#there’s just too much bad news out there — but my blog is nice and happy at least

[roselise]

Please do nsfw. Please

⊹ ˚ * ୨ 🧸 ୧ * ˚ ⊹

Sweet anon ! ♡

What if instead . . I showed you some pictures of my dogs *or* some things I baked *or* my paintings ??

Or how about I just give you a reallyyy big hug ??? ♡ ♡

Cus I feel like those are all things I could do that might make you smile !!

But if you don’t like any of those things that’s ok c:

I still wish you lots of happiness, and hope you have an extra nice day today! ♡

Thank you very much for the ask !! It was nice to hear from you, and I truly hope you take care, my friend ~ !!

🎀 ⊹ ｡⁺ ♡ . ˚ * ·̩͙ 🧸

　 🍪 ｡⁺ ♡ 🎀 ₊ ࣪⋆ ⊹ 🤍 ୨ XOXO ୧

[yeagerfate]

seeing you without makeup for the first time

characters: miguel o’hara, miles morales (earth-1610), pavitr prabhakar, hobie brown, gwen stacy

warnings: none!

notes: thanks so much to @rulaineyu for letting me use this idea! check her blog out if you’re a genshin fan, her works are really well-written and entertaining! requests are open! thanks so much for all the love on my previous posts, it means so much to me!

To be honest, Miguel doesn’t even notice. You’d been as little fatigued, having been extremely overworked lately, and just decided not to. When you visited Miguel’s office, you almost wanted him to compliment you, though you knew that wasn’t what your Miguel was like. Something in his mind was telling him something was out of the ordinary, but he just ignored it. Finally, he realizes what’s actually different when he overhears you talking about it with Hobie, (he says he likes the inconsistency), and he feels so bad for not seeing it before.

The next time he sees you, he tells you that he thinks you look pretty. He doesn’t mention the make-up thing at all because he doesn’t want you to think he’s complimenting you just to please you. When your cheeks turn a little red, and you stutter when saying thank you, Miguel smiles to himself proudly.

It doesn’t take Hobie long to notice. Sometimes, he wears make-up to his concerts, so he knows the basics. It makes him happy to see your natural face for the first time. He thinks you’re beautiful, with or without make-up, and he tells you so. “Thank you,” You said. “I think you look handsome, too, with or without make-up.” He’s a bit more clingy, which surprises you, but he just likes to see you be a bit more vulnerable than usual. Hobie also enjoys talking with you about make-up, and what you like to use. He’s not new to it, but it’s always nice to get some tips so he can look perfect!

Miles can tell you’re a bit nervous about his reaction to something, but he doesn’t know what it is. He’s aware that you’re not wearing make-up, but he doesn’t think much of it. Miles is a bit naive when it comes to beauty standards and the makeup world, so he doesn’t really know how nerve-wracking it can be to not put on anything for the first time. As always, though, he tells you that he thinks you look lovely, which is always nice to hear. On a whim, he decides to ask you about it. “Are you okay? Is there something wrong? You look a little anxious.” You grin sheepishly and tell him you were just nervous about his reaction to you not wearing make-up for the first time because of the asshole boyfriend you had before him. Good luck! Miles will not be leaving you alone for the next week at minimum :)

Even though he doesn’t wear it, Pavitr loves makeup, so he definitely notices. As always, he gushes about how beautiful he thinks you are. He holds your face in his hands and studies the natural shade of your lips, your natural eyelashes… he thinks you’re a beauty. Like Hobie and Miles, I think he’d also be a bit more clingy and affectionate. The next time Pavitr comes back to headquarters, he raves about you to Miles and Hobie, who are both happy for him and a little uncomfortable. Oh well. They’ll just have to hear about it until he goes back home!

Gwen has done your makeup multiple times, for fun and for parties, so she knows. She’s already stopped wearing makeup around you occasionally, and you were extremely supportive, so she wants to be the same for you. However, Gwen is always a bit shy when it comes to vocalizing how she feels, so she’ll feel a bit anxious. She doesn’t want you to think you look ugly without makeup, but it’s a bit nerve-wracking for her to say what she wants so say. Eventually, she gains the courage to do so, and the way your eyes brighten when she does tell you how pretty she thinks you are is something priceless.

[moonstruckme]

Hey!! I’ve spent most of my day catching up on my reading goal for the year, on your blog. I love your writing!! I wanted to know if you could write something poly!marauders where the reader comes home from work early due to chronic pain (winter weather sucks sometimes), and the boys take care of them? Pls add your own spin however you see fit! Hope your day is going well! :)

And happy holidays!

Thanks so much lovely, you're too sweet <3

modern au

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

“Breathe, angel,” James reminds you, eyeing you worriedly as he sinks into downward dog. “Deep breaths.” 

“I’m breathing,” you sigh, following him down. The movement, the stress it puts on your legs and back, aches, but you feel better than you had when you’d come home. 

You weren’t expecting James to be here (he typically likes to get out of the house on his days off, too energetic and cabin-fever-prone to stay in) but he hasn’t let you have even a moment of peace since you’d come in the door, unannounced and several hours from the end of your workday. He’d first tried to get you to go on a walk, but the frigid weather outside is what had doomed you in the first place so he’d settled for pulling up a short, low-intensity yoga video on his laptop. 

A small part of you resents him for it, just a little. The smarter part of you is grateful. 

“Just a bit longer,” James says, likely sensing your growing discontent. “After this we can get you a warm bath. Or a massage, if you like.” 

You hum a weary thanks. Either of those sound great, but a nap would be spectacular. You want to evanesce. Sink into a sleep beyond pain. 

The serene voice on James’ laptop guides you into a cat-cow pose, but you’re only starting your first cat when you hear the click of the door opening. You turn to James in confusion. He won’t quite look at you. 

You recognize the loud clunking sound of Sirius kicking off his shoes a moment before he comes into view. 

“Ooh, yoga.” He’s smiling, but there’s a watchful quality to his gaze as he drapes himself across the sofa. “Mind an audience?” 

You shoot James an accusatory look. “Why’d you call him?” 

“Excuse me,” Sirius says, reclaiming your attention. “Do you not want me here?” 

You give up on the yoga, sitting on your mat. “I don’t want you to have to leave work,” you say quietly. 

Sirius tsks, sliding off the couch and moving closer to you. “I couldn’t have been productive while I was worried about you anyways. Figured I’d save my boss the money.” His smile slips, a tiny pucker appearing between his brows. “You alright for a hug?” 

You answer by opening your arms, and he gathers you up. He doesn’t squeeze the way he normally might, hands careful on your back, but it’s still nice. 

“How bad is it?” he asks, turning his face to mush the words lovingly into the side of your head. 

“Not bad,” you murmur. 

“I’d say it’s pretty bad,” James contends gently, “if you had to come home from work.” 

You turn your head to look at him, offering a sheepish shrug. “The yoga helped some.” 

James’ smile is lopsided, eyes flickering with relief behind his glasses. Sirius isn’t so easily convinced, loosening his grip on you so he can see your face. Despite how used to it you should be, it’s still an effort not to shrink under that gaze. You’re not sure what he’s looking for, if he finds it or he doesn’t, but a few moments later Sirius’ hands slide up to your face. He kisses the skin next to your nose lightly. 

“Let me make you some tea, sweet girl,” he says, standing. “You’ve had pain meds already, yeah?” 

You hum that you have, and James says after him, “Not the chamomile, it’ll just make her sleepy.” 

You try not to sulk as Sirius calls back, “I’m not new here, Potter.” 

James is trying to get you back into the yoga when the door opens a second time. If you hadn’t gotten there by process of elimination, the soft, considerate footfalls would have let you know who it was. 

“Oh, hi,” Remus says when he finds you and James already waiting for him. Pity softens his expression as his eyes fall on you. “How are you, dove? Is the yoga helping?”

“It was,” James grouses, though his little smile lets you both know he’s only teasing. He extends his arms out in front of him, beckoning with his hands. “Come here, give us a hug. She got to go first last time.” 

Remus doesn’t put up any argument. James stands as he comes forward, weaving one arm over Remus’ shoulders and the other under. 

“I am ailing,” you point out. When Remus angles his head on James’ shoulder to give you a concerned look, you add softly, “Not terribly, though.” 

Remus chuckles, pushing a spindly hand slowly up and down James’ spine. The other cups the back of his boyfriend’s head, sinking into his plush nap of curls. “I think you’ve worried him down to the bone,” he observes. 

There’s a noncommittal hum, followed by a muffled smacking sound as James kisses Remus’ shoulder. 

“Have you considered that I’m just soaking up all the hug I can get?” 

“Nefarious,” Remus murmurs lovingly. 

“I leave the room for two seconds, and of course a lovefest commences.” Sirius strides in with a steaming cup of tea. “It should be outlawed. I feel swindled and scorned.” 

“You got to go first,” James argues, but Remus extricates himself from his hold anyway, folding a leg under himself to sit on the couch. 

“Irrelevant.” Sirius sets your tea down on the coffee tables, using his free hand to wave James off. “Do either of you want tea?” 

“No thank you,” Remus says while James shakes his head. “You didn’t give her chamomile, did you? Because that will only—”

“No,” you all say, you rather mopily. 

You scoot towards the table and reach for your tea. Sirius settles into the couch, leaning his back against Remus’ side. 

“Alright,” James relents, shutting his laptop, “we can call it quits on the yoga. We were basically at the end of the video anyway.” His big hand lands on your shoulder, squeezing gently. “Want one of us to get a bath ready for you, lovie?” 

A whole new ache starts up, right in the center of your chest. You set your tea back on the coffee table, too hot to drink, and lean your head on James’ shoulder. Your throat clogs slightly. So, so sweet to you. A bath does sound nice, but you’re not sure you can commit to it. That’s at least a half hour between you and sleep. 

“Thank you,” you say, making sure he hears the sincerity in the words, “but I think I just want to go to bed.” 

James’ sigh is so soft you think you’re not meant to hear it. “It’s a bit early for that yet,” he says, thumb swiping back and forth on your shoulder. “How about a massage?” 

“I’m tired,” you complain, and you try not to whine but a bit of it comes through anyway.  

“I know, love,” Remus says, leaning his elbows onto his knees so that his face is nearly level with yours, “but if you nap now you won’t be able to sleep tonight, and then you’ll be tired all over again tomorrow.” He reaches across the coffee table, the tips of his fingers brushing yours. “This is to help you, I promise.” 

You let your little sigh fan cool air over your tea, raising it again to your lips as you nod. 

“Go for the massage,” Sirius says. He raises his eyebrows at you, grinning like he’s letting you in on some sort of secret. “Trust me, babe. Jamie missed his calling with that one. Hands of an angel.”

You look over, and James is grinning so hugely you wonder if his ears pop. “Alright, fine.” He shrugs, feigning reluctance. “After I’m done with her, you can have next turn.”

[marlenesluv]

۵pairing: fem!albonsibling!ballerina x platonic f1 grid. also, reader x lando norris

۵type: social media au and dialogue

۵authors note: i really love making these, so i’m excited to work on a part 3! also, i know alex has other siblings, i’m just not including them in these posts!

۵warnings: cussing, talk of blood (someone cut their finger, not bad or described much), talk of ballet darks: not eating as much, rude teachers, mean comments.

۵summary: after y/n albon lost her ballet partner, lando comes over to comfort her. but she of course still has a lot of practice before swan lake in two months.

۵this is part 3! please read part 1 and part 2 before this. (part 1 is mine, j on my main blog)

masterlist here -> masterlist link

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You were devastated to lose your partner, Ben, but all good things must come to an end, apparently. That’s what Lily had told you, at least.

Ben was an amazing dancer, he was, but your ballet instructor has wanted you to do solos for years now. Saying you had “too much potential to waste” and “you’re too talented to be focusing on another person when the show is about you.” Of course this was very nice, but Ben wasn’t only your ballet partner, but a friend.

The two of you went to the movies together, got coffee before practice, dinner after, it was nice. And you were happy that he had found a girl for him. You just didn’t expect for her to make him quit ballet.

That’s right, not a sport he had outgrown or gotten bored of. No no. Destiny was not a fan of the fact that he spent all of his time in the studio. Understandable, but dating a ballet dancer, that is a given. It was a shame that Ben had thrown all of his hard work away for a girl.

But here you were, unlocking your apartment door as Lando Norris walked in with a bag of Indian food and an extra hoodie on his shoulder.

“Hey! I got you some butter chicken and some paneer naan for us to share. Oh, and…” he pulled out two bottles of mango juice and handed them to you as you placed them on your island. “If I remembered correctly, you like mango juice?”

“Mhmm. Thank you, Lando.” you smiled up at him as he blushed a bit, clearing his throat as he sorted through the bag and you got out silverware.

“Wanna watch a show?” you asked, as you sat down beside him on your sofa, opening your juice.

“Yeah. How about ‘Brooklyn 99’?”

You nodded, opening Peacock and starting an episode as you both started eating and talking.

Talking with Lando was easy. When you ranted about how your ballet instructor stretched your arm too far backwards, he listened, only butting in to make sure you knew he was paying attention.

And when he ranted about how Checo pushed him off the track, and didn’t get penalized, you listened, you only butted in to gasp and ask the occasional question about how something worked.

You didn’t feel like he was judging you, and it was nice. Lando felt the same. You were someone that understood Formula 1 to a certain degree, since Alex talked about it, but you still asked questions, not just discounting what he was saying. Sure, Oscar wouldn’t mind listening to him blab on about shit, but Oscar wasn’t you.

And yes, you could talk to Lily, Kika, Kelly, Laila, or Carmen, but they weren’t Lando.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

yourinstagram

liked by landonorris, pierregasly, and 872,024 others

y/n.albon: i am so good at chess ♟️

view comments…

user3: lando and y/n??

alex_albon: you guys are hanging out alone now??

↳ y/n.albon: i guess, yeah

↳ alex_albon: wtf!?

↳ alex_albon: y/n answer my texts what are you doing????

user5: y/n just not answering alex LMAOO

user8: i live for this duo, they are so precious to me

lilymhe: the shoesss🥹

↳ y/n.albon: ikkk🥹🩷

user7: new ship, guys. ballerina and f1 driver 🫠

user2: she’s slaying without ben, fr

kellypiquet: adorable!

*liked by creator*

user4: okay. can they date?? orrrr

↳ user9: literallyyyy

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

landosinstagram

liked by y/n.albon, oscarpiastri, and 602,140 others

landonorris: 📷🩰💇‍♂️

view comments…

user1: BRO?

y/n.albon: gotta get those stretches in👯‍♀️

↳ landonorris: oh yeah🩰🙆‍♂️

user7: anyone notice how much y/n and lando have been hanging out….?

↳ user4: mhmmm. i ship

↳ user7: SAME

alex_albon: ahem, what is the second picture?

↳ y/n.user: me….alex, you’re my brother and you don’t know what i look like? shame shame

↳ alex_albon: that’s not what i meant, y/n

↳ alex_albon: why tf are you guys both on instagram and not messaging me back??

↳ alex_albon: fine. i’ll j come over, y/n

↳ y/n.albon: i’m taking my key back.

user9: little sibling fights in landos comments 😭

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Alex Albon always kept his word. So, naturally, at 8:30pm on a Thursday night, Alex unlocked his sisters apartment door with his spare key. So what if Y/N said to only use it “for emergencies” and “if i had fallen and could not get up” which she thought was hilarious, whilst he just clenched hi jaw at the thought of her falling and hurting herself.

He was definitely on the protective side, but for good reasons. All of her past boyfriends, there were two, had cheated on her. Yeah, he didn’t love how close his sister was to Lando Norris, but at least he liked Lando. Not enough to be okay with their hanging out though. But Alex trusted Lando enough to not freak out too much.

When Alex walked into his sisters apartment, he couldn’t find her anywhere. The kitchen was spotless. Marble countertops cleaned off, fridge stocked up, floor vacuumed. He should have known that was the case before he walked in.

Every Wednesday and Sunday, Y/N cleaned her apartment. It was something she had control over. She didn’t have control over what she ate, her ballet instructor did. She didn’t have control over her spare time, it was spent at the studio. Alex felt bad sometimes, she had dedicated her life since she was five to ballet.

Sure, Alex had dedicated his life to Formula 1 as well, but he knew ballet was more draining. He’d seen the breakdowns first hand. Y/N coming to his house after practice and crying in his arms because she didn’t get a part. Or when she had called Alex ten times and then Lily because she needed new ballet shoes and her instructor wanted them now.

And he would never forget the times that her instructor would tell her to not eat as much, and that she needed to slim down. She would come over for dinner with him and Lily, and drink her water and maybe some vegetables.

It always made Lily mad. She hated how Y/N was treated, they both did. They also both knew how much ballet meant to Y/N, so they never told her to quit.

“Alex?” Alex whipped his head around to see his sister in her ballet leggings, a sweater, and boots.

Y/N sat her ballet bag on the barstool and emptied her water bottle out as she looked at Alex. “Dude? What are you doing in my house?”

“Oh, u-um. I was checking on you. Forgot you had to go in today. Sorry.” He blinked, looking at her tight bun on her head. “Hey, shouldn’t you take that out before your head pops off?”

“So funny, ha-ha.” Y/N mocked, getting out some fruit. “Did you need something? Or did you wanna stay?”

“Sorry, right. Lily wants you to come over for dinner tomorrow.”

“Just Lily?” Y/N raised a brow as she plopped a strawberry into her mouth and chewed.

“No, dumbass. I want you to, too. Bring someone ever too, if you want.” Alex shrugged, accepting the strawberry his sister offered him.

“Mmk. Like who?….Lando?”

“I don’t care. If you want to.” he chewed the berry as she grabbed two waters from her fridge and handed one to Alex.

“Alright. Thanks. That it?” she asked, sighing.

Alex knew she wasn’t trying to be rude. She wanted to be alone, he understood. She had been at the studio since 8:00am, she was tired and wanted to sleep.

“Nope, that’s it. See you tomorrow?” Alex walked to the door, Y/N behind him.

“Yup. Love you, Alex. I’ll see ya.”

“Love you too. See ya tomorrow.” Alex shut the door behind him and walked to the elevator, pushing his thoughts away that maybe his sister was dating Lando.

He shook his head and sent a text to Lily to let him know that he was on his way home. Tomorrow night would be interesting.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

twitter:

F1 Updates @f1updatepage • 2hr

Our beloved Y/N Albon has been spotted on a boat with Lando Norris. The photo below was taken last week:

↳ Y/N my Icon! @y/n4lifeeee • 1hr

WHAT- i knew they were hanging out, butttt why am i shipping them so hard rn????

↳ Piasstri🍑 @oscandlan • 1hr

idk if i want to be y/n or if i want to be with y/n

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

yourinstagram

liked by landonorris, francisca.cgomes and 875,024 others

y/n.albon: pinky 🌸🩰🎀👛

view comments…

user9: SLAY PINK QUEEN

user4: fits always eat

lailahasanovic: cutieeeee

↳ y/n.albon: awe laila🩷

user6: no lando pics?? :(

↳ user2: im sure we will soon lol

danielricciardo: shes working💅🩰

↳ y/n.albon: yuh

f1wags: y/n’s life is sooo aesthetic fr

y/nballetstudio: our favvvv

*liked by creator*

user3: my literal inspo, ugh

landonorris: coffee coffee coffee

↳ y/n.user: thx for the coffee coffee coffee

↳ user1: hold up. he made her that coffee??????

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You were nervous for dinner with Lily and Alex on Friday night. Actually, the dinner that was currently 3 hours away.

And yes, you invited Lando. So what? You weren’t even sure if you guys were just friends, or maybe he wanted something more….

It was confusing. One day, you guys are hanging out, cuddling on your couch while talking, and the next, he doesn’t even text you.

But he happily accepted the invite. Which is why Lando was sitting on your bed, watching you apply your lipgloss at your mirror. The shiny gloss catching his eye as you smiled and asked him a question.

“Lando? You there?” you waved your hand, smiling and laughing a bit.

“What? Oh, mhmm. Yeah. I heard you.” he shook his head, hoping you would repeat what you had said.

“You do think that we should get sushi next week for lunch?” you questioned, tilting your head to the side and smirking.

“Y/N, no. Don’t joke like that. You don’t even like sushi!” Lando whined, making you laugh.

“I know, sorry. I asked if I looked okay?” you smoothed your black skirt down, pulling the sleeves of the white shirt down a bit.

Lando swallowed, clearing his throat. What was he supposed to say? You truly always looked breathtaking to him. He couldn’t say that though. “Yeah, you look great.” Lando smiled and got up from your bed.

“Ok, thanks. Let’s go?” you shook off the weird feeling you had, grabbing your purse and snapping a mirror picture while Lando got his phone off the charger.

………

Once you guys got to Alex and Lilys, everything went smoothly. Alex and Lando chatted about the cars while they prepared the salad, and you and Lily talked about her latest golf outing and your rehearsals.

That’s how it always went. Except usually Alex would rant about the cars to you and Lily at dinner. Occasionally getting a breadstick thrown at him because you found his complaining aggravating.

“I know! And get this, my engineer said-“ Alex was ranting as Lando kept glancing your way. The was you doubled over when Lily said something, or the way you bit your lip as you concentrated on the pasta. He shook his head and listened to Alex talk about his balance in the car.

“Y/N. You need to seriously open your eyes.” Lily said, looking at you with a hand on her hip.

“They are! The pasta is fine- what…why are you mom stancing me right now?” you questioned, lips parted and brows furrowed.

“Do you not see the way Lando looks at you? He’s going to chop off a finger if he keeps glancing over here and not at his carrots.” Lily sighed, and right on cue….

“Ow! Fuck!” Lando cursed, hissing in pain, holding his finger.

“Lando! What the fuck? You’re getting blood all over the cutting board.” Alex complained, earning a cup thrown at his head from you as you ran over to Lando.

“What did you do?!” you asked, running his finger under cold water. It wasn’t a deep cut, but he grazed his finger with the blade.

“Um…I don’t know. Just thinking about the cars, I guess.” he shrugged, thanking you for getting the bandaids from the drawer behind him and helping him wrap it.

“Alex, you’re so rude! When a guest cuts their finger, you help! Not complain about your $15 cutting board.” Lily scolded Alex, shaking her head.

Alex scoffed, “Lily, he’s fine.” The couple set the table as you guys took your seats. You and Lando on one side, and Lily and Alex across from you.

“Sorry for not helping, Lando.” Alex said, side eyeing Lily.

You giggled a bit as Lando started laughing, “mhm, it’s okay.”

Dinner went well, conversations flowed well and it was nice to talk to the people you enjoyed being around. Now id only you could figure your feelings for Lando out…

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

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seen by: landonorris, alex_albon, and 678,023 others

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

(reposts, comments, and likes are appreciated!^-^)

[creativewritersposts]

not true - Luke Hughes

summary; Luke Hughes x f!reader. You're daydreaming and writing fanfiction about your favorite player until he reads one.

warning(s); maybe grammar errors, angst, fluff

author's note; it's a mix from my old blurbs/imagines in a new one. Part 2 ?

--------------------------------------------------------------

Does anyone know the moment, having a crush on an unknown, famous person? Like saving pictures on your phone and using as wallpaper and thinking about how is it to know this person?

You have this moment. It's no secret you're daydreaming much but you're crushing on Luke Hughes for a weeks now. His curls, his smile, his whole attitude looks perfect. You're in your own world thinking how your life would look like- three perfect Luke baby's, a big house and a cute dog. Yeah, you're daydreaming too much.

"I wrote a new Luke fic, wanna read it?", you speak to your internet friend.

It's not like you don't have friends in real life- but talking with them about cute hockey players you don't feel comfortable with. It's your little secret.

"Sure", she replies and excitement swings in her voice. You send this short story with a proud grin, it took you hours to finish it.

"You have to post this! I love it!", screams Jess through the phone speaker.

"I'll do", copy it in your blog and posting it. You're reading nice comments, when a new notification comes on your screen.

'I'm definitely not the worst cook'. That's it, no profile picture, no caption who this person is. It could be fake. Luke Hughes would never read fanfiction about himself.

You're typing fast, 'who are you?'

An reply comes fast.

'Luke Hughes'

You laugh hysterical, someone wants to fail you. Without an answer you go to bed. It's too much information for you and it's late.

A phone call is waking you up, it's vibrating nonstop next to your bed, tired you grab after your phone, "hello?". Your raspy voice is not powerful.

"WHY IS LUKE HUGHES FOLLOWING YOU", Jess talks without friendly manners.

"No he's not, maybe fake", you rub your eyes. It's too early.

"No it's Luke himself! I'm not blind", she talks nonstop like a waterfall.

You check your Instagram - hundreds of new followers and she's right- Luke Hughes started following you.

"I have no clue", you get in shock. You're still dreaming, there's no other explanation for this.

"You better find out why", Jess laughs happy for you. "I'm not living in New Jersey so I don't think there are chances".

You dressed up, went to work and forgot the time like always - until something rings on the phone again.

The phone rings the last hours more than in your entire life.

"I'm not a bad cook", notification from Luke Hughes himself.

The curly man with incredible hockey skills and two hockey brothers and a legend as mom. This Luke Hughes who's your wallpaper like everywhere you use.

You dance with the phone in your hands before you reply. Breath in, breath out; let's go.

"Ok". Not that bad. Unimpressed.

"I can prove you. I'll cook dinner for you".

Dude, there is some space between you two. You don't think he has a private jet.

"I don't live in New Jersey", you smirk whilst sending him. You're a fangirl but not a puck bunny.

"I have a car", with an winking emoji. How can he dare to be such a tease?

Before you could react he calls per chat, his face comes on the screen, his cap on his head, tired looking face. "Hey", he smirks chill and pets his curls.

"Hello", you wave awkwardly. You're in work clothes so you don't look stylish. "Can you give me your adress?", he asks with a voice crack. "I'm not for one night, Hughes", you warn him. You're disappointed, you always thought he's a gentleman.

"Oh no not this way!", his face gets closer to the screen, "you know I love all my fans but I'm really interested to meet you. Not as what you think", he shyly says. He bites on his lip, waiting for your answer. Honestly you don't know how to react. "I'm not a supermodel. And I like to eat, not just salad", you tell him. "Why are you guys always thinking we just like supermodels?", he's frightened. "Because you follow 45 blonde models on Instagram", the answer comes out your mouth like a pistol.

"Instagram is not real life. Do you like meat?", he's still interested in this conversation.

"Yeah", "ok my navigation says I'm there in 3 hours so better be prepared for the best meal you ever ate!", "wait you know my address?", you get worried. "Your friend Jess told me", he laughs shy.

"Oh my God I'm gonna kill her for that",you mumble to yourself. "Do you want to meet me? Your friend told me you're interested, too", he bites in his nails. "yes!!", you scream louder than you should.

"See you later!", he laughs friendly and closes the video chat.

Your poor heart.

[kirbyskisses]

happy new year! i have had serious burnout for 50+ days because 2022 was a horrible time for me mentally (esp those last two months.)

anyway, thanks for 1k!!! here’s the birthday girl maki zenin fucking you for well over 1.5k words! (+ soft aftercare) 🎊

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI.

cw: lesbian tings, strap-ons, overstimulation, size kink, squirting, begging, maki is called “mommy” and “mistress”, crying, praise kink.

“maki, ‘t won’t fit—”

god - you sound so utterly broken, tears pricking the corner of you eyes as you watches the head of maki’s strap nudge your pussy’s entrance. it’s the thick kind - a bit bigger than the ones you’ve taken before.

her pretty lips are curved up into a delightful and utterly sadistic smile, dark green hair stuck to her face - you’d think her an angel if she wasn’t being so utterly sinful.

her scarred muscles lock you down under her - voice lilting into soft compliments that you can barely understand. your brain is effectively mush.

“t-too big ‘ki!”

“doing so good for me, baby. you can take it, can’t you? can you be a good girl for your mistress? don’t i always know what my baby can take, hm?” she’s smiling and watches you with half-lidded eyes; predator-like.

“yes, b’t…” you whimper out a cry.

“sshhh. don’t use that pretty brain to think. just let me in.”

lust and need burning into her every vein - she watches the rubbery cock slide between your core’s chubby lips, lines of slick rolling up and down as she grinds it over your clit.

fuck - a growl barely holds itself back from her throat as she takes it in - the sweetest, prettiest cunt - a tight hole made just for her to use and stretch.

you’re so good and pliant - simultaneously begging maki to let out all of her bottled rage and pain into you but m e w l i n g at the overstimulation of when she actually does - lips babbling and begging her not to out of instinct because it’s too good, and she’s so strong.

maki’d never actually do anything bad to you - she’s not her family - she’d stop the second you really wanted - the second your special word passed your lip. she knows it. you both know it.

but god does she love this little game of pretend.

-

“c’mon…” the swollen tip of the strapped toy edges ever so slightly onto your entrance and it’s enough to make a pathetic noise ascend through your throat.

“you can do it for me, princess… we can make it fit. just open up for me.”

you’re squirming and shivering; clit swollen and fingertips digging into her shoulders and back with utter desperation because you -

“can’t! maki - i can’t - ‘t buuurrnss.” it’s a disgustingly desperate sob as the head of the cock slips into your plump, sobbing lower lips. it really does burn - a stretch that is tightening knots in your stomach.

“oh baby, are you crying? and your little pussy is too..”

“n-no!” you lie, squelching pussy drooling.

“yes it is, angel. listen to how wet that it is for your mistress and you haven’t even taken the first inch…” her steady, loving voice teases and your face is flushed with an equally burning sense of embarrassment, unable to do anything but feel the aching stretch of the artificial cock as it burrows just another inch deeper.

and another. and another. and another - holy hell you’re so wet you barely feel it anymore - inching into you, little by little pushing past your glistening folds until the fat head of maki’s cock nudges against the deepest, most sensitive spot in your walls.

by the time a third of the big toy has bullied its way into you, maki’s slender hands have gone from fondling your breast to massaging your hips, gentle kisses on your face and neck as her green bangs fall forward and tickle your skin.

you look absolutely ruined and she can’t get enough of it.

“maki~”

“kiss mommy’s lips so she can sink into you nice and deep, baby.” she whispers, tone sweet and calm as if she’s not splitting you open with so much pressure against your chubby little cunt you feel she might rip you in two.

her lips slot against yours - her svelte hips lowering halfway into you as she swallows your broken moans. she takes sadistic delight in how you just can’t. stop. fucking. whining. the second her mouth pulls away.

“m-maki, wait—” “‘s so deep, maki —too gooood,” “c-can’t mistress, jus’ can’t—” “m-maki, maki—oh,”

“no- mistress, can’t- mistress!“ your marked throat chokes on a moan, trying to grab onto your pretty domme’s biceps in a wordless plea to slow down because you can’t handle it.

maki forces the rest into you like an animal, fucking down into your sopping pussy as those wet gasps and pretty sobs ring in her ears. 

finally feeling full seems to flip a switch inside you, aided and abetted by your girlfriend’s sweet praises.

“you can take it. you did it, see! you did so good taking it all for me. such a good girl. doesn’t it feel so good, sweetheart? being stretched just how you like, hmm?”

she says, soothing her hands over your stomach to reassure you that she’s still there - hazel eyes mesmerized by the subtle bulge of the outline of the cock.

“you have the most perfect stretched little pussy, angel.” thin fingers press on the little bulge and you erupt.

“momMY!” you WAIL, torn between the throbbing pain in your tummy and the pleasure that wracks your body. you want to convulse and jolt but you can’t.

“i g’tta move, mommy!”

cursed with such enhanced strength maki’s taken to fully pinning you down - body unmoving - buried completely inside your cunt. you make a noise of utter shame as the thick head kisses your g-spot, wet juices pouring around it with an audible squelch.

this always happens and maki can’t help but let out a light giggle.

even during prep you’re so overwhelmed - squirming away until whatever cock or toy or pair of fingers she has inside you pops free from your spongy walls and you're left spasming and clenching around nothing.

“you’re so cute, baby.” she punctuates the affirmation with a kiss too your pouting lips. “but mommy’s not going to let you escape this time - not after all that effort getting it inside - you know better than that.~”

legs far too restricted to kick her away and hands attached to her shoulder like claws, you just have to feel.

and you feel like you’re floating.

she rolls her hips slowly, listening to the filthy ‘shlick, shlick, shlick’ that your poor pussy makes whenever she slides in and out and the desperate shuffle of strap fabric against the skin of your hipbones. your inner thighs are trembling, skin glossy with wetness and clit standing out between his lips, flushed and neglected.

the dam inside you feels like it’s going to burst with every passing second - maki’s pace may be slow and full of praise but it is brutal inside your pussy pressing and pressing and pressing - god why can’t she stop!

“fuuuck!” “mommy, wait- m’gonna pe e-“ “please , mommy, mistresssss” “haah maki - maki lemme move!!” “don’ wanna stop but jus’- aahn!” “w-want a second - just a second or i’ll - mistress please! don’wanna pee myself!”

your folds deliciously flutter as maki watches herself slide in and out of your hole.

“just let it happen, my angel.” her thumbs goes over your poor, twitching clit and you cry out at the drag of the thick cock in combination with the stimulation of the naked bud. wetness spurts and sprays across her chiseled abdomen but your fucked-out mind doesn’t notice the mess you’ve made between your thighs until maki pulls out and something wet splashes against your stomach.

and it happens again and again and again.

-

you sob and sob, still shaking while she stands and undoes straps that tied her to the rubber extension. she sits by you, golden eyes filled with softness and adoration as she rubs your face and massages your thighs.

all signs of the mistress who was greedy for your overstimulation are completely gone. what remains is your girlfriend - ever concerned and constantly proud.

“hey. hey, look at me.” she gives a smile. “you did so good for me, babe. did i go too far? was it really too much?”

you mumble, shaking your head as you squeeze whatever clean parts of the bed you can find. she chuckles - god, it’s nice to hear her laugh at something that isn’t painful or dominant.

“can’t quite hear you with your face in the pillow like that, sweetheart.” her fingers lead your chin so you meet her gaze. there are still the remnants of fat tears down your cheeks.

“wasn’t too much… i made a big mess.” your face heats up in partial embarrassment (and also because she’s mind-boggling pretty, even scratched and sweaty).

“ i can get more bed sheets. can’t get another you, babe. you just relax.” maki smiles and pulls you into her embrace.

“it was great, baby. it’s a good mess. i’m so proud you squirted for me. you took it all so well - didn’t even need to say our word.”

“yeah?” you poke your head up more, heart fluttering because the greatest woman alive is proud of you.

“yeah. you don’t even have to speak. let’s just get you cleaned up.”

“can’t feel m’legs.”

“i know.” she lets out a light laugh and just as soon as the sound leaves her lips, you’re cradled into her arms like a bride, head hidden in her breasts. you mumble again, more audibly this time.

“did i help you feel better?”

she pauses and your name stutters out of her lips - fuck, you’re so considerate. taking all of that just so she could feel a bit of stress relief from a usually cruel, uncaring world. with practically no effort, she readjusts you so her eyes meet your teary ones.

“oh, princess. i feel better than ever. you were so amazing. next time you can use me for stress relief instead, okay?”

that stirs you into instantly heating up again as she walks both of your beautiful, naked bodies to the shower.

taglist: @blkladyelle @gojutsu @imperatorkhaleesi @nymphoheretic @sailewhoremoon @mxonigirimiya @tteokdorokimain @niggette @kweenkatsuki @sems-diarie

[daizymax]

the ways we love | lfl (m)

summary: periods of work mean periods without play between you and your longtime boyfriend. after he offers to be the muse for your latest artistic piece, you realize just how much you appreciate his never-ending support.

pairing: felix x fem reader

genre: smut

word count: 7.9k

rating: mature (18+)

warnings & features: established relationship; profanity; mentions of alcohol consumption and (past) drunken sex; public marriage proposal; brief mention of having children; graphic sexual content; dom!felix; dirty talk; use of pet names; fingering; some spit play; oral sex (m receiving); some spanking; penetrative sex; multiple orgasms; creampie; aftercare

author’s note: rewritten for stray kids and reuploaded from my old blog. i think this will be the last of the fics from my old blog that i'll be reuploading here for the foreseeable future. also, i forgot how much fun i had writing the smut in this one. hope you enjoy!

( click here to read on AO3 instead )

---

He had started off so well. He was relaxed, comfortable, cheerful. Happy to help. This was his idea, after all.

But now… now he’s fidgety. Anxious and bored. You sympathize with that, but if he doesn’t — “Doll, can you please stop moving?” — then you’re ready to give up this entire project already.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs in that sweet, deep voice of his. “You’re just being so quiet. I thought you’d at least talk to me and let me know how it’s coming.”

You spare him a quick, direct glance before refocusing on the canvas. “I’m not going to give you a play-by-play of every mark I make, Lix. I need to concentrate. I want this to be as perfect as you are.”

Felix huffs and averts his eyes, but you know you have appeased him from the way he falls silent and relaxes his shoulders again. The new pink hue spreading across his freckled nose, ears and cheeks would be a nice touch if only you were ready to add color to the piece. For now, you store the inspirational image away for later.

You manage to finish your outline and flesh out some details around his nose before his real-live self ruins his posture — and subsequently, the lighting on his face — by shifting in his seat yet again. With a sigh, you set your utensils aside, wipe your palms on your pants and say, “How about a break? Let me get you a drink.”

Whatever his answer was going to be — agreement, argument, or otherwise — does not have time to be voiced before you are breezing by him and into the kitchen. When you return, he accepts the glass of water and obeys your command to drink up. You watch as he tips an ice cube into his mouth and licks his heart-shaped lips afterward.

He mistakes your admiration for scrutiny. “What’s wrong?”

You smooth some stray hairs near his ear and poke the bulge of ice in his cheek. “Nothing at all. I just like looking at you.”

He crunches the ice and blushes deeper. “Thanks. Don’t you need to do that from the other side of the room, though? Any idea when you might be finished?”

You shrug and fuss with the collar of his shirt until it un-creases. “You know I can’t answer that. A few hours? Days? Weeks? Whenever I’m satisfied with it. Or whenever you say, ‘Fuck you, I’m done with this.’ I told you I can always just use a photo to finish this so you don’t have to model for me.”

Felix smiles softly. “No, I don’t want you to do that. I volunteered, didn’t I? I like modeling for you. It feels fancy to do it this way, like it might turn out better if we do it like this.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Maybe it’ll be so awful you’ll leave me over how monstrous I make you look.”

“Well, at least that would make an interesting story to tell my next girlfriend.”

You giggle. “That’s true. Why don’t I just do a caricature? That way, if it looks bad, I can pretend it was on purpose.”

“No. God no,” he says firmly. “You’re too good an artist to be making pieces look silly on purpose.”

You peck his forehead. “Well, if you want this to be ‘professional,’ you have to sit still for me, doll.”

“I will. I’ll behave.” He tilts his chin to seek out your lips, and you willingly give them up. You smile into the kiss when you see him fumble to set his glass aside on the coffee table beside him without breaking contact with you. Before he can free up his hands to do goodness-knows-what with them, you slink away, back to your easel.

“You just told me you’d behave. If you’re not backing out, then I’m still working, and that means no playing,” you remind him.

He knows, but there is still a hint of disappointment in his dark brown gaze.

These abstinence periods are relatively new to your long-standing relationship. You suppose most people would think a couple purposefully denying themselves sex would tear a wedge of stress and resentment between them, but that has not been the case with you and Felix. It’s a stimulus. A game. A challenging one, to be sure, but always immensely rewarding.

So that is what you have both agreed: there is no sex while you are working on a piece. Not until the job is finished.

“How long do you think this one will take?” Felix asks again.

You plop down in your seat with a light groan and gather your utensils again. “The answer is the same, Lix. I can’t say for sure. A few hours, days, weeks?”

Your pretty muse nods and takes another sip of water as he mentally prepares himself for the oncoming drought. He does his best to relax in his seat again, and you flash him a smile before getting back to work.

---

It takes twelve days to complete the portrait, and Felix is not even sitting across from you when the last stroke falls upon the canvas. He might be offended by this once he finds out, but you couldn’t stop yourself from finishing without him. Besides, you know he will ultimately be as happy as you are that it is finally finished.

Truthfully, you might have been able to do most of the portrait simply from memory; you know his face as well as your own by now.

A sigh flutters past your lips. You take a step back to better admire (and scrutinize) your work. As you scan it over, you can’t help but smile. Not just out of pride for the job you did, but because of the striking resemblance you have been striving to achieve.

It is always difficult to instill life and warmth into mere lines and dots and smudges, but the two-dimensional rendition truly seems as though it could begin breathing at any moment, and a fresh wave of fondness for your best friend and lover as the real-life person he is comes over you. That is how you know you are satisfied, and not just in terms of your finished project.

This is something to celebrate, so after deciding how you want to do so, you pick up your phone to text Felix about an important dilemma.

[You: hey i forgot what you’re wearing today]

There is enough time to change out of your old, splattered overalls and heat up a late lunch before your phone buzzes back.

[Felix: i know it’s been a while since we’ve sexted but i think you meant to phrase that as “what are you wearing” with a smirk emoji]

You almost choke on a bite of your food as you laugh out loud.

You: dfjfdjso i’m not trying to sext you. i just need to know if you’re dressed nicely enough for a restaurant with a decent wine list tonight. we have some celebrating to do

[Felix: how come?]

[You: it’s finished]

This time your phone does not buzz. It rings.

“You finished the portrait?” Felix’s voice is hushed and a little rushed. You can tell he is on the move, probably heading somewhere away from his co-workers and customers for a more private conversation.

“It’s signed and everything,” you say cheerfully.

“That’s fantastic!” he says, not the least bit offended. “This is definitely worth celebrating. We should go to the nicest place in town and dress to the nines.”

More laughter bursts from deep in your chest. “Wha— I mean, it’s still just a portrait, Lix. I didn’t win an award or solve a murder case or anything.”

“So? I” — you hear the sound of a door closing in the background — “sat in that chair for a hundred years and went celibate waiting for that portrait to be done. No offense. This deserves a grand celebration.”

Your eyeroll can probably be heard through the receiver. “It didn’t take that long, did it? It was less than two weeks. Remember that waterfall landscape I did?”

Felix grunts at the memory. “Yeah, how can I forget? Longest month-and-a-half of my entire life.”

“It was worth it in the end, though, wasn’t it?” you say, remembering how neither of you could walk properly for at least a couple days after you finished that particular piece, which is now proudly mounted on a wall in the master bedroom. “Come on, doll. When I pick you up, we’ll go out and have that decent wine with a decent meal so the public knows we’re celebrating something, and then we’ll come home and fuck each other blind, okay?”

There was a time years ago when he might have choked and sputtered over your words, but this lewd proposal is mild, and today he doesn’t flinch.

“If that’s what Madame Artiste wants, then that’s what she’ll get,” Felix says.

He offers you a choice between two restaurants he deems himself dressed appropriately for without having to come home and change, and once you choose, he asks, “Can you just bring my navy suit jacket with you so I can make this outfit work, please? I’ll see you later. I can’t wait.”

He ends the call with the sound of a kiss.

---

The chimes on the door draw the attention of three pairs of eyes, and the sight of you stepping into the salon brings a smile to Felix’s face. Well, the mask on the lower half of his face prevents you from actually seeing his smile, but the happiness is there in his deep brown eyes.

“Hi,” he says, scanning your date-night outfit with obvious appreciation. “Be right with you.”

“Take your time,” you say, smiling at the customer sitting across from him. She smiles back politely and returns her attention to Felix, who goes back to focusing on her fingernails. He meticulously sweeps an emery board across the rounded ruby shapes to finish smoothing them out.

The third person in the salon gets up from his cozy perch in one of the pedicure chairs at the end of the row and crosses the floor.

“You look so nice, Y/N. Is it date night?”

“Yep, we’re off to dinner,” you say, accepting the man’s hug. “What’s new, Ji?”

“Oh, not much.” Jisung shrugs and takes one of your hands. He inspects your fingernails, which have unsightly matte polka dots chipped in the gloss. “Want me to redo these before you go? It won’t take that long.”

You let out a fleeting giggle. “Honestly, I don’t know why I bother getting them done in the first place when I put so much wear and tear on them. This damage only took me a week.”

“Well that’s because—” Jisung shoots your boyfriend a quick look and clearly alters the second part of his statement, “—you did them at home. You need to have them professionally done.”

His way of criticizing Felix’s work while leaving the customer in the room none the wiser is clever, and you have half a mind to applaud him for poking fun at his friend without hurting their business.

The comment is not lost on Felix. He glares over at you and Jisung, but he cannot seem to think of a subtle rebuttal, so he stews in silence.

“Ah, maybe that’s my problem,” you say, grinning.

“Give me, like, fifteen minutes and you’ll be all set,” Jisung promises.

As he’s making his offer, Felix finishes with the woman. From the edge of your vision, you see him remove his mask and lead her to the register to finish the transaction.

“Are you working Saturday morning?” you ask Jisung. “I’ll stop in then and you can do my toes, too.”

Before he can either confirm or deny the appointment, Felix interrupts by coming up behind you and waving his tip in front of your face. “Here, look what my ‘unprofessional’ work got us,” he says. “Buy yourself something nice, baby.”

You chuckle at his little joke until you flick through the bills and realize just how much worth is in them. “Wow, Lix, she was so generous!”

“She was appreciative of the amazing job I did,” he corrects with a peck to your cheek, then he takes his suit jacket from your arms to slip it on. “Sorry, Ji, we have to go. Ready, Y/N?”

“Ready,” you say.

“Sounds good,” Jisung replies at the same time. “I’ll lock up here. Enjoy your date, guys. See you Saturday, Y/N.”

---

The wine is more than decent, the food hits all the right spots, and the company is absolutely perfect.

Felix laughs happily from across the table. Strands of pale blonde hair trickle past his ears the further he tips his head back, and the apples of his cheeks are hued pink from where the rosé has gone. His smile loses none of its dazzle when the waiter interrupts to check on the two of you. The sheer warmth he radiates is boundless in the most endearing way.

When the waiter leaves, you watch Felix lean back in his chair. His eyes land on yours, and while some of the amusement fades from his face, the fondness remains. You see it there, twinkling in the inky pools of his irises; you feel it in the comfort he exudes while he is with you.

For some reason, the contentment of the moment draws something to mind. “Do you remember when we first met?” you ask out of the blue.

The corners of his eyes crinkle. “Of course I do. Remember how you tried to kiss me?”

“Oh my god, yes,” you groan. “Honestly, I still don’t remember a whole lot about that night, but I definitely remember you saying, ‘Oh, no thank you,’ right in my face.”

“Listen,” he laughs in defense, holding up a finger. “I was trying to be polite. I was trying to be a gentleman. You were a hot mess. That party had you twenty so’s-worth of shit-faced.”

“Twenty what?”

“You were so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, soooo…” he starts chanting his stupid joke.

You giggle and hang your head. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

“Hang on.” He holds that finger up higher. “So, so, SOOOO—”

“I said I get it already!”

“—so shit-faced. I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

“You did embarrass me, though! By rejecting me.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he says, dipping his head in apology, “but we both would’ve been way more embarrassed if we’d slept together that night. It would’ve been a disaster.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “What makes you think I would’ve slept with you so soon?”

“Uh. Did you or did you not sleep with my roommate that night instead?”

“Fair enough," you say, toasting your wine glass in his direction. “It’s only funny now because we’re the ones who ended up together.”

Felix smiles. “Thank goodness for that. Life is pretty incredible with you in it, sweetheart.”

His words sober you a bit, and you smile back almost shyly. “I could say the same about you, doll.”

He probably does not always love you as much and as effortlessly as he does right now. He certainly is not always his best, most charming self the way he is right now. Neither are you. But he is still worth loving when he is at his worst, and if you could have moments like these scattered all throughout the rest of your life, you feel it would be enough. His love and support and respect and admiration are more than enough.

So it comes as a soft entreaty rather than a question; out of the blue again, but also a long time coming: “Please marry me.”

This time Felix raises an eyebrow. He seems more intrigued than surprised by your impromptu proposal. Then he half-purses, half-pouts his lips in a cheeky sort of expression, like he thinks you’re bluffing but is willing to play along anyway.

That feeling of overconfidence you had that first drunken night when you leaned in to kiss him in a stranger’s kitchen comes back, as does the fear of the rejection you suffered immediately afterward. If he says ‘Oh, no thank you,’ again, you wonder if you’ll die of embarrassment right here in this restaurant, surrounded by different strangers with different alcohol on your breath.

But you know he won’t, not even as a joke, because he knows you now. He knows you well, and he sees the sincerity in your face.

“I don’t have a ring,” you go on, “but I’ll get down on one knee right here, right now. This dress won’t stop me.”

Wordlessly, Felix lifts his napkin from his lap to lay it across his plate, then leans sideways to pull something from his pocket. He casually holds it up for your inspection, and once you realize what it is, you move to kneel in front of him as promised without even questioning the coincidence. Now is not the time for questions. Now is the time to show how serious you are about this.

Felix stares down at you and pries open the tiny case to reveal the brilliance of the diamond’s sparkle. Your fingers are sure and steady when he slips the top-heavy band onto the appropriate one.

“I would be honored to marry you,” he says softly, poking back and forth at the engagement ring with the edge of his thumbnail.

By now there are dozens of eyes on the quiet scene the two of you are making, but his are the only pair you see. His smile is still there, softer and smaller now, but still brimming with the adoration he has gained over the years. It widens when you rise up just enough to press your lips to it. His hand finds the back of your head the same second yours cups his.

A round of coos and charmed applause from the crowd goes up around you, but it is all background noise to the sound of Felix’s precious, giddy laughter.

---

He is no longer laughing by the time you throw the front door shut and press him up against it. The needy kisses between here and the car have taken most of his oxygen.

“Shit,” he hisses, watching you work his belt buckle. “You get a ring on your finger and you turn feral, is that how it works?”

You growl playfully but say nothing.

“You better slow down, tiger, or we won’t last five minutes.”

“Don’t care.”

“Aren’t you gonna show me what we waited so long for this for first?”

“Later. I thought you were dying of celibacy?” you sass.

Felix clicks his tongue. The simple sound is quiet, but it shifts the air. You stop trying to get into his pants to give his dark eyes your undivided attention.

“We have all the time in the world now, don’t we?” he murmurs, as though the hard-on in his jeans is not growing as impatient as you.

You swallow. “I just want you so badly. It hurts.”

His gaze sharpens at your tone. “Does it?” He reaches up to graze a thumb along your bottom lip. “Where does it hurt, sweetheart? Here?”

The sound you let out is something between a hum and a whine. You feel so sex-starved, so desperate for any morsel of pleasure he can feed you. You try to take his thumb into your mouth, but he slips it away too fast, plucking your lip as he goes. He brushes across your breast next. The sensation is dulled by your clothing, but your nipple stands to attention nonetheless.

“What about here?” he whispers.

“Yes…” The fingers that had been so keen on removing his belt cling idly to the leather.

“Aw.” Felix pouts and bats his eyelashes at you, but his sympathy feels insincere. He’s amused by the state of you. He adores seeing you so riled up and pliant for him.

His thumb trails further, straight down your stomach, while the rest of his fingers are kept stiff and carefully away from your buzzing body.

Eventually, he reaches the crease between your thighs and presses through the layers of your dress and your panties where he estimates your clit to be. He is a little north at first but quickly readjusts his position. The soft moan you let out is a dead giveaway for when he has found it.

“And here?” He takes a step closer while he begins drawing tiny circles. “Tell me, angel, does it hurt here?”

“Yes. Yes...”

He kisses your cheek tenderly. Mercifully. His deep voice is pitched even deeper when he murmurs, “Shh. I know it does. It’s finally time for me to make it better, isn’t it.”

You cant your hips against his hand. “Felix, please...”

“Come here.”

He trades places to cage you up against the front door. You reach for him, but he draws back out of reach to shrug out of his jacket first. After he carefully pushes the sleeves of his sweater up, he uses both hands to hike your dress up along your waist. There is no rush to his movements. In fact, it’s almost graceful the way he does it, as though the actions he is about to perform could be considered decent.

When you try to remove your underwear from his way, he nudges your hands aside. “Ah-ah-ah,” he tuts. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. Tell me the safe word first, Y/N.”

After all this time, he still has you say it out loud beforehand. Beneath your eager lust, you appreciate the basic act of care and commitment to playing the dominant role.

“Candle,” you answer.

He thanks you as though you’ve done him a favor and places a light kiss on the edge of your jaw. Then he hooks his thumb through the side of your panties to touch the hood of your bare clit directly. A jolt of electricity singes your nerves from his first flick. Your body noticeably quivers, and Felix smirks at his quick, effortless effect on you.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he drawls lowly.

You swallow again, drier this time. “Mm-hm.”

“Because we don’t play while you’re working anymore, do we?”

You shake your head. “Hm-mm.”

“And you’ve been working so hard, haven’t you, baby?”

You hum again, louder this time. Or maybe it’s a full-blown moan. Whatever the sound is, it becomes incessant over each passing second and each pass of his thumb. Every noise you make is met with a return sigh or hum from Felix. Every jerk of your hips is matched by a tilt of his head or other shift in his posture.

Getting fingered like this, fully dressed and up against the front door of your home, spikes a carnal, filthy pleasure into your blood. It sears through your muscles, hotter and hotter until it beads between your skin and your clothes. You want to take them off, but you dare not stop Felix for a second. You keen with lust and desperation.

“I know. I know,” he purrs, soft and sweet as a kitten. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Feels so good...” He nuzzles the space between your jaw and your neck and inhales deeply.

You tilt your face away to give him better access, but he peels back and takes your chin in his other hand to steer you back toward him. A puff of hot breath hits your damp temple; it almost feels cool.

“Eyes on me. Good girl.” His gaze skims down your form. “You’re still shaking. All I’ve done is touch your clit and you’re that close already, huh?”

“Yes, so close,” you admit, completely unashamed. “Just keep going, please just keep going.”

Felix smiles and takes the sweat from your temple with a pair of kisses. “How can I say no when you beg me so nicely like the perfect angel you are? Hold onto me. C’mon.”

You instinctively go to clutch his biceps but think of a better idea and hook your arms around his neck instead. Felix allows you to pull him even closer and finally — finally — slips another finger into your panties. He pushes it into your opening with almost no resistance, and you gasp when his knuckles bottom out inside you. Just as quickly as the finger entered, a second one joins and curls. He keeps them buried for a moment, then drags them back out to smear the juices he collected around your swollen bud. The slipperier his work gets, the more he enjoys it.

“Your pussy is so perfect,” he breathes. “Spread your legs. I want to feel just how wet it gets for me.”

You obediently open your legs wider, and he delves back in immediately, fast enough that his palm audibly claps against your slick lips, hard enough to send your head tipping backward to thump against the door. When his thumb drops back to your clit and nudges under the hood this time, you know it won’t be long until you’re unraveled.

“Ohhh my god,” you groan. More sweat builds on your forehead, on your chest, under your arms, along the backs of your knees. You grow lightheaded from the static in your veins from being fucked open by Felix’s talented, diligent fingers.

“That’s it,” he pants. You’re not sure when he became so breathless. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let go. Come for me. Come for me. Come.”

Another dozen strokes and you do as you’re told with a pinched yelp. Felix kisses your throat as he works you up your high and eases you back down, undulating his wrist and babbling encouragements into your sticky skin.

“That’s it, squeeze my fingers, just like that. Squeeze ‘em tight. Tight. There you go. That’s my good girl. So gorgeous when you come. So fucking perfect. Hey.”

The hand not still knuckle-deep in your pussy cups your cheek and pulls you in. He swallows the whines and the airless, nonsensical words of thanks you huff between kisses.

Once your breathing has had time to settle, he gingerly slips his fingers from your sensitive, throbbing walls. He doesn’t even look at those fingers as he brings them to his tongue. In fact, he closes his eyes altogether as he laps the tips and moans indulgently, as though this is the first time he has ever tasted you.

When he is done cleaning the mess you made on him, he looks you in the eye and says, “Now that we’ve rubbed out that easy one, I’m open to suggestions on what to do next.”

“Let me return the favor?” You inflect it as a question.

Felix smirks. “It wasn’t a favor, sweetheart, it was a pleasure. But since you’re asking so nicely again… c’mere.”

He tugs you by the hands and begins walking backward, slipping out of his shoes as he goes, and you follow his lead. You assume he is bringing you to the bedroom, but he stops when his feet hit the carpet in the living room and glances over his shoulder. It must be the chair he was looking for because he then moves toward it with a sense of purpose, leaving you a few paces behind.

“Strip,” he orders. His voice is even and his expression is calm as he sits and crosses an ankle over his opposite knee.

You move to obey without hesitation, twisting your arm behind your back to yank down the zipper on your dress. Felix keeps his eyes fixed on your face as you peel the gown away from your shoulders. Gravity takes the fabric to your waist, and you shove it down the rest of the way to step out of it completely. Next, you snap one of your bra straps with an eyebrow cocked in question.

Felix nods. “Mhm. Keep going ‘til you’re in nothing but that ring.”

You had nearly forgotten about it. You lift your hand to look at it again, but a sudden noise startles you. It sounds like more of a crack than a snap from the way it ricochets off the walls of your home, though you know a snap is exactly what it was by the pose of Felix’s fingers in the air.

“Don’t get distracted now,” he says, deep voice rumbling. He drops his hand back to his lap. “You’re being so good. Finish taking off your clothes, then come here.”

With his instructions, you unhook your bra and let it drop to the floor. His eyes dip to your naked chest, but his expression is more clinical than enticed.

You shove your thumbs into the band of your panties and stall there until you get the attention you want. It takes Felix a few seconds to realize you’re not moving and look back to your face. When he meets your eyes, he mouths the word ‘off,’ leaving his teeth planted in his bottom lip for an extended moment. Even when he is silent, you feel the authority radiating from him. You shiver when the air hits your slick, heated center.

Felix uncrosses his legs, and you finally glean a proper peek at your effect on him. The erection in his pants looks past the point of painful, but his demeanor is still relaxed as he invites you to stand in front of him by casually tossing a throw pillow at his feet. Once your toes brush against it, he reaches for your hands and sweeps his lips across your knuckles, quick and affectionate. Then his hands are on your waist, and near your ribs, and around the curves of your ass, and across your thighs. He soothes them up and down your skin, imprinting patches of heat everywhere he roams.

“There’s my gorgeous girl.” He leans forward and plants an open-mouthed kiss on your lower stomach, then peers up through his eyelashes at you and directs, “On your knees for me, gorgeous.”

Another look at his covered crotch and you do as you’re bid. When your knees touch down on the pillow, Felix shifts to whip his belt out of its loops at last. By the time it clanks to the floor, you’re already helping him with the button and the zipper. He lets you tug his pants down to and away from his ankles. His socks go next, and he takes care of his sweater and undershirt himself. His underwear is last but gone in a flash and then there he sits, stripped bare with his toned abdominals twitching and his cock standing flushed and rigid just for you. He is so goddamn beautiful.

“Is this what you want?” He leans back and takes his rosy length in a loose fist. “Is this what you’ve been being so good and working so hard for?”

You swallow and pretend it’s his precum sliding down your throat. “Yes.”

“What’s that, baby?” He strokes upward.

“Yes.”

“What do you say?” He strokes downward. Back up again. Your eyes may as well be stringed puppets with the way they follow helplessly.

“I said yes,” you repeat again.

And he patiently repeats: “No, what do you say? Look at me.”

Once you meet his lust-glazed stare, you don’t have to wrack your brain for the answer he’s looking for.

“Please,” you say, “let me suck your cock. I want it so badly. You deserve to feel good after waiting so long.”

Felix tucks his chin down, puckers his lips, and releases a ball of spit onto the head of his cock. Another soon follows, racing alongside the first, joining the trail of wetness that already leaked from the slit.

You shuffle closer between his knees and take him in your hand. He lets go of himself, but not before brushing his fingertips along the back of your hand. The gesture is deliberate, not coincidental, and you smile up at him. He smiles back, more with his eyes than his mouth. His mouth is used to give commands such as, “Put it in your mouth, sweetheart,” before leaning back comfortably. Even with his pulsing erection at your mercy, he is a marvel of beauty and dominance.

You give him a few strokes to spread the wetness around and simply enjoy the slick glide, then bend to take in his wet tip. He tastes delicious. Good enough for you to moan on contact, good enough for you to want to fill your entire mouth with his warm heaviness. He is tangy from his natural body and sweet from the taste of wine lingering in his spit. You sink down further, letting your tongue follow the path of a prominent vein.

“Open wide. That’s it,” he says. His voice is steady but barely there. The relief of finally being touched where he wants it most runs a succinct shiver through his legs, but otherwise he remains controlled, even when you tighten your lips to hollow your cheeks. “There you go. So good for me. So good at sucking my dick.”

His praise leaves you hungry for more, so you slather your tongue down and around his balls to hear the way his sighs and quiet pants start to crack his composure. He shifts his hips to ensure you can reach every sensitive part of him, and his cock feels just a bit stiffer when you try to swallow it down your throat.

“Hah,” he gasps. “Oh, fuck, baby, that’s it.”

On the armrest of the chair, his fist clenches tight enough to pop a knuckle. He soon releases it, however, and moves his hand toward you. You half-expect him to hold you in place because you know how much he enjoys being in your throat, but instead, he eases you off of him and uses his loose grip on the top of your head to roll it back in a slow, gentle circle along your neck and around your shoulders. A strand of spit — there is no way to tell whether it is yours or his — still bridges your lips to his swollen cock. You reach out to break it with your tongue, curling it devilishly. Felix watches with dark, hooded eyes.

“Dirty girl.” He wipes away the dribble on your chin with his thumb. “Where do you want it?”

You don’t quite understand his question. “Hm?”

Once again, he takes your hands in his, this time to help you up off the floor and onto his lap where he can sling your arms around his neck. The only conceivable reason for him to cut a blowjob so short is that he is already too close to coming. You won’t call him out on it, but you’re thrilled to know it’s true.

“I asked you where you want it. Where do you want me to fuck you?” His vulgar inquiry is warm honey on your tongue. “You want me to take you up against the wall? Fuck you so good and so hard that you can’t fucking walk in the morning? Hm?” His hum vibrates your lips with the sweetest melody. “Do you want me to take you in our bed, under the sheets, nice and slow, until you can’t remember your own name?” His lips are a soft, decadent treat you sink your teeth into. “Or do you want me to take you in this chair, right here where I sat while you were across the room working for hours and hours instead of bouncing on my dick?” His perfume is a laced drug that could leave you high in bliss for hours.

“Yes,” you breathe into his mouth. You pull at his lips, molding and folding them with yours while you feel up every inch of his skin you can reach — his jaw, his back, his arms, his chest, his stomach.

Felix relinquishes a shred of his control with a groan as he ravishes your lips right back. His own hands crawl along your shoulder blades, your spine, your ass. Eventually, he clears his head well enough to say, “That’s not an answer, sweetheart. You need to tell me right now where you want to fuck, or I’m choosing for you.”

“Here. Chair. Now,” you rasp brokenly.

He hoists you up right away, perching your ass halfway onto one of his forearms and using his other hand to drag his swollen, spongy cockhead through your folds until he finds your entrance. The tip slips inside with a stretch but little resistance, as does the rest of him until your lap and his are pressed flush against one another’s.

You rock your hips slowly to welcome the intrusion and ensure he is as deep and you are as full as possible, and his breath hitches from the movement. He lowers his eyes in a straight path from your eyes to your nose to your chin. His lips part as though he is going to say something, but after a couple seconds, he leans forward to give you another searing kiss instead, bracing a hand against your spine to keep you from tipping backward from the sudden motion.

Whatever he was going to say about how good it feels to be sunk in your wet heat again is conveyed through his tongue on yours and the way he clutches your bare skin.

Just when you think perhaps all his words have dried up, Felix sucks his mouth off yours, lays a slap across your ass, and grunts in deep bass: “Bounce for me, baby.”

You would love nothing more than to do just that, so you build up a steady pace as quick as you can. He is just thick enough to rub your walls and make them burn in the best way imaginable. The smacks that come from your pelvis and thighs meeting his over and over are lewd and wet and so fucking good. So fucking good.

You shut your eyes and hang your head back. “Oh my fucking god…”

Felix keeps an arm hooked around your moving waist while he paws at you from the front. He splays his free hand across your throat, applying just enough pressure to get a feel for your erratic pulse, then slips down your collarbone, down your chest to squeeze one of your tits.

“That’s it, baby. This is what we’ve been missing, isn’t it?” He lifts your breast and leans forward to wrap his lips around the perked nipple. The sensation makes you involuntarily clench around him, and he whimpers from the tightness. “Fuck, I’ve missed this so much.”

His admission spurs you to speed up. You try to roll your hips at the bottom of every drop, but your movements are getting sloppier the higher your pleasure climbs. It doesn’t seem to matter to Felix, though. His ragged breathing is a telltale sign of how good it feels to have your soaked pussy dragging up and down his cock. He tries to find your staggered rhythm in order to buck upward in time with your drops and help drive himself into your sweetest spot, but although both of you are hyper-concentrated on reaching your peaks, the coordination is not quite there.

“Sweetheart, you’re falling apart on my dick,” he moans with the little breath he has. “Jesus, you’re squeezing me so goddamn tight. You’ve already come once and now you’re about to soak my whole fucking lap, aren’t you?”

“Lix, I-I’m s-s-so-” you trill mindlessly.

“So close, I know.” He gives the fleshiest part of your ass another solid slap, then digs his fingers in to help you rock back and forth against him. “Do it. Come again on my fucking cock, baby. We’ve earned it.”

You work to get all the friction the ridges of his raw cock can give you, but the edge you’re chasing is still on the horizon, just a bit too far out of reach. “Felix, I can’t…”

“I’ll get you there,” he swears. “Let’s just—”

In no time, you’re on your back on the floor and Felix is plunging his steely length back between your drenched folds. Your legs automatically anchor themselves around his hips to steady yourself against the jarring pace he sets. The aftermath of the rough carpet on your bare skin is a worry for a later. Right now, you whine at him to go faster, go harder, just don’t fucking stop, whatever he does.

Felix leans close and takes one of your knees to push it back toward your chest so he can fuck into you deeper. His breath is hot and shaky and somewhere in the vicinity of your earlobe as he whispers, “Fuck, you’ve gotta come now, angel. Please.”

He readjusts his weight and his grip on you, pushes deep just a few more times, and you’re finally coming again, crying out and clenching around him so tight it nearly hurts from how hard he is inside you. He fucks you through your entire high, never stopping the solid snap-snap-snap of his slim hips.

“God, fuck, I’m right fucking there,” he huffs and pants. Sweat drips from his brow onto your cheek. “Where do you want it? Where should I come?”

“In me, come in me,” you beg, reaching down to squeeze his tight ass and urge him even deeper into your soaked depths.

Felix whines something wordlessly lyrical in a high alto as his release fills you with a sticky warmth. He fucks his cum into you with rough, staggered thrusts, his pace slowing but never completely stopping. Your legs begin to ache as he continues gingerly pumping himself. You assume his spent cock must hurt from the rising sensitivity following his orgasm, but he is not quite finished.

“Holy shit,” he whimpers. “Your pussy’s so fucking tight, I think I could come again.”

Your walls clench around him because you know he is serious. “Do it, baby,” you pant hard. “Use my pussy to come again. I want it all.”

“Yes, yes, yes. Just a little more, I’m gonna— fuck!”

He finds a second shaky high and buries his fingers in your hips deep enough that the bruises may last until your wedding day. The force with which he pulses a final spurt of cum toward your cervix is something you’re certain to remember for a long time as well.

“Holy shit,” Felix sighs again, blissful and fucked out. The two of you moan together when he slips out of you, still half hard. “Come here, angel.”

He slumps to the side and gathers you in his arms to face him. You tuck your forehead between his jaw and his shoulder, and he traces his fingertips along your shoulder blades where the skin is a little irritated from its row with the carpet. You’re not worried about the sting, but your nerves wince under his touch anyway, and he apologizes immediately.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I’m such an idiot. I shouldn’t have—”

“You’re not an idiot,” you giggle tiredly. “We’ve had worse rug burn before. Much worse.”

“I know, which means I know better than to have sex on the carpet.” He kisses your forehead and sweeps a thumb across your cheek. “I shouldn’t have gotten so caught up, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you insist. “Being fucked into the carpet never felt so good.”

Felix laughs quietly, deeply. “It was definitely worth the wait. I haven’t come twice in a row like that in a while.” His sigh is exhausted but pleased; his hug is weak but loving.

After a moment of recovery, he helps you stand and urges you to use the bathroom and change into something comfortable, and you agree on the condition he does the same.

Before you dress, he peppers sweet kisses along your lightly scraped skin and helps you apply lotion over it. He also insists that you drink at least half a glass of water to rehydrate yourself before you both return to the living room so you can finally show him what the two of you have been celebrating in the first place. He massages the back of your neck soothingly as you walk side by side.

“Alright, now I’m actually really proud of this, but you still need to be honest with me, okay?” you preface. Without waiting for him to respond, you whip the sheet covering the easel away with a flourish.

The moment it is revealed, Felix eyes dart over the portrait in patternless directions. You want to see inside that pretty head of his to know every thought going through his mind while he examines your depiction of him, but you can’t, so you keep your eyes trained on his pensive face and wait quietly for him to share whatever feedback he chooses.

“Y/N,” he eventually begins. You can’t tell if the hush in his tone is because he is awed or appalled.

“Yes?”

Felix turns to look you in the eye. “How do you keep outdoing yourself?”

A note of laughter pops past your lips, and the nervousness in it surprises you. “Well, you know what they say about practice. Does that mean you like it?”

“Are you kid— I love it! I don’t even know where to begin! The detail, Y/N! It’s so—” He faces his two-dimensional self again and waves his hand through the air in front of the canvas in a gesture you have no idea how to interpret. Then he extends a single finger toward the bottom edge of the canvas. “Like right here. The shadowing is so good. And the way you did the lighting here...” He lifts his finger higher to point at his painted cheekbones. “You did my freckles so well, I wouldn’t even be surprised if you captured literally every single one of them. It’s, like, scary good. And I don’t know if this is technically a critique towards the realism, but I don’t think my hair has ever actually looked this good in real life.”

You laugh louder, more happily. “I do think I did a pretty good job, but your real life self is way better than this, doll. Trust me.” You tuck a lock of hair behind his ear, and he brings his face back around to look at you again.

“I don’t even know what else to say without sounding dumb about it,” he tells you. It is not often he sounds bashful around you anymore, but he does now. “I’ll have to keep processing it. But in my unprofessional opinion, to my untrained, non-artistic eye, I’d say this is certifiably amazing work, sweetheart.”

You touch his cheek. “As long as you don’t feel like leaving me over it, you don’t have to say anything else.”

Felix takes your other hand and kisses the center of your palm, then each of your fingertips separately, then the ring between your knuckles.

Tomorrow, you’ll ask him for the story of how he happened to have it in his pocket tonight. Saturday, when Jisung sees it on your finger, you’ll ask his advice on how you should do your nails for the wedding (though you’ll probably end up having them done by your groom anyway). Next week, you’ll ask Felix what time of year he has in mind for the ceremony, or if he even wants to make a big pageantry of it. The week after that, you’ll either start looking into wedding venues or making an appointment with City Hall.

And years from now, when your children ask you about the portrait you painted of their father, you’ll tell them you did it because he was always your biggest supporter, and you’ll be reminded just how in love the two of you were tonight.

---

if you enjoyed, please consider re-blogging and/or leaving me some feedback. take care! ♡

copyright © 2024 by daizymax. all rights reserved. back to masterlist

[shiny-jr]

Oh man, just got caught up on all the Vil stuff of the last few days, and we simps be eating good!

So here’s my contribution to the ever-growing shrine: pre-confession darling always being polite to Vil, but a little distant, a little too star-struck to relax around him. Vil starts to wonder if he’s doing something wrong, if he isn’t good enough…

But THEN *dramatic music* darling’s bag falls over somehow, and some little Vil fan item falls out. Nothing crazy, maybe a button with his face on it, or a perfume model he advertised for that has his picture on the bottle. Something unmistakably fangirl-ish.

Darling only notices when Ace or Deuce points it out, then gets utterly mortified when she sees that Vil had also noticed. Stuffs it back in, tries to laugh it off, but can’t get away from the teasing that yeah, even though they’re still new to this world, they couldn’t resist spending some hard earned thaumarks, and that they’ve grown to admire Vil after the SDC.

Can you imagine? I’m sure Vil would be very nice and not too teasing in the moment, but the second he’s alone? Cue all the embarrassing squealing and rolling on the bed he’d never let anyone see. And the SMUGNESS!! Oh, he’ll be on cloud nine for the next few days, randomly smiling and causing heart attacks in the student population.

Even better, now knowing Darling is a fan, it’s SO much easier to get closer, to offer exclusive tickets to his next movie, to invite darling along on his next photo shoot. And any time darling gets embarrassed and tries to refuse, he can just catch their chin in his hand, and force eye contact as he pouts and reminds them that they’re his fan…

Warning: Yandere. Gender-neutral reader.

Characters: Vil Schoenheit.

Summary: Vil being a fucking simp for a fan MC.

Note: Y'all Vil simps have taken over this blog now. ARE YOU HAPPY? Had to write a bit for this because I saw it so vividly in my head. Normally I like to imagine MC kinda oblivious to trends and celebrities of Twisted Wonderland so they casually approach the elegant star Vil like "wazzup" but your idea is pretty fun too. Had to bust out my Vil playlist to write this one. ADDED: I just finished it. Have not edited or checked for mistakes. But I feel like its mid? Like, it’s not bad but it’s not good either. But I didn’t want to keep it in the drafts after completing it and I didn’t just want to delete it either. So I’ll post anyways, even though I’m not happy with it. 

Normally the class consisted of the first years, you'd sit beside Ace and Deuce, usually with Grim seated in your lap. Sometimes Jack, Epel, and even Sebek would be in the same class. But this time you were alone, despite the class being busier than ever.

Ace, Deuce, and Grim were caught doing something they shouldn't have been doing, as per usual. And they were promptly sent to see the Headmaster. Surprisingly you weren't called up, probably because you had been in the bathroom when it went down so you were exempt from detention. Jack, Epel, and Sebek made it to class on time, but they had arrived when the only seats left were across the room. Leaving you seated between unfamiliar third-years because of the joint class today. Well, most of them were unfamiliar, not all of them. Seated directly on your left was Vil Schoenheit, third-year, dorm leader of Pomefiore, and celebrity.

Schoeneheit had greeted you amicably with a rather friendly smile and a how are you? To which you responded with your own nervous smile and a polite response. Truthfully, you believe he only sat beside you because it was one of the only seats left, but you'd like to believe it was because he saw you in a good light now. Were you friends? Probably not. Maybe simple acquaintances was a better term. 

If you were being honest, he still intimidated you. You could recall the looks of disdain he often gave you and your companions before the audition, then there was his strict nature and the fact that he literally cursed your friends with a cake you were five seconds from taking a bite of. Not to mention his overblot and how his unhinged form seemed to focus on you so intently... Yeah, talk about nightmare fuel. But, you decided to give him another chance at possibly being friends. You knew he was famous, but you didn’t know he was famous enough to draw crowds. Which sparked your curiosity and led you to looking him up. What you found were various films, shows, advertisements, and magazines. He was like the actor Emma Watson, singer Britney Spears, and influencer Kim Kardashian all rolled into one. You still can’t believe you had no idea who he was and you had offered him a bowl of cheap instant noodles when he and the others were staying at Ramshackle. Embarrassing... 

You sat rigidly as Vil checked his appearance in the small hand-held mirror, making sure his looks were up to his standards before class began. Uncomfortably you shifted, deciding to occupy yourself by removing your notebook and writing utensils from the bag you kept as a barrier between you and the super star. As you did so, you failed to notice a tiny object fall out of your bag, but he noticed out of the corner of his eye. Curiously he plucked it up between his gloved fingers, about to return it when he took a closer look. 

It was an enamel pin, shiny and sparkling. However, it resembled his face. Or, to be more accurate, one of the characters he played in a recent series. It caused him to freeze, processing what this meant before he moved to tap your shoulder and held out his open palm with the pin on it. “You dropped this.” 

Confused, you turned your head and raised your eyebrow. That’s when you saw it. Your pin in his hand, the pin that looked exactly like him. Mortified, you quickly snatched it, attempting to laugh it off, but heat only began to creep up your neck when you noticed his smug smile. 

Vil propped up his elbow on the table, holding up his head as he remarked slyly, “I didn’t think you were a fan.” 

“Ahaha, yeahhhh... Sorry, is that weird?” 

“Not at all. I’m a little flattered.” Those amethyst eyes of his were studying you so intensely, watching your every little reaction. “I’m simply surprised. Most people tend to not like that character I portrayed, since they’re a villain and all.” 

“What’s wrong with that? I think villains are better than good guys anyways. They always have a better fleshed out backstory or reason for what they do. They’re more relatable, you know? And you did a really good job and making the audience feel for the character! They became my favorite! And–– Ah...” Realizing what you were doing, you shut your mouth. “I mean, you probably get that stuff a lot, huh? I’ll stop now.” 

His eyes were sparkling, surprised as his listened. When you paused, he insisted, “No, no, continue! Any and all feedback is appreciated. Besides,” Vil took the pin from your hands, and he lifted his fingers up to the upper half of your uniform where he pinned the accessory on your clothing. Beaming pridefully at the sight of the accessory, with his face on it, on your uniform, he hummed, “You said, I was your favorite, didn’t you? We still have a few more minutes before class. You’ll indulge me with more conversation, won’t you~?” 

❂     ❂     ❂     ❂     ❂ 

Once alone, Schoenheit allowed his bag to slip off his shoulder. It was a long class, three hours to be exact. Three hours... with you. He released a shaky breath, clutching the spot over his heart that was still beating at a faster than average rate. He could hardly believe his luck. When he heard that today there was to be a joint class between first-years and third-years, he instantly began prepping. He put more effort into his makeup, making sure it was perfect down to the exact particle. He sprayed on his sweetest smelling perfume and picked his cleanest uniform. 

At first he was worried that perhaps he was doing something wrong. You always appeared so... timid whenever he appeared. You could be joking and chatting animatedly with those pesky friends of yours (which he held a raging jealously towards), but when he entered the room, you would go quiet and avoid his gaze. He questioned and scolded himself for everything he did. Why did he used to look at you like a stain? Why didn’t he realize you earlier? Were his efforts at redeeming himself in your eyes, not good enough? Was it something about the way he dressed? Or acted? Or spoke? All this paranoia seemingly evaporated when he striked up a conversation. For the first time in weeks, you talked to him! And it wasn’t just a little chat about homework, or responsibilities, or school rumors. You spoke to him, about him! He knew by the pin and how you spoke about the series, that you had seen him on the show. You had been thinking about him! It quelled all his worries, as just yesterday he feared that you may have secretly loathed him for what he’s done or tried to do. 

As the memory came back to him of what just occurred, Vil clutched himself and squealed. He was already on the bed, rolling around on the sheets and pillows, resisting the urge to simply jump on his mattress and leap with joy! He could vividly recall the way you allowed him to scoot closer to point out some important material in the textbook, as you whispered a witty remark to him which he very quietly chuckled to in order to avoid being caught by the professor, and you even gave him your number! Of course it was to exchange notes and tips, you had said. But he’d use it for so much more than that. 

This was good first step, wasn’t it? You had officially bypassed the acquaintance stage and were now well on your way to the friend stage. Then, more than that, by that was all in due time. For now... 

Vil stopped his squirming, again feeling his heart that was now beating rapidly. Do you know the things he would do just for your attention? Oh, you truly have no idea of the lengths he would do, just for you. Gingerly picking up his phone, he read over the newly registered number. Your number. Slowly opening up a chat, he was partially disappointed to see it was completely empty. You hadn’t sent a thing. But, if all went well, it’d be full and constantly busy by tomorrow evening. His fingers danced across the screen as he typed out his message, reviewing what he wrote over and over again for any errors, any grammar mistakes, or another way to better word what he wants to say. Finally, after a good five minutes of anxiously staring at his screen, he pressed the send button, and watched the text come up in the chat. 

V: [ It was nice to talk to you again. If you’re willing, we should meet again. I got word that Professor Trein plans to have another joint class promptly, and he’ll assign a project so that the first years and third years work together. Would you like to get ahead and research in the library soon? ] 

Then he waited. And waited. And waited some more. After ten minutes, he feared he wouldn’t get a response. Had you given him the wrong number accidentally or purposefully? Was he coming on too strong? What if–– 

Ding! 

Instantly the screen lit up, displaying a new unread message which he hurriedly read. 

Y: [ Vil, right? Thanks for the heads up! Sorry for the kinda late reply Grim took my phone to play games. Anyways, yeah, that sounds good. I can meet you as soon as classes are over tomorrow, if that’s a good time for you?? ] 

V: [ That sounds perfect. ]

You poor thing, you truly don’t have a clue about what you’re getting into, do you?

❂     ❂     ❂     ❂     ❂ 

Again, Vil was prepared. He dressed flawlessly and got to the library early in order to have all the books necessary and stacked up on the table. He greeted you with a friendly smile, and you immediately got to work together. The blonde sat across from you, watching as you sketched out a rough look for the presentation that you wanted to show him and ask for his opinion. As he waited, he ignored the open book in front of him and instead watched at the way you focused on the paper, your hand moving with the pencil to create lines and shapes on the sheet. It was incredible that even the simple little things about you could captivate him. 

After a moment of watching you with a gentle smile and great intrigue, he opened his mouth, “Do you have any plans for afterwards?” 

You paused, looking up in confusion, “H-Huh?” 

“Do you have any plans for afterwards?” He repeated. “I mean, after our study session together. Do you have anything planned for afterwards?” 

“Oooh.” You shrugged before getting back to the sketch, answering as you finished up the drawing. “I mean, I left Grim with the ghosts but he gets grumpy if he doesn’t get tucked in. The Headmaster said Grim wasn’t allowed out, except classes, for at least two day. But, I might go buy some instant foods from Sam’s shop. Then I’ll lead home.” 

“Instant foods...?” Vil murmured incredulously, his smile immediately dropping. All those times he’d spied on you as you ate lunch with your friends, he always thought it was strange that you never ate when he saw you. Despite your company and even Grim eating. But now this? Instant foods? Was it possible that you didn’t have enough money to eat lunch? He was mortified. Swiftly he grabbed your wrist and carefully dragged you out of the library, “Come. Now.” 

“Wh–– What?? Where are we going? What about the project!” 

“A simple project can wait. Our stuff will be where we left it.” He continued to escort you down the hallways, towards what you recognized was the path leading to the cafeteria. That’s when he spoke again, his tone oddly stern, much different from how softly he spoke just minutes before. “You haven’t been eating properly, have you?” 

Your gaze drifted downwards, gazing at the floor as if it were the most interesting thing in the world, in order to avoid his stare. “... Hot pockets are still food.” 

“I mean real food.” When there was a lack of response, Vil became angry. Not at you, but at who was responsible. “That wretched crow hasn’t given you a decent allowance, has he? Tsk. I’ll be having a chat with him, but for now...” He led you to the front of the cafeteria, where there was no line. Other few students present were chatting at tables, having a late dinners after their clubs or study sessions. Vil stood behind you with his arms crossed as he instructed, “Order. And I’ll be watching to be certain you have enough on your plate.” 

You were quiet, gazing at the pastries, plates, meats, salads, and other delectable dishes past the glass counters. The menu overhead appeared endless, with a huge variety of food and drinks and desserts. It made your stomach grumble. It was a horrible reminder that you had barely eaten that day. You only had a cheap bag of chips that morning. Ashamed, you avoided his gaze once again as you muttered, “Vil, I can’t afford any of this right now...” 

“I wasn’t asking if you could afford it. I was instructing you to choose what you wanted. I don’t want your money, you could just pay me back in another manner.” When one of the ghost chefs came over, Vil placed a hand over your shoulder and used his other hand to point at several dishes, “My companion here will have one of these, two of those, and five of that. Yes, that plate right there. Oh, and a smoothie as well. Thank you.” Once the ghost was gone, Vil gazed back down at you. You still couldn’t look him in the eye. Carefully he reached forward, gingerly lifting your head up by your chin so you were forced to look at his eyes. His eyes that were normally so cold and judgmental, gazed at you so fondly. “Why won’t you look at me? Aren’t were close?” He pouted to sell the act. “I’m not about to neglect my own darling fan and let them go hungry. That’d be far too cruel. To pay me back, you can accompany me on one of our days off. Say... to see a new movie in town? Well, do you agree? Or shall I order you more plates and see your time to pay me back grow longer~? Surely spending time with me can’t be that bad?”

[wooyoong]

🌼 freya's recent svt reads (& recs)

disclaimer : these are my RECENT reads, and i haven't added some of my old reads! also i have tried to add atleast one for each member to the list hehe (except jihoon he has two)

note : fic titles labelled with a * mark are series. minors please stay away, strictly. almost all fics here are 18+ !!

— also, i am @angelwoozi 😭 incase you wanted to check out my writing blog then.

CHOI SEUNGCHEOL

* yours, but not yours by @gyukult (fake dating au, 18+)

when a nice guy gets too overbearing, you’re stuck with the option of having a fake boyfriend.

YOON JEONGHAN

Jeonghan's Guide to Insurance Fraud (And Falling In Love) by @starsstuddedsky (f2l, fake dating au)

your best friend offers a way for you to get your wisdom teeth removed without going into debt. the only catch? you can’t fall in love

HONG JISOO

Plush by @bitchlessdino (est relationship, 18+)

soft joshua cockwarming drabble, with love and yearning.

WEN JUNHUI

Love, Actually by @haet-sal (single dad, boss jun, kind of infidelity au, 18+)

You’re the wide-eyed, clueless-but-on-top secretary to Wen Junhui, and it all starts, with one new year’s kiss… well, new year’s fuck.

Mr. Wen likes you. It should have been obvious, whenever he seemed to forgive your inadequate work ethics and frequent unfailing mishaps, and how much he trusted you, no matter how many mistakes you made, how much he hated hearing about your life with your boyfriend… and what kind of boss goes shopping for their employee, privately, anyway?

KWON SOONYOUNG

i don't understand but i love you by @hvcmixtape (est relationship)

soonyoung has only been the kindest and most gentle husband. sometimes you feel like you're floating on the stars, and sometimes you feel like you've just jumped into the most romantic book.

JEON WONWOO

rich girl by @blushnote (rich girl x street punk wonwoo, 18+)

wonwoo likes to call you a rich girl, and you hate it because it’s true. in fact, you hate a lot of things: your friends, your parent’s attitude, the way your life is supposed to be perfect even though you’re miserable. not much makes you happy, except for a punk boy who you can’t even be with.

LEE JIHOON

You Make Me Breathe by @hwanghyunjinenthusiast (hanahaki au)

Jihoon is utterly in love with you. Too bad you're into his friend Soonyoung, and he's too much of a coward to ever tell you how he feels. He's happy to take his feelings to the grave but soon finds that his body doesn't agree with his decision.

* As a Matter of Fact by @starsstuddedsky (co-workers to lovers, fake dating au)

when you're caught in a simple lie, the best solution? dig in your heels and stick to your guns until everything inevitably goes wrong and everyone gets hurt

LEE SEOKMIN

(Not) A Gentleman by @wonusite (est relationship, 18+)

Your boyfriend is the sweetest man alive—a perfect gentleman. However, you’re determined to show him that he doesn’t always have to be a gentleman.

KIM MINGYU

Good Dad, Better Daddy by @bitchlessdino (dilf au, bestfriend's dad mingyu, 18+)

you were hesitant when your friend said you should just stay at her house for the summer, especially knowing you can barely contain yourself with her hot dad around as well as the thought of not getting caught.

XU MINGHAO

at dawn by @sluttyminghao (domestic au, est relationship, 18+)

domestic sex with boyfriend minghao!

BOO SEUNGKWAN

pussy sport by @duhnova (fwb au, 18+)

leave it up to boo seungkwan to almost suffocate between your thighs, eat you out till you’re crying, and to figure out a new kink of his.

CHWE HANSOL

You Get Me So High by @cheolhub (f2l, 18+)

smoking with your best friend (who you totally don’t have a crush on) is super fun till all you can think about is him… well, doing him, to be more specific.

LEE CHAN

promise ring by @lovelyhan (royalty au, f2l, 18+)

no one would've guessed that the daughter of the town’s royal mage has a soft spot for the clumsiest fire elemental in the entire realm. but when the crown prince suddenly asks for your hand in marriage, you're forced to consider how you feel about a certain lee jung chan a lot more seriously.

🌼 show love to all the authors, and don't misuse their content. all rights reserved by the respective authors!

[dreampenned]

SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN.

you develop a strange friendship with the pretty college girl who visits your library.

pairing. olivia hayes (jessica alexander) × female reader

length. 12.9k words

themes. smut, uni student!olivia, librarian!reader, legal age gap, praise kink, pet names (princess, ma'am), fluff, angst

warnings. homophobic and blackmailing antagonist, age gap, smoking, get even spoilers, maybe ooc olivia but NO ONE GETS HER LIKE I DO DON'T @ ME

author's note. HAPPY PRIDE MONTH!!!! yall dont know how special this fic is to me. i started this in september, continued writing it in february (!!!) after being down bad for jess then, after watching get even, revised it to be for my baby olivia hayes :) also my first fic on this blog ! olivia hayes and get even in general are pretty niché in fics, but i hope you'll give this a chance </3 also, i will be writing for more female celebs so stay tuned !!

There was a library - a nice, wide place located in the smaller parts of the university. It’s where the students seldom went to study for their exams, perhaps find a little reprieve from all the youthful stress that curled around them. They’d lounge on the sofas with a textbook in their laps, or hide behind an aisle of novels to make out. That didn’t matter to you - what you cared about was that your second home was a safe space for them, just like it was to you, where nothing else was out to get them but the smell of new books.

That’s where it all started.

It was all supposed to go so normally, but then she came in. 

Suddenly you weren’t so safe anymore.

Oh, but could she do any naught? You heard and dismissed rumors, but she was just a schoolgirl - well, the better and more guiltless term was perhaps college student. Still, you're a handful of years older than her with a degree she's using the end of her teens to fight for. She was young. Innocent too, with those bright, casual eyes that passed around the library fascinatedly. But it was far from easy to remember that when those long legs strode confidently in your vicinity, underneath that short skirt which ought to get her in trouble with the dress code. But why? It was standard uniform - it wasn’t her fault she was beautiful. Ah, and one couldn’t forget the socks, simple white ones yet looked painfully beautiful on her with how they wrapped around her thighs like a present. 

When she looked at you and smiled, it was a cut straight to the bone. No remedy here. Stitches couldn’t save you.

In the second minute since she arrived here, you realized that she was familiar. That was the kind of face you never forgot - engendered into the ripples of your brain forever, a flame of memory kept alive. Because she was just a college student - many years your junior - but she was so goddamned beautiful that it ached your tongue and left it numb.

“Hi,” she said softly. From one word you could tell that curled preppy accent - something that teetered between an heiress’s and a sweet friend - was natural. From one word you were left breathless.

“Olivia Hayes.” You mentioned her name without thinking and with too much a realization, and now it sounded as if you didn’t know her, and oh, how rude that was. How dare you be rude to a girl like her, known and adored by everyone, a princess? You wanted to say you just recognized her, that you knew her already - which wasn’t false - but she’s already smiling.

Her smile, sweet with tender full lips and her eyelids reaching for their other halves, was something you could swim in forever. Oh, you’d drink from her, too - she was a saltless sea that tasted of nectar instead.

“That’s me,” said Olivia, beaming. “I’m the president of the student council. I think that’s where you remember me?”

Of course. She was the pretty face that always led a group of giggling schoolgirls to the hallway; the pretty voice that spoke at auditoriums for the school’s events; the pretty body that flexed as it twisted to send a ball that’s just as small as her head over the net. While you weren’t a professor by any means (you had tried to be, but that dream was whisked away quickly), you were a frequent presence for the student activities. The one who always, always stood out to you was her.

You suddenly found it very, very hard to gulp down another rough bout. She was beautiful in a way that was impossible to perceive without falling for her. When she had that relatively tall yet slender form all compact and tight in her uniform, with lips that became her brand - (because the other girls would always gossip and say how they wanted lips that full, and maybe you were jealous too) - and had their glossed signature, it forged a path that only led to wanting her.

“Yes, you’re right.” You collected yourself. “Anything I can help you with Ms. Hayes?”

“Do you have anything about Greek mythology?” 

That was the lilt of tone she used with her close circle of friends, fondly. Were you a friend to her now? Oh, but you had just met. Not just, perhaps, but this was the first time you actually talked to her lengthily. But she knew you - she’d said your name, and she, with the allowance of you basking in her sweet voice, considered you as someone trustworthy.

But you were far from that. A trustworthy individual did not reach desperately after a kempt schoolgirl like her, or fantasize about doing away with that skirt and scheme to watch all that royal composure dissolve from the princess that she was.

It was only now that you came to the realization that you had always, after all this time, wanted Olivia Hayes.

“Ma’am?” she asked, and all you could think was, oh, it’s the end. It was the beginning of the end the moment she was a polite girl and called you a name that was as innocent as her. It was of no ill intent when she called you that - she was merely asking for your help - but your fist curled up and your throat was tight.

“Yes. Yes, of course.” 

You had to act before you did anything stupid, like make her use those perfect lips on you, put them to good use; get your hand all up in that golden-brown hair. Instead of acting upon all those sinful fantasies, you placed a book she might like, the one you recommended for her only, and brushed the old crumbs of bookshelf dust from its cover. Because you’d hate to see those long, pretty fingers get stained. 

As you handed her the book, which she accepted with a smile, you asked, “You read a lot I presume?”

She giggled. “I try to,” she said. “Haven’t got time for it lately. But I have to.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re excellent,” you told her, not being able to help yourself. It wasn’t like it was a lie - Olivia Hayes had a lot of potential in her. A great leader, having watched her create the rules to keep the students in line; a great actress, having seen her perform at the theater with emotions that shook you to the core; a great person in general.

“Oh.” Olivia’s cheeks filled with pink. And you found out that when she got shy, her ears flushed too. You ought to smile. “You think so?”

And this was the kind of schoolgirl sweet you pictured her as. She found everywhere but your eyes to look at, and her legs began to sway to and fro, shifting her weight from here to there to stabilize herself. Olivia Hayes - president of various important clubs, prom queen and honor student - could also be . . . adorable?

The rumor mill claimed she wasn’t such a sweetheart. A real fucking snob, a boy claimed after leaving her classroom with tears on his face. Stuck-up bitch. Too arrogant for her own pretty good. 

You never believed them. You . . . .did, perhaps? But it was not a belief you held to defame her. 

You actually found the roll of her eyes, the snide of her scoffs and checking of her perfect nails a little hot. 

But the pink on her face was how you realized that she’s the type of girl who’d melt if called anything remotely complimenting. It’s what she was used to; what revolved her world. 

“I know so.”

“Ah,” she mumbled, nodding thoughtfully as she looked down at her black Mary Jane shoes. “Thank you.”

Quietness settled into your humble library. It was what you insisted upon hearing, but there was something about Olivia - how she rolled her words, giggled when she was nervous, spoke softly but easily - that made you want to break your own rules. And several others.

“You have a library card?” 

“I don’t.” You envied how she managed to recollect herself before she melted more. You could never say the same thing about yourself. Suddenly her chin was up again, and a small smile played on her lips. “Is it alright if I read here for a while Ma’am?”

What else could your answer be?

The day became night, the moon stark in the sky from behind your library windows. All the students had filed out. It was time to close.

You looked at your log book. Plenty of people came in today. You were happy about that. As a librarian (you taught too if that meant anything), you were naturally passionate about books. Having a job related to them was a dream right from the start. When you were young, you wanted to be a librarian. When you entered high school, you wanted to be a librarian. When you finished college, you became one. The pay was nothing close to meager which was enough for you. You wanted this job and not one day passed that had you upset about it.

Mostly, people came here to hang out or hide. That didn’t matter to you, but what struck you was Olivia. Ever since dismissal time, she was in that corner reading. A pile of books sat on the table with her. All of them were about mythology, whether novels or retellings or anecdotes. 

You pretended not to notice her as you rearranged books and disposed of unattended belongings. It kept you busy. Sometimes nobody cared about the system you ordered your books in, or the tidiness overall of your little place. So it took a while, one you were pleased about, until you walked over to Olivia.

She was on the four-hundredth page of the novel. Her thumb pressed above the high number on the foot of the page. Didn’t she just start that? And she was still going. 

“You’re a fast reader,” you remarked, fascinated. 

She looked up in surprise. A sense of calm passed over her features when she realized it was you. “Y-yes I am. Other days I finish books in like a year, but I guess this isn’t one of those days.”

“Same here.” You liked how you had that in common with her. She was pretty already, but a voracious reader? That was the key to your heart. 

You picked up her bag beside her chair and placed it on the table. She returned to scanning the book, the pages crisp between her manicured nails and eyes bright and thoughtful. In her lap was a notepad. Her writing was tidy and smooth. Small letters spelled details about Odysseus, gods, and fables.

“You have a quiz about Greek mythology?” 

“Oh no.” She shook her head. “I’m doing research since I got the part in a play about this stuff.”

“Let me guess: Aphrodite?”

It was a basic line - so easy, actually, so obvious. But it fit so well and her ears started to color again. She covered her mouth to giggle, then sat up straighter. The form of her back was like a duchess's: composed, slant, smooth. But she wasn’t a duchess. No - perfect lips, eyes shimmering; she was something more. Something else.

Olivia pursed her lips before smiling softly. “If I were naïve Ma’am” - there was that word again, sweet and faultless but making you pent up, as she considered you with a serious gaze - “I’d think you’re trying to flirt with me.”

“Too quick for that, don’t you think?” you backtracked. You had to be appropriate. Yet you reeled forward again: “But you’re a beautiful girl, fitting for the part.”

You normally didn’t go for the model-in-the-making girls, much less ones who were younger than you. But she had this different aura about her. She was quiet, sweet, and incredibly polite while maintaining her popularity and schoolwork. She was each one of those but people still chose to put her down. You wondered how she dealt with everything. What was behind that pretty, pretty face?

“Unfortunately, being pretty doesn’t free you from my rules.” You pointed at the clock. Regret filled your heart as you informed her. “It’s 7 PM. According to school regulations, I was supposed to close twenty minutes ago.”

“Why didn’t you close then?” A smile creased the corners of her eyes and emphasized her lips. “I thought being beautiful didn’t exempt me?”

There it was. She knew how to reply, how to send back a maimed question with a bigger bullet. This was why people liked to deem her an intimidation.

She was smart, cunningly sweet. You never doubted Olivia’s intelligence but it still surprised you. She looked at you knowingly while you flustered. You searched for an answer when all you searched for was the hike of her skirt up her thighs. She knew your game, and she was not afraid to play it.

Olivia was a tactful, patient pupil. She sat with her hands folded in her lap - like a good fucking girl - and waited for your response. You mustered nothing. It felt stupid to stand there and wordlessly admit you got cornered by a nineteen-year-old.

“It . . . does now.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Fuck.

“You know you can take these books back to your dorm? All you need is a library card.”

“Oh!” Delighted, she stood up and beamed with a light that always was with her, even in the night. “When can I get one?”

“Here tomorrow. Like I said, library hours are done.” 

Olivia didn’t take your sternness to heart. She picked up her bag and slung it on her shoulders. She began to leave. 

She was simply following orders but you hated to see her go. You were already yearning for her. You would have wanted to like her in a purely pure way, but you weren’t a good woman. You yearned for the slip of her stockings down her knees, the prop of her neck, the flight of her hair as the wind pushed past her.

She turned to you at the doorway. Did she read your thoughts? Did she forget something?

“Well,” she said, “if here’s where you want me to be.” 

Then, in a low voice and the final smile of the day, “Ma’am.”

Plenty of students came in after her. They were either the ones who didn’t have friends to eat lunch with (you didn’t enforce the no food rule for them) and the ones who were rowdy, using your sanctuary as a place to yell and make jokes (you tapped the silence rule taped to your desk.) Everyone signed their names in your log book, but the words flew past your notice. All those days gone and your eyes still remained on Olivia.

Everyday she sat on the loveseat with her legs crossed. She didn’t speak one word. Olivia simply read and read and read, occasionally pausing to rest and take notes. Her nose was buried in the book, but you could see her brilliant eyes above its edges. They disseminated, observed, analyzed. The rest of her face was covered and you still found her beautiful. 

“Ma’am,” spoke a student nearing your desk, “can I get a library card?”

The background blurred. You looked at the student and realized you were staring at Olivia for too many an hour. You had to focus. Ogling at a student was inappropriate, and not what the private university paid you for.

Also, the title didn’t sound as nice as it did if it came from someone who wasn’t Olivia Hayes.

“Of course.” You rose from your chair as you took his ID. 

“It’s free, right?”

“Yes, no charge.”

You typed in his name. It wasn’t long or a unique one but you had to read it several times over to ensure its correctness. Typical procedure. Ronny. Soon, his library card was laminated and printed. You placed it on your desk for him to take.

Thanking you, Ronny picked behind his ear. “I couldn’t help but notice,” he began, “you were looking at Olivia for a bit there.” 

You swallowed. Were you that obvious? You hated to think so. The last thing you wanted was your ogling at the girl to be something controversial. (It was.) You were doing it for days, ever since her initial visit. 

What did you say to him? What did you do?

“Oh, uh. No. I just space out a lot.”

He saw through your lie. His easy grin made you uncomfortable. Why? He was just making conversation. “I mean, I understand. She’s really pretty and popular, but she doesn’t have many friends.” 

You turned to look at Olivia. She was still reading. The whole time she was quiet and preserved, not taking time to speak to others. She liked to keep to herself for a girl who was the talk of the campus.

“Doesn’t she?”

“She needs someone to talk to,” he told you. His words were overly friendly, like he was lulling you into a drunken false sense of security. “I think you’d be perfect. She’s just getting into reading.”

“I-I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

He gave you a smirk of knowledge and left. Shit. Why did you have to be so indiscreet? You quickly collected yourself and returned to your book. You had to forget about it.

The characters in your book fought against dragons and fell in love and fell apart and passed on. Chapters became nothing like the minutes. There were rare moments when you had to look up and assist someone, but aside from that, the day was relatively uneventful. 

Night arrived, slowly like it always did. You were a dedicated reader, but the story was uninteresting compared to the pretty girl lounging across you. She was the only one there now. 

Before you could return your eyes to the book and stop watching at how she flicked her hair back and checked her phone, she caught you. Her attractive smile was full of awareness of your plight. You quickly looked down at the pages. It was too late.

School shoes tapped a rhythm on the floor as she approached you. She leaned down on your desk. You tried to ignore her and pretend she wasn’t there. But Olivia had a face people would never forget. She was most likely someone’s first love, who, even when along came a girl who filled their life, was not erased from memory. No, she was too precious to let go.

“You know,” stated Olivia, her tongue curved upwards at the side of her lips, “you could just talk to me. I’m not scary, am I?”

You lowered the story. She was so good to look at. Her hair was tossed over the side and she wore a carefree smile that invited you to close the book.

Was she scary? Yeah - her exclusiveness, tight-knit friendships and beautiful wit - you’d call that scary. 

But the fear always turned into a yearning - please notice me when I walk past; please say my name again; please ruin me- let me ruin you-

“Sure.” You gave in. “What do you wanna talk about?”

She thought for a while. “Anything that’ll make us friends. I like you. It’s gonna be easy.”

Being friends didn’t sound dangerous. What could happen? It’s not as if the moment you bonded you would suddenly grab the small of her back and let your lips meet.

“Wanna get out of here?’’ She framed her cheek with her fingers. “I’ll put on a jacket. Nobody will know.”

You’d love nothing more. But was it alright? There were lines being crossed here: the relationship between a student and a mentor; the rules; the propriety.

She looked you up and down, taking note of everything, then cocked an eyebrow. Oh, it was a challenge. Would you give in?

You found yourself buttoning your coat and walking out with her. The library had to close early. She grinned and looped an arm through yours. You made an excuse that your sudden freezing up was due to the night air.

Well, it was chilly. The breeze puffed Olivia’s hair into the night. She always made herself look like a femme fatale from a fan favorite watch - red lips; smoky eyes; and a tendency to make anyone want her. Ah, not a tendency - she was a natural heartstealer. She broke it even if you weren’t a thing when you saw her with boys, with girls, with anyone looking to tear her uniform down in pieces when you felt the exact same thing.

The school looked more serene in the darkness. It was so grand but looked just like home. Old bricks built themselves up into pillars that resembled castles. Dim light illuminated from dorm windows. 

“It’s nice to get out of that place for once,” Olivia said. She tilted her head to the school and sighed humorously. But the smoke of air that left her mouth shook a little too. “It’s kind of suffocating in there, honestly.”

The branches reached for her hair. Your shoes were torn by growing roots. But through everything, you kept walking. You wanted to know: what was more to this forest? What was more to her?

“Let me guess,” you said. “It’s the popularity contests? Friends? Math?”

She rolled her eyes, a confirmation. “Ugh, math.” 

“You’ll get through it,” you assured her. It was cliché to say, but everything would eventually come to pass. You were on a planet in a galaxy in a galaxy in a galaxy, or whatever. It didn’t matter. “I mean, I did. If anyone could do it, it’s you.”

“I was gonna say you did excellent getting through it, but I don’t know you that well.”

“So get to know me.”

You talked, and Olivia was surprisingly easy to connect with. She listened with attentively creased brows and an occasional laugh. You narrated the basics: “read” was your first word. You did your classmates’ homework in exchange for candies. Reading was your foundation. If you had to go without it, you died.  

You thought that she would make a joke about the cheesiness, or worse, laugh at you. But she didn’t. She kept listening. She sometimes threw you a few interesting questions that kept the drain of conversation going. The thoughtful, caring energy in her face was solid and you felt undeserving to bask in it.

“What I like to say is I’m a reader before a woman,” you told her anyway. The depths of the forest came up and for some reason you weren’t scared. It was the rumor mill for ghosts and hookups, but you were with Olivia. Why would you be scared? “That’s how I wound up here in a uni, letting them read what I have.”

Olivia nodded, hands on opposite elbows. The trees towered over you and made horrific shadows on the dust. Fear didn’t get to you. “Do they pay you well?”

“They do.”

“Must be fun.” She bit on the inside of her cheek, making the soft skin hollow. “Doing something you love.”

There was a wistfulness in her voice. Her expression was dreamy as she thoughtfully stepped over the roots and twigs. 

“Well,” you began, carefully, “what do you love?”

Olivia smiled self-assuredly. “Me.”

She told her story. She was born rich, lived rich, and would die rich. Her mother was an heiress whose love was a businessman, and the wealth would go on for the next ten or more generations. She wanted to be an active and proper student, behaving well enough so as not to take advantage of her father buying her out of any situation. She participated in many clubs and, according to this year’s paper, was the school’s Actress of The Year.

You didn’t think you had too much coffee today but you thought that it wasn’t illusion she had inched closer. Olivia’s knee was beside yours, and she was speaking and chuckling like you weren’t close to being insane about how smooth her skin felt. 

Was this the “bitch” who supposedly broke hearts and ruined lives? She flipped her hair and giggled like she had all the time in the world. She didn’t seem so terrifying.

“I try not to be so stuck up. I want people to leave me alone, but only when I need them to.”

You shrugged. “That explains why . . . ”

“Yeah?” She was not going to let that obvious halt pass.

You blinked. “Oh, I didn’t mean-” 

“It’s fine,” she dismissed, continuing the path down the forest. Olivia studied her fingernails. “It’s not like I don’t know people think I’m a bitch.”

So she knew. She had that admirable composure steadying her, but how did she deal with the falsehood? There was everything to cope with - the pressure of her parents; school; and friends who expected a lot from her. What was her method?

“For the record, I don’t think you’re a . . . ”

“Say it.” Olivia’s eyes flicked up from her nails and shot you with a cheekiness that made you feel lightheaded. “Call me a bitch.”

She slipped her hand in yours. The textures of your skin were vastly different. Hers was as soft as a baby’s cheek. Smooth and blemishless too. 

“Actually,” she added coyly, “call me whatever you want . . . Ma’am.”

You stared back at her. What did you just start? She winked at you then continued talking like she didn’t almost cause a heart attack.

The moon was stark and sent bursts of wind whipping you around. Sometimes you felt her grip tighten around the slots of your fingers to keep her balance. You hoped your palm wasn’t sweaty.

“They’re right though.” She giggled, fixing the blazer of her uniform. “I need a little redefining. So I’m doing some self-improvement, working on my habit of rolling my eyes.” 

“You’re a perfect student,” you joked, but you meant it. Every word was genuine. “You’re intelligent, pretty, studious, and committed. Who do I have to fight to be you?”

As expected, she rolled her eyes with a stifled simper. You both burst out laughing and for a few seconds it was all you knew. The lines of her smile, the shrink of her eyes as she chuckled - it was all so beautiful. 

“Seriously! You’re a beautiful girl. And that hair is lethally gorgeous.”

“Thank you. It’s smooth too. I guess combing like ninety times a day helps.” She scooted closer, as if close weren’t close enough, and turned her head. Golden-brown locks showed themselves to you. “See for yourself.”

Was she bold or just friendly? You gingerly ran your fingers through them. No knots blocked your way. Each thread was silky and clean. This was the kind of soft you’d feel on pillows in hotels you couldn’t afford. You were pretty sure she had well-paid, adoring women who attended to her for this.

It felt intimate. Too intimate. There was hesitance as she observed you, like she wanted to do something but had to think twice. You were getting so comfortable in the familiarity of her features that you had to remember she was a student and you were . . . you. This was like busting yourself out of the closet and getting yourself a case of being improper with a student, although she wasn’t a child by any means.

You put your hand back down. “What color is it?” you asked.

“I dunno.” She shrugged. “Brown? Blonde? Somewhere in between?”

Whatever it was, it looked good on her. Everything looked good on her. She was the only student you saw who never looked stuffy in the hot uniform. The British air was hot in the morning but not one drop of sweat stuck to her skin. Her mane of somewhere-in-between was articulately brushed and straightened.

Footprints of athletes still were visible on the ground. You stamped your foot over a mark of a rubber one. She followed suit. With that, you left a sign you were here. It might be the only sign that you ever lived. 

Books and shelves faded over time, but the earth would always remember your mark. It was sort of sentimental. This would be the first and only time you live, and you were glad to spend it enjoying a night with a girl you liked and getting to know quickly. Maybe you knew her all along. 

“If you really think I’m all that,” Olivia said, toying with the zipper of her jacket, “you should come to the play. I’ll prove my worth. It’s next week.” 

“I’ll be there,” you instantly replied.

You’d love to see her act again. Plays weren’t your thing but it would be good to see Olivia onstage, reciting her lines with deep emotion and twirling from prop to prop. You knew she wouldn’t disappoint. 

Her eyes lit up, and that response told you, without overassumption, of a mother who was too busy to come to her activities, of a father who wasn’t there. Never was. “You promise?” 

She was holding you to it, you could tell. It was a promise you were willing to keep. You’d never break it if the circumstances tested you.

“If that’s where you want me to be.”

“That’s my line,” she objected. She pulled the end of her skirt down to her knees. The waistband sank and unveiled modest skin. It was so devoid of ill intention that it was just right to make you feel guilty for looking. “If you use it, you need to have a nickname for me too.”

She turned to you. The crescent moon refracted in her pupils. Olivia was dead serious. You stopped in your tracks and tried to think. But she was there - so gorgeous, so put together and so lovely - that it made your thoughts go static.

Right from the start, you yearned. You thought it began when she visited your library for the first time. But now you thought that it dated back to watching her act, watching her and her group of friends, watching her be herself in a midst of elites. You wanted her since the moment she stepped in the university and it was difficult to deal with.

Why? Because you wanted to call her a lot of things. Each would be sweet or sour, whichever she chose, as she sank between your legs and/or sat in your lap and/or just kept being the tantalizingly beautiful thing she was.

“What’s something people call you?” you offered weakly. 

“Uh. Ollie and um, Hayes-Are-For-Horses” - you laughed and she had to explain it was back in primary, when she used to be bullied by the people who desired her now - “Liv, Livvie, Livia, Princess-”

“Princess?”

She looked down, a little embarrassed. “My friends call me that. It’s my code name.”

She was a princess, truly. Olivia was everything a princess should be. That’s why her peers loved her. That’s why her peers hated her. She was royalty, and people didn’t know if they wanted to lust for her or reject her just to say they had the opportunity to.

You nodded approvingly. “Very fitting.”

“That’s it then,” she said, satisfied. “You’re Ma’am, and I’m Princess.”

Saying the name felt like sinning - you realized this when you thought it over. But she was smiling again, so of course you’d do it without penance.

The play was beautiful. The props were crafted diligently and all actors quoted with diction and importance. You sat at the front as staff should and kept searching for your favorite student. She came in a white dress and hair styled in endless curls, and delivered a performance deserving of whatever Oscar there was for college plays. She was an excellent actress. All bias melted when you believed she was the best out of the whole drama club. Even her fellow actors said so.

While Olivia performed her nuances, she looked at the crowd, as if willing them to come onstage and save her. The fourth wall was broken through. You were too. She saw you at the front, went out of character with a smile, and got away with it. Her slip-up was so unnoticeable that at the end of the play, you thought you would have signed up for drama club if you were a student. She made it all look so easy. 

“You came!” she said, bouncing off the stage stairs and wrapping you in an unexpected hug. 

You fought back your giddiness. She was just being friendly. You returned the embrace like a good friend should. “Of course.”

The purple dress swayed around her like water, the little details and seams the seashells that fit the siren that she was, born from foam. You saw it hug her waist and flow around her legs and - despite everything: your promises to remain professional, a good senior, a good friend - you couldn’t deny she looked insanely good.

She ushered you backstage as the curtains closed. The cheers erupted for her, and you could picture her making it really big out there. She was gorgeous, talented, and excessively charming - a director would ditch screenplays to cast her. The coach was sure to die if they watched her rehearse. And anyone’s going to fall in love with her, really.

“Beautiful,” you remarked, and it could mean either way: the performance or the pretty little thing in front of you.

“You liked the yelp I did when Paris dragged me?” asked Olivia. Her eyes contained all the stars in the galaxy. She made a wish to each of them, asking for an eager attendee to her play. “I strained my voice, but I did good, right?”

Never did you ask about the black wig, or the smoky makeup, or the way she was almost in tears - almost like she never expected you to come. Or anyone for that matter. 

All you said, squeezing her forearm where you could feel the beat of her excitement, was: “The Princess was more than great.”

She never got that library card. Olivia chose to stay in your library for hours at a time rather than take them back to her dorm. The play was done but she began reading for fun instead of necessity. You recommended her thrillers and romance. Your heart grew bigger. She was actually very easy to be fond of. 

Now she took a seat near your desk where she occasionally asked questions - what does this word mean? what language is this? have you read this? - and left you biscuits in your lunch break. You enjoyed her company. You were insecure about a lot of things but one: she did back.

“Coffee.” Olivia brought a cup of steam to your desk. She pulled a chair to your desk and sat on it, crossing her legs. “Nobody’s here. The rules don’t exist.”

Your heart did a little offbeat thump. She was a generous girl. You forgot to thank her upon seeing that her strawberry blonde hair was tucked into a bun on her head. The strong curve of her jaw and her swan’s neck were just out there.

Olivia’s full lips closed on the straw of her iced coffee. You couldn’t stop watching her. You could help her out with her lessons - there’s her opened textbook, her reviewers - but you had eyes only for her. What a cliché. But you’re a reader. You liked your fair share of clichés. You could give this one a pass.

“Thanks Princess,” you said. You took the coffee and blew its smoke out. “You’re really kind.”

She was the kindest girl you ever met. These past few months, she did nothing but keep you company and spoil you. Olivia was a generous princess - she stepped out to meet the populace, give them food worthy of a royal, and kept them company. That was why you liked her. 

You stopped there. You didn’t want things to go too far. Not yet. These feelings you had for Olivia were inappropriate and deserved hindering. But she was just so beautiful and lovable that blocking the thoughts from your head felt like torture.

“It’s no problem.” 

She was smiling again. You really wondered how her peers carved her out to be an alleged pain. She was so thoughtful that you were beginning to think if anyone had chosen to befriend you this way. Were you even deserving?

“What are you studying?” you asked her. You had to make conversation before you slipped up again.

Olivia’s simper melted. “Math.”

You looked over at the formulas, fractions and calculations. It already made your head hurt. “Can’t help you with that,” you said regretfully. “It’s either I don’t know it or I forgot that thing a long time ago.”

“Can you help me with something else?”

After you nodded, she began to speak. Well, tried to. She trailed off, looking blankly at her textbook. Her face wore a blue little look that was a break of character from the serious one she always had. Olivia Hayes, as far as you knew, was not once lonesome.

“It’s been . . . really hard these days. I’m sorry, I know it’s completely out of topic but-”

“You can tell me anything.”

Hope crossed her features. She didn’t really have anyone to trust with her feelings. Her mother was too busy. Her friends would use them against her. The guidance counselor would just tell her to pray. Would you listen to her without bias?

“I don’t know if I’m hanging with the right people. I don’t know if I’m even that good. I don’t know if I-” Olivia stopped and made complicated gestures with her hands. A defeated sigh sounded from her slim throat. “-am.”

Self-doubt. It was your accurate diagnosis. You were surprised that a girl like her would experience it, but even the most confident people went through that. It would be easy to assume from the way she walked, talked, and acted that she had all the assurance for herself.

Olivia sighed at her textbook and shut it. Her shoulders were trembling. Was she sulking? Nearly crying? You couldn’t bear to see it. 

“I don’t think I know myself at all.” She swallowed, then without looking at you, asked, “Do you ever feel that way Ma’am?”

She was too young and too pretty to be going through this dilemma. You couldn’t say you didn’t go through the exact same thing yourself in the younger years of your life. But seeing the look of pride and strength disappear from her face was a death to your own self-pity. 

You looked at your hand close to her. The pins you gifted for her bag. The jacket you let her borrow after she lost it. Foolish to think, but maybe you finally found someone you could care about more than you did yourself.

“Every day of my life,” you said quietly.

“Oh,” she whispered, nodding. She said nothing more. Olivia’s view was focused on the cover of her textbook, which boasted happy students reading from it. It wasn’t the case for her. Revising this subject, being in this school? It didn’t make her happy.

Well, one thing did.

It hurt to see her like this. Had anyone ever considered what she felt? Or did she put up a front, being pretty and kind? 

“I just feel like I’m wasting borrowed time,” Olivia muttered. Each fragment of her broken sentences grew heavier.  “I want- I need-”

Before she could burst into tears, you tilted her face up. The water in her eyes remained there. What held them back besides your gentle hand was the tight frown of her lips. She was trying very, very hard not to break down.

“Hey. Chin up Princess,” you told her. You offered her an encouraging smile. “I know you. You’re a strong girl, aren’t you?”

Her eyelids were still puffy in their fight to keep her tears back. She didn’t quite believe that. But you would make her.

“Look at you. You’re smart, studious and sensitive. Nothing would make me think otherwise.”

Her gaze lingered on you, thoughtful. Did you really think that? Were you this sweet to anyone else? She chuckled and looked down shyly. “Alliteration.”

Smart girl. “That’s right,” you said. “I’m rubbing off on you.” 

“I guess that makes me okay.”

“You’re doing great. I promise.”

Light coffee stained the end of her mouth. You wiped it away with your thumb. A bit of her lipstick smudged your skin. An indirect kiss? 

When you retracted your touch, you thought the coffee was doing something to your head again. You could have sworn that Olivia leaned in.

And just when you thought lines couldn’t be crossed further:

People like to believe in things that they can see. Why trust in ideas that aren’t visible to the naked eye - it’s a lie for sure, right? Thus, the concept of atheism. Thus, the need for eye witnesses in court, primary sources, the like. Thus, the school not believing that the odor of cigarettes from behind the library could possibly be from you.

Well, they’d be damned.

Gray floated from your mouth like a lost dream. Vices aged along with your soul. See, you weren’t a bad kid. You stayed in school, did your homework, only tried a few prohibitions. But the smoking stuck to you - it reminded you of a more youthful time. It also made you feel a little light on your feet.

The thing was: the school couldn’t know. So you sank into the wall of the back of your library, fingers twined between a cigarette. You may not know yourself but you weren’t depressed or anything - it’s just a thing you do, like drinking coffee in the morning and writing. People often got that wrong.

The forest was just close by. Naturally you mistook the crunches of leaves for the usual PE class. Then they grew louder, and when you turned your head, there was-

“Ma’am? Oh!” Olivia stopped in her tracks and gasped sharply. It was a sound only an actress could make - sweet, tiny. “I’m sorry, am I-”

You waved your wrist. “Not at all,” you said. If there was anyone in the school you trusted with this secret, it was her. “It’s just smoking. I’m not committing a felony.”

She nodded. Her eyes remained doe-wide. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t it time for your classes?” you asked.

It was the middle of the afternoon. She should be having English at this hour. Would they be surprised to find out that the top student was absent? The reason being . . . you?

Olivia swept her hair back. Time slowed down and made permanent the flight of her mane and the pride that stayed. “I’m cutting. I know, I’m a very bad girl.”

She was skipping classes for you. You didn’t want to assume, but was your friendship really that strong? It felt like you knew everything about her. She knew you too, like a book. She read you from cover to cover and annotated your pages. Olivia was a significant part of your life now.

“Oh, what have I done to you.” You played into it as if you were an actress as good as her. What she didn’t know was that you were enjoying it. 

Her nose wrinkled at the smell of your cigar. Still, she stepped closer, albeit cautiously. “Can I-”

“Leave?” You nodded. “Sure. Secondhand smoke’s cancerous.”

Yet if there’s anything you would hate, it would be for her to go.

Olivia shook her head. “I-I’d like to try, Ma’am.”

Your brows were furrowed. You took one look at your cigar then at the student. She was looking down shyly, her side fringes hanging from her face. It was obvious she was trying to prove something. But what else did she have to make worthy to you?

“I don’t think that would be appropriate.” 

“Please?” she said, a pout stretching on her pretty mouth.

“Princess.”

Your sharp tone didn’t hold her back. It seemed to drill her on. Olivia slipped beside you with a look in her eyes that you didn’t know if you liked. Her lashes sat low and her smile - god help me. Like that wasn’t enough, she wore a low ponytail with a few specks of hair left untied. She was too beautiful, and you weren’t strong enough to handle it.

She let a finger twist through the smoke. “It’s just smoking,” Olivia echoed. “I’m not committing a felony.”

Her character was hard to read sometimes. She could be sweet and innocent to you then switch to being a coy serpent that told you to do all the wrong things. Her breath next to your ear didn’t help your hypocritical case. The fight in you yelled to be the bigger person, to tell her it wasn’t right. It was anything but easy when she had a face that you’d die to hold.

“I don’t have more on me,” you excused. It was the truth - your pockets were empty, this was the only one you got.

“Wouldn’t mind using yours.” Olivia was almost whining at this point. The desperate look on her face was one you chased after, and you wanted to make her beg more. She sounded pretty that way. “I’m not a child, am I?”

She had a point. It wasn’t like you were giving away and teaching vices to an impressionable little girl. It didn’t feel right.

“Please, Ma’am?” 

You found yourself giving it to her - not only this, but your everything. Your future, your job, your morals.

Your main takeaway from that moment wasn’t to never do that again, or remind yourself that you could easily say no to a pretty girl (you couldn’t.) It was this: 

Olivia Hayes’s lips looked gorgeous wrapped around a cigarette.

She was made for the part. Her mouth fluttered around it while her stare was distant, piecing something together. She lowered it down and blew a ring of smoke in the air, just like in the movies. Olivia was an old Hollywood actress - a blonde bombshell; the main lead.

“It feels . . . ” She struggled for a word. “Good.”

You took the cigar away from her. “Don’t get attached,” you said. It was genuine advice. “We all know how that ends.”

She was smiling. You were too. 

She rested her head on the brick wall, facing you. Not quite - her gaze was fixated on your lips. “You look beautiful today Ma’am.”

You leaned forward. It was a dare for her to be audacious enough to prove it right. “Really now?”

The bump of her neck bobbed. You realized that your faces were too close to each other. Her lips were so full that it would take a small stumble to accidentally kiss her, to accidentally pin her to the rusty wall of this building. Those wide, princess eyes stared back at you in fear.

It was your signal to back up. This wasn’t right. No matter how beautiful she was or how close you were, flirting with a girl years younger than you wasn’t right.

Even in the silence that carried guilt, the universe didn’t take kindly to your offense. It brought about a punishment you would remember: the snap of a camera flash. 

You jolted. Who was that? 

Privy to your conversation, there was the man who asked for a library card. He was smirking. You knew and tried to avoid him because it was an open secret: he was bad news. He blackmailed, lied, used-

Ronny Kent was his name, and he was not a good person. 

There was Mika, whose reputation was solidly ruined after he leaked a picture of her. The rumors were too loud to keep secret. Then the janitor who only wanted a private moment with his partner. Ronny turned everyone inside out and it wasn’t pretty.

“Chainsmoker and a slut,” he said to Olivia, lowering the camera. “You play every game, even your friends. Gotta respect you for it.”

“Shut up,” said Olivia. Her jaw was tight. She spoke very softly that the insult bore no real bullet. “Please.”

But she meant this one. You hadn’t seen her this uncomfortable. There was real fire in her eyes but a downness in them too. This was not the first time Ronny had seized her dignity and smashed it beneath his feet. You could tell from the sudden rigidness of her body, the loss of her stability.

You couldn’t speak. He was so close to her, and you were afraid you would shove him if he came closer. Maybe you should.

“I don’t think so.” Ronny’s mouth sat next to Olivia’s ear. She cringed in spite of trying to remain nonchalant. Hot odored breath huffed on her face. “Get out of my way.” 

Olivia stared down at her socks. Nothing else existed to her. She felt cornered, afraid and humiliated. 

“Mr. Kent.” Your authoritative voice was no match to a teenage rebel. You glared at him and crossed your arms, but he took none of the signs. “It’s not your place. I’ll kindly ask-”

“When I told you to be her friend,” he said, completely ignoring you as he stroked the camera lens, “I didn’t mean to try hooking up with her. What would her boyfriend think?”

Boyfriend?

Olivia lifted her head with a short-lived defiance. “He broke up with me, Ronny.”

“Of course, because he found out she kissed me.” He was proud of it too. “She took me on a date. Ice cream and coffee.”

Olivia had just cut things loose with Donté. She never told you why. But this couldn’t be true. That wasn’t the girl you held close to your heart. Anger was clear in her face but she didn’t move. She took each word to heart as tears welled up. 

You had never seen Olivia Hayes cry before. This might be the first time.

“Everyone knows what you did to Mika,” she said, slowly and sourly. The end of her sleeve brushed at her eyelid. “You can’t hurt people anymore.”

“Oh, you don’t know that, Princess.” Ronny squeezed her shoulder. Each move he made stenched of bad luck. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

Olivia was trembling so bad you had to step forward to hold her. You had to defend her and set a boundary with Ronny, who had crossed anything you could have made. To your shock, she left before you could speak up. Her shoes clicked angrily to her exit. 

And there was Ronny’s cruel smile that told you nothing good was going to come out of this.

And there was her somewhere-in-between hair: soaring in the wind, like a closing curtain.

You finished several good reads and Olivia was still not visiting you. She hadn’t been for the past three days. It was beginning to concern you. 

You watched the campus from outside of your library. It was full of rushing, bustling students, but you couldn’t spot Olivia. Your heart ached. She was a face you could spot in a crowd miles away but she wasn’t showing up in one or alone.

Was that her friend? A pretty girl with hooded eyes and an atmosphere around her that reminded you of Olivia. “Excuse me?” you asked. “Amber, right?”

She looked almost irritated to entertain you. She always wore that bored expression anyway. “Yes?”

“Have you seen Olivia? Olivia Hayes?”

“She’s probably here. Or there.” Amber lifted her shoulders. “I don’t know.”

“Well, if you see her, please tell-”

“I don’t want you looking for her,” interrupted Amber seriously. The little once-over she did told you that she knew something, and everyone did too. She wasn’t afraid to be upfront about it. “If what they say about you is true, you shouldn’t be allowed near her.”

She left without another word. That was the end of it. 

Now you knew why less and less pupils logged in. Ronny had done the job: spread the rumor, took the reins, rendered you completely of your power. 

It was your fault. If he had crossed a line, you crossed thousands with Olivia. From your thoughts to your gestures to the bond you had - none of it was supposed to happen. None of it.

You brought this upon yourself.

You didn’t want to seem suspicious by asking around. Anyone who visited your library knew you and Olivia were close. You didn’t want to ruin the girl’s reputation.

Maybe someone already did.

The days felt empty without her. No biscuits, no fun conversations, no Olivia. You missed her coquettish laugh and lean posture and thoughtful little gestures. The desk across yours was devoid of a girl who became important to you. Everytime someone entered, you hoped it was her tall and pretty self coming to check in on you. Much to your dismay, faceless pupils were the only people logging in. 

It hurt. You didn’t want to make this about you. But it hurt. 

You had to quit being selfish. She probably needed space. Space? She wasn’t your girlfriend. She couldn’t be. 

You were finishing up for the night. The screen of your computer was bright. It reflected in your tired eyes an Excel sheet. It was a record of late fees and damage compensation. Someone had missed their return date and as much as you didn’t want to charge anything, you had to. Generosity wasn’t a skill they hired you for.

Calculus. It was exam season; you expected that.

What you didn't expect was the loud banging on your door. 

“Jesus-” You flung out of your seat, clutching your chest. The clock said it was past 7 PM. Didn’t they have a watch? Elite heirs usually had watches whose prices skyrocketed past your salary. So who was it?

You ignored it, sitting back down. It wasn’t your fault they couldn’t read the rules.

The rummage of the knocks grew louder than the typing sounds. Along with the darkness and otherwise complete silence, it was beginning to terrify you. Words didn’t make sense for the first time ever. You had to tell them to cut it out.

You stood, paced to the entrance and opened the door. 

“Ma’am?”

It was Olivia. 

She was crying.

Tears streaked her face. Sniffling, she threw her arms around you. Her back rose and rested to the tempo of her sobs, an unwelcome rhythm. The redness in her eyes and the desperation in them - full of need to be comforted, to be held - you ached seeing it.

Something was wrong. You closed the door and hugged her. She was shaking like she had escaped a rainstorm. The only rainstorm here was the flood of sobs that stained her cheeks. Now they spotted your collar.

“Ma’am,” she murmured. Her lips were on your neck, vibrating her cries into your skin. Oh, if you could, you’d take that with her pain. “I thought I lost you. Ma’am-”

Olivia’s voice was broken. She said your nickname not only to call you, but almost like a reminder that you were here. She had nobody else. 

You held her tight and let her cry it out. It was alright, you told her. You were here. Your hours were done but you had and would add more if it was for her.

“I’m here. Hi Princess.”

Your Princess.

Olivia didn’t let go. She was suffocating you with her arms knotted behind you, and a mouth that muffled her pain into your shirt. The pain that bubbled in her chest killed you. but you’d die a thousand times if it were for her. 

Olivia shivered when you let go. You led her behind your desk, her safe place. She leaned against it and tried to control the tears dropping from her red eyes. But the rainstorm was inevitable. The whole day poured down on her ruthlessly.

The familiarity of everything seemed to calm her down a bit. Hands on her hips, you gently pushed her down her usual box. She didn’t sit alone. You were there for her this time.

“Hey,” you repeated. 

You wanted to call her your girl, your baby, your Princess - anything that would comfort her. You wanted to take care of her. You’d wrap a blanket around her and take her out to eat. You’d kiss her and tell her you were here. You’d say: hey little dove, you don’t have to soar all the time. You could just sit here with me.

All you could do was hold her waist and try to control the shudders. “What’s wrong?”

She whined and placed her face into her hands. “I’m sorry.”

What was she apologizing for? She did nothing wrong. She couldn’t do anything wrong. She was so frail and weak as she supported herself at the end of your table that you wrapped her in an embrace again. You knew she needed it.

“Sorry for what?” 

Her words trembled, regretful too. “He . . . he leaked the photos . . . ” Olivia stammered.

Your heart dropped. You didn’t need to ask to know what photos or who did it. Ronny’s visit was a revelation of the end. “Oh baby-”

It was one of a girl’s worst nightmares. There came a deceptive boy whose threats held bite to them, who deceived and lied and manipulated. Nothing could ever be given to them without the fear of the tables turning. 

That was why you couldn’t find her like you always did. That was why she didn’t visit. The world was against her, and she couldn’t keep her resilience anymore.

Her breaths kept tying around her neck and choking her. You kept a hand on her back so she could at least catch them. Her shaking was knives to your chest.

“I was looking for you. I thought they . . . they took you away.” The thought got to her and she looked at you with begging written all over her face. Her frowned lips uttered the words you didn’t think would hurt you this way: “Ma’am, please don’t go away, please don’t go away-”

You pulled her close. Her hair stuck to her cheek, glued with teardrops. 

“I’m not going anywhere Princess,” you told her. 

She didn’t quite believe that. Sniffling, she pushed you off.

“I lied to you Ma’am,” she laughed sourly. Her thumb soothed a teardrop at the end of her mouth as she stood up. “All this time. Did you know that?”

What was she talking about? Was Ronny right? You denied it with all your heart.

Olivia looked villainous. The rage was new. She’d contained it all these years, keeping it together, keeping pretty. But this was the end of it. 

“He’s spreading it around too so I think you know already. I’m not an heiress. Fuck, I’m not even rich. My dad’s been gone for years. My mom would rather die than go to my shit. But I thought that everyone would love me if I was just like them.”

“Olivia-”

“I’m sorry for lying to you!” She broke down again. She was the victim and the villain - crying, laughing; hurting, hitting. She was hysterical, hands together as she pleaded for your forgiveness. “You like me so much and I like you so much but you won’t trust me ever again. So I’m sorry-”

“Olivia.”

She beat her wrist on the counter in frustration. “What?” 

Her scream deafened you. The feedback ringing was so high yet it didn’t cut out her frantic crying. It couldn’t save you from the pain of hearing her tear herself down.

You took the red trunk of her wrist and held it close. She wasn’t going to hurt herself. Not when you were around. “Olivia,” you repeated, “I don’t care if you’re rich or not. I want you anyway.”

She tossed her head back, trying to keep the water in her eyes. It pooled and overflowed. Olivia couldn’t hide anything anymore.

You squeezed her forearm. “I still wait for your gifts.”

She glanced down at your touch enveloping her. Slowly, there was a realization that sank into her. 

She swallowed. “I still look if they have your favorite on the menu,” Olivia said softly.

“I still read the notes you leave.”

“I still want you to call me Princess to get through the day.”

You pulled her in. It was an unconscious decision but you didn’t regret it. Her skirt swished against your legs. You were chest to chest and stomach to stomach. No boundaries. Just her skin against your skin. Her eyes connecting with yours. 

“I still pray you never get a library card,” you confessed softly, “so you can read with me everyday.”

Olivia was silent. Her glimmering eyes pierced through your soul and saw what you didn’t need to say. Actually, she would have said something herself, had she not chosen to kiss you.

She was whimpering as she devoured your lips. She held your cheek and let the passion infect you too. It was like in these little kisses, these little touches, she found a promise that it would all be okay. 

(It would be - in all due time.)

You closed your eyes. Shock melted into passion, passion melted into the need to carry her to the edge of your table. Everything about her was perfect. You believed that until now.

It never stopped. Your fingers laced into her golden brown hair to lead her face closer. You would burn if she left you. Your mouth trailed hotly down her neck anyway. Even here, in the little space where her skin flexed and sweat, she was delicious.

You noticed her ragged breathing and stopped. Was it alright if you tore away the line that put you apart? 

You couldn’t say anything. Were you really doing this? To a student? To a girl that you adored?

Olivia’s legs were spread open. Her chin below yours, she blinked up at you. “Ma’am?”

Your thighs squirmed together. The word eternally had this meaning, this double-edged sword that killed you. “Yes?” you asked.

“Wh-What do you think of me?” Olivia asked weakly. The vulnerability in her question was painfully sweet.

You kissed down her chest and opened her blouse. Little gasps coming from her pulsing throat sounded like heaven. Her pretty bra cupped her breasts and she was just singing these tiny moans - begging you to take it off, begging you get your hand all up under her skirt; make the lines of her mouth twist with shock and pleasure; change the color of her face to red. Oh, she needed you to do a lot of things to her - you knew you wanted to do each one of those when you saw her walk in through that door.

Your tongue played with her stiff nipple. She began to move around, afraid to moan yet afraid to leave you hanging. 

“I think,” you said, before giving a final peck to the sensitive chest that came up to your mouth, “you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

Pretty face, pretty soul. Eyes as big as the heart everyone thought was ice cold. Lashes as long as her patience, her understanding. The beat of her heart matching the loudness of her need to feel good, just for one night.

“Oh.” She sighed. A familiar pink settled over her cheeks. “I really like hearing that from you.”

“Want me to keep talking to you?” It was impossible how every scape of her flesh was appetizing. You licked behind her ear, where she could hear every word. “Want me to tell you how pretty my Princess is, what a good girl she is for me?”

Her thighs clamping around you was enough answer. She was nodding and nodding, the desperate little thing. She was just coming undone. The student, who was so confident and collected, sat on your desk with her uniform tor and lips swollen from kissing.

Her lips. 

You pressed a kiss to your fingertips before tracing them to her mouth. Olivia’s lips were cushiony soft. When you slipped your digits past them, she rolled her eyes back.

Your fingers were the source where she drank and drank. Small moans fought their way out of her. She was enjoying this too much. The angry heat left in her body changed to one she enjoyed. This one made her feel giddy, made the little hairs on her skin rise. And Olivia had to voice it out in tiny sighs which provoked something in you. 

It wasn’t right, but weren’t you entitled to a little sin?

You freed her mouth and instead imprisoned her chin with your hand, letting them float around her face. “You know where these are going Princess?” 

Olivia shook her head. Behind that innocent look, you had a feeling she knew. 

A path forged down to her skirt. It was unfair that the uniform fit her so perfectly. Under the blazer, the blouse, the curve of her body slanted beneath your touch. There came the hourglass line of her waist then the flare of her hips, full around your palms.

Olivia was getting an idea now. No sound needed to leave her mouth when it could all be read from her face. The puppy dog eyes, the quiver of her lips, the red of her cheeks.

“These are slipping right under this skirt,” you continued. You did as you said. Her slim thigh was held by a long, white stocking. It would stay on. “Right between your legs, through this pretty white underwear. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes. Oh god.” She shut her eyes. “Take it off, take it off-”

Olivia gasped sharply as you touched her. You weren’t in her - not yet. But she was already this sensitive. She squirmed around at how you cupped her core, felt how she was cleanly trimmed through the thin undershorts, how the heat was unbearable. You had to do something about it.

Not yet. You clicked your tongue, continuing to feel her. You would take your sweet time with this princess, make her feel good, make her remember this night. 

“You can’t boss me around, Sweetheart.” Sweet talk never truly left your conversations despite the scolding. Punishing a poor little girl who keened and sighed to your touches was cruel enough. It was like wielding an upside-down cross to an angel. “Play nice. What do you say when you want something?”

Olivia kept shimmying her hips into your palm. Her fingers struggled on the desk to keep her stable, and her mind struggled as well to do the same. 

“P-Please.”

“Yes?”

“Please . . . ” Olivia breathed, “please fuck me, Ma’am.”

Shit.

You wasted no time. She was true to being a princess - her panties were lace, frilled and white, a bow on the top. Perhaps it was simply you admiring Olivia like you always had, but it was making you so pent up: seeing her with her skirt lifted, the front of her blouse unbuttoned, her long legs embroiled in a fight not to close.

Olivia whined in response to your thumb caressing her clit over the fabric. The rhythm had her chest tightening while her breathing abruptly lost itself. She was done with the teasing. 

So were you.

You hooked on the sides of the fabric and gently pulled them down. And God - if her panties were pretty, her pussy was even more so. Her wetness glistened, as if telling you it would look better coating your fingers. Filling your mouth. Sheening your thigh.

You pushed first, not pulled. 

“Oh . . . oh.” Olivia lowered her head with her eyes squeezed shut. She was throbbing like crazy. She lifted her head and you could see the gratification written (no, scrawled) all over her face. “Ma’am, I- oh . . . ”

You let yourself curl inside her for a moment. The texture of her walls slid over your skin and the wetness satiated your thirst. Slowly, she took over you. And it was the same on your end - you slid yourself deeper and felt for her sensitivity. It was everywhere, taking from the whines she let out and the frown on her lips.

“Princess,” you said. ”You are so fucking tight.” 

You couldn’t even start thrusting. What if you hurt her? 

“Just clenching around me, yeah?” You caressed her nub in slow circles. “So damned wet too. Fuck-”

One hand on the small of her back, you buried yourself inside her. Her gasps were shorter and blunter as you fixed yourself inside her. The only thing that made it easier was her wetness, sticking to you and allowing faster movements.

You smoothed her hair as she threw her head back. Her collarbone stood out from beneath the fabric. You pressed your lips there with a nibble gentle enough to increase the sensitivity that set her skin on fire. As her jawline grazed your mouth, you felt her moans vibrate below it. You wondered if she knew how pretty she sounded. 

She lost everything once you sucked on that spot. Olivia sounded prettier.

“Ma’am, Ma’am, please-” Olivia thrashed around as if she were a wild animal. What if she were? And not the royal she made herself out to be? She rode your fingers with a fury that beat the angriest of hearts, but she was whimpering - lips pursed; sweet little sounds barely escaping their soft prison. No, this girl was too angelic, too fragile to be feral - but the ferocity of her hips and the grip she had on your wrist said otherwise.

Maybe it was fate that she took you so well. All the little conversations, all that twisted yearning pinned the thread right to this moment wherein you got lost immediately upon sinking inside her cunt. She was so tight, almost too tight, but her wetness let you finger her without having to be careful. You had a feeling she didn’t want you to be careful at all.

And the thing between you and this pretty girl you had literally wrapped around your fingers? The intuition was always right.��

Yes, she wanted you to nip at her beautiful shoulder so she moaned louder. Yes, she wanted you to keep a hand firm around her ass so she wouldn’t collapse against the wood. Yes, she wanted all of this - and it’s not in you to say no.

Neither was it in Olivia. The pitiable girl was tearful. Turns out it wasn’t the cigarettes that would eat away at her cleverness, the breath leaving her weak lungs - it was the pleasure. “Yes yes, oh my God, I need them, I need it, need you to ruin me-”

Her words were an invitation to add another finger, and perhaps fuck her harder on this desk. No one had to know. Not the school, not the students - it was just you and Olivia, in your own world, kissing and touching.

It was, too, an invitation you accepted.

Her chin tipped back. “M-mmm, oh!” Olivia cried. Those long lashes carried big tears that fell down her cheeks, as if she were a mystical saint, the monarch of monarchs, a girl worth worshiping. Saint Olivia Hayes, martyred by a want that blossomed in her chest for far too long. Drink from the nectar between her legs and she’d grant a miracle as good as an orgasm. “It’s just- it’s- oh-”

You thumbed at her clit fast. It was so easy to get her moaning and whining but you still felt that you had to work hard. You had to make love to her in a way that she’d forget everything. You had to drive yourself in her like you were trying to start the engine of her insanity. Oh, come on - whose approval were you trying to gain? Olivia’s? 

Plausible. Because the ache of your wrist you would trade over and over  for the shiver of her body and those big blue eyes staring at you with this subtext that said if you give it to her harder, she might just be yours. 

“More.” You felt her twitch around you, your fingers wrapped by the heavenly feel of her pussy. “Oh fuck me now, faster. I deserve it, I’ve been so good.”

“Of course you have.” You lifted her face and looked at her with the gaze of a doting teacher, almost making this moment justifiable. You were only taking care of her. This was nothing out of the ordinary, teacher and student. “You deserve everything, Princess. Oh, you don’t even have to ask for anything. I’ll give it all to you, baby, I promise.”

And this was around the time, or perhaps exactly when, Olivia melted. Her cheeks flushed and her pout ran deeper. As queen bee and campus celebrity, she carried herself as if she didn’t need anything, not even a compliment. But the need throbbed and screamed inside her. This was the true Olivia, wanting to be petted and praised and kissed. You were the one to satiate it.

You rubbed the tips of your fingers along her weak spots while thrusting quickly. The marriage of your eyes obligating her to meet them, the curl of your fingers, the thumb at her chin - it was too much. She was pushed to the edge and she could fall at any moment.

“Don’t-” Olivia shook her head. Tears ran freely. She didn’t know what she was feeling anymore. The lust was overwhelming and there were too many things she wanted you to do to her. “Fuck… oh God, please!”

Your thumb worked on her swollen clit; meanwhile, you’d spread her legs and instantly slid your tongue through her slit. It’s fucking crazy - when her flavor pooled in your mouth and you drank her freely, she tasted like a memory. You’re already missing her. She was a habit you wouldn’t think to kill off and she’d grow within you and become part of you.

And you would lose her. Just like that.

But you would never, ever, forget her.

You lapped her up. You savored her because the repercussions would catch up and you had to save every last bit of her until you could. Oh, she was screaming, loud and raw - you heard her despite her soft thighs clamping around your head. You kept them there. You wanted to stay in her forever.

“Too much,” Olivia implored, but not for you to stop. She had a fist around your scalp and another around your heart. “Ma’am please, you’re going too fast!”

This was the first time in her life she liked being overwhelmed. Her novel plot of an expression twisted and turned - (it would end like this: beautifully, yet not the way you wanted.) She pouted, she smiled in spite of, she gaped. She did everything and showed you how good you were being to her. But nothing quite prepared her for the feel of your lips tight around her clit.

Her river flowed and flowed. She arched her back and screamed for what all of it was worth. She fell in love with you and you let her dance on the tip of your tongue. You fell in love with her and she let you quench your thirst with her taste. You - two women, from two different lives - fell in love with each other, and you weren’t quite sure how to end that.

You secured her clit in your mouth and sucked as hard as you can. She burst into tears, trying and crying and swearing that she couldn’t handle more but she’d chew off more than what she can stomach, for when the orgasm bubbled in the pit of her stomach, she knew that it was going to be difficult.

“Ma’am, please, I don’t think I can handle it.” 

You were sure you were going to suffocate. The hold of her thighs around your neck was deadly. 

“No, please make me cum, it’s too much!” She sobbed and rode you harder. “I can’t I can’t I can’t, Ma’am, Mommy-”

And there it ended. With the sudden drumming of your heart you didn’t know how to do it. But it finished itself with your Princess finishing on your face, static shock running through her blood and looking quite lost in her own world. 

It happened. The expectation of it did not make it easier. Ronny’s photos reached the school authorities and the students. Every detail was out there in the spotlight. It included how you met, how you admired her from afar, how you were caught smoking suspiciously alone with her.

You were brought in and quietly dismissed. Nobody wanted attention brought to the school already gained by the murders happening. It was an unsafe place, for both your heart and soul. It was just right to leave.

You didn’t get to have a last conversation with Olivia. Afterwards, she simply sat there on the desk with her eyes closed and exhausted. Her head rested on your heart. You could still feel it now, as you sat at home, looking for another job. There was no use tearing up about it. It was wrong from the start and it was wrong now.

A few tears did end up on the black and white ink of the classifieds.

Not a day went by that you didn’t think of Olivia. How was she doing? Was your Princess coping? To be outed like that to what she saw as her world, to be named a slut and villain by her peers . . . it couldn’t be easy. You wanted to apologize to her in some sort of way. It would be to pay back all the good things she’d done for you. She was a good listener, a good student, a good girl. She deserved to be okay.

But how?

The answer came to you one day in the form of an email, from an unknown address but a familiar name:

We broke the rules. How about we and some good friends of mine break more to get even?

You in? ;)

Yours, 

Princess

[toournextadventure]

everyone but her pt.22

Summary: A hidden part of your past comes back to haunt you. At least you've secured a special place in an unusual family's hearts. You would be paying off the debt for the rest of your life.

Word Count: 8.4k Warnings: swearing, violence, murder (in a flashback) Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (everyone but her Masterlist) Taglist: @extinctspino @basichextechml @cfvgbhndun-new-blog @jinxscatbomb @awolfcsworld @suzhiman @gengen64 @eclipsesmoonshine14 @alexkolax @thenextdawn @cacciatricediartemide @cozwaenot @the-night-owl-blr @natashasapphic @elliesbabygirl @alilbitlesbian @irish-piece-of-trash @rainbow-love4ever @audigay @bakugounuggets @myfturn @rockwyn @bigbadsofty07 @andsoigotabutterfly @smromanoff @notheoneforlove

A/N: I've had a clusterfuck of a week and it's only Wednesday morning, so I'm giving y'all this 20mins early because I love y'all dearly 🫶

The sun was out, shining down and leaving a nice little burn to your skin. It was the perfect day to be running around Niagara Falls with Nicky. People were all around, the birds were out, and you were already far too full from street food. It was perfect.

“What next?” Nicky asked once you had both finished your ice creams; you had strawberry and he had vanilla.

“Hmm,” you hummed aloud, looking carefully over everything.

There were carnival games all around, those were always fun. But they cost money, so maybe not those. Go-karts would be fun, but you weren’t tall enough to drive them and Nicky was a bad driver. You could always go see the birds again, but Nicky had gotten bored. There had to be something you could both do.

Oh!

“The skywheel!” You shouted. No one could see, but your little wings flapped under your shirt.

“Really?” Nicky asked, his hand pressing gently on your back to keep your wings steady. It was comforting. “Why? You can see that view any time.”

“But you can’t,” you said. He looked down at you. “I want you to see what I see!”

“Okay,” he said with a smile, and you turned around to look at the skywheel.

It was so much fun! The birds were out, the sun was shining over the water, and the man at the bottom let you go around three times! Even Nicky had fun, pointing out people, talking about how pretty the sky was. Maybe he could appreciate the view a little better when you tried to fly without permission next time.

“Can we go to the gardens tomorrow?” You asked while you picked at the nachos Nicky had gotten. They had tomatoes on them. Yuck.

“We can,” he said. He wasn’t really paying attention to you, but that was okay because you weren’t paying attention to him either. “If you want to.”

“Are we camping again tonight?” You asked. All the tomato pieces finally rested in the corner of the paper tray and you could eat in peace.

“Yeah,” Nicky said with a sigh. “We’ll head out when you’re done eating.”

“Aren’t you still hungry?” You asked.

“Nah,” he said with a smile. “Finish it.”

“Here,” you said, pushing the tray a little closer to his hand, “I saved the tomatoes for you.”

He hesitated, but after looking at you for a minute he reached forward and grabbed a nacho. They were going cold, but you were just happy to share. You had noticed he hadn’t been eating as much since you had left Nevermore for the trip, and he definitely needed more food.

Besides, it was yummy, why wouldn’t he want some?

After watching the sun set over the falls, it was time to start the trip down to where you had both camped last night. It was a nice little spot down by the nature trails below the falls. You had met some nice people down there when you arrived. They had even loaned you a tent!

“Hold my hand,” Nicky said when the street lights were on and you were taking a shortcut through one of the alleys. “Don’t let go.”

“Why not?” You asked, but reached for his hand anyway. It was warm.

“Just don’t,” he said again. His head was looking all around, but you were very focused on the cotton candy the nice man at the cart had given you.

“A little late to be wandering around, don’t you think?”

Yours and Nicky’s heads turned quickly to see two men walking into the alley behind you. They were tall, even taller than daddy. They had some nice smiles on their faces. Were they taking a shortcut to the trails too?

“We’re just going home,” Nicky said. You opened your mouth to argue - you were going to the campground, not home - but he gave you a look that had you shutting your mouth again.

“All alone?” The other man asked with a tilt of his head. “Your parents let you walk alone at night?”

“We can help,” the first man said. “We know a nice place you can both stay.”

“No thank you,” Nicky said. He pulled your hand as he backed away, making you stumble over your own feet. You nearly dropped your cotton candy. “Come on.”

Nicky kept his eyes on the two men as he continued to pull you with him. You tried to walk backwards just like him, but you stepped on something and stumbled, dropping one of the rocks you had snuck into your pocket. Without questioning it, you turned around and bent down to pick it up, your wings fluttering under your shirt to help you straighten up again.

“Would you look at that,” the second man said, and Nicky froze. “We found ourselves a little Outcast.”

“Nicky is too!” You said.

“Y/N, hush-”

“-No no, let her talk,” the first man said. They were walking closer. “You like to talk, kid?”

“All the time,” you said with a smile. He was smiling too.

“What do you like to talk about?” He asked again. The second man was moving sideways. Where was he going?

“Birds,” you said without hesitation. “Oh, and rocks! Wanna see the ones I found today?”

“I'd love to see them," he continued. He took another step closer. "Why don't you come with us to our house and you can show us all the rocks."

"Ok-"

"-Don't touch us," Nicky interrupted, harshly pulling you behind him.

“Don’t get so defensive,” the second man said. You turned your head and saw him standing behind you both. “We just want to give you kids a place to sleep.”

“I thought you wanted to see my rocks,” you said with a huff. The men got closer.

“How about you just come with us,” the first man said as he reached out and grabbed your arm.

“I said don’t!” Nicky shouted.

He dropped your hand and ran head first, hitting the first man's stomach. They both hit the ground hard. You tried to go help, but a big pair of arms wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you back into a big body.

“You’re gonna stay here with me,” the second man said in your ear. He smelled funny.

But the moment the first man hit Nicky with his knee, you lunged forward. Those big hands pulled you back, but you just ducked down further and he let go. Then it was your turn to hit the first man. You knocked him off of Nicky and felt your knee scrape on the ground.

“You fucking brats,” the first man spit out. He pulled something out of his pocket. Nicky was still on the ground holding his stomach.

The moment you saw the knife in the first man’s hand, you turned around to run. You knew to run away from danger, Nicky had taught you that. But you didn’t get very far before you felt someone pick you up. One hand covered your mouth and you bit down hard.

He screamed and dropped you to the ground again. It hurt your feet. You tried to run again, but the man knocked you over. He turned you around, his body pressing you into the hard ground. You turned your head and saw Nicky fighting with the second man.

It didn’t look like Nicky was winning.

“Just stay still,” the first man said above you. He smelled funny too.

Fight back, a little voice in your head said.

What had you seen Nicky do before? He had gotten into fights before, what did he do? Oh! You threw your head forward, feeling the sharp ache when it connected with the first man’s nose. He grunted and pulled back a little bit, but then you felt something hit the side of your face.

Everything started ringing and the alley started spinning. You could feel him pressing into you again, and your wings started to hurt from the ground. Fight back, the little voice said again, so you did. You threw your arms and legs out everywhere, trying to hit something. But then you felt something sharp press against your neck and you stopped.

“Just kill ‘em already,” the second man called out. He sounded like he had been running for a long time.

“With pleasure,” the first man said above you.

No. You felt the knife press into your neck and the sting that followed. What did you do? What were you supposed to do? Nicky had never taught you how to fight a knife!

Knock it away, the little voice said, and grab it.

You thrashed around again, making sure to hit the hand that was holding the knife. The first man groaned again and you kicked your leg up. You don’t know what you hit, but he screamed and rolled off of you. You scrambled to your hands and knees and looked around.

There was the knife.

Your fingers touched the knife right when the first man got on you again. He tried to grab the knife too, his hand much bigger than yours. As soon as you felt your hand grab it, you turned around and swung it.

“Fuck!”

The first man pulled back really fast, holding his cheek. Something red was coming out from between his fingers. He pulled his hand back and you both looked at the blood, and your eyes went to the big cut on his cheek.

“You little bitch,” he said in a mean voice. “Come here.”

He lunged at you again, but you closed your eyes and held the knife out in front of you. Something hit the knife, pushing you back onto the ground again. You heard a gasp and opened your eyes.

The knife was sticking out of the man’s shoulder. He looked at you in shock before his mouth turned into a frown. When he tried to grab you, you pulled the knife out and stabbed him with it again, this time in his hand.

He reached forward, grabbing your wrist and pulled you back. But instead of pulling, you moved forward and he fell onto his back with you on top of him. Stab him, the little voice said; it sounded mean. Without any hesitation, you grabbed the knife with both hands and brought it down. And you did it again. And again. And again again again again again-

-Something warm splashed against your face. The man was screaming, so you closed your eyes and tried to tune him out. You hummed. But you kept bringing the knife down over and over and over and over and over and-

“-Y/N!”

Smaller hands held your wrists, stopping you from bringing the knife down. You opened your eyes again and saw Nicky looking at you. He had blood on his face and clothes and a few cuts all over. Was he okay?

“Let me have it,” Nicky said softly, and he took the knife from your hands. Your fingers felt stiff like they didn’t want to let go. “Are you okay?”

You didn’t know. What had just happened anyway? You were supposed to be at the campgrounds with Nicky about now, right? Why weren’t you both down there with those nice weird people from the other night?

The man wasn’t moving underneath you.

“We have to go,” Nicky said. He was looking all over. “We need to go.”

He wrapped his arms around you to pull you up to your feet. Your legs were all wobbly. Nicky grabbed your hand and started pulling you. You looked back and saw the two men laying on the ground. They were really still. Were they okay?

“We have to go,” Nicky said again as he pulled you further down the alley before you both started running-

“-Smith!”

Your head shot up from the hole you had been staring into the table. The quick movement gave you a headache and made your bruised side throb; jail had not been kind to you. Nothing could have properly prepared you for the difference between the singular Jericho cell and an actual jail down in D.C.

People here were mean.

“You’ve got another date with the detectives,” Officer Hartman called out once you still hadn’t moved.

“Better get movin’, cupcake,” your new bestest friend Erin said with a smug look that you wanted to beat off her. Again. “Hartman might scuff up that pretty face of yours.”

“What would I do without your all-encompassing wisdom,” you mumbled as you stood up, inhaling lightly as the bruises on your torso pulled.

“You sure you graduated highschool?” She asked. “Cause you’re sure actin’ stupid as hell.”

“Still smarter than you and your white trash girl group,” you said with a tilt of your head.

“Wanna say that to my face, Outcast?” Erin asked, standing abruptly to be toe-to-toe with you. In  your peripheral, you could see the rest of her gang starting to circle up.

“I thought I did,” you said. She was smaller than you, but far more aggressive. Surprisingly. “I guess your ass and face look the same, that’s my bad.”

“You little-”

“-Summers!”

Erin’s fist stayed cocked and ready as Officer Hartman casually walked up to the group, one hand resting on the baton on her belt. A shiver went down your spine at the sight of it; you certainly didn’t want to be on the other end of it again any time soon.

“Everything alright over here?” Officer Hartman asked, looking between both you and Erin.

“Just showing my little friend the ropes,” Erin said with a sickeningly sweet smile. Oh, you wanted to beat that off her too.

“You can show her later,” Officer Hartman said before turning to look at you. “Let’s get going, kid.”

“See you later, girly pop,” you said with your own smile before you blew a kiss in Erin’s direction.

You’re going to get your ass beat, the voice at the back of your head said. It was almost nice to hear; it had been a few days and you were getting worried it had disappeared. Wow, you were really attempting to make friends with the voice inside your head. Did that make you crazy?

Yes. Yes, it absolutely did.

“Assume the position,” Officer Hartman ordered once you were out of the common area.

It was a bit odd to be accustomed to the cold bite of the shackles placed around your wrists and ankles. To find a certain comfort in the way they were chained to the belt around your waist. You didn’t know what the explanation was, but it was probably something you needed therapy for.

Therapy is for pussies, the voice said. You didn’t necessarily disagree.

“You gonna behave today?” Officer Hartman asked when she started leading you to the interrogation room.

“Yes ma’am,” you said confidently.

“Good girl,” she said. “Maybe we’re finally beating that arrogance out of you.”

You didn’t say anything in reply; it was better that way. But her words made your side throb again. How bad was it now? It had been two days, surely it was looking nice and ugly at this point. But you hadn’t looked at it yet; you weren’t sure you wanted to know. Not that the detectives would care, nor would anyone else you were going to come into contact with.

“Welcome back, kid,” Detective Waller said when Officer Hartman led you into the interrogation room.

“Afternoon,” you said quietly as you let Hartman unshackle you and then cuff you to the half-circle thing on the table. You didn’t know what it was called, but it was kind of fun to run the cuff chain back and forth on it-

“-Stop it,” Hartman ordered.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, quickly sitting back in your seat to look at Detectives Waller and Pearce. You didn’t like them. Something about them wasn’t trustworthy.

“How you been?” Waller asked once Hartman left the room. He and Pearce seemed more laid back; you certainly did not.

“Fine,” you said. You refused to look up from where your hands were chained to the table.

A lot of precautions for a single 18 year old, the voice mused.

“I hear you’ve been making friends,” Pearce said, his voice always softer than Waller’s. “We can help you with that problem, you know.”

“You’ve just gotta tell us what happened,” Waller finished. He leaned forward to rest his forearms on the desk. “We have proof, so just tell us how it went down.”

“We don’t need to know about the domestic,” Pearce said. “We have an entire room full of people who saw what happened.”

“Just tell us about Niagara,” Waller finished.

This again. They had been asking for over a week at that point. Why couldn’t they just let it go? You hadn’t even remembered it until they brought it up that first day. Maybe you had done it, sure, but how were you supposed to remember all the details?

“Quit looking at your hands,” Waller said harshly. “Look at me.”

And you did. You looked up at him and instantly felt like you were a kid again. The way they were both looking at you like a child about to get scolded. Like all the times when you would get in trouble with your mom and dad and be sent to your room to think about what you did.

It made you feel small.

“We’ve got your prints on the murder weapon,” Pearce said, attempting to take over the conversation. “Just tell us what happened and we can get you away from Erin.”

No he can’t, the voice said.

You kept your mouth shut.

“You’re making it pretty hard on yourself, kid,” Waller said. He leaned further; he was getting too close. “You know what happens when you refuse to cooperate?”

“You already arrested me,” you said. “So you clearly feel confident enough without a confession.” Waller narrowed his eyes. “Not much else you can threaten me with.”

“We can always have you transferred to a different block,” Pearce said with a tilt of his head.

“I hear Block C has a soft spot for Outcasts,” Waller continued.

Don’t listen to them.

“I’m sure you’d make a lot of new friends over there.” Your hands were feeling sweaty.

“You can be cellmates with Miss Byrne.”

Fight back.

Your ears were ringing.

“I think she’s in for killing an Outcast, isn’t she?”

Don’t let them do this.

Your heart wanted to jump out of your throat.

“Think she did. Five, if I remember right.”

“I’m sure she’s rehabilitated now though.”

“Probably wouldn’t even think twice to-”

“-Good afternoon, everyone.”

All three of you whipped your heads toward the door to see a man walking into the interrogation room. His dark hair was slicked back except for one or two strands hanging over his face, and his light goatee was, honestly, pretty fabulous. He kind of reminded you of Zorro.

What was Zorro doing in your interrogation room?

“Can we help you?” Pearce asked when it was clear Waller was still too busy glaring at the new man.

“Jair Moreno,” the man said with a big, bright smile. “I’m here to talk with my client.” He had a comfortingly deep voice, and a stunning accent. It reminded you of Mr. Addams.

“Client?” Waller asked.

“I don’t have a lawyer,” you said with a frown, finally able to voice something.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m here, no?” He said. His smile turned less performative when he looked at you.

Don’t trust him.

“She never asked for a lawyer,” Waller continued. You almost wanted to laugh at how red his face was getting. He was mad.

Good.

“If you keep him around, we can’t talk to you anymore,” Pearce said with a smile that was a rather pitiful attempt at comfort. “We can’t help you.”

“I…” you looked back and forth between the detectives and your (supposed) lawyer. “I would like to talk with him.”

“It’s your funeral, kid,” Waller said with a huff, pushing his chair back harshly and shoving past Mr. Moreno.

“You have the room,” Pearce said quickly before following suit, though in a much less aggressive way. Both you and Mr. Moreno watched and waited until the door clicked shut again, and you were finally alone.

“My apologies for being so late,” he said with a friendly smile as he sat down in the seat across from you. “It took two days to find you.”

“I appreciate you coming, Mr. Moreno-”

“-Señor,” he corrected. “It’s a simple difference, but it makes the white men uncomfortable in these parts.” He winked as if he was letting you in on a little secret.

“Señor Moreno,” you said; the word didn’t sound as pretty coming from your mouth, but he smiled and nodded at you once anyway. “But I can’t afford you. And I never called you.”

“No you didn’t,” he said quickly, “a close friend informed me of the situation. Said you’re like another child to him.”

You wracked your brain to think of who could have possibly called someone for you. Everyone had seen you getting arrested at the Rave’N, so it wasn’t like you could pick from who had known. And you were close with a lot of parents. Had it been a teacher? No, probably not. It certainly wasn’t Sheriff Galpin; he liked you well enough, but you were also a major thorn in his side.

It’s a trap, the voice said. You physically shook your head to get it out. Now wasn’t the time for paranoia.

“I don’t know who would have called,” you finally said. He was being far too nice, it was starting to be a little creepy. Maybe it was the time for some paranoia.

“No?” You shook your head slowly, and his smile fell into something smaller, much more comforting. “Gomez Addams gave me a call.”

Oh.

“Well then I certainly can’t afford you,” you said immediately. Señor Moreno laughed a deep belly laugh.

“He said you would say that,” he chuckled. “That’s why I’m taking your case pro bono.”

“That’s not a smart business decision,” you mumbled, looking down at your hands and away from his gaze. His eyes reminded you of Wednesday’s; dark, like perfectly stained wood.

You’re going to owe them, the voice said. You’ll never be able to repay them. You’ll be in their debt for the rest of your life.

“But it is my decision to make,” he said. You didn’t look up from your hands but nodded absentmindedly.

You felt small again.

“Let’s go ahead and get down to business,” Señor Moreno said.

You nodded and braced yourself for whatever it was he was going to say. You hoped it wasn’t going to be all bad news. There was only so much more you could take.

“Let’s talk about the domestic first,” he said, and you nodded. “We won’t deny it happened, that would be foolish. But what was your emotional state at that moment?”

He blamed Outcasts; he blamed you. Your fist pounded into flesh and bone again and again and again and ag-

“-I don’t know,” you said with a shrug and another shake of your head to get the image of blood out of your mind.

“Were you aware of what you were doing at the time?” He probed. “Or did you only realise afterwards?”

“I…” you sighed. “I didn’t know until after.”

“And it happened impulsively?”

“Yes.”

“Then we shall go with an extreme emotional disturbance defence,” he said. “I’ve used it in New York, I’m sure I can find a loophole here.”

“So it’s actually going to trial?” You asked, your shoulders sagging. You couldn’t handle a trial.

“Not necessarily,” he said, his eyes meeting yours. It was almost hypnotising. He was actually pretty handsome.

Don’t be a whore.

“Now tell me about this double homicide,” he said, looking down at notes that you hadn’t even realised he had. “They have yet to declare it either a murder or manslaughter because of your age at the time.”

“Uh, I was 9- 10,” you blinked frantically. “10, I was 10. Nicky was 14.” So young? “We walked west for a few days and had a mini vacation.” The knife flashed under the street lamps. “Two guys trapped us in an alley one night and tried to kidnap us.” You blinked hard again. “Or not, I don’t know, they just tried to get us to go with them.”

“What happened next?” Señor Moreno asked. His voice was far too soft and quiet, it was unsettling. He shouldn’t be so gentle.

“Uh, Nicky got into a fight with one of them and I got in a fight with the other,” you mused as you shook your head slowly, your eyes darting back and forth but not seeing anything. “The one I was fighting pulled a knife on me, so I knocked it out of his hand and…”

The knife came down again and again and again again again again again-

“And you fought back,” Señor Moreno finished for you.

You inhaled sharply, not realising you had been holding your breath. The room suddenly felt too cold and too enclosed. Your wings itched under the makeshift harness the jail had forced you to wear. You wanted to get out. It was too much, you wanted to leave.

“A double homicide sure, but sounds like self-defence to me,” he said. 

“Technically I only killed one,” you mused, blinking a few times to clear the haze so you could look back up at Señor Moreno.

“I suppose that’s true,” he said with a light laugh.

“Guess Nicky was right though,” you said to yourself. “I’ll always remember Niagara.”

“What did you say?” Señor Moreno’s head shot up from his notes. You frowned at him. “Where did you go?”

“Niagara Falls?” You said hesitantly.

“Which side?” He asked. He was leaning over the table to get close to you, his hands reaching out to grab your own. You let out a sigh; you had missed the touch of soft hands.

“Uhh,” you shook your head and your mouth flopped open and closed a few times. “The left side?”

“No no, which country,” he corrected quickly. “Were you on the American side, or the Canada side?”

“I don’t-”

“-What were the falls shaped like?” He asked. He was talking far too quickly, it was making your head spin.

“I…” your eyes swung left and right, over and over as you tried to remember.

“See that?” Nicky asked, pointing to the falls. You could see them perfectly from your spot on his shoulders. “What does it look like to you?”

“A waterfall,” you said with a giggle. He lightly pinched your thigh.

“What else?” He asked with his own little chuckle.

“Umm.” You tilted your head so you could think better. “It looks like a U.”

“It’s a horseshoe,” he said. “Pretty cool, right?”

“A horseshoe,” you said with a slow, dazed nod of your head. “It looked like a horseshoe.”

Señor Moreno let go of your hands - you instantly missed the warmth - and leaned back in his chair. His hands went behind his head and he smiled. He looked at you, looked into your very soul, and smiled. You frowned. What was he smiling about?

“You’re not going to trial,” he said with a chuckle.

“How do you know?” You asked with a tilt of your head. Your palms were getting itchy. And sweaty.

“You’ll find out tomorrow,” he said. “We have a meeting with your parents and their lawyer.”

“I can’t see them,” you said quickly, eyes going wide. “I can’t.”

“They can’t touch you,” he replied. “If they’re smart, they won’t even talk to you.”

It didn't comfort you, not really. What would it matter if they couldn’t talk to you? They would still be there; you would have to face the people who were supposed to care for you. Love you. Who should have been on your side from the very beginning, not getting you arrested.

“You’ll come back for me tomorrow?” You asked.

“Right after we post your bail,” he said with the most genuine look you had seen since arriving at jail.

“You promise?” You asked again.

He looked at you for a moment with a tilted head and slightly furrowed brows. What was he thinking? He’s not coming back for you, the voice said. But he reached out and placed gentle hands over yours and gave them a light squeeze.

“I promise on my abuela’s grave,” he said softly. Oh so softly.

It made you feel small. But in a good way.

Just the knowledge that you were going to get out was enough to make the rest of the day go by faster. You didn’t even care that Erin and her girl gang were glaring daggers at you the whole day. The only thing on your mind was getting to get out of this fucking jail and get back to the real world again.

You ignored the fact that the real world also sucked.

And that you were not prepared to deal with the real world yet.

Because you’re a coward, the voice in your head said.

You still slept like a baby.

The next morning you took your time heading to the showers; you had picked up on the fact that everyone either showered immediately, or not at all. If you waited just a little longer, the odds of you being alone were exponentially high. It worked out perfectly, and since you weren’t too worried about being late to anything anymore, you took your time. 

Even though it was a bit cold by that time, it felt nice as it cascaded over your face. With your eyes closed, you could just focus on the sound of the water. The goal wasn’t necessarily to wash off anymore, just try to keep your heart and mind in check. You were almost there. Just a little longer.

The water shut off only a moment later, and you let out a frustrated sigh. Of course you hadn’t been keeping track of the time. But it was okay, you would be out soon and could get a hot shower later if you really wanted it. Now all you need to do was dry off and-

-something hard hit the back of your knees and you immediately fell to the ground. The vibration travelled up your palms and the crack of your knees on the tile resonated through your bones and, if nothing else, the bruises that would paint themselves on your skin would be stunning. Wednesday would appreciate the grotesque colours, that was for sure.

You pushed yourself up and looked down at your palms to see the already reddened, sensitive skin on the heels. It ached, and both of your forearms throbbed lightly with each heartbeat. That was going to be a pain in the ass to-

-something rough pulled tight against your neck and yanked you back off your knees. Your hands instantly lifted to pull against it, trying to get your fingers underneath to ease the pressure on your throat. You could feel yourself being pulled backwards across the slick floor until you came to a stop.

Pull it away, the voice ordered. You couldn’t breathe.

Erin stepped in front of you.

“Hey, girly pop,” she said with a grin as she crouched down to be at eye level with you. “Heard you’re leaving today.”

The thing around your throat pulled tighter; it made you choke.

“We couldn’t let you leave without a goodbye present,” one of the women behind you practically taunted.

“Maybe afterwards you’ll learn not to run that big mouth of yours.” Erin’s grin was malicious at best, downright demonic at worst.

They were smart. You knew they were. The moment they pulled whatever was choking you tighter and your hands tried to pull it down, Erin swung. A solid punch that left your ears ringing and the world spinning. The throb in your eye was instant. Only when you were truly dazed did they really get started.

They were smart.

The bruises on your side had already ached before this. Now they genuinely hurt. Each new blow and kick stole what little air you had left in your lungs, and you didn’t know what to do. Did you keep trying not to suffocate? Or did you try to fight back? You couldn’t do both, you were outnumbered.

Fight back, the voice said. But how could you do that when you felt something crack in your side and you couldn’t fucking breath-

“-What’s going on in here?”

It was as if a switch flipped in the room. They instantly released you, and you gasped for air like your life depended on it. You sputtered and coughed, falling forward onto your hands and knees again except this time you didn’t pay attention to the pain in the heel of your palm.

No, this time you were too busy trying not to choke on your own blood.

“Five to one doesn’t seem too fair.” Miss Ethel’s voice echoed off the tiled walls; it sounded fuzzy through the ringing in your ears.

Something red was going down the shower drain.

“We’re just wishing our little friend good luck in the big outside world,” Erin said quickly. At least that’s what you thought she said, you couldn’t actually tell.

“Get going,” Miss Ethel said. You squeezed your eyes shut when the volume of her voice sent a migraine shooting down every nerve in your body. “Now.”

And just like that, they left. Left you on the floor of the showers with a foggy brain and the taste of blood on your tongue. Stand up. No. No, you didn't want to stand up. You wanted to curl up on the cold ground and lay in a pool of your own blood until the foggiest eased and your throat was no longer on fire.

"Come on, baby, get up," Miss Ethel said in a far softer voice that had reminded you of Abuelita.

Her old worn hands held you by the shoulders and steadied you, not rushing you but there as a crutch. As you moved and stretched and stood up, she was there to support you the whole time. Only when you were back up to your feet did she look up at you with a frown.

"So you’re only good for starting fights, not finishing them?” She asked, looking you up and down to assess the damage.

She needs to shut up.

“Just caught off guard,” you mumbled. Your mouth filled again and you spit near the drain; it was a mesmerising dark red. “I can finish fights.”

“Not today though, I see,” she continued. “Decided to be a gentleman, did you?”

“I had it,” you huffed. Something in her eyes reminded you of someone. Someone who cared. “I didn’t need your help.”

“I can see that,” she said with a solemn nod. “You certainly look like someone who had it covered.”

You gonna let her talk to you like that?

“Listen, baby,” Miss Ethel said, her voice dropping a tone and sounding more like a friend. Like someone who cared. “Stop pushing people away. Soon they’ll quit trying.”

“They already did,” you mumbled, your head falling. Your eyes squeezed shut again as a hammer started pounding away at the inside of your skull.

“Then get them back,” she said. You didn’t open your eyes but could feel her hand on your still-naked shoulder. “All that rage and loneliness has to come out sometime. Don’t put your friends on the receiving end and keep your head up. Sad birds still sing.”

“You sound poetic,” you said, finally opening your eyes to meet hers. “Not like someone who murdered her husbands.”

“Read it in a book somewhere,” she said with her charming smile that was missing a few teeth. “Even black widows have some wisdom buried deep down.”

You chuckled lightly before inhaling sharply. Something was definitely broken, probably a rib. It was sticking into your lungs and it just hurt. Every breath, every movement, it hurt. But you took a slow, deep breath and stood up straight again.

No giving up.

“Let’s get you dressed and ready to be picked up,” Miss Ethel said. “Before anyone comes looking for you.”

Miss Ethel helped clean the bit of blood off of you and tidied you up the best she could with what she had. You picked up the towel that had been wrapped around your neck only moments before. It was rough and white. The scratchiness in your throat came back.

You looked brand new by the time you put your suit back on and was escorted out of the jail. It was weird to be wearing the suit, but you supposed it was all you had. Certainly better than nothing, at least. If it wasn’t for the newly blackened eye and broken nose and bruised jaw and… well, anyway, you would have looked ready for the Rave’N.

In theory.

“Dios mío,” Señor Moreno said when he met you outside the jail, running up to you and checking over your face.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly. “I just wanna go.”

“Of course,” he said with a simple nod before withdrawing his hands. “Then let’s get going.”

He led you to the front where a car was waiting, and you hesitated. These things weren’t just dangerous anymore; now they had rightfully killed Nicky. Sure, you had been in the police van on the way down, but this was… it was different. It was smaller and more dangerous.

It was scarier.

Just get in, the voice goaded you. And against everything you had, your feet carried you until you got into the passenger seat.

You couldn’t recall the ride to wherever you were meeting everyone. Nothing about it registered in your head, almost like a blackout. The only thing you became aware of was sitting down in the chair in that big empty room and waiting for everyone else to show up.

That was pretty scary.

“Good morning, Y/N,” someone said in an accented voice, and you and Señor Moreno turned around to greet everyone.

You remembered the man. Vaguely, of course. He was a friend of your dad’s, someone he had gone to law school with. Stokes; Luke Stokes. He was older now, had more grey in his hair, a few more wrinkles. If you remembered right, he had favoured you over Nicky.

But you averted your eyes the moment you saw your parents enter the room.

“You’ve certainly grown into a stunning young adult,” Mr. Stokes said with a polite smile.

“Thank you,” you said in a raspy voice; it itched your throat again. Everyone quickly sat down and you let your eyes fall to the table.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” Mr. Stokes asked once everyone was settled. “You mentioned you were open to a plea deal?”

“Of course,” Señor Moreno said with his own smile. “A trial would be tedious for everyone, no?”

“I’m glad we agree,” Mr. Stokes said as he started shuffling some papers. It was an irritating sound; he wasn’t even looking for anything in particular, you could tell. “Let’s make this simple. Miss Smith pleads guilty and only serves 7 years.”

“I’ll make it simpler,” Señor Moreno retorted, leaning back in his seat. You felt his foot kick yours slightly. “She pleads guilty, pays her fine, and goes to anger management.”

“Absolutely not,” your dad cut in loudly. You flinched and reached your hand out on instinct; Señor Moreno grabbed it quickly under the table. “Assault and murder?”

“Marcus-”

“-No!” His voice was far too loud, only being drowned out by the racing pulse in your ears. “It’s insulting.”

“We have witnesses for the domestic and prints for the murder,” Mr. Stokes said. Your eyes were closed but you guessed he was trying to calm your dad back down. “Why would we let her off without a sentence?”

The domestic was a simple emotional disturbance,” Señor Moreno said nonchalantly. “Her brother had just died tragically, any juror would understand.”

“And the murder?”

“Just so happened to occur on Canadian soil.” He sounded cocky.

Watch their reactions, the voice said. Again, without any intention to do so, your eyes slowly opened and you looked up across the table.

Your dad was furious; his skin was darkened and there was a fire in his eyes. A dangerous fire. He was looking directly at you like he wanted to lunge across the table and strangle you where you sat. Maybe he did. Maybe he would.

I’d like to see him try, the voice growled. And for the first time in a while, you agreed.

“The United States would never extradite one of their own,” Señor Moreno continued, “let alone a small Outcast child who was defending herself from kidnappers.”

“Any jury would still convict,” Mr. Stokes said. “It’s a good deal, Moreno. Just accept it and let’s all go home.”

The room fell silent. A silence so thick you could choke on it. Everyone was looking at everyone else, watching, waiting to see who would speak first. You didn’t want to take the deal. Seven years in prison? Not even a jail, a prison? You could hold your own, but you would rather die than be subjected to that. There already was very little to live for. It would be the final straw.

Señor Moreno squeezed your hand before leaning forward on the table.

“We will have to reject this deal,” he said with a sigh. “A trial will be tedious, but well worth it.” He looked directly at your dad and you noticed the slightest smirk on his face. “I suppose the knowledge that my client is an Outcast will come to light during the trial.”

Your parents’ faces fell instantly. A laugh tried to bubble up from your throat, and you quickly coughed and cleared your throat to hide it. You bit your bottom lip hard as you looked back up to meet their eyes. For the first time, you saw something that almost made the pain worth it.

They were scared.

“I hope your clients are ready for-”

“-Hold on,” your dad interrupted. “There’s no need for that.”

“So you will accept our terms then?” Señor Moreno asked with a tilt of his head. You turned your head to hide your smile.

Gotcha.

He squeezed your hand again as your parents leaned closer to talk to Mr. Stokes. With another turn of your head, you looked at him. He had a cocky smile on his face that was reserved only for you. And truthfully, you trusted him.

“We’ll agree to your terms,” Mr. Stokes sighed, “but the battery remains on her record.”

Shit.

Señor Moreno looked at you again, waiting patiently for an answer. If a violent crime went on your record, you would never be able to move on. You would have to disclose it to jobs, everyone could look it up and find out. It would ruin your life.

But at least it was a life…

You nodded once.

“We accept,” Señor Moreno said quickly, holding his hand out for Mr. Stokes to shake it.

You hoped you hadn’t just handed your life over to something you couldn’t fix.

—---

The next few days were total chaos. Señor Moreno had allowed you to stay in his guest room before the next day of court. It was a kind gesture, truly it was, but the bed was too soft and the house was too quiet. There was no way to get any sort of sleep so you just stayed in bed, staring at the ceiling and letting your thoughts consume you.

Then he took you to the doctor, letting them check you over. Two broken ribs, one fractured, a broken nose, and some deep bruising. Nothing too horrifying, you had dealt with worse. The horrifying part came when it was time to pay and Señor Moreno didn’t even let you see it. He just paid for it all himself.

“Any child of Gomez’s is a child of mine,” he said with a charming smile.

It made you feel small. And a little warm inside.

Don’t get soft, the voice said, it’ll ruin you.

The day of court was far simpler than you had thought it would be. At least it was now that you had Señor Moreno on your side. The judge accepted the plea and let you off with a simple “you’re young, don’t throw your life away.” You just mumbled a “yes sir” and left with Señor Moreno guiding you out of the courthouse.

“What now?” You asked as you pulled on the tie around your neck. It was a shame the only nice outfit you had was your suit to the Rave’N; it had quickly turned uncomfortable.

“Now you go home,” he said with a smile, still guiding you down the steps of the courthouse. Thanks to your parents’ aversion to Outcasts, there had been little to no publicity. “You’ll start your anger management once the new year starts.”

“And the fine?” You asked. 

It had been weighing on your mind since the judge had issued it; $15,000. There was no way in hell you would ever be able to pay that off. A few dozen feet away, your parents descended the courthouse steps, eyeing you for a moment before they looked elsewhere. Your hand quickly travelled to the crystal pendent the Addamses had given you; you still kept it around your neck at all times. 

“I can’t afford it.”

“It’s already taken care of.”

You stopped fidgeting with the crystal and nearly tripped over the last stair. Señor Moreno held his hand out to your arm to steady you before you could look up. Mr. and Mrs. Addams were standing near their car with Lurch still inside. Mrs. Addams had a soft smile while Mr. Addams immediately went to clap Señor Moreno on the back.

You didn’t bother trying to keep up as they started talking in Spanish. Abuelita really needed to teach you.

“How are you feeling, little bird?” Mrs. Addams asked softly as her hand reached out to brush against your cheek. You instantly leaned into the gentle touch.

Stop being vulnerable.

“I’m fine,” you said even though you both clearly knew it was a lie.

“Thank you again, Jair,” Mrs. Addams said, and you turned just enough to see Mr. Addams and Señor Moreno walking closer. She still pulled you closer until her arm was around your waist.

She was being far too soft with you, it was making you nervous. But it also left you feeling cared for, maybe even loved. Fuck, when had you truly last felt loved? Mama Weems aside simply because she still had to work all the time, of course. Shit. Now you were just getting sad.

It’s pathetic.

“Of course, Tish,” Señor Moreno said with a smile. “Let me know if anything else comes up.”

“We will,” Mr. Addams said.

Everyone bid their goodbyes to Señor Moreno and watched as he walked away, leaving you with the Addamses. It made you uncomfortable in ways you couldn’t properly express. How much of their money had you wasted on this whole situation? How much time had you stolen from them?

“Are you ready to go home, little bird?” Mr. Addams asked. He still looked to be in good spirits.

You opened your mouth to answer but instantly felt that lump in your throat again. It was not going to cause you to cry, not now. You closed your mouth and nodded once instead, and thankfully they took that as an acceptable answer. Mrs. Addams opened the car door for you to let you in and soon the drive had started.

You couldn’t remember anything that happened on the trip, or even the ride to the Addams house itself. That alone was enough to get your heart racing once again, but you chalked it down to the stress and anxiety of the past few weeks. More than a few weeks. Fuck, how long had it been since the harvest festival? How many weeks had you missed out on?

Fuck.

You had barely gotten out of the car when you felt something crash into you, knocking you back. Your feet steadied the rest of you, but the ache in your body stretched down every nerve it could find. Small, slender arms were wrapped around your neck and, at the familiar scent of her perfume, your own arms wrapped around her waist as your eyes fell shut.

“Never again, cara mia,” Wednesday mumbled into the side of your neck. “Please.”

Oh, how could you possibly say no to that? When you could hear the rare emotion in her voice and feel something wet drop onto your skin? When her nails were digging into your suit and holding you as if you would disappear in an instant? When you could feel her pulse under your fingertips and even just the feel of her body against yours made you feel home?

She’s going to become a distraction, the voice warned. But a distraction to what? And in the end, did you even truly care? Did you care when she felt like home and comfort and warmth all at once? No. No, you didn’t care. You would let her be a distraction to the whole world if that’s what it took to keep her in your arms.

You didn’t bother with an answer, just held her tighter and inhaled deeply once again. The stress of everything started to melt away, even if only for a moment, and you just held Wednesday as if your life depended on it. Maybe it did. Maybe something inside you would break, leaving not even your sanity intact if you let go.

You wouldn’t let her go again.

You would pile corpses in front of her door before the world took her from you again.

[minty-mumbles]

Linked Universe Survey 2023

The long awaited results of the survey. Sorry it took me forever, making graphs is hard.

There were 452 responses to the survey as a whole, which is almost double what we got last year, so thank you to everyone who participated!

If you want to see the raw data, you can find that here. I had thoughts about the data, but compiling that into another post would be too much of a hassle. Feel free to send me asks about it though!

The rest of the post will be under a read more as it it large

Demographics

Other: Demigirl (4), Transmasc (3), Grey genderfluid, Unlabeled, Demiboy, Demiagender

Other: Omnisexual (4), Poly (2), Trixic, Abroromantic or Bellusromantic, Demisexual

General Questions

Other: Quotev, Discord, their own google docs

Other: Discord, Variations of "I haven't posted yet, but I pan to" and "I haven't posted my fics in ages",

Other: Wattpad, Deviantart, Discord

Other: Crochet dolls, Custom dolls, Roleplay blogs (2), Fan translations, Headcanons (2), Piano music

The purple section in the “Warriors vs Warrior” chart is supposed to read “Warrior.” I made a typo.

Favorites and Least Favorites

Selected Free Response Answers

im sorry warriors i just can't play your game (it is very very hard. i am stuck very early on in the game)

I love cats meow meow meow

was extremely tempted to put twilight for least favorite. unfortunately he is my favorite to write from the perspective of (he has taken over most of my wips. help) and that probably counts for something. WILD on the other hand. hooo boy how the hell do i characterize this gargoyle. why is he Like That. least favorite it is

Twiddy

very good fandom to be in :) everybody is very nice

It's a straight up crime that Wars lost the aesthetics poll so quickly. He has such a peak Link design with the best colors. Ugh I'm getting wistful.

FROGS. FROGS. FROGS. ALSO HAPPY PRIDE MONTH. FROGS. FROGS. FROGS. FROGS. FROGS.

I will fight Hylia herself and the next person who implies Twi can't handle spice. If we're going to lean into him being southern/Midwestern, which is an alright stero type for our rancher, please keep in mind the culture you're basing him off. The south and midwest can handle their spice, I assure you. Have you ever had authentic Louisiana gumbo? It will melt you tongue off. Or some good old fashion spicy fried chicken? I promise the real stuff has quite a kick. (In all seriousness, though. It's more important that you're having fun. And even I can admit the idea of Twi being an Ordonian who can't handle his spice is more than a little funny.)

I am an OoT Link edgelord and have been since early 2017. So, in September of that year, when an artist by the name of jojo56830 puts out a lineup of nine different Links and the Hero of Time is there – the oldest, no eye, Hero’s Shade armor? I saw that one sketch and just thought “oh this is gonna be bad.” Yeah of course he has the coolest design. By the way, it’s only a matter of time until Fierce Deity shows up in the comic and I have reason to believe it could be this current Dawn arc. Dawn … Dawn of a New Day … and who brought about the Dawn of a New Day? Fierce Deity. Twilight is recovering but still injured and what will happen if he falls again? Fierce Deity is coming and we need to be prepared. In this essay I will—

Remember that time when someone put the whole script of the bee movie in here? I’m not that dedicated, and I don’t have that time, but let us remember and hope someone else does it again this time. Cause someone is bound too. We’re all crazy enough to do it. Alright, love you and stay hydrated pls!

Hi! I joined this fandom really recent but i’ve always seen LU stuff on pinterest and elsewhere. Only recently have i actually took the time to understand the fandom and get back into LOZ stuff and i adore the characters and story! The more and more fanart, fanfics, and comics i see about the different Links the more i love them all. It’s such a pain to pick just one i like or one i don’t like because they’re all so unique. I love this fandom and hope to get more involved!! Have a wonderful rest of your day :]

Epona is an underrated queen

your mom

I really don't get why Zelda is called Artemis. Athena makes more sense???? It perplexes me

Anyone seeing this should check out Breanna’s E!Wild AU

Something something queer every Link into oblivion!

[denial-permanente]

Thank you for great blog. Because of you guys I have Been locked up for 4 months and our relationship IS stronger than ever before. We have More sex than ever and we just ordered our first Vixskin (Mustang)

Do you wear the key out in the open/public? Have you reconized that other keyholders etc. are aware of your kink/ key? Is there some sort of sign to cheer or congratulate other keyholders? How does it feel for you? How about Tom, is it big turn on for Him?

First, thank you for letting us know that we have been a good (or bad?) influence. And I'm sure that your wife will be very happy with her new Mustang. Just keep in mind that it will probably take some time to get used to it, for the both of you. Probably more for you since you will have to practice using it to her satisfaction.

About the key. Quite honestly, I have never worn the keys. My husband has never asked me to wear it, and I'm glad of that. I do not think they are particularly attractive, and it looks too much like a junior high school thing. Also, since I do not unlock my husband for anything sexual, there really isn't much point in wearing a key. It's somewhere in the back of my jewelry box for when we travel or if he's getting a physical or some other time when it would be really inappropriate for him to wear his cage.

I understand that a lot of men really go crazy over the key, so maybe instead of having her wear an ugly key, you could get her a nice gold or silver decorative key on a nice chain from a good jewelry store. A decorative key would draw less attention and look much nicer, in my opinion.

And I have no idea how to recognize other women keyholders. It's not like we have a secret handshake or anything like that. 😂 Honestly, I'm not even sure what I would think if I saw another woman wearing keys.

[yeahyeahchloe]

It Wasn't in my Head (1)

(a/n: hellooo! im super excited to be putting my ideas into writing ((finally)) and sharing it with u! this will be a multi part fic, im not sure how long yet, but i am a fan of long slowburn stories so get ready. also, this story will contain inappropriate themes so minors and ageless blogs dni! this is only my third or fourth fic ive ever done so plz be nice to me hehe. ok on with it then)

Summary: Abby is the starting linebacker at UW and when her team starts to falter her coach decides to get the team into ballet, in order to teach them that grace and stability is important in football too. Abby is just as upset about her teammates about this, until she sees her pretty new ballet teacher...

dancer!reader x football!abby

!!ABBY IS STRAIGHT IN THE BEGINNING. READER IS HER GAY AWAKENING!!

The locker slammed in the empty room as the blonde walked out alone, ready for practice. There were a few "hey man"s thrown her way as she walked out the doors.

Abby had always had a thing for sports since she was a kid. She tried a lot of them too, none of them quite working out.

That was before she found football.

Football was one of the only things that ever made Abby truly happy. She knew it was kind of corny to say, but she seriously felt lost without it.

So when she worked her ass off and was offered a once in a lifetime opportunity to play on the men's football team at the college in her hometown, it just kind of felt like fate was aligned.

Abby jogged over to where she saw everyone else running and started doing so. Abby got along fine with all the boys on her team, I mean it was her team after all, but she never really felt the need to truly befriend any of them. She had her close circle and that was all she needed.

Her said close circle consisted of her friends Miguel, Ellie, and Vi.

Her and Miguel met when they were teenagers at a boxing class. She ended up hating boxing but loving what came out of it. Miguel was the type of guy to make anyone feel good about anything. He could turn anything into the funniest joke, or a life lesson.

And Ellie, well she met Ellie not long ago, when their dads met in a poker club and Ellie's dad kina killed Abby's in the game. They had been friends ever since they started talking about their lack of mothers and love of corny dad jokes. Abby had also always known Ellie was gay, but the deal was kind of sealed when she would gush about her crush on a girl named Riley.

And Vi, well Vi was Abby's best friend since childhood. Abby was embarrassed to say, but she was the scared, shy kid sitting on the ABC rug in the classroom. Thankfully, Vi was the complete opposite and marched right up to Abby on her short little legs and struck up conversation. And the rest of the story just kind of wrote itself.

"Hey! Hey Anderson! Slow down!"

Abby looked over her shoulder to analyze the face calling out to her. She turned back ahead and cringed before turning back around and smiling at the man.

Owen wasn't a bad guy per-say, it was really just the way he couldn't learn when to stop. He had practically been eating out of Abby's hands the past three years they've been playing together.

It always confused Abby why she wasn't attracted to Owen, but she sort of just wasn't, and she thought she had made that pretty clear. She also just liked to think that sports were important to her, and she had too much going on for crushes or relationships.

"Hey Owen what's goin on?" Abby slowed so the man could catch up and tried to approach the conversation politely.

"Oh yaknow...practice," He said in between huffs, trying to catch up with the fit girl next to him, "What about you?"

"Yeah just, practice," She commented, coated with awkwardness.

Owen went to open his mouth to speak again, but thankfully her coach whistled loudly and told everyone to hustle in.

They flocked over to their coach and took a knee in front of him while the moustached man opened his mouth and started speaking.

"I called y'all over here to talk before ya started doing drills," he gruffed in his strange accent, "I hope y'all have noticied, that all your scrimages have been straight crap recently. I've seen blindfolded toddlers play ball better than you sissies!"

Abby cringed at his harsh words, but she couldn't help but agree. She assumed everyone was slacking recently due to the fact it was August, and the season hadn't even started yet.

"So, since I wont be caught coaching a ton of pansies, I've decided to get some outside help," everyone seemed confused by his words, and Abby couldn't help but be confused herself.

What the hell kind of outside help did they need?

"Huskies, y'all are gonna be taking ballet classes," the coach said, smirk prominent on his mustache covered lips.

Everyone immediately groaned and commented with wild distaste for the man's decision.

"Shut your nabbin!" he erupted with anger in his voice, "I don't want to hear another damn word! Y'all are takin ballet to learn that just because you think you're big tough men, don't mean you are! You will learn how to move properly on your feet, improving your agility, balance, and strength coordination. You start tomorrow and are fortunate enough to be taught by the greatest ballet dancer in the state and a student at this school. Dismissed,"

Fuck

(a/n: ok wow first chapter! hoped you guys liked it, I promise the next chapter will be more interesting. I will try and have it out soon! ♡︎♡︎)

[st-eve-barnes]

How are we all feeling the day after??

I wanted to make a post and maybe nobody cares but there's just a few things I want to get off my chest after yesterday.

First of all I LOVED the sense of community on here, how we all anticipated this new content as if it was Christmas coming early, how we freaked out over every new photo and clip together, feeling anxious and overly excited, this is what fangirling is all about for me. A HUGE thank you to everyone who shared videos, took the time to make gifs and edits. I'm not going to name blogs or tag people in this post but you all know who you are. This fandom is blessed with all of you❤️

Next up: Ewan❤️❤️ I had some concerns beforehand knowing he's so introverted but I feel so proud of how he handled this whole thing, so happy to see him happy and see how warm the fans accepted him and made him feel loved. Brazil, you did an amazing job! You could tell it really helped him feel comfortable as well, and while he was clearly very nervous I could see the joy and how proud he was whenever he gave a great answer. Prepared or not, that doesn't matter, it was wonderful to hear him talk so thoughtfully about Aemond. I also loved how open and sweet he seemed, hugging everyone, engaging with fans and even taking selfies afterwards. I had NOT expected that part and it makes me so hopeful for the future.

But...you know I was getting to the bad stuff, right?

I also got severe flashbacks from previous fandoms yesterday and I did not like it one bit.

The more content there is the more people have opinions. They don't like what he's wearing or how he/his hair looks, they analyze his every move in the panels, question his answers or worse question his entire personality and sexuality.

Even if some comments feel harmless it's all a lot of negative energy that gets put out there. And it opens doors we should not open.

Can we as a fandom please stay out of Ewan's love life/sexuality? It has nothing, absolutely nothing to do with us or why we all adore him so much. It changes nothing about who he is, it does not affect your own life at all. Literally not at all.

You don't like his outfit? Cool, that's fair, it was a bold choice, I understand it's not everyone's cup of tea. But is it really necessary to point that out and make several posts about it?

I know this is the internet generation's right to state their opinion on everything, and maybe this is my age showing, but sometimes there is truth in "If you can't say anything nice don't say anything at all."

I don't want this to be a call out post because it's not and I'm the last person to call people out, I've made comments in previous fandoms as well that I'm not proud of, I think we all have esp in the heat of the moment. And maybe I'm too sensitive because I've seen it happen in other fandoms, how quickly the negativity and gossip can take over and ruin a good thing.

I don't want this to happen to this fandom cause despite some petty drama it's been such a fun, amazing space for me over this past year and I'd like that to continue.

I guess this a general soft request to all of us to be a little kinder next time we get new content, maybe don't be so critical and just enjoy what we're getting?

(Because lord knows chances are he's going back into his cave for months now lol)

Anyway, I don't want to end on a negative, yesterday was amazing and I'm still shaking. I feel so proud to support Ewan, he's really something special, I feel that even more after yesterday. And despite the negative I'm also proud to be part of this fandom and this little community on here and I'd love to freak out with all of you a lot more often in the future ;)

[path-of-my-childhood]

Hey :) I hope you are doing well. I miss your blog so much! Your Taylor updates were the best <3

Hi guys! I have so, so many similar messages in my inbox - thank you guys for thinking of me and sending good vibes all the time even when I am not around 😊

Even though I have not been active, I have been following all Taylor-related news just like before. I just wanna say how proud I am of Taylor and everything she's accomplished. Following her in this past year has been such a joy.

Also, as someone who has started following NFL since Mahomes became starting QB for Chiefs... let me tell you - I am living for Taylor and Travis. Mahomes was absolutely brilliant from day one (the way he organizes plays, his passing ability, his understanding of the game - I am obsessed) so I've watched Chiefs for ages and I've known about Travis for a good while. Not gonna lie, he always stood out to me cause he is one of the best players in the league and... he is hot and super nice to look at. In full honesty, I have thought about this once or twice, like "he would look so good with Taylor, too bad Taylor doesn't like hot guys" 🤣

When the whole friendship bracelet thing happened, I was so amused and like, I wished that would happen, but knew it won't cause he's too hot and handsome and manly for her taste... so when this actually started happening, I literally could not fucking believe it. Like, this is the thing that I have quietly thought about on and off throughout last 6 years, and always dismissed it as "not a chance in hell", and then it fucking happened. And she looks so happy and at ease lately, and finally ready to accept who she is and what she deserves and it all makes me so happy for her.

Now, I wish I had time to be around more, but that is probably not happening, it's just not feasible with the pace of my life - however, I will be here from time to time occasionally, lurking and reading your messages. So maybe I'll respond to some in future - again, thank you for sending so much love my way and for letting me know how much you miss my updates.

In other news, I will be seeing Taylor next year in Lisbon and Milan - so I can't fucking wait for that!