.”

You laughed lightly, before saying, “I’ve experienced weirder. But thank you for checking up on me…” you trailed off, realising that you don’t actually know your neighbours name.

“I-I’m Tom.” He stated, and you told him your name as well.

“It’s nice to meet you Tom, and once again thank you. I just went through a hard patch in my life, and listening to sad music made me feel better, in a way. But it’s nice to know you care, so thank you again.” You smiled, and Tom smiled back.

“Right, well I probably should get going since I know I’ve already made the weirdest first impression,” you both laughed, “but I’m glad to know you’re alright. But if you’re not, my apartment is 2B so you’re more than welcome to come over.” He blushed, gaze fixed on the carpeted floor.

“It was a perfectly fine first impression, but if you don’t mind me asking, do you like my music choice?” You laughed, and Tom’s face broke out into a smile, brown eyes piercing through yours.

“I wasn’t expecting that question, but yes, absolutely. I’ve found a lot of good songs and artists because of you. I’ve been loving FINNEAS’ album, and ELO, so I can thank you for that.” He grinned, the crinkles by his eyes becoming prominent.

“You’re welcome.” You had your door open all the way now, and you could smell that your pizza in the oven was nearly ready.

“Mm, that smells good.” Tom commented, and you looked into your apartment to make sure the oven wasn’t on fire.

“It does, I made some pizza and I think it’s nearly done.”

“I think so as well.” He added, the both of you sharing a comfortable silence. “I’ll let you eat though, but I’m glad to know you’re alright.” He smiled and began to take a step back when you lightly grabbed his arm, surprising you both.

“Wait, would you want to come inside? I made enough pizza for at least two people, and I also have a bottle of wine if you’d want some.” You asked, hoping that your very attractive neighbour would say…

“Yes, I’d love that. Only if it’s okay with you, of course.”

“It is okay, I asked you.” You smiled, and Tom laughed nervously.

“Right.” He half smiled.

“Well, come on in.” You motioned for him to step in, “let’s eat and listen to some music, yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

————

mes anges (taglist): @scarletxwidow @sunflowerhollands @fangirlwithasweettooth @taciturnspidey @musicalkeys @harrysleftchelseaboot @quaksonhehe @halfblood-princess-505

#tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x female reader #tom holland blurb #tom holland imagine #tom holland imagines #tom holland and you #tom holland and reader #tom holland and y/n #tom holland fluff #tom holland one shot #tom holland one shots #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfics #tom holland #tom holland writing #mine #text

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psycho-slytherin · 4 years

Text

Strangers ch. 45

Your fun night with BTS is interrupted by some familiar faces.

Pairing: Idol!Yoongi x Actress!Reader

Word count: 2.8k

Genre: fluff, angst, idk

Warnings: Strong language, bit o’ trauma

|mlist|

<–– Prev Next ––>

You knock at the door, your heart hammering in your chest. You were extra careful getting here – the paparazzi can’t know you’re still going back to the group’s apartment after the ‘breakup.’

Hoseok opens the door and lets you in, his usually wide grin somewhat muted. “Y/n-ie! We’ve missed you!”

“I’ve missed you too, Hos-oof!” You half-laugh, half-wheeze when Jungkook comes barreling out of nowhere and crushes you in a bear hug. “Hey, Kookie!”

“Guys!” Jungkook calls elatedly, his long bangs falling in his eyes. “Y/n’s here!”

Taehyung, Namjoon, and Jimin join you in the hallway. Looking around, you notice someone’s missing.

“Where’s…” You blink, snapping your mouth shut. You won’t ask. You don’t care.

“Seokjin hyung is in the kitchen,” Jimin supplies helpfully.

“Ah, okay.” You check the time– 8:30. “Is dinner ready? Can I help?”

There’s a chorus of protests, with the boys insisting you settle in the living room. You’re about to race for Yoongi’s favorite chair, but – argh. Why would you, when he’s not there for you to annoy?

“I’m sorry. You don’t understand. I can’t.”

You snort. Hasn’t he always asked you to be honest? Hypocrite.

“Y/n-ie?” Hoseok sits next to you on the couch, speaking quietly enough that the others can’t hear him. “Do you want to take your coat off?”

“No, I’m–” cold. “Fine. I’m fine.”

“Look, Y/n…” Hoseok reaches out and places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry about Yoongi hyung.”

You muster up a smile. “It’s fine, dude. Like I said, it wasn’t real.”

“Nah, just because you weren’t really dating doesn’t mean it wasn’t real. I don’t know exactly who this new girl of his is – seriously, all of us woke up surprised, including PD-nim. But something’s up with hyung. He never comes out of his studio anymore and doesn’t say anything during rehearsals.”

You stay silent. You don’t want to talk about Yoongi.

“Anyways, I was wondering if you were okay? With… you know.” Hoseok gestures down at your left leg, and you flinch automatically.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Hyung told me about that night you got hurt by some sasaeng.” Hobi looks deep into your eyes, his brows knit together. “We all care about you, Y/n. You got hurt because of us, and that’s not okay. I know Yoongi hurt you too, but I hope you remember the rest of us are still your friends. And we’re all here if you need us.”

You smile, knowing it won’t reach your eyes. “Thanks, Hobi.”

Hoseok nods seriously before scooting back. “By the way, is that what you’re wearing?”

You look down at your jeans and sweater. “Yeah…?”

“Girl, didn’t I tell you we were going out tonight? Taehyung!”

Tae pops out from the kitchen. “Wassup?”

Hoseok waves at you and your outfit. “Fix our girl, please.”

Taehyung’s eyes alight. “Ooh, yes.”

“I- what- but I’m cold!” You protest as Taehyung drags you down the hall.

“We can accommodate that. Come on, Y/n, it’s been ages since I’ve styled anyone!”

But what if I get cold? Seoyeon could hurt me. Lisa could disappear. Next time it could be my head, not my leg. I could die. I can’t be cold. I can’t. I can’t.

“Y/n-ie?” You snap to attention, realizing Taehyung is staring at you with concern etched in his pretty eyes.

“I– yeah, sorry. Go ahead.”

Taehyung leads you into his and Namjoon’s room. You realize with a start you’ve never seen it. The walls are covered in posters, photos, and scribbled notes. Unsurprisingly, Taehyung’s closet is gigantic, and you see him rummage through it with intense focus.

“Okay, so. You’re cold all the time. No dresses, then? No shorts or skirts?”

You shiver, remembering the outfits you wore for the commercial with Wonho and for the lipstick photoshoot. “No, thanks.”

“Hm… We could try…” You hear Taehyung’s voice change. “It would be good publicity… I’d have to ask producer-nim.”

“What?”

“Ah,” Tae withdraws from the closet, his cheeks blooming red. “Well… the public isn’t supposed to know yet. But I’m, er…” He scratches his head sheepishly. “I’m releasing a fashion line. We created a lot of demo outfits to pitch investors. And there’s something I want you to wear.”

You muffle a laugh. “Tae! Really? That’s so cool!” For a moment, your worries are numbed in support of your friend. “Let me see!”

“I don’t know if it’ll fit you, but…” Taehyung pulls out a box printed with KTH in cursive font. “And, for some heat…” he hands you a cropped black fur coat. “Try them on.”

You take a deep breath as you walk into the hall bathroom, nervous to peel off your layers of warmth. You open the box, and- “Woah.”

As you reach to try on the outfit, your phone buzzes.

Wonho: Hey, the commercial aired! Was wondering if u wanted to do smth to celebrate? Hope you’re doing ok. W.

You quickly text back saying you have plans with friends and place your phone facedown on the counter.

Ten minutes later, you can’t help but stare at yourself in the mirror. You feel… “Y/n?” Taehyung knocks at the door, his voice nervous. “Does it fit?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Come out, let me see! I want-”

You unlock the door and step into the hall. Taehyung stops mid sentence, his jaw falling slack. “Holy… I don’t care what PD-nim says, you’re wearing this to the club tonight! Guys!” He pulls you into the living room. “Check her out!”

The other five members file in, Jin pulling off an apron. When he catches sight of you, he laughs in surprise. “Our Y/n-ie, all grown up!”

And you look grown up – Taehyung has dressed you in a black leather bodysuit to go perfectly with your black boots. It’s tight, but not suffocating, and most importantly, it’s warm. The long sleeves and legs feel protective. The only skin you’re showing is the adventurously deep neckline. The fur coat goes perfectly with the outfit, and you feel yourself standing up straighter as the guys express their admiration.

“Shut up,” you smile as Hoseok pretends to faint. “It’s Tae’s handiwork.”

“You look gorgeous, Y/n darling,” Jin hums. “Now, if the rest of you could start drooling over the soup instead of Y/n, that would be great.”

~~~

“D, remember how you said these fangirls have like, backup accounts? Shit under a different name?”

“Yeah, why?”

Yoongi chews on his fingernail. It’s a habit his managers always scolded him for when he was still a trainee. “What about Lisa? Does she have any?”

D clicks his tongue. It’s the first time Yoongi’s seen him in person for years, but he couldn’t be at the apartment knowing that Y/n would be there with the others. “Shit, man, maybe. I’ll find out.”

“Thanks.”

“Yo, did you see that commercial with your girl?”

Yoongi rubs his temples. Thinking about Y/n hurts. “No. What?”

“Nah, I’m asking cause she looks fire. She’s all over this guy. What are they even selling, right?” D slides over his laptop, Fierce’s new commercial already pulled up. It shows Yoongi’s old friend Wonho, shirtless, muscles bulging. When it cuts to a new scene, Yoongi nearly chokes. It’s Y/n as he’s never seen her; terrifyingly perfect and irresistibly seductive. He can’t tear his eyes away as she strides past Wonho. In the commercial, Wonho lifts the bottle of cologne and raises his eyebrows at Y/n, who stops with interest.

The next scene leaves something hot burning in Yoongi’s chest: Y/n sits on Wonho’s lap, pressed against his shirtless chest, and the camera zooms in on her mouth as she leans in to brush her red lips against Wonho’s cheek. Almost unconsciously, Yoongi clenches his fist, nails digging into his palm. It’s just a commercial, just a job. He wonders if guys like Wonho are Y/n’s type. Not like it matters anymore, Yoongi thinks. Fucking Lisa. Fucking Seoyeon. “Fuck!”

D jumps. “Gloss! What was that?”

“I forgot – Seoyeon. I’m late.”

“Who cares, man? She’s insane.”

“I care. She wants to go to a club, maybe she’ll tell me where Lisa is if her guard is down. Or give me the names of anyone else she’s working with.”

“Ooh, sneaky. Okay, I’ll be online all night if you wanna text. Let me know if you find out anything.”

“I will,” Yoongi replies, throwing on his suit jacket. “And D, keep an eye on my location. She’s dangerous. I’ll keep a bodyguard with me, but just in case…”

“I gotchu, man.

Yoongi takes a deep breath. His driver is waiting outside. Y/n is having dinner with the guys. And the image of her draped over Wonho is seared into his memory.

Back into the fray.

~~~

“I’m surprised we’re not driving in a van or something,” You say, peering around the limousine’s interior in awe.

“Some perks of being celebrities,” Namjoon says with a grin. The guys all look amazing, decked out in dressy but effortless outfits. Back in your ARMY days, you would have been swooning. Even now, their good looks are a welcome distraction.

“It’s been so long since we’ve gone out,” Jimin bounces excitedly. He’s wearing a purple silk shirt that flutters with the movement. “Since Yoongi-hyung started filming and doing his new mixtape, and with Tae-ssi’s clothing line, our schedule has been lenient.”

“Speaking of schedules…” Jungkook turns to you. “I heard yours is gonna be busier lately! You’ve signed with FYP, right?”

You smile, shoving down your guilt. You need to move on. “Yep, they said they’d email me the contract today.” Now that you think about it, it’s past ten. When are they going to send it to you? You’re sure you haven’t received any work-related emails since coming out of your meeting with Mr. Park.

“Ah, almost there!” Hoseok hands out glasses from a minibar. “Soju bombs, everyone!”

You swallow determinedly. You’re moving past Lisa; Yoongi can’t hurt you anymore; Seoyeon… well, she may have won. But that doesn’t mean I’ve lost.

You’re going clubbing with BTS, wearing an outfit designed by Kim Taehyung. Nothing can go wrong tonight. “Cheers!”

And together with the members, you gulp down your drink as the limo slows to a stop in front of Club Xyon.

Immediately, you’re ushered by stoic men and women in black suits to the front of a line of people who look more famous than you can ever imagine. “Oh my gosh,” you hiss to Hoseok, “I think I recognize her from that movie! And why are we skipping the line?”

Hoseok laughs. “Y/n, I know to you we’re just friends, but to everyone else, we are global superstars.”

You swallow. Right. In a place like this… “Should I be seen with you guys?”

“C’mon, we pay good money for security to keep paparazzi away from this place. You’re safe.”

The seven of you file in: music is blaring, people are dancing, and you’re absolutely starstruck. You’re quickly led to a private room stocked with alcohol. Jimin, Jungkook and Hoseok stay on their feet while Seokjin and Namjoon rush for the liquor. Taehyung sprawls on the luxurious couch.

“We’re gonna go dancing. Y/n, wanna come?”

You nod, blinking through the sensory overload. So much is going on, so much to think about.

“Wait, wait.” Namjoon pours you a shot. “To Y/n, well and truly on her way to stardom!”

You laugh, accepting the shot. Thank goodness for your friends, thank goodness you didn’t lose them as well as Yoongi. The liquor burns your throat, and you relish in the feeling.

“Come on, Y/n-ie!” Hoseok tugs on your hand. You toss your coat onto the couch next to Taehyung and follow the dancers out, listening to their excited chatter. The dance floor is big, and multicolored lights flash everywhere. You swear you’ve seen the DJ featured in some magazine. Every person in Club Xyon is almost inhumanely beautiful, and you suddenly feel a nervous shiver making its way down your back. Almost as if they can sense it, the three men flank you.

“Hey, you belong here as much as anyone, okay?” Hoseok whispers.

You look down at the bodysuit, and think of how much power you felt when you tried it on. “Yeah. Let’s dance.”

Jungkook whoops, and Jimin bounces on his heels. Hoseok merely winks and leads you into the mass of flawless bodies; so many of them have clearly been trained in dance, moving with such fluidity that you do endless double takes.

“Exactly what you need, I think,” Hoseok murmurs into your ear as you begin to move to the music.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you shoot back playfully.

Jimin and Jungkook appear to be having a dance battle. Their fame and the intensity of their movement has created a hubbub among the stars present, and they form a circle around the two. The crowd’s movement jostles you, and you lose track of Hoseok.

“Hobi! Hob- ah, sorry!” You say quickly, having bumped into someone as you’re pushed to the edge of the dance floor. “My b- wait, Wonho?”

Wonho grins. “I thought it was you! Funny, I texted earlier because I wanted to invite you here. Who beat me to it?”

“I’m here with BTS,” you reply. Then, seeing Wonho’s confusion, you correct yourself. “Some of the members of BTS. As friends.”

“I see. I’m sorry about Yoongi, I didn’t know he had it in him to act like that.”

You clench your jaw. You don’t know the half of it. “It’s in the past.”

“Well, if you don’t have plans for the next song, want to dance?”

“Sure.” Wonho is cute, and he was kind to you when you worked together. The black mesh shirt he’s wearing certainly helps.

“Did you see the commercial?” He yells over the heavy bass as you dance. Over his shoulder, you see Taehyung talking to the DJ.

“No, I’ve been busy,” You shout in reply.

“My agent sent it to me. It turned out well – you looked great!”

Your cheeks flush. Wonho is one of those men who just looks physically perfect, and muscles like his don’t usually come with such a thoughtful demeanor. To receive praise from someone like him gives your ego a boost. “Thanks, I’m sure you did too.”

The song ends, but you still find yourself full of adrenaline. Wonho is an amazing dancer, and you’re finally beginning to relax.

“I’m gonna get a drink, want anything?” Wonho shouts as another song comes on. With their popularity, you’re surprised you haven’t heard any BTS songs yet.

“I’ll come with you.” You do want something to drink, but you know better than to let someone you barely know bring you something. Wonho nods and leads you to the sleek bar, staffed by skilled mixologists – they add bottle tricks to every order.

“Whiskey, please,” Wonho says when a mixologist turns to him. “And whatever she wants.”

You raise a brow. “You don’t have to pay.”

“C’mon, let me be nice!”

You laugh. “Fine. A raspberry cosmopolitan.” You keep your eye on the mixologist as they make your drink. “Thanks, Wonho.”

“Hey, I’m just glad I got to run into you. You were definitely one of the more human actresses I’ve worked with.”

“How so?”

Wonho shrugs. “You guys pretend to be other people for a living. It’s nice to meet someone who feels so genuine.”

You nearly choke on the drink the mixologist has just handed to you. “Oh my god,” you say, shaking with laughter. “That’s… thanks, man.”

“What’s so funny?”

“Nah, just – first time in a while I’ve been called genuine.” It’s a nice change.

“I can’t believe that. You seem really cool, Y/n–?” You’re taking a long draw of your drink, so all you hear is his voice suddenly changing your name into a question. When you lower your glass, you see him staring in surprise behind you. “What are you doing here?”

“The same thing as you, Lee.” His voice is hard and cool, so uncharacteristic that it takes you a sentence to register. When you do, you swing around, almost unconsciously backing closer to Wonho. “Y-Yoongi?”

“Oh my gosh, look who it is!” Your blood suddenly turns to ice and you grip Wonho’s sleeve like a lifeline. No. No. No.

“Y/n, sweetie!” Kang Seoyeon says, blood-red lipstick matching her hair. Her hand rests lightly on Yoongi’s shoulder. “It’s been so long!”

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