#this is too much information. I’m sorry! I’m rambling! this is what I mean when I say I miss talking

[verstappen-cult]

# PINING IN ANTICIPATION | MV1

Neither you nor Max know how it started but it made you feel better and that was enough for him.

Pairings: Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader. Content Warnings: +18, cursing, smut, unprotected sex, cockwarming, a lot of feelings, hurt/comfort.

Gwen’s radio message. . . 💬 : okay, so, this was gonna be a porn without plot kinda drabble but this thing came out instead. please don’t expect anything fancy because i really suck at writing smut.

Max opens the door before you could even start to question yourself.

He’s surprised to see you knocking on his door at two in the morning. You start to regret coming to him when you see him rub the sleep from his eyes. “Y/N? What are you doing here?” You look down, choking on a sob. “Hey, hey, what happened?”

Max is by your side in a second, wrapping an arm around your waist to guide you inside his apartment. He doesn’t let you go until you’re sitting comfortable on the couch, tucking your legs beneath you. 

“Did something happen?” 

“Had an awful fight with mom,” You fidget with your fingers, the corners of your eyes already filled with tears. “she said really mean things.”

Max reaches out and grabs your hand, thumb caressing the inside of your wrist. It’s not the first time something like this has happened, he’s very familiar with the relationship you have with your mother because it is pretty much the same relationship he has with his father. Actually, when you first met, you bonded over the awful parents and experiences you had as kids. 

“Couldn’t stay home alone.” You say, shyly. “I’m sorry for coming at this hour.”

“Don’t worry about that.” 

The silence stretches between you two. Max looks carefully as you get lost inside your head, staring straight ahead at nothing in particular. He can almost hear your thoughts. He knows what you need, the only thing that makes you feel better and gets you out of your head. 

Max doesn’t know exactly how it happened. One moment you’re in the brink of an anxiety attack and then, in the blink of an eye, you’re sitting on his cock, face buried into the side of his neck as he rubbed your back up and down.

It wasn’t sex because you didn't kiss, there wasn’t some awfully awkward dirty talk and neither of you came at the end — well, not that you know. If Max had to lock himself in the bathroom after you fell asleep because he was still so painfully hard, it’s definitely not something you need to know; he still feels disgusting and will take that secret to the grave. 

You didn’t talk to each other for at least two weeks after that. Max wanted to reach out but you were ignoring him, and he wanted to give you space to sort your head out. And when one day you sat down next to him and started to apologize and ramble about not wanting to lose him because he’s just so important in your life, Max was finally able to relax because you were fine. Everything was fine. 

You had a long conversation. And it was that day when Max learnt that what you did was called cockwarning and it was actually something people do to feel better. For you, it was about feeling physically as well as emotionally close with the other person, so, that is why it was so easy for you to do it with Max, you felt safe and you trust him. You also explain to him how, when things are just too much, feeling that deep pressure inside of you as well as the warmth emanating from a body under yours is, somehow, enough to stop your mind from reeling with questions, and feelings, and emotions. 

Max actually googled it. He opened an incognito tab and typed the words. He doesn’t know how much time he spent reading about experiences and actual studies about something that he had never heard of before. But it was like you said—many people do it because they feel safe that way, others because they don't want to think and it’s the only way they can relax and go into something called sub-space — Max didn’t do research on that because it was too much information and he just couldn’t handle it — while others do it just because they like it, no real meaning behind. 

You promised it wouldn’t happen again.

And, well, you should’ve known better. 

After the second time, you came to an agreement. Max would help you because he’s that good of a friend and cares about you. And because he didn’t want you to be looking for somebody else who could help you if you already felt safe with him. 

He never found it weird, and you appreciate that. 

So, now everytime you feel overwhelmed and can’t get out of your head on your own, Max is there to help you. Even if all you want is to just sit on somebody’s cock and pass the time, relax. He doesn’t care. 

It’s good that after the second time he was able to gain some control and not embarrass himself and you in the process. Max still feels like, one way or another, he’s taking advantage of you and you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve had to assure him that it is not like that and if you ever feel uncomfortable you will tell him. 

“Y/N?” He rubs the palm of your hand but you don’t look at him. You don’t react, not when he lets go of your hand and kneels in front of you and not even when he cups your cheek with his hands. “Hey, Y/N, I need you to get out of that pretty head of yours. Could you do that for me?” Max sighs in relief when he finally sees your gaze focusing on his face after what feels like hours. “There we go, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

The corners of your mouth go up to form a sad smile. 

“You need my help?” Max asks, thumbs caressing your cheekbones. You nod, but that isn't enough. “You know we don’t work like that. I need words.”

It’s not the first time that the way he speaks to you sends a shiver down your spine. You’ve just become pretty good at ignoring it. 

“Yes,” You breathe out, closing your eyes to center yourself and stop the whine threatening to leave your lips. “I need you.” 

“Good,” He almost says Good girl, but holds his tongue. “You want to go to the bedroom?”

You shake your head. You don’t feel strong enough to walk there. “No, it’s okay. We can do it here.” You say in a small voice. “I’m really sorry for coming. “I’m fine, okay? I just need to relax an—”

“Hey, don’t, okay? I told you to come to me when you needed me. Night or day.” He reassures you, but you still feel like crying. “You think you can wait for me? I need to go get something.”

“No! Wha—why?”

Max tries not to laugh but you’re pouting and he finds it cute. “I need to get the lube,” Your pupils are wide and a faint bush covers your cheeks, because he doesn’t finger you to help make things easier, even though he has said he’s okay with it, you’re not. “I’ll be back in a second.” He leans to leave a kiss on your forehead before dissapearing.

You hide your face in your hands, breathing in and breathing out just like your therapist taught you. Only when you feel like you won’t pass out, you decide to speed things up by removing your jeans. 

You don’t like feeling like this. It’s almost comical that after all this time, knowing how your mother is and how always will be, she still has so much power over you. A few mean words and you are ten years old again. You can’t hate her, she’s your mother after all, but you’ve tried, only God knows how much you’ve tried to hate her and not come back running back to her when she tells you some nice things. It’s a vicious cycle that not even with therapy you’ve been able to stop.

When Max comes back he finds you sitting on the couch only in your underwear. You avoid making eye contact, feeling a little embarrassed for not wearing your cute lingerie. You chastise yourself for going there because this is not about sex, and it’s definitely not the first time that Max has seen you like this. 

When you look up, he’s already watching you. “You okay?” You nod, not trusting your voice. 

You break eye contact when Max moves his hands toward the waistband of his sweatpants. 

“You need help?” 

You see Max smiling from the corner of your eyes. “No, I already took care of that.”

Max is quick to shove his sweatpants down his thighs and join you on the couch. He pats his thighs and opens his arms for you, and you’re immediately moving to straddle his lap. You steady yourself grabbing Max’s shoulders, hovering over his lap and looking up to the ceiling as he busies himself opening the lube and dripping some over his cock. 

Your heart skips several beats as you look down to find him stroking himself to spread the lube. You’ve seen him do the same thing at least four times but you still feel like passing out every time you see his big and skilled hand move. Not for the first time you let yourself wonder how would his fingers feel inside of you. 

Max grabs your waist with one hand and uses the other to run the tip of his cock through your folds. You close your eyes and stop breathing as he, finally and slowly, sinks into you. You bite your lips trying to get used to the stretch, Max rubs circles on your lower back as he lets you adjust. You’ve done this quite a few times but you’re still not used to it. 

“You can—” You sigh, opening your eyes but Max is not looking at you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He focuses his attention back on you, and smiles. You try to smile but your expression changes when you move all the way down, a whimper leaving your lips at finally having his cock buried deep inside of you. 

Max groans, grabbing your waist with more force than normal before letting go and, instead, grabbing the cushions by his sides. 

You lose the grip and wrap your arms around his neck, immediately resting your head on his shoulder and relaxing against his body. “Thank you.”

Max makes a weird noise, but you feel him nod. He lifts his hands and places them on your waist, fingers already caressing your back, sides and neck. 

Max turns his head just enough to be able to leave a kiss on your cheek before going back to his initial position. He reaches for the remote and turns on the TV, choosing to put on some comedy film as a background. 

The only thing you can feel and think about is his cock inside of you, making you feel so full, and the warmth emanating from his body, grounding you and, at the same time, making you feel like you’re floating around. There are no bad thoughts, you’re not thinking about the fight you had with your mom anymore. 

You’re not actually too lost inside your head, the walk to Max apartment helped you clear your mind a bit. You’re still a little shocked by the words and things your mother did, definitely, but once you reached Max building, you were feeling a lot better. If you ended up coming up anyway, well, Max offered to let you sit on his cock overwhelmed or not and you wouldn’t let that offer pass. You don’t know how much time you have together because one of these days Max can find a girlfriend and you will have to go out and look for somebody as understanding as your friend. 

The mere thought of Max with another girl makes you want to throw up. So, you shut your thoughts off. 

You don’t know how much time passes, but your legs start to feel numb and your back hurts, so you shift your weight which makes Max whine, cock twitching inside of you. 

“Sorry.” You whisper, stopping your movements. 

“No, it’s—just,” Max closes his eyes tightly, and you can see a drop of sweat slipping down his forehead. “You just—” He groans, unable to say what he so badly wants. 

You move from your place on his shoulder, eyebrows raised in confusion. “What?”

“Nothing,” Max’s voice is hoarse and the smiles he gives you don't reach his eyes. “Just—lie back down, come on.” He pats your back but you don’t move. 

“Max, tell me.” He shakes his head, dropping his head on your shoulder. “Max, it’s me.”

He sighs, straightening up. His sudden movement makes you both moan. 

“It’s just that,” He takes a deep breath and looks you straight in the eye. “You feel really good.”

His confession makes you want to close your legs which, for obvious reasons, you can’t. You feel your face burning but try to play it cool, like his words didn't have an effect on you. 

“Well, I mean, your cock is inside of me,” 

Max's laugh is strained. “Yeah… I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable because of this. If you want we can stop and I—”

“Max,” You cup his jaw, feeling the stubble under your palm. “I’m good.”

Max closes his eyes again, this time letting his head fall backwards against the couch. “You know the first time we did this,” He swallows, and you’re mesmerized by the way his Adam's apple bobs. How would it feel to kiss it? “I, God I can’t believe I’m going to say this out loud.”

“Max, come on. Just say it.” You let your fingers fall from his jaw all the way to his neck, just above his Adam’s apple. You can feel under your fingertips how it moves when he swallows again. 

“You will think I’m a perv,” He opens one eye, when you smile reassuringly he opens both. “Please don’t think I’m some kind of pervert but… I had to lock myself in the bathroom to,” He shrugs, doing the movement with his fist. 

“What?” You tilt your head. 

“To jerk off!” He says, frustrated. One of his hands leaves your waist to put it over his eyes.

You blink at Max. 

He looks back at you between his fingers.

His confession makes you feel that something you’ve been trying to ignore ever since that first night. 

“That is totally normal.” You don’t want him to feel bad, so reassuring him that it’s okay is actually the only thing you can do. “As I said, you’re buried inside of me, if you didn’t feel anything then that’s a problem.”

Max sounds a little more relaxed when he laughs again. 

But then there’s silence and eye contact. The only sound in the room coming from the TV and your heavy breathing. 

You feel that shiver running down your spine again, desire pooling in the pit of your stomach. 

“I’m sorry, I’m making this all awkward.”

“No, no. It’s good.”

Max raises his eyebrows in question. 

You decide not to answer with words. Instead, you shift your hips, Max cock impossible deep inside of you. 

“Oh fuck,” Max groans, closing his eyes tightly. His hands grab the cushion by his sides again but you want those hands on your waist, your breasts, all over your body. 

“Max,” You whine, grabbing at his shoulder and feeling how tense he is. 

“It’s okay,” He breathes in and out, just like you were doing not so long ago. “it’s okay. I’m sorry.”

You frown, “Max.” You try calling his name again, when he opens his eyes you can see how much his eyes have darkened.  

Max sucks in a sharp breath when you steady yourself by grabbing his shoulders to lift yourself up, pulling almost all the way out and letting yourself fall back down. Max’s moan is obscene. 

“I’m sorry, sorry, oh God, I’m sorry,” You babble, hiding behind your hands. What the fuck are you doing? “I didn’t mean to.”

“Hey,” He calls your attention, taking your hands and pulling them away from your face. Max cups your jaw guiding your face to look at him. “You want this? I need you to tell me because,” Max gaze falls to your mouth and he brushes your bottom lip with the pad of his finger. “I want to fuck you so bad.”

You nod, but then remember that he likes to hear you. “Yes,” That’s all Max need because he’s wrapping his arms around your waist, almost hugging you, and lifting you to pull out and then fuck back in. It nearly leaves you breathless. 

You gasp, grabbing onto him for dear life. It’s inevitable for you to look down and watch how his cock pulls out and then back inside, stretching you so good. 

“Look at me,” Max says, grinding his cock deep inside of you. And you have no choice but to look back up at him. The expression of pure pleasure on his face makes you clench around him, which takes another obscene moan out of him. 

He feels so good. 

You want to tell him how good he feels. How good he’s fucking you but you’re only capable of incoherent sounds, moans and whimpers. 

“Max,” You choke on a moan. One hand leaves your waist and slips under your shirt to pinch at one of your nipples. You actually have to put a hand over your mouth to avoid screaming. 

“I want to hear you. Please, let me hear you.” Max practically begs and how could you deny him that? The next time he does it, you let him hear you. And probably the whole building too. “Good girl.” Your cunt squeezes him tightly as he rolls his hips into yours. “You like that, don’t you? You like being my good girl?”

“Yes, yes,” If you had the strength you would be bouncing on his cock, but you can barely hold onto him as he fucks you nice and hard. “Max, Max.” His name falls like a mantra from your lips. The squelching sound of him pounding into you, mixed with the moans and groans fills the air around you. 

“You feel so good— fuck, so fucking tight.” Max groans into your ear. His thrusts are deep and rough, causing your eyes to roll to the back of your head and nails dig into his skin, knowing you’ll leave marks that will last days. 

Max leans closer and licks a stripe of sweat from your neck and, somehow, is enough to make you hit your peak. You walls clench around him, like you’re actually trying to suck the life out of him.

“Max, Max I’m so close,” At this point you don’t even know if you’re whispering or screaming, but Max hears you either way.

Max expertly finds your clit and, right on cue, your orgasm comes crashing upon you, warmth washing all over your body as Max keeps on fucking you, searching for his own release. 

“That’s my girl,” Max breathes out, movements faltering. “I’m gonna come, fuck, gonna come inside of you.” Max feels his orgasm like he’s experiencing it for the very first time, like he was waiting for this moment his whole life. And he probably was, really. 

Max squeezes his eyes shut, hips stuttering and your name falling from his lips as he spills inside of you. Your whole body gives up. You’re glad Max is there to hold you close to his body. He pants in your neck, both of you trying to catch your breath and thinking about what the hell has just happened? 

“Did so good for me, sweetheart.” He whispers, leaving a kiss behind your ear. He doesn’t move more than to settle against the cushions with you on top of him and his cock still buried inside of you. And you feel so dizzy and stuffed full of his cum that the only rational thing you think about doing is to lift your head and kiss him. 

Max whines into the kiss. He doesn’t care that the kiss is messy because you can’t coordinate and are so tired you feel your body going limp, but he lets you kiss him until you need to catch your breath. 

He smiles softly at you. “That was good, uh? I bet you don’t even remember why you came here in the first place.”

“Oh, shut up!” Max likes making you blush, so he won’t ever shut up. 

“You know,” He brushes a strand of hair out of your face, fingers lingering on your neck. “You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I always wanted to—“ He sighs, and you lean into his touch. Max feels like his heart is about to explode. “I didn’t think I could ever have a chance with you.” 

“What are you talking about?” You squeak because surely he doesn’t mean what he’s saying. Because that would mean— 

“I’m saying that you are,” He kisses your cheek. “the most,” Now, he places a kiss on your chin. “beautiful, and smart, and sexy,” Max leaves kisses all over your face. “girl I’ve ever seen in my life.” Finally, his lips find yours, but it’s quick and not enough. You want to keep kissing him for the rest of your life. 

“Max,” You whisper, tears in the corners of your eyes. “You—I,” You groan, letting your head fall against his forehead. “You know I’ve been crazy for you my whole life, right?” 

“No, that I did not know.” He’s teasing you, you hear it in his voice. “Well, maybe I had my suspicions.” 

“Max! You never say anything?” A thought crosses your mind and you feel mortified. “I feel like I took advantage of you now.” 

“What did you say to me? You would’ve told me if you weren’t comfortable. And I would’ve done the same thing.” You pout and Max can’t help but think, again, that you’re the most beautiful girl in the entire world. “When all of this cockwarming thing happened, I thought it was the only way I could be close to you. And I was helping you in the process, so I was more than happy with being just that.” 

“I didn’t keep coming back to you because of my feelings,” You start saying, playing with the collar of his shirt. “but because I’ve always felt safe with you. I knew—I know I can trust you. I mean, that became clear when you offered to let me sit on your cock the first time.” 

“I did not do that!” 

“You totally did!” You laugh with your whole body because you’re that happy. But that makes you shift your hips which makes you wince at feeling Max softening cock still inside of you. 

“You good? It wasn’t… too much?” He sounds insecure, you see it on his face too. It’s cute.

“It was pretty good, Max. If not I wouldn’t have let you fuck me.” Max rolls his eyes, chuckling, and you rest your head on his shoulder one more time.

“You want me to pull out?”

“No, just—hold me, okay?” Max makes a pleasing sound, lips finding your temple. 

“Always.”

[islandofsages]

HEYY!! I love your writing from what i've read and i was wondering if i could ask for a gn reader (yuu) teaching the housewardens about like classic fandom lore- like imagine them turning into matpat to explain fnaf and undertale!! 😭😭 feel free to not do this and have a good day!! Thanks :D

characters: housewardens x gn!yuu

tags: platonic, fluff, crack kinda, imagines format

warnings: swearing

author's notes: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG also all the fandoms mentioned here are all fandoms ive been in at some point :D fun times mhm

Riddle Rosehearts

He knows you’re very passionate about fandom culture but you never really had the chance to infodump about it to him

Until one day, you drop by Heartslabyul for a leisurely visit, when you see a not-so-clearly distressed Riddle sitting in the lounge

Not-so-clearly meaning he’s holding a teacup in his hand yet not drinking it, eyes closed as if he’s holding in all his emotions

You grow worried at this sight and slide next to him on the couch where he is seated, hoping you can help alleviate some of that stress

He sees you and he allows himself a sigh, then musters up a smile for you. He greets you and you cut straight to the point - can you help him with anything?

He releases a second sigh and shakes his head, telling you he only needs some sort of distraction. He just had a long day and needs to take his mind off things

You take a second to think of things that you can distract him with – that’s when a lightbulb goes off in your head. This is a prime opportunity for you

“Okay, I’m guessing you haven’t heard of Five Nights at Freddy’s since it’s a franchise from my world and all but the lore is crazy. So it starts like this…”

He wasn’t expecting to be paying much attention to the contents of what you’re saying but sooner or later, he ends up leaning towards you with his hand cupping his chin, mouth slightly agape at the story you’re telling

This inspires you to dump even more information about the media somehow at the rate that you’re going

By the end of it, he’s completely forgotten what he was so worried about. His head is full of creepy pizzerias for kids and haunted animatronics

He ends up having some trouble sleeping that night though. He’ll get you for that later.

Leona Kingscholar

He won’t lie, your interest in fandoms is too reminiscent of Idia for him – he doesn’t admit this to you obviously, since he hasn’t had the chance to

But on one particularly boring day, you decide to skip class with him and he lets you tag along for the hell of it

In the span of three seconds, he’s already off in dreamland. Sometimes you wish you had such a skill

Since you have nothing better to do and he’s way too deep in his sleep to even care anyway, you start rambling to yourself and a slumbering Leona

“Well, I’ve been thinking a lot about Undertale lately so I need to dump it all somewhere. So basically you play as this kid…”

Little do you know halfway through his nap, he wakes up from how much you’re talking. At first, he’s annoyed by your yapping but then he grows interest in what you’re saying

He’s almost tempted to try that game for himself and almost disappointed that it’s not available in Twisted Wonderland. Emphasis on almost.

When you’re done rambling, that’s when he stretches his arms over his head and yawn, commenting how noisy you were

You shrug it off. You're used to him complaining about you yapping instead of napping alongside him

…But then he asks you to tell him more about Undertale, if there's any more information you’re keeping from him out of the kindness of your heart

You smile smugly at this and his expression seems to say “don't make me regret asking” but oh, you definitely will make him regret even being friends with you in the first place

Needless to say, regrets were not the only thing he held at the end of that day.

Azul Ashengrotto

Similar to Leona, your fixation on fandom culture reminds him too much of Idia. not that that’s necessarily a bad thing - it’s more of an observation

And he gets more than an observation when you get the chance to show him what you’re made of: useless fandom culture and gaming knowledge

Speaking of Idia, he goes to you as a last resort to ask you to help him understand whatever the hell Idia’s talking about

You don’t know too much about Twisted Wonderland’s fandom culture just yet but when Azul explains the premise of a certain game and its fandom, it gives you an idea

“Sounds pretty similar to Yandere Simulator. Ooh, that one has a lot of history. Let me tell you about it…”

Unfortunately for him, he ended up unlocking your geekiness instead of having you address the things he was confused with

But at least your story makes it a bit easier to understand? He’s yet to decide that really but at least it sounds like you’re taking his lack of slang knowledge into consideration

Your infodump really gripped his attention though - it’s interesting to know another side of human culture, even if it’s not the humans of Twisted Wonderland

He would nod understandingly (or at least, politely) and thank you and your geekiness

He relays your story to Idia and finds it intriguing how similar fandom culture is in both Twisted Wonderland and your world

He would invite you to Board Game Club meetings so that you can rave and find out more about Twisted Wonderland’s fandom culture with Idia

He’d realize that was a big mistake and he may or may not have created the nerdiest pair in the world - but you guys are his nerdiest pair in the world.

Kalim Al-Asim

He’s very curious about fandom culture - he doesn’t know too much about it nor anyone who knows a lot about it so almost all the fandom information in his head are from you

He really wants to know more!!! So of course that warrants a hangout session fabricated as a study session to get Jamil’s stamp of approval

So there you are in his room, books laid out in front of the two of you but most importantly, a laptop

You two watch about a dozen videos on Twisted Wonderland’s fandom culture and as you absorb all the very-much-useful information, you sneak in tidbits from the culture of your world

“This one in particular is reminiscent of Danganronpa. Man, that one was a wild ride…”

It’s exciting to be able to talk about it with someone you trust wholeheartedly, especially Kalim, whom you know wouldn’t be so judging

He only nods in understanding at every point you made, his eyes sparkling with all the curiosity in his body

You were on your thirteenth video when you two are interrupted by a rap on the door and an unfortunately-familiar voice

So obviously you and your bestie hurriedly rush to close all the tabs on your laptop and open up something more academically-inclined

Which is obviously a…dictionary site

Jamil blinks twice at this, says nothing (but probably noting how it makes sense for you guys since you two are bumbling idiots) and walks away

If there’s any dictionary being read that day, it’d be a dictionary of fandom terminology, that’s for sure.

Vil Schoenheit

He doesn’t know too much about it - and doesn’t bother to learn much about it since he has better things to do - but since it’s you, he tries his best to be a good listener

The two of you sit down in the courtyard one day, the chirping of birds and rustling of leaves music to your ears; beauty truly is everywhere around you when you’re next to him

He’s talking about something. You’re not sure what because you’re entranced by the way his hair hangs above his eyes so elegantly. He notices this and calls you out for it

You shrug and excuse how you can’t help it - he’s like a dating simulator love interest in the real. He asks you what you mean by this. Now’s your chance to shine!

“Hmm, you know, something like Mystic Messenger? Hehe, let me tell you a bit about it…”

Unluckily for him, your “a bit” turns out to be a four-hour long ramble about the aforementioned dating simulator a little too reminiscent of Rook for his liking too

Despite his reservations, he really did enjoy hearing you talk so passionately about your interest; it’s a bonus that the topic itself is interesting

He tells you he wouldn’t mind trying out the game or at least finding out more about it though unfortunately it’s not available in Twisted Wonderland

You share his shame - until he says he’ll pitch the concept of the game to some authorities he know and perhaps make it a reality

Sorry, he’s going to what now?

You’re a little shaken. Sometimes you forget he’s a world-class model, despite his looks and mannerisms. You save your nerves for if a Twisted Wonderland version of Mystic Messenger actually ends up happening

He thanks you for enlightening him about fandom and video gaming culture. You use this as a cue to add another four hours of ranting about V’s route in the game.

Idia Shroud

You’re another victim for him to taint… or so he thought. You’re more of an ally than a victim at this point, considering how nerdy you are

He’d dump fandom lore on you and you’d reciprocate it right back. He’s genuinely so impressed with your knowledge, even if they differ by some degree due to being from different worlds

He gets more impressed when you pull up with knowledge about Twisted Wonderland’s fandom culture like damn, you really brushed up on your talking points already

Friendly rivalry aside, he really does enjoy talking about fandom culture with you and hearing about the things from your world - every story you tell adds a little color into his world

One day, the two of you are leaning on each other, on your phones because of course you are, even if you two are friends, talking still isn’t Idia’s strong suit

That’s when you blurt it out–

“Hey, wanna hear about this game called Persona? It’s a turn-based RPG and…”

Regardless of his response to your question, you ended up babbling away either way. It’s how conversations start between the two of you

You’re speaking so fast, he would have mistaken you for a rapper - or a doppelganger of himself even

Consider him entertained - he finds himself smiling by the end of your yapping and intrigued by your story

He then obviously starts to relate it to something from Twisted Wonderland, passing the listener baton to you

You don’t mind – you can stay there for hours and hours, just going back and forth with your fellow nerdy-ass friend.

Malleus Draconia

This man barely knows how to use a smartphone so you had to be a little patient with him when guiding him through the fandom culture trenches

He’s happy that you trust and cherish him enough to talk about your interests with no reservations or shame – and the feeling is mutual

On a certain weekend, the two of you are hanging out as usual. Chatting as friends would do

You don’t know why but the conversation reminded you of a certain fandom

“It’s kinda like Genshin’s community, I guess. They’re a riot, let me tell you that.”

Oh? What’s a Genshin and why is its community a riot?

You’re glad he asked – because you’ve prepared a 100-slide presentation on the history of the game and its fans

He asks you why and how did you find the time to make that. You tell him to shut up and that it doesn’t matter, he just needs to listen to you

You start and it feels like you’ll never stop – there’s just so much to say and Malleus has so much time in the world

Seeing his reactions to certain events makes you crack up and at times, you’d laugh at his shocked expressions (or sigh exhaustively, depending on the event you’re explaining)

When you finally stop, he gives you a one-man standing ovation. You blush a little at the attention and unexpected reaction but you appreciate his sentiment nonetheless. He tells you that your presentation has been very informative for him

You’re relieved to have been able to get that off your chest… and Malleus is more than ecstatic to relay the information to everyone he’s ever known. You obviously pretend that you had no involvement in his sudden investment of a game from another world.

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

[beforeimdeceased]

CRYBABY - (E.W) PT5

pairing: mean/cruel ellie x sensitive/emotional reader.

synopsis: who the fuck is abby?

a/n: noo don’t do this ellie look at me :( this isn’t you 🥺 LMAO! what do you guys think is going to happened next omg…

if i told you that i hated you, would you go away?

masterlist.

you ubered yourself to another hotel and payed to stay there for the night. letting jesse and dina know, but ofcourse, not awarding ellie with that information. in truth, she was fucking sweating bullets. could barely sleep last night with you on her mind.

she’s mean, you know that. everybody does. she can be intense, brass, and brutally honest. but, the brutality had gone from drunk cursing out strangers to using you as a punching bag. you were far too sensitive for any of that shit. you overthink too much, cry too often. if she wasn’t going to change then this was your last straw.

as you wake up and ready yourself to gather your things, you notice a string of texts from ellie. all desperate and eager. nothing along the lines of “i’m sorry”. nothing close to an apology. she begged to see you before their last show in the state, knowing you’d be going back home after. and staying there.

you’d calmed down enough to know you could face her. collecting the things you’d brought with you and hyping yourself up in the mirror before leaving. “you got this. you’re not gonna cry today.”

when you arrived at your hotel room, the door was cracked open. you’d caught wind that dina and jesse had gone out for breakfast so it was just you and ellie.

sadly enough, when you opened the door, ellie looked like a wounded puppy. eyes glossy while her face is twisted into a frown. you cross your arms. “morning.”

she looks excited to see you, getting up from her seat on the couch to greet you. “morning, can we talk?”

your heart is pinging. you feel so many emotions for her, some you cannot name. you nod your head and walk over to where she’d been sitting, and take a seat. she trails behind you, placing herself just inches away.

“i’m sorry.” she starts, eyes sympathetically looking into your very own. when your gaze starts to falter she reaches out to hold your hands and catch your attention. “really truly. i’m sorry for everything. for the song, for calling you up onstage, for all the shitty things i do to you and say about you. for pissing you off so bad that you felt like punching me, because i know you’re nowhere near violent.” she takes a breath. “i’m really sorry.”

you sit with her apology, soaking it all in. you can tell it’s genuine because, as far as you’re concerned, she’s never apologized for anything and seriously meant it. but she means it now, with every beat of her heart.

“i hate that i ruined this trip for you. are you still coming to our last show? i’ll apologize publicly in front of all the cameras. i’ll tell them i lied about the song.”

“it’s okay ellie. calm down.” you’d never seen her this frantic. this weak. “i’m still coming to the show. thank you for apologizing.”

she takes a deep breath and leans back into the couch. “okay good. that’s great. again, i’m sorry.”

you nod along and stand up to grab some things from the bags you’d left. “i’ve gotta go meet dina and jesse for something, but i’ll see you there, okay?”

when you turn to look at her she’s blushing. what the hell is she doing blushing? when she see’s you notice it, she turns her head. “yeah yeah. you guys have fun. see you later.”

“she’s bringing abby! i’ve always wanted her to come to a show, i didn’t even know she was in the state.” dina rambles on at rehearsal.

“she drove up last night because she’s taking her home, remember?” jesse chimes up.

ellie’s heard the name abby a record 20 times in the last 5 minutes and it’s starting to play on loop in her head like a mantra. she didn’t care to find out who it was though, they had a show to rehearse for. and she was even more nervous about the public apology. what if you didn’t actually show? what if she really fucked up this time?

“alright guys enough chatter. let’s go over the chorus of ‘what you know’ one more time—“

but she’s stopped by dina whispering to jesse. “i think she might ask her out tonight.”

and jesse asks, “who?” and dina says your name and ellie feels like she’s about to fucking collapse. that all her limbs are going to fall off right then and there. that her head will pop off and roll offstage and onto to the ground. who the fuck is abby? who the fuck is abby? who the fuck is abby?

ellie finds out in the dressing room before the show. “abby! it’s so great to see you.” dina rushes over to give her a hug. jesse settles for a high five and ellie takes a handshake. “so you’re abby?”

“yeah, nice to meet you. i’ve heard so much about you.” abby smiles.

ellie’s cursing herself for any and everything she’s ever done in this moment. the blonde stood in front of her is buff as hell, something she can tell through the hoodie and sweats she was wearing. both being seattle revival merch.

“i can’t wait to see you guys perform.”

ellie ignores her. “where’s…?” she trails. searching behind the girl to see if you’d been hiding behind her big figure. “oh, she’s on her way. had to stop to use the bathroom.” abby responds, sensing you were who she’d been searching for.

ellie wondered if you and abby had started dating yet? who asked out who? how much did abby know about the two of you? was that any of her business? why did she show up now? why hadn’t she heard about her before? maybe she did and wasn’t paying attention? she never really listened to you anyway. not until recently. not until she’d made you cry. made you punch her in the fucking face.

ellie’s thoughts are cut loose when abby taps her on the shoulder. “can we talk?”

ellie nods, eager to do whatever this was going to be in private. “yo, i’ll be right back.” she calls to jesse and dina.

ellie leads her out of the dressing room and into a small area in the hallway that’s getting the least traffic. the second they get there, abby slaps ellie across the face. “don’t you ever fucking talk to her again.”

“who—“ ellie rubs the sore area turning red.

“oh don’t play stupid you know who—“

“no. who the fuck are you to tell me what i can and can’t do? you fucking bitch.”

and a fight ensues. an actual brawl in the hallway. ellie’s on top for a while getting some punches in until abby grabs at her shirt and pulls her to the ground. jabbing her in the stomach. ellie kicks her in the face. it’s almost cartoonish, how wrapped up and wound they are as they lay into each other. someone rushes to grab security but you make it there first. eyes widening as you approach. you call for jesse and dina, and when they recognize your voice it makes them both stop to look up. bloody. scratched up. with tomato red faces.

“what the fuck?”

[astermath]

“So? Whatever.”

pairing: dave lizewski x popular!fem!reader 

summary: The preppy girl that just about everyone admires has more in common with Dave than he expects. He doesn’t quite know how to handle this information, but it excites him nonetheless.

word count: 2K

♡ LANDING PAGE♡

notes: I haven’t written something like this in a good while, so please bear with me if I’m rusty or there are some mistakes here and there. Reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, I tried to be as non descriptive as possible about her appearance. I do love writing a bit of a mean reader like this, but don’t worry, she’ll warm up to him. This fic takes place in senior year for age purposes, I’m pretty much fully ignoring the timeline of the film. Comments and/or requests are super welcome btw!! Hope you enjoy!! <3

(ps this will get a part two don’t worry xx)

To Dave, girls like you were unreachable. You could hear about them, you could listen to them talk in the hallways, sneak a glance their way… But talk to them? Any single one of their group would consider that social suicide. The only reason any of them even looked in his direction was to ask him to do their homework. So why in god’s name were you at his locker? Why were you acknowledging his existence at all?

“What’s that?” You leaned against the locker next to his, pointing at the piece of a comic book panel he’d taped to the door. It pictured Spider-man putting on his mask for the first time, something Dave looked to when he needed some motivation for the day. 

He struggled to get basically any words out, still not fully registering that you’re within such close range. He could smell you… God that was really weird to think about, he felt like a creep already, but you just… Smelled really nice. Like vanilla, mixed with something sweet. He realized he hadn’t answered your question yet and was just staring in front of him like a weirdo. “O-Oh, yeah, that’s uh… That’s Spider-man. It’s this… This superhero I like.” He adjusted the strap of his backpack to keep his hands busy.

You smiled and rolled your eyes. “Duh, I know who Spider-man is, please.” You couldn’t help but think he was doing anything to avoid looking into your eyes, as if you’d turn him to stone if he dared to do so. Which, yes, was exactly how he felt.

“I wanted to know which comic that was from. The art style looks a lot different than the ones I’ve seen.” Now this part was pretty much making his teenage brain short circuit. He probably didn’t hear that right, there’s no way a popular girl like you read comics, right? This had to be some kind of elaborate joke, like you were trying to pull a prank on him by making him ramble about his favorite superheroes. However, he wasn’t close minded. Even if this was a prank, at least you were talking to him, right?

“Yeah, sorry, I uh… Forget he’s a pretty popular character sometimes. This one’s from a collector’s edition. One of the pages was kinda falling apart so I just… Taped my favorite panel to my locker.” Again, he tried to look anywhere else, but it felt rude not to be making eye contact with the person who’s trying to give you a chance at a conversation. His eyes met yours and he realised he hadn’t ever actually seen you up close like this. You were really pretty, he knew that, but he never noticed these particular things about you before. The way your hair framed your features so nicely, the little beauty mark that seemed to be somehow perfectly placed, or the way a dimple appeared on your right cheek when you smiled.

“Hopefully you didn’t pay too much for it, those things cost like, a fortune.” You followed, snapping him out of his haze as you twirled a piece of hair between your index and middle finger. Dave was much taller than you, so you had to look up to match his gaze, which was already hard since he kept avoiding your eyes. You never realized how much he’d matured since freshman year. He looked pretty cute… Really cute, actually. 

“S-So, uhm, I really don‘t wanna be rude, but…” He closed his locker before looking at you with a rather awkward expression. “Why are you here? Why are you… talking to me?” Honestly, not an unjustified question. Dave was often the subject of bullying, and the popular girls clique made no exception to that rule. He doesn’t remember you specifically doing anything, although... He has a vague memory of you being in the car with those jocks when they threw spoiled milk at him.

“What? A girl can’t talk to her fellow classmate? This is a free country, you know.” You pretended to be a little hurt by his assumption that you were probably just here to make fun of him. In all honesty he was still a little dumbfounded by this whole ordeal, and the fact that half the people that passed you were giving you two weird looks really wasn’t helping. “You know I sit behind you in English, right?” He responds by nodding. He is painfully aware of this fact, as your friends had expressed their empathy for you when your seat was assigned behind him, though you honestly didn’t mind. And also the fact that he got a fair share of gossip from you and your best friend always whispering to each other. “Well,” you flipped a bit of hair over your shoulder. “I saw you had a copy of Birth of Venom in your backpack, and I... Wanted to ask if I could borrow it...” You looked to the side, muttering the last part. As much as you tried not to care what people thought, you did have a bit of a reputation that you were stuck to. Liking comics wasn’t for you, you were a cheerleader, you went to parties, you liked shopping. Okay, you secretly liked comics.

Dave looked at you with a puzzled expression. “I-I’m sorry, can you repeat tha--”

“Can I borrow your stupid comic or what?” You interrupted him, clearly looking a bit embarrassed. 

“Oh!” His face was getting hot, this conversation was lasting way longer than he imagined it would. Usually he’d have his face shoved into his locker by now. “U-Uhm, sure! It’s a bit expensive, but... Well, just don’t damage it, please.” He took his backpack off his shoulder and was about to pull it out before you grabbed his arm. 

“Not here you dumbass! Just, like... Ugh, meet me at my car after school’s over, you can hand it to me then.” You were acting like this was some kind of illegal drug deal, but this truly was something important to you. Your dad had already made it very clear that he didn’t want his little girl becoming some kind of tomboy and have her mind run rampant with superhero stories. Especially with this Kickass guy running around...

The bell rang and you silently thanked it for doing so. “Look, I gotta go. White Corvette, by the vending machines.” You walked past him, and a waft of that lovely vanilla scent hit his nose. He damn near melted into the floor when your arm brushed against his. “Later, Lizewksi.”

You leaned against the hood of your car, scrolling on your phone as you waited for the brunette to show up. You couldn’t help but feel a little guilty that you were just meeting him in secret like this. It’s not like you were embarrassed to be seen with him, or that you didn’t like him, it’s just that liking comics and superheroes was just about the dorkiest thing anyone could be into. Especially with Kickass running around, and, well, kicking ass, people would probably be thinking you’d be into this whole vigilante business yourself. Sure, you thought it was cool that people were doing something about all the crime, but you’d rather die than mess up your hair beating some thug’s ass. 

You noticed someone approaching and noticed that Dave wasn’t alone. With a bit of a disgusted expression, you gestured to his two sidekicks. “I don’t remember inviting the entire geek entourage to come see me. This isn’t some kinda meet and greet, you know.” Todd and Marty seemed, just like Dave before, a little shocked that you were talking to them. 

“S-Sorry, they just uh...” Dave began.

“We didn’t believe him.” Todd followed.

“...believe what?” You questioned, crossing your arms.

“That a chick like you was into comics.” Marty said, before Todd smacked him on the back of the head. “Dude! Don’t say it like that!”

You got a bit flustered, and looked at Dave. “You told them!? What the fuck, Lizewski?”

“I-I’m sorry!” He held up his hands. “They were asking me what we were talking about, and... I panicked.” They were more so insinuating that he was flirting with her, and he didn’t want that rumor going around, in case your jock brother caught wind of that and beat his ass for flirting with his sister.

You sighed, looking down and pinching the bridge of your nose before waving your hand out in a dismissive manner. “It’s... whatever, just leave. Before I change my mind and throw a bitch fit.” His two friends gave him a suggestive look before heading out. “Those two better not snitch or I’ll cut off their shrimps.” He nodded, just a little intimidated by the threat.

He got out his backpack and handed you the comic. “I’m still surprised I uh... I never knew you were into this stuff.” His breath hitched in his throat when your finger brushed over his as you took it from him. You flipped through it, keeping your eyes on the pages.

“Yeah, well... There’s a lot you don’t know about me, as much as I’m sure you guys love to assume.” You realized you hadn’t even told him your name, so you looked up at him and held out your hand, introducing yourself. You know, out of courtesy. 

“I-I know your name, but uhm... I’m Dave.” Your hand felt so soft, your beautifully manicured fingers being a real juxtaposition to his. His hand was much bigger and rougher than yours. You wondered why his hand was so calloused anyways... He didn’t look like he did many sports.

“Wait... Your name isn’t Lizewski?” You chuckled. “Christ, my bad... I always thought that was just your first name.” Your feeling of guilt for the boy before you flared up a bit again. He was being really nice to you, offering you something personal of his that he probably spent a pretty penny on. And you didn’t even know his actual name before. No wonder some people thought you were a bit of a bitch, you thought to yourself. 

“Hey, uhm... I know you got a bunch of these, and my dad would kill me if he knew I was reading them. He hates vigilantes, and he thinks reading comics will get me into the whole thing. Stupid, I know, but... He takes it surprisingly seriously.” You put the comic away carefully. “So I have a proposition for you.”

His eyebrows rose a little. A proposition, alright. No big deal. Could be literally anything though. 

“Come to my house this Saturday, bring a bunch of these, and I’ll tell my dad you’re coming to tutor me for physics or something.” You tilted your head a little, your locks falling gently over your shoulders. “I’ll pay you. Money’s not a problem. It’ll be like I’m renting them from you.”

He thought for a second, but in all honesty... How was this not a total win/win situation? He got to be in a pretty girl’s room, read comics with her, talk about them and make money. What kind of idiot would say no to that? “Yeah! Sounds good to me, uh... What do you want me to...” His words trailed off as you pulled out a pen and reached for his hand, writing a string of numbers on the back of it. 

“I’ll text you the address, and which series I like. I’ll let you do the picking. Oh, and Dave?”

“Y-Yeah?” He felt like his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. This is the closest you’ve ever stood to him. 

Your grip on his hand tightens, and you look up at him with a death stare. “Not a word to anyone about this.” You followed with a cutesy smile. “Alrighty?” You let go of his hand and put your stuff away before pulling out your car keys. 

Dave stands frozen in place, a faint blush already spread across his cheeks. He swore you were going to be the death of him. He looked down for a second and realized that what you wrote down wasn’t just some random numbers. It was your phone number. It all just suddenly felt very real to him, he’d never gotten a girl’s number before. And you were just about the last person he’d expect it from too.

You got in your car and turned on your engine. “See ya on Saturday, Lizewski! Don’t be late or I’ll kill you!” You smile, before driving off at a totally normal and acceptable speed. 

He gave a nervous wave before he looked back down at his hand. There was a little heart scribbled behind the phone number. It probably meant nothing.

But boy did it make his heart flutter. 

[strangerstilinski]

𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary; stiles lets it slip that he hasn't had his first kiss yet and, as his friend, you're more than happy to remedy that.

warnings; no use of y/n, fluff, established friendship, some pretty intense kissing, one instance of reader being referred to as a girl

word count; +3.5k

a/n; no smut here, but i am currently planning a couple nsfw pieces to work on between bouts of writing my ongoing (long suffering) stiles fic.

please think about leaving a comment/reblogging if you enjoy! it would actually mean the world to me

“-And it was just.. So wet. Way, way too much spit, y’know? And there was entirely too much tongue on his part considering the fact that his hands, like, never even left his pockets-”

You’re not entirely sure how, nor at what point, the conversation devolved into a mostly one-sided and incredibly detailed analysis of Mark Hagan’s kissing technique, or lack thereof, but by the time your eyes fall to the boy sitting in the driver’s seat, you realize that you’ve been rambling for at least a full minute in the patchy darkness of the parked car.

“-And I’m not saying I wanted to be groped or anything but, I mean, it’s a little awkward when a guy just-”

You falter suddenly, when you notice the awkward slump in Stiles’ posture, and your words taper out without warning. He has one hand white-knuckled on the steering wheel and the other gripped tightly on the back of the seat where he’d turned to face you when he first asked how your date had gone the night before. And- God. That had been minutes ago, now.

“Sorry,” You apologize immediately with a grimace, “Was that, like, way too much information? Sorry.”

“No, I, uh,” He releases the steering wheel and shakes out his hand as if only just realizing how tight his grip had truly been. Your eyes are embarrassingly distracted by the long line of his fingers as he continues, “I guess I just didn’t realize how many things you could do wrong, y’know? I assumed it’d be more straight forward than that. You lean in, press your lips together, kiss, done. Right?”

You laugh softly at his rushed response, “I mean, I guess. I’d like to think there’s a little more skill that goes into it than that.”

“And, uh, Mark..” Stiles has been seemingly overwhelmed with reasons to dislike the other boy since you’d announced your upcoming date the week before, and he nearly spits the name with disdain when he says it now. “No skill, huh? Not quite, uh.. Not up to your standards?” He’s fiddling with the straw from his long-finished milkshake as he speaks, eyes downcast and determinedly focussed on his fingers, “Considering the overabundance of tongue, the lack of groping, and the, uh.. All-around wetness-?”

Another small huff of laugher escapes you as you drop your own empty cup into the greasy paper bag the diner had stuffed your to-go order into a half hour before, your socked feet returning to the Jeep’s dashboard only a moment later.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” You fight back a cringe at the mere memory of the drool that coated Mark’s chin when you’d finally decided you’d had enough and pulled away.

“What about you?”

His question catches you off guard and your brows furrow as you meet his gaze, “What about me?”

He twists and folds the straw of his drink with more vigor, nose crinkling before he elaborates, “What would you say your, uh.. Your skill level.. is?”

You pitch forward to grab one of the few remaining curly fries from the container perched by your feet on the dash, falling back into your seat and munching slowly as you genuinely ponder the question.

“I think I’m probably alright,” You shrug after a moment, “I mean, it’s hard to say, right? But I’ve never had any complaints. And considering Lydia is, like, the queen of complaining-”

You’re caught off guard by the entirely inhuman squawk of disbelief and surprise that escapes him. He’s scrambling in his seat with no real purpose before he slowly comes back to a standstill, now sitting just a few inches closer to the passenger side than he was before.

“Lydia? You.. You and Lydia have-?”

You shrug again as you wipe your greasy fingertips on the leg of your jeans, “Yeah, like, twice. Maybe three times?”

“Three-?”

“What about you?” You interrupt.

You tip your head against the backrest to look at him in the dim light of the parking lot as you await his response. The Jeep is barely getting hit with the residual light from the windows of the diner, but the bright neon sign on the roof of the building casts a pretty red hue over Stiles’ face. His mole-dotted skin is flushed with it, the only bits safe from the red-tinted glow are the shadows beneath his brows and the tiny divot in the tip of his nose that extends up from his cupid’s bow. You want to trace the darkness on his skin with the tip of your finger — with your lips.

You find yourself getting lost in just how gorgeous he is, not for the first time.

“Huh?” Stiles asks dumbly.

“Skill level,” You elaborate with a grin, lifting one foot from the dash to poke your toes into his knee, “What about you? Are the girls positively swooning? Melting under your touch? ‘Oh, Stiles. You’re the best kisser on this side of the Rockies-’”

Your teasing is silenced when his hand comes out to cover your mouth, long fingers trapping the words beneath your lips. Your knee is squished awkwardly between you, but he’s so warm you can feel the heat of his body seeping into your own, and the scent of his body wash fills your nose now rather than the lingering smell of grease from your shared dinner. You can hardly focus on his words as the smell of teakwood and pine invades your senses.

“No one in their right mind would ever say something like that after being kissed,” He tells you, face pinched in a cringe, “Like, not even something remotely along those lines. Not even in those weird old-timey romance movies you make me w-”

You grab ahold of his fingers to pull his palm from your lips with a small giggle, “Oh, c’mon, the suspense is killing me! Are you a good kisser or not?” Your mind is reeling a bit as you think about it. You can’t help but wonder what it would be like to kiss Stiles, to feel his lips on your own, his hands on you. “I feel like you probably are. Just the right about of enthusiasm but you’re also a total perfectionist so it’d-”

“I don’t know!”

His exclamation is entirely too loud for the confined space of the car, his voice ricocheting sharply off the metal shell of the vehicle and causing you both to flinch a little. Stiles looks as if he wishes he could stuff the words back into his mouth and try again. You’re simply looking him over with a more critical eye, searching for the reason for his recent outburst as if it might be written plainly on his face, like you might find big emboldened letters of explanation etched across his skin.

“What’d’you mean you don’t know?” You scoff in amusement, “Y’know what? Fine-” You shuffle closer as an idea pops into your head — a brilliant, glorious, heaven-sent idea. His fingertips are still trapped within the palm of your hand and your knee slips over the top of his thigh as you slide closer and move into the center seat, “C’mere. I’ll give you review-”

Your face edges closer and closer to his own until your noses bump and the delicate touch seems to zap Stiles into alertness, sending him jolting back as if he’s been electrocuted.

The sourness that erupts in your belly at his reaction isn’t wholly unexpected, but a small flicker of shame joins it and burns like acid in your chest.

“Well, shit..” You murmur with an awkward chuckle.

It’s difficult to bite back the nagging feeling of embarrassment that swirls through your veins in response to being shot down by your best friend — your best friend that you’ve desperately been wanting to kiss since middle school.

You swallow harshly before continuing with a self-deprecating laugh, “I didn’t realize the thought of kissing me was quite so.. Horrifying. My bad.. I.. I’m sorry. You don’t- I didn’t think and I just- Sorry.” The last bit comes out quieter, the sound of it buried beneath the sudden tightness in your throat.

You find yourself avoiding his eyes, but that only means that your gaze is drawn to the smooth expanse of his neck — and there’s that glow from the diner’s neon sign again. His skin is cast in that red hue, smooth expanses of scarlet broken up by the speckles of dark moles and beauty marks scattered here, there, everywhere. You can almost make out his jumping pulse beneath the hollow of his throat, the dark crimson shadow twitching nearly imperceptibly with each too-quick beat of his heart.

They’re all spots that you’ve only dreamt of having your lips touch.

On rainy days when he shakes his hair out like a dog with the sole purpose of hearing the way you squeal in surprise, the drops of water finding their way down his temple and filling you with the urge to kiss it away.

When you slip into daydreams from the desk behind him during class, your eyes stuck on the exposed curve of his shoulder where his shirt collar is stretched just a little too loose, your lips tingling with the all-too vivid phantom feeling of his skin beneath them.

Trapped in his embrace, his height just enough that your face is smushed into his collarbones, nose crushed against him and pulling in the woodsy scent of his cologne, your mouth pressed limply to the soft cotton over his chest but aching with the desire to pucker and leave behind a gentle peck.

“No! No, it’s not that!” Stiles denies immediately. He’s already reaching out to drag you closer again, hands curling into your waist the moment you attempt to slip backwards into a bubble of shame in the passenger seat. “Kissing you would be the opposite of horrifying! It would be, like, a dream come true or- Or-”

Your eyebrows creep up your forehead at that, the barely there curve of a nervous smile pulling at the corners of your lips as his words seem to tumble out faster, growing increasingly difficult to understand as he rambles in a way that you’re all-too familiar with.

“-Because if I was going to kiss anyone, I’d want it to be you, but if I do kiss you and I’m horrible at it and you’re, like, repulsed-”

You’re still trying to piece things together despite the jumbled bits you seem to have missed. Your lips part in astonishment and his fingers tighten where they’ve begun to anxiously dig into your hips as he continues.

“-What if I’m worse than Mark? What if.. What if I’m so bad that you kiss me once and then you never, ever want to kiss me again because I was so unbelievably-”

“Stiles!”

You cut him off, already scooting closer until your left thigh is practically in his lap. His words cut off, a sharp inhale tearing past his lips as your hands find his shoulders, your thumb dragging over the freckled skin of his neck. You can feel his pulse jumping wildly against the pad of your finger as you finally voice your question.

“Are you telling me you’ve never kissed anyone before?” You ask the question as delicately as you can manage, but he still winces as an embarrassed flush colors his cheeks further.

“Not.. Not technically.” He admits quietly, big brown eyes still tinted beneath the crimson glow from outside the Jeep.

“Not technically?” You repeat slowly.

“I don’t know why I thought saying it like that would make it sound better,” He says weakly, “It didn’t. It was still just as mortifying. And so, so lame.”

Your heart flutters, cracks, and then ticks up in quick succession as your flooded with a wide array of conflicting emotions. You can’t quite believe what it is you’re hearing.

“You haven’t had your first kiss?” The words come out a bit more heartbroken than you intended.

Stiles looks horrified at the bluntness of your statement for a moment before he’s swallowing harshly, eyes dropping from your own for a fleeting second.

“No,” He says in a quiet voice, nearly a whisper as his eyes flick back up to yours, “But, um, if- If you’re still offering.. I mean-”

Your heart is positively hammering in your chest, so hard you worry he might be able to hear it, but then your thumb drags up and brushes over his own racing pulse again and his nerves seem to somehow calm yours. Your lean forward until the tip of your nose catches on the bridge of his again, eyes not leaving his as you move achingly slow, giving him time in case he decides to change his mind.

“You’re sure?” You ask softly, the whispered question little more than a breath of warm air against the bow of his upper lip.

“Uh huh.” He just manages the quiet sound of affirmation, a small nod of his head has your lips brushing lightly and the barely-there touch pulls a sharp breath of anticipation from him.

“Okay,” You say quietly, dragging one hand to the back of his neck so you can guide the angle of his head just a touch to one side.

His grip on your hips readjusts and tightens further, one of his clammy palms slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, and the warmth of skin on skin has you breathing out harshly in the sliver of space between your lips again. Your eyes flick slow between his, wide pools of scarlet-tinted whiskey watching you with rapt attention. Your mouth curves up with the hint of a smile, a soft breath of laughter falling into his parted lips as your fingers dig into the thick muscle of his neck.

“Close your eyes, weirdo.” You whisper fondly.

“Shit, fuck. Sorry, yeah. Eyes closed.” He rambles off quickly, eyes pinching shut immediately and hands squeezing your hips as if silently promising that he’s ready.

Endeared. You’re so fucking endeared your organs feel as if they’ve gone warm and syrupy beneath your skin.

Despite your admonishment of his eyes being open, you find yourself unable to pull your own away from watching every small tick in his features. Your hand on his shoulder tightens as you brush your nose across his and when the tight pinch of his eyes slackens and he takes a small nervous breath of anticipation, you finally press your lips to his.

It starts with just a small peck as your brain whites out for just a second. His lips are soft and chapped and plush against your own. You linger for a brief moment before you’re separating just enough to slot your mouths back together a little better.

His lower lip finds itself between yours and he gravitates toward you when you make like you’re about to draw back a second time, his mouth blindly searching for yours. He applies more pressure as he seems to become more sure of himself, one of his hands sliding to the base of your spine to drag you closer.

Impressed, you guide the angle of his head to tip just a hair further, your lips parting to exhale a hot breath into the gap between his own. A small sound rumbles from his chest as he tries to replicate the heat of your kiss on the next meeting. His lips fall open just enough that his breath mingles with your own and your brain goes a little heady with it, thighs tensing as blood rushes in your ears and heat pools in your gut.

You draw back and you’re forced to tangle your fingers in his hair to hold him in place when he tries to chase your mouth again. His eyes crack open to meet your own when he finds himself unable to catch you in another kiss and his pupils are blown a little wide, black overtaking brown until only a small ring of rich chocolate remains. You’re sure you don’t look much better, with the way our chest is threatening to heave with excitement, your fingers trembling where they’re gripping onto the muscle of his shoulder and woven into his hair.

“That was.. That was good.” You tell him after a moment, voice embarrassingly shaky, “What.. What’d you think?”

“Good.” He returns just as weak, “Great. That- Mhm. Awesome.”

His eyes are on your lips again and he looks downright hungry, but then, so are you.

“You’re a natural,” You praise breathlessly, eyes flicking between his rapidly as your fingers unconsciously tighten in his hair, “I’d never guess that was your first kiss – It was.. You learn fast.”

“We- You should probably show me more,” He insists, already leaning back in until his forehead finds your own, “That way I won’t end up like Mark, y’know? With pretty girls complaining to their friends about how wet and gross and bad it-”

“You think I’m pretty?”

He blinks at you as his lips curve up at the corners, the tip of his nose catching against yours to shoot sparks down your spine when he replies, “I think you’re beautiful.”

“Oh.” Is all you manage to get out as a smile tugs at your own lips.

“You want to maybe show me how to use tongue without, being completely repulsive and, like, drowning you or whatever?”

“Mhm,” You agree easily through a breathless laugh. You can’t quite help the quick press of your lips to his and you feel the relieved exhale that falls from his nose and fans out in a warm puff against your face. “Just for the record, though-” You feel the need to elaborate, “There is a time and a place for wet. When things are really hot and heavy and you’re in the throes of passion or whatever — a little too much tongue is great. It can be really, really hot. But- Like I said, time and place.”

The information leaves Stiles looking mildly overwhelmed and severely aroused, but he’s nodding dutifully, “Uh huh. Got it. Noted. I’ll remember that.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

His mouth is claiming yours again before the word is even fully out, the sound of it lost in your lips and what remains is smothered by your gasp of surprise. You let him control the pace for a moment before remembering that you’re supposed to be the one guiding him.

You bring one hand up to his face, thumb catching his chin so you can guide his jaw to drop open a bit further as your tongue teases against the inside of his lip. His groan meets your ears, the sound of it sending a shockwave through your body that you’re still reeling from as he repeats your action with truly startling ease. The warm wetness of his tongue has you feeling hot all over, and when it catches against the tip of your own before retreating, you nearly whimper in protest at the loss.

He effortlessly settles into the pattern of give and take, hot brushes of tongues broken up by soft pecks against slick lips. His fingertips dig into your skin like he’s afraid you might slip away into nothing if he doesn’t hold you tight enough and you find your own fingers scraping at his scalp in response.

You’re both making soft little noises between the quiet smack of lips, the leather seats creaking every time your weight shifts in an attempt to get closer.

The lack of oxygen has your head a little fuzzy at the edges when you finally pull back and each of your exhales mingle warmly in the small sliver of space between your mouths as you both fight to catch your breath.

“I, um. I don’t think you have to worry about your kissing technique.” You tell him breathlessly just to break the silence, “You’re all good. A, uh, a great kisser. Eleven out of ten.”

“Cool. Cool. That’s great, I, um-” He coughs quietly, nervously, as he leans back to put a bit more space between you, “Would you maybe want to do it again sometime?”

He’s looking at you with pretty brown eyes blown wide and bleeding earnestness. The hand around your back has fallen to your upper thigh, the grip of it tightening as if punctuating certain words as he speaks. It’s entirely possible that your brain sort-circuits, because a moment of silence passes before he’s barreling on.

“-because I, for one, would really like to do that again sometime. Maybe.. Maybe after a date? Or during a date — that part doesn’t really matter. I just really like you and I have pretty much since forever and now that I’ve kissed you-”

“You like me?” Is all you manage past the heavy thumping of your heart in your chest, your ears — Shit, you’re pretty sure you can feel every pump of it in each trembling twitch of your fingers.

“So much that’s borderline embarrassing, yeah.” He admits, throat bobbing as he swallows nervously.

A breath whooshes past your lips, filled with relief and surprise and elation.

“I like you too.” You say after a beat too long, “Holy shit. Stiles, are you kidding me? I’ve liked you since the fifth grade.”

“Really?” He looks mildly shocked.

A giddy laugh escapes you as you drag him forward again to bring your lips back together. The kiss is chaste, but filled with so much emotion it makes your head swim a bit.

“Damn,” Stiles mutters suddenly, the frustrated curse puffing out against your cheek, “Does that mean we could’ve been doing this the whole time? Like, years of kissing-?”

His words cut off when your lips find his once more and he gives in easily, his train of thought thoroughly derailed.

“I guess we’ve got a lot of time to make up for then, Stilinski.. You up for the challenge?”

Stiles nods wildly and he’s pulling you back in before you can say anything else.

[princessbrunette]

jj being so oblivious to how much he turns on reader and by the time they get back into her room at the end of the day she’s so needy for him and he’s like ???

-🐮

🍰♡₊˚ 🩰・₊✧

jj had taken the lead on the little pogue mission you’d joined in on today.

you wasn’t sure if it was the leadership and casual dominance over everyone that was doing it for you, your boyfriend strutting about in that black t-shirt and backwards cap — confidently throwing out “just follow my lead, okay?” to the group, or “not to worry, papa j’s got it.” which made your thighs clench whilst everyone else’s eyes rolled.

or maybe it was the way he was courteous, making sure your safety and involvement in everything was his top priority— glancing over at you to gauge your reactions whenever something happened, taking your hand to help you on and off boats or steps, calling out a “‘scuse me, if you could just make way for muh’lady.” as he’d usher you through a crowd with his hands on your waist.

whatever it was, it had you in heat by the time you had hurried him into his designated room at the chateau, pawing at him with the door barely shut, catching him off guard when you’re grabbing at the neck of his shirt trying to pull him down to get his mouth on yours.

“uh— hello, hey— you okay? why are you trying to eat me?” he pants after you get a few confused pecks in, gently holding you back by the shoulders. you whimper, just from having his hands on you and lick your lips hungrily.

“jj, you’ve been killing me all day. please, i’m sorry i just need you, really bad!” it comes out whiny and in one breath, his brows jumping up as he takes in the surprising information.

“okay first of all, never be sorry for that— alright. second of all, why? what did i even — i feel like if anything i was kinda gross today i’ll be totally honest with you.” he rambles, glancing down at the way your hands twist in his shirt itching to touch him.

“you’re just… such a natural leader jayj. was tellin’ everyone what to do n’ looking after me and it just drove me insane. wanted it all day.” you sigh, pupils practically covering your iris.

“really? th—that was doing it for you? jesus well, okay— im flattered— you know i kinda feel like i’m having one of those crazy wet dreams that i wake up all disappointed and sticky from so like — this isn’t a dream right?” he reaches down and pinches your hip, making you yelp and slap his hand.

“ow, why are you pinching me if you’re the one dreaming, jj?”

“thats a good point actually uh—”

“can you stop pinching me and start fucking me, please?” you mewl, drawing closer, practically breathing into his mouth and he frantically nods, dropping a kiss to your lips before pointing to the bed.

“yep, can do— get your skirt off. panties too.” he commands you, briskly making his way to the door to close it properly and lock it, making his way over to you to help you pull your underwear down your legs. “mm, that’s what i like to see. papa’s gotta eat.” he spreads your legs, shuffling around to be face to face with your cunt, dropping kisses to your inner thighs.

“been waitin’ for this all day!” you slur, already arching off the bed trying to get his mouth on you.

“yeah? well that means you’ve been a very patient, good girl…” he presses a sloppy kiss directly to your clit making your breath hitch, his thumbs sliding up either side of your puffy folds to spread them. “if only there was a way,” he spits on your clit and you jolt, the glob running down the entirety of your heat. “for me to reward you for that.” he grins up at you with wet lips before diving in, reminding you why you love his tongue so much.

🍰♡₊˚ 🩰・₊✧

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

[ohmyamor]

6:47pm

You stare with your mouth open wide at the small device clutched in your hands. 

Fingers twitching, you bring the lit-up screen concerningly close to your face, squinting your eyes at the picture at on your phone. 

“Is his hair...purple?” you whisper out loud. 

Not that there was anyone else in the room with you, but still. You weren’t sure if you could believe your eyes.

The sudden ringing sound signaling you were receiving an incoming call startled you out of your trance. Taking a glance at the caller id, you can’t help but snort. 

Speak of the fucking devil. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi sweetheart,” Jongho’s voice rang out through your speaker. 

“You don’t deserve to call me that.” 

You listened as Jongho sputtered, letting out an incomprehensible string of words. 

“Huh?”

“You don’t deserve to call me ‘sweetheart’ after what you did,” you repeated. 

“I’m sorry, did I do something to upset you? Or bother you? I know I haven’t been able to stop by, but you know how it gets when promotions start. I promise you baby, as soon as I get the chance I’ll rush over to your place and we can spend as much time as you want together. I’ll event take you to that cafe you’ve been wanting to try,” Jongho rambles through the line.

A small smile worms its way onto your face. You almost start to feel a little bad about scaring him like that, but another glance at the picture on your phone has you feeling betrayed all over again. 

“Honey? Are you there?” 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were going to dye your hair purple,” you pout. 

“I-what?”

“And I had to find out through pictures of your stage today. Seriously, I can’t believe you would do this to me jjong.” 

A laugh of disbelief rings through your speaker. 

“Is that what this is about? You’re pouty because I didn’t show you my hair color?” 

As soon as he finishes speaking, Jongho begins to let out loud laughs that echo throughout your room. 

“Don’t laugh at me! This is serious!” you argue. “I thought I was the love of your life! But you didn’t even tell me you were finally going purple. And when did you even get a chance to do that? We literally video chatted last night and you were at the dorms with the guys.” 

More laughs come from Jongho’s end. 

“I wanted it to be a surprise, especially because I know how much you’ve wanted me to do a fun color with my hair. And for your information, I had to wake up super early today to get it done.” 

You sigh and click your tongue. 

“Just because you look hot with purple hair doesn’t mean you’re off the hook Choi.” 

Jongho hums. 

“I’m willing to deal with the consequences.” He’s quiet for a moment before speaking again. “So, you think I look hot?”

A smile makes it’s way onto your face and you can’t help but roll your eyes. 

“You’re always hot, but something about the purple...,” you trail off. “Very nice.” 

Jongho lets out a small giggle and you can’t stop the fuzzy feeling that blossoms in your chest hearing him laugh. 

“Well I’m glad you approve. And I can’t wait to show it to you in person. I miss you baby,” Jongho’s voice becomes softer towards the end of his sentence. 

“I miss you too, but you and the guys are doing absolutely amazing this comeback. Seriously, you guys always do freaking amazing, but this comeback you guys are really glowing, so continue to go out there and make me and atiny’s proud,” you cheer him on. 

Although you can’t see him, you know Jongho well enough to imagine the smile that most likely sits on his face from your words. 

“Thank you, sweetheart.” 

Distantly, you can hear what sounds like Hongjoong’s voice calling for the boys. 

“I have to go now, but I promise to text you when I get back to the dorms. I love you,” Jongho says. 

“I love you too, jjong. Get some rest.” 

After hanging up the phone, you spend a few more minutes scrolling through Twitter and saving some of your favorite pictures of Jongho. You’re about to get up and begin getting changed when an idea strikes you. 

You send one last text to your boyfriend before going to the bathroom. 

Should I dye my hair purple too? We can match ;)

When you come back, Jongho’s reply makes you laugh. 

Don’t mess with my heart like that baby. 

But if you do, please give me a warning. 

                                         ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

RIBOS HOW ARE WE DOING???

bc im not okay lol I woke up to those pictures and immediately spammed my friends. 

i think he’s genuinely trying to kill me but its okay 

[lovelybarnes]

flustered- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader warnings: very flustered reader, not sure if i exaggerated it too much but i think i did im so sorry about: requested by the lovely stefi!! flustered reader basically lol part 2!

it’s one of those nice kind of days—where the sky is leadened with gloomy cotton balls and the heat of the sun is muted. the grass beneath you is fresh and smells of petrichor in anticipation of the rain, already cold between your fingers and needling through your jeans.

a breeze flutters your lashes, urging your eyes open and your hands to splay like a starfish into the ground. something else pricks at your skin, pulling your eyebrows together.

“hey,” someone says behind you. bucky, you realize.

“hi,” you respond automatically, lolling your head back to catch sight of him. he’s tall and solid and upside down when you blink up at him, eyes just as piercing as they observe you.

“it’s gonna rain,” he informs, stepping over to stand next to you. “y’gonna come back inside?”

“no,” you answer definitively, staring back up at the sky. “maybe when the lightning starts.”

“lightning?” he repeats, grunting when he lowers himself gracefully onto the ground. his knee pokes into your thigh, but he doesn’t move it away.

you go still, concentrating on not shifting weirdly. “it’s pretty, but it makes me nervous.”

“what if i stay out here with you?” he offers.

“what are you going to do against lightning?” you ask, laughing. “maybe if it were thor—���

his own laughter is rough, genuine. lightly, he nudges your shoulder. “punk.”

you grin, a little pleased and a little flustered. “what?”

“i’m offering my protection. super-soldier protection.”

“oh, i’m sorry,” you apologize. “i didn’t realize you guys could control weather.”

“you are…” bucky begins, searching for a word. “incorrigible,” he finishes, teasing.

you bark out a laugh, meeting his eyes. “incorrigible!”

he nods. “‘s okay, though. it’s part of your charm.”

bucky turns to observe your profile, silently scanning your features. your thumbnail goes to trace the nailbed of your index.

you clear your throat, watching the clouds as they roll in the sky. “thank you,” you reply. it comes out a little strangled.

bucky clearly hears it, but his eyes crinkle. he hums. “s’my pleasure. i get to talk to you and see you, y’know, be impossible.”

you nod, not sure when to stop. you’re still stuck on his previous compliment, like a thread caught on a hook and you can’t help but pull, let your sweater unravel green and greedy and coarse.

“i didn’t know that was a charm,” you start unsurely. “or that i had charms, more like.” it’s not smoothly said, a little halted in that you want to explain further, only encouraged to by the chaste curve of his lips, amused and patiently heartening. you urge him to silence you. “or charm? is it just charm, singular? i think of charms more like the bracelet things, but charm could encapsulate the entirety of the—” you crane your fingers and move your hands as if they’re cupping something large. “the idea. which i guess is what you mean and it implies a lot more than one, right?”

you’re rambling, you know.

bucky is grinning, though, purely amused and bastardly pleased. he nods along to your words as if he’s listening closely to each rise in your voice, paying attention to each word.

you clear your throat and attempt to relax your tense shoulders. you’re not uncomfortable, you remind yourself. your anxiety carries none of the unpleasantness associated with it, instead something so largely gracious and massively salubrious that it makes you slightly ditzy, spilling out like honey and sneaking into the cogs of your brain.

it makes the wheels stagger and slow, your mind lagging to dig up something more to say. so, you say: “i bet you were really charming back then. you know, because you were so popular? like steve and everyone says.”

bucky chuckles. “were, huh?”

you know he’s teasing. he’s only ever teasing, but you stammer to take it back. “are! are real charming! really charming. i mean—i meant that it was just, like, a lot back then. not that it isn’t anymore, just… just different?” you have to explain, having piqued his actual interest. “back then, it was smoother? from the way people talk about you, i can’t imagine it wasn’t something automatic. now it’s, it’s more deliberate, i think.”

you’ve been talking for so long.

“but, obviously it still works, right?”

he smiles something small, crinkling the edges of his eyes lightly and mischievously as if he’s caught you in something. “why do you say that?”

you shake your head as you look for a response. “uh…”

bucky decides to take pity on you, moving away from the topic to stretch his torso. a sliver of skin peeks from behind his shirt, gleaming and distracting as you try to look anywhere but there. you fail, obviously, your focus betraying you.

“you look real nice today, you know,” he says, a smidge more serious and totally sweeter.

you heat up immediately, ears burning as you squeeze the lobe between your thumb and index. “you too,” you force out, overwhelmed with the compliment, skin prickling with its genuity.

bucky observes you for a few seconds, eyes slow and deliberate as they take you in from a foot or so away, and then he settles a few inches closer.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, but he doesn’t really want to know, isn’t truly asking in the words’ definitions. there’s a pleased mask in his expression, hiding something flustered from your attention from your scrutiny.

you only blink and shrug, the weight of his gaze increasing with every second he stares. the blue of his irises has always been gentle in a sharp way, deep and crushing and grand like the ocean. warm and comforting like the sun that it reflects.

you swallow when he leans in, close enough for you to be sure he’s being entertained by how flustered he’s making you. you can’t think, you realize after a blank moment, mind crowded with the way his fresh scent interrupts the petrichor.

he’s smiling when he finally pauses in front of your face, nose nearly brushing against yours close, close enough that you can see the stars in his eyes and count each charcoal lash.

"you know you don't have to be so nervous around me?" he whispers.

you shiver, unable to help yourself as you dig teeth into your lips and your attention flickers to his.

they twist up when they notice, only crawling further when you choke out an affirmation. “yeah, yeah. i’m not—”

your reply dies on your tongue when he swoops in, noses nudging when he kisses you. your eyes stay wide open for a moment before they flutter shut, your body frozen before it melts inevitably, slackening into him. one of his hands moves to hold your waist, lips smiling beneath yours as he pulls away.

you swallow, attempting to blot away the haze his kiss has glossed over your mind. his grin isn’t helping, blinding you and chasing away the breath that kisses your lungs.

“i’m not nervous,” you finally force out. “you’re just—just really—”

“i’m really?” he urges.

you frown. “mean,” you finish.

he laughs, and you’re dizzy again.

[in-another-april]

─ movie date | s.r

summary/prompt - spencer invites you to his apartment to watch one of his russian sci-fi films with him | fluff

warnings - small mention of burns

wc - 735

notes - this was inspired by me rewatching and falling in love with awkward early seasons spencer all over again 😭

────────────────

 You sink deeper into the brown leather couch as the alarm of the microwave rings out behind you. Tilting your head back, you watch as Spencer empties the freshly popped popcorn into a bowl. You let out a soft chuckle as you see him holding the steaming bag as gingerly as possible to avoid burning his hand, a practically inevitable occurrence whenever he prepares food, his clumsy nature almost never failing to bring a fond smile onto your face.

“Need any help?” Your question makes him look from over his shoulder at you.

“Oh, I got it.” He shakes his head before pausing. “Thank you, though.” He rushes to add with an awkward smile, hoping you can’t tell how painfully out of his element he was.

So far, you two had been seeing each other outside of work for a few weeks, but you had yet to meet up at either of your respective apartments. He’d like to think he presented himself as “cool and collected” as Derek had coached him to be when you first suggested the idea of going to his place for a movie date, but he knew he was done for as soon as you mentioned wanting to watch the Russian sci-fi film he had been eagerly rambling about on the jet. He finds himself struggling to even think about the way your eyes light up with genuine curiosity whenever he goes on one his tangents without his face heating up. You’re going to be the death of him, he swears.

You can’t help the cheerful smile that makes its way onto your face as Spencer finally sits down next to you, after some fiddling with the TV and disc. You think for a moment before offering the other half of the blanket laid on your lap to him. His face turns red as he stares dumbly for a moment before happily accepting his side of the soft material, sliding closer to you. He’s eager to start the movie, in hopes it’ll serve enough of a distraction so you don’t notice the blush on his face getting brighter from simply being in your proximity.

He almost forgets he’s supposed to be translating for you until he sees the expectant look on your face after the first few lines pass. He mutters a quick apology before clearing his throat and reciting the words as they come, voice low as to minimize the disruption to the experience as much as possible. As the minutes pass, Spencer feels his nerves calm and breathing steady as he finds himself slotted securely back into his comfort zone: rattling off information regarding subjects he’s passionate about.

That is, until he feels the slight weight of your head against his shoulder, cuddling up to him like it’s second nature. His body instinctively tenses up under the contact, halting his translations as he stares off into space, cogs turning in his head as he tries to understand how his mind can feel blank while simultaneously housing so many rushing thoughts.

You lift your head off him slightly, turning to meet his eyes. “Oh, I didn’t mean to make you comfortable, I’m sorry.” You say, cursing yourself for being too forward. “I can move-”

“No!” Spencer interjects quickly, cringing at how desperate it made him come off. “I- sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so, uh, I just meant to say…” The deep breath he takes only serves to fluster him more as it ends up being just a whiff of your perfume. “You don’t have to move, I don’t mind.” Is what he settles on, trying his best to read your expression as he stares up at you.

“Are you sure?” You’re not sure why you ask, but you still revel in the sweetness of his answer.

“I’m positive. I’d… prefer it, really.” He shyly admits, looking everywhere except your eyes. “O-Only if you want to, of course.”

He’s happy to see that answer satisfied you, returning to your position leaning against him. You don’t think it’s possible for your smile to grow bigger, but you prove yourself wrong as you feel him hesitantly wrap his arm around you, pressing his head against yours. He resumes his whisper translations, but you’d have to admit that the movie is lost in the back of your mind as you opt to focus your attention on the man sitting next to you.

[roo-bastmoon]

IMPORTANT INFO: issues around Jimin’s album

I have an ARMY friend (who shall remain safely anonymous) who works in film production for the music and entertainment industry here in the US. They offered me some valuable insights today into production limitations and possible issues related to Jimin’s solo album.

Below the cut is a transcript of their messages to me. I share this in the hopes it better informs our discussions around fair treatment of BTS members’ releases. It is by no means a definitive account of Jimin’s situation—simply an insider’s ideas on what likely happened around a few things.

I understand there are very big feelings about this topic, especially with the apparent differences around JK’s single, and I appreciate everyone’s viewpoints. However, if you choose to interact with this post, you will be respectful to others (including members) or you will be blocked. You are always welcome to DM me privately if you need to vent—we are all human and we all need a bit of grace, so you’ll always have that with me.

Sending you guys so much love, Roo

Anonymous Insider

Some “light reading” while you’re resting up and recovering, lol. This is all just based on what I’ve been watching and seen. Of course, I don’t have access to their production budget sheet and Korea works very differently than the US when it comes to production, but this what I’ve been seeing when it comes to their videos and particularly the promotions for FACE.

(I’m sending in sections, lol)

Alrighty - I’m still like deep in edit-land (still am two days later 😭) but I started typing this on the train between meetings, ha ha. (And am still on the train doing this, lol.) Also this rambles a bit I’m sorry! So the first thing I did was go back to the interview where Jimin talked about the music videos — it was a Japanese TV show and he’s talking with a host in Korean.

He’s talking about “wanting to do it all,” laughs and says, “I wanted all the music videos” and that “they” (the company assuming) said “무리다” which has its roots in the word 무리 which means a herd, a party, a group — basically “it’s too much,” “it’s unreasonable,” and “it’s impossible” are decent translations as it refers to something or an idea being “too much” — then the host and Jimin burst out laughing and the host goes “서리와 무리다” which I read as “sorry (in konglish) but we can’t” and they continue to laugh. So based on that —it sounds very understandable.

We can imagine Jimin sitting down with his team and planning out SMFP2 and LC videos, with the 30 dancers and all the party scene extras, and then Jimin saying he wants to do the music shows with 6 different sets in rented locations so they could have total control. And if Jimin in that process went “what if we made official music videos for all of them?” the team would understandably go “that’s just not reasonable!” 1) because it would give Jimin a budget no other member had gotten and 2) there aren’t that many production houses in Korea. It’s a very small scene — it may just logistically not been possible. There aren’t enough DPs and crew and editors. Sometimes, as a producer, you have to tell your creative talent “I’m sorry, but no.” — I say it every week!

So what about the music videos? Well, here’s what I know from meticulously watching all the behind the scenes for BTS videos over the years. They work with a small team. They likely own a good deal of the gear — they shoot mainly on RED cameras and heavy expensive Cooke lenses (which you can’t get this stuff easily in Korea. I lost a lens cap for a Canon CINÉ Lens in Seoul and it was like this whole big deal because getting gear there is an import challenge but anyways) they use MOVI and Ronin gimbal stabilizers and Jimmy Rigs a lot.

Recently they’ve been using technocranes but I wonder how many technocranes there are in Seoul. As I said, they likely own a lot of this gear which can help with costs. But we’ve also been told — and I’ve heard through my industry friends — that Hybe PAYS. And in Korea there’s no unions in the entertainment world, and often the rates are shit (hence Netflix investing so much there - blerg) their standard work week is also already 12 hours longer than the US. It’s a whole thing. and they spend so much money on sets. It’s incredible.

They rent these huge spaces outside Seoul and BUILD — I mean the build out for SMFP2 was astounding. They easily dropped 1million on that video. The rigging, the build-out, the custom set and the custom camera rigs to achieve the 360 shots - the drone shots. They’re astounding videos. No US label is spending that money on videos these day. Absolutely none of them are — my friend recently produced a video for John Legend. They were trying to pull the whole thing off for $100K which is ridiculous. It’s really almost impossible.  

But on the Big videos they spend a lot of money, but they also produce a lot of other stuff too (and these are often looked at as Performance Videos vs all-caps MUSIC VIDEOS) -— like RM’s video shoot at DIA Beacon… that was a much smaller, fairly single camera shoot — all shot on drones or a MOVI handheld rig. No set, they also didn’t like pay for the set because DIA: Beacon is an art museum — and similar a little bit to Letter for Jimin, which was much smaller set and easy in-house gear.

(And it was also released on Bangtan TV channel vs Hybe Labels Channel, which is a good indicator of how they categorize these shoots.) But the big videos, they go for broke. I mean they spend so much money and again they may own a lot of the equipment but there’s still so much people-power and labor involved. Take the dancers’ rehearsals. You have to pay people for all that — you have to pay them for the weeks of rehearsal, you have to pay them to be in a video. It is so expensive — like, I would not be able to budget that video for under 1 million, that’s how much it costs.  

So then Jimin wanted to do music shows —- and so because he’s Jimin and it’s BTS, Hybe rented larger venues and locations for all of the shoots. None of them use the actual Broadcast spaces or were provided by the broadcast studios. The smaller companies do though — remember when BTS first started out they went to SBS to film on the day? — but they don’t do that anymore. They rent huge facilities so that they could be a mini concerts for ARMYs to visit with Jimin and see him.

They also have to do this kind of outside of the city and they built huge sets because they’re going to want to show off if they’re gonna be on TV but that is so expensive. (I don’t think you were an ARMY then, but when ON was released, at the time it was the “biggest broadcast performance ever” and they keep upping that ante for sure!) It’s possible the broadcast companies spend some money but what BTS is doing is so outside the usual budget and given the tension with the broadcasters and HYBE — they (Hybe) wants control of their products, and so I think they pay for that control.

I can’t imagine they got out of any of those days for under $500K; I mean, there were two different sets, all the crew; they’re paying for all of it. We add it up and they probably spent close to $3-5 million between Jimin’s music videos and his music show performances, and I would be understandably like: “That’s it!” Like, that’s the budget for an EP, you know.

I don’t think Jimin could have it all because that wasn’t the case for the other members. RM got to lead videos and J Hope had pyrotechnics, which definitely costs money and safety and insurance. You know he had visual effects his first video (a lotta visual effects) and again a lot of challenging technocrane work, but I haven’t really seen them build something on the scale of what they built for SMFP2 in a very long time (or ever?).

We heard from the Art Dept that Jimin did not want to shoot on blue screen, so they built the set for him. This cannot be the same label that is shafting him — that allows him to spend that amount of money just because the artist said “I want to shoot in a real space!” because I’m gonna be completely honest— he could’ve done that on a blue screen — I’m glad they built a real world because BTS almost always shoots on Blue/Green Screen. They build him a huge set like that. It’s absolutely incredible.

I was also reminded this morning that people are talking about radio for Like Crazy and not supporting the song — and I just keep thinking that they did exact rollout for Butter, Dynamite, and Permission to Dance. They released Like Crazy. It had both a Korean version and English version. (Obviously that wasn’t the case for the English BTS songs.) They released two additional remixes. Then they kept releasing, like, alternate cover versions — alternate covers of the main remix, alternate cover the other remix. They were trying to maximize the direct-to-consumer store and exact same way they had tried to maximize it with Dynamite and Butter and Permission to Dance.

The way you were buying Like Crazy was the same process I took on Dynamite. They did the exact same playbook. So the fact that they were unable to get the kind of radio play they wanted or maybe they weren’t prioritizing radio because they knew that they were gonna have a better chance at direct to consumer sales... Maybe they didn’t want to fight radio. Maybe Geffen was like “We don’t have the right ‘Ins’ yet!” — I’m not sure, but the fact that they got completely screwed over by Billboard doesn’t mean that they weren’t actually rolling it out in that way, because as soon as they started doing the whole alternate cover thing, I was like: “Well, they clearly want us to try to go for number one!” You know, “They clearly think that they are going to be able to get number one on the hot 100 and we’re gonna use these sales to do that!” And clearly that’s all changed now.

They keep changing the rules on us, so — with JK, they’re obviously trying to, you know, use whatever tools they have available to them at this point.

Finally, when it comes to restocking the digital single CD. There are still albums available in the store. So why would they manufacture and ship more (likely thrown away) plastic that’s just for one song, when those CD singles only serve to raise sales for the charts? All of the other member’s CD singles are out of stock except The Astronaut, which they treated more like a proper album a bit (kinda like the Butter CD releases). Because they still have both versions of his full albums in stock, so if I were Hybe, I’d be like “No,you need to buy the album, we still have albums, we’re not going to sell you a single song when you can buy the album!” That makes more sense to me. The albums cost more.

TL:DR, haha — so I feel like this narrative around Jimin’s release has been ramped up because, from my professional opinion, he’s had the most expensive release so far (by far) and if we want to compare him to, say, Beyoncé — well she owns her own production company (Parkwood Entertainment), so she can funnel her own money into a Visual Album, I don’t know if Jimin has considered that at this point in his career, but in the future, he might!

((Not including costs for Suga’s tour because that’s a whole other thing, and the tour probably made money I would expect to balance out the cost of the tour itself))

Anonymous Insider

This isn’t to say that the other things, the part where he didn’t get the cake celebration, or the posts, the issues with the linking and this general feeling that Jimin was short-changed in these things isn’t valid and understandable. I think Hybe relied too much on D2C sales and I don’t think they leveraged their might as much as could have for JM. They could have risked more for him.

{This is an end of Anonymous Insider’s messages to me. They noted that they are an intermediate non-native Korean speaker so please excuse any translation errors. They translated things themselves using Naver tools that aligned with the video subtitles.}

So, listen, I still don’t think Like Crazy was sent/promoted to radio (which was a mistake and still is a mistake) and I am furious at the shady articles and lack of celebration for Jimin…

But after reading the way the members approach their work in the Beyond the Story book and now hearing from someone who produces these works for a living, I have to wonder if the company was doing everything they knew how to do for Jimin, but the second it didn’t work out because of the western music industry culling streams and sales, they pulled back all their resources and pivoted for Yoongi and JK. (I also wonder if leadership shut up about it all due to liability issues, or not to cause bad blood with the music industry for future releases.)

Again, I’ll never forgive the lack of celebration and the split streams (not without a great explanation), but at least now I think there’s a good chance no one was actively trying to sabotage Jimin on purpose. They seemed to have wanted that #1 and then it all went to shit because Billboard and radio want to get paid. Maybe leadership decided not to put any more resources into Face but instead pivot for all the future music coming out (including PJM2.)

Perhaps I'm a cockeyed optimist. I’m just hoping like hell they never engage in payola. I want all our boys to win, but I want us to win fairly. And even if everyone cannot have the same investment every time on every project, I hope when they come back together in 2025 that everyone feels good about their solo works and each other. This is my prayer. Love, Roo

[one-fin-wonder]

Can I have the boys reaction to someone info-dumping to them?

A/N: Yes Anon, you sure as heck can. I really enjoy info dumping on my friends so this is right up my alley. I hope this is what you were hoping for! :D

Warnings: I used my poor duolingo skills and limited Spanish knowledge to write the Spanish, there only a few but the grammar may off, I am so sorry for it in advance but there is translations to what I intended to say. not beta read / I’m too dyslexic for my own good, and fluff? I’m a hopeless romantic man. What do you want from me. 

Word count: 1090

Steven Grant:

It all started when Steven asked you about your day as he walked through the door. He set down his messenger bag and turned towards you. It was too late, the waterfall of words already was released. 

You began explaining how you dived deeply into your hyperfixation (or specific subject you would be info dumping about)

You smiled wide as you explained, and his heart melted at the sight of you.

are you the type of person that stims when you get excited? (I shore am) Steven will smile if you begin to stim happily while explaining. 

He loves knowing that you are so excited that you can’t contain the energy, you have to physically let the happiness out 

He simply smiled as he sat down next to you. He nodded and began asking clarifying questions.

“So, what you’re saying is…” “Theoretically then…” “Wait! That means…*He connects to another concept to allow you both to be engaged*”

He’ll wraps his arms around you if you’ll let him, holding onto you as you speak about your topic

He will praise your enthusiasm for the topic and vast knowledge. 

“Love, you’re simply a genius.” “I love hearing your view and knowledge” “That’s so fascinating!” 

Steven knows exactly what it’s like to need to explain one specific topic. He knows that feeling, that specific feeling like pasta water boiling over on the stove. 

He holds your hands (with your permission) as you speak, he likes showing you that he’s there with you and listening, it's a gentle reminder.

He feels it's incredibly important for you to be comfortable enough to share these moments of informational rambling. So he tries his best to show you he’s interested, he hears you and that you are loved. 

Marc Spector:

He is very caught off guard

Once he knows you aren’t upset or in distress he sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose before nodding and listening

He tosses his keys to the side as he nods listening to you

Marc doesn’t know fully how to react but he likes to hear your voice. The excitement and sincerity in your voice as you speak makes him smile, just a little. 

Marc makes his way over to you finally after he completes his after work routine

Like Steven I think Marc would wrap his arms around you but he wouldn’t know much more than that to show he cares about your information

He does though, He loves you, and he wants to see you happy. He simply doesn’t do emotions well. 

(My poor emotionally unavailable boy. He just needs a hug.)

He silently listens and only replies when you ask him if he follows, 

Finally once you’re done you look at him with a small little sigh and smile and he melts. 

You see it in his eyes and the stern expression he always has just softens. 

you can tell how much he loves you in this moment, the pure love just radiating, but he won’t say it. He won’t explain the feeling he is experiencing. 

But he loves you and you don’t necessarily need the words that he struggles to say, because it’s obvious in his actions. 

and god, the feeling is mutual.

Jake Lockley:

this man has no fucking clue what you are rambling about

He will freeze in the doorway of the small apartment, hand still on the doorknob. He’s so confused and you’re talking a mile an hour in an excited tone. He cannot understand you at this moment. 

Once Jake gets to you he will take his gloves off, stuff them in his pocket and put his hands on your shoulders (or a more comfortable spot if this can trigger you like it does me. Essentially he wants to ground you.) 

“Mi amor, por favor, slow down. No comprendo.” ("My love, Please, Slow down I don't understand")

Or alternatively, he May think something’s wrong with how excited and rushing towards him you are. He puts a hand on your arm and looks around the apartment then back at you. “Que pasa?? Está bien???” ("What's wrong?? Are you okay???")

He would then notice your smile and beaming expression and relax a little “Dios mío,” ("oh my god")you gave this Poor man a heart attack but he loves you all the same. 

he will listen but he will make you repeat yourself again

But it’s only because he cares so much. He wants to understand, so if it takes him several times to understand he will put that effort in.

He nods a lot, especially when it finally clicks in his little murderous, spanish, brain.

When he asks a clarifying question he always ends it with “yeah?” Ex: “so when you say the sun is a star you mean like that fucking ball in the sky, yeah?” 

He sits next to you, his arms on his knees as he hunches over listening. He doesn’t look at you he’s looking most likely at the floor or the wall as he focuses on your words. 

He tries really hard to make you feel heard but he legit makes that grumpy Spanish man expression the entire time. But you know this is just how he is, he loves you, he really does. 

This man keeps a little notebook, like those ones for detectives that fit in pockets. He keeps one of those in his jacket pocket and writes down facts he wants to remember about your favorite topics. He is like a dad who is trying to keep up with the trends. 

Not that he would let you necessarily see said notebook, he keeps it hidden in the inside pocket with a small pen or golf pencil in the spiral of the notepad. 

He pats your knee like a dad too, to show you he’s there. He’s present with you. It’s subtle but it’s his own way of letting you know he’s trying to understand. 

He would move heaven and earth for you, he loves your intelligence, your insight, he loves you. All of you, no matter your flaws, perfections, your needs. 

So if being heard is what you need in this moment you know damn well he will give you everything he can to make it happen. 

[rippersz]

𝖰𝗎𝖾 𝖲𝖾𝗋𝖺, 𝖲𝖾𝗋𝖺

───※ ·❆· ※───

───※ ·❆· ※───

(An OC/Named Reader x Larissa Weems one-shot) (Bittersweet/angsty. Possible part 2 depending on feedback.)

Summary: Odette sends a letter and it ends up in the wrong hands.

───※ ·❆· ※───

‘January 11th, 2023

Odette,

I am terribly sorry to inform you that the letter you sent to a woman named Mirabelle did not end up in her hands. I believe the mail carriers fell short along the way and got it mixed up within my pile of documents; thus my wayward response to you. Considering the nature of your words (I must admit I read them - my actions were caused by split curiosity and confusion), I suggest you re-envelope and reseal your letter before sending it again. I have slipped it in with this one. And if you choose to listen to me, then we shall both hope your sentiments arrive to Mirabelle in a timely fashion with no surprise stops along the way. Until then, someone must tell her that she is a very lucky woman.

And that I am very sorry she broke your heart.

Happy New Year Odette. Be well, Larissa W.’

‘January 18th, 2023

Larissa,

Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness. I am far sorrier than you are. Obviously if I knew that was going to happen, I would not have let it. Okay that doesn’t make much sense, but I’m sure you know what I mean. I think. Hopefully? Anyway, thank you very much for sending the letter back. I gave myself some time to think it over and did as you suggested. New envelope, new seal, new everything. Except the perfume on the letter was different. Are you wearing Jean Paul Gaultier? It’s very nice. Mirabelle may appreciate the mix of scents (I’m wearing Marc Jacobs - Daisy), so at least she’ll get something out of it. The words, on the other hand, I’m not so sure. That ship sailed a long time ago - I’m just not the type to give up easily. That’s a big flaw, I think. Oh well. I guess rambling’s a flaw too. And here I am. Forgive me?

Thank you again. Happy New Year. Odette’

‘January 23rd, 2023

Dear Odette,

Please don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault, as you know. And if I knew the letter did not concern me at all, I would not have read it. But, I’m sort of glad that I did. It was perhaps one of the best letters I’ve ever read in my entire life. Are you a writer, by any chance? If not, you should consider becoming one. The rambling could add a nice personal touch - it’s not as big a flaw as you think it is. It certainly introduced me to your keen sense of smell. Speaking of which, Daisy is wonderful. I may have a roll-on tube of that somewhere. Otherwise, you’re correct. La Belle was released in 2019, it has become my new personal favorite. Are you a perfume collector? Or perhaps a bloodhound? I jest, I jest. Though I do appreciate the follow-up. If Mirabelle doesn’t appreciate your love, I may have to send her a letter myself. That being said, please let me know what she says? If it isn’t too much of an inconvenience.

Be well, Larissa W.’

‘January 29th, 2023

To Larissa,

You are far too kind. I write in my free time, yes, but I’m not sure I’m good enough to become a writer. However, your support still means a lot - even from all the way in California. Quite a long way, right? Crazy how paths cross. Anyway, I’m not a perfume collector, no. But my friend, Cassie, wears the same kind. I know for certain that she’d say you have good taste. And I’d agree. That bloodhound comment was funny. I know you can’t hear my giggling, but trust me when I say I am. I wish I could be as witty, but I don’t know what to say. My humor is typically made up of making fun of people. Do you have a guilty pleasure I can harp on? An embarrassing secret? I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours. And as soon as I get something back, I’ll let you know. Don’t start writing just yet.

Best, Odette’

‘February 5th, 2023,

Odette,

Telling you my secrets already? My, I believe we’ve skipped a few steps. What happened to a favorite color? A favorite memory? An age or profession, perhaps? If you couldn’t tell by now, I am still jesting. One of my guiltiest pleasures, though you may find it juvenile and silly, is the fact that I am a huge chocolate fiend. Many of my coworkers are aware that the best drink to buy me is a hot chocolate - hold the whipped cream. I am watching my figure after all. And because I pity your lack of matched wit, I’ll tell you that my biggest secret is the fact that I quite enjoy Taylor Swift’s music. Don’t ask me about my favorite song, I don’t think I could choose just one. Oh is that- is that the sound of your giggling? Maybe I can hear it from here, Ms. California. Now it’s your turn to hear mine. In the meantime, enlighten me on what you write about. I’m thinking poetry and free-form, with a focus on romance. I do a bit of writing myself from time to time, but it’s always in a diary. Never further. Perhaps you can do both of us justice and contemplate publishing? I’ll be the first to run to the shelves.

I hope you are well, Larissa W.’

‘February 13th, 2023

Dear chocolate fiend,

White. My first trip to New York City after Mirabelle. I arrived in the afternoon, went to see a movie, grabbed dinner and headache pills on the way back to my hotel room, and couldn’t sleep for the entire night. So I went out at 3 AM to see Times Square. It was only a block away and let me tell you, Larissa, it was beautiful. It was unlike anything. I felt safe for the first time in a while - beneath all of those lights. I was invincible. Not even loneliness could touch me. 27 and counting. Secretary. And potential writer. Someone I met recently has been trying to push me further into my hobby- to really adopt the lifestyle. You wouldn’t know them, though. Them? They/them? Please correct me if I’m wrong, Larissa. These letters wouldn’t be nearly as enjoyable if I was calling you something you weren’t. As for me, I go by she/her. Mirabelle did as well. Does? Did? I’m not sure - I haven’t heard anything back yet. But that may be for the best. Horrid segue here (shame on little writer Odette), but Taylor Swift? Wow, I must be giggling quite loudly. HA HA HA HA HA!! HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE!! I swear that one day I’ll get a laugh out of you as well. In the meantime, as you say, I’ll happily inform you that you’re a psychic of some sort. Yes, I write poetry and free-form romance. Novels have never been my thing though. But if I did write any, I’d have to say psychological horror is a favorite. I may give it a crack if you’d edit for me? Unless you’re terribly busy, Ms. Vermont. Then please don’t worry your pretty little head.

I hope you’re ‘weller’ than I am, Odette

(P.S. Happy Valentines Day)’

‘February 19th, 2023

Dear sweet poet,

Do forgive the late response. Work has been keeping me busy; but if you’re serious about editing, I’m sure I can set some time apart for you. That memory of yours does sound quite glorious - nearly heavenly. Such freedom is a dream for many people, myself somewhat included, so I admit I’m the tiniest bit jealous. However, I could always visit the city in the summer. Times Square is already calling my name… maybe I’ll even see a certain 27 year old stranger there. Maybe we could even grab hot chocolate. But I suppose you’d rather enjoy your independence. That being said, you are quite correct - they/them is one of my preferred pronouns. Much like yourself and the mysterious Mirabelle, she/her is another. And I’m glad we both agree that these letters are quite a treat. I have not had a pen-pal in quite a long time. My old roommate and I used to talk after we graduated, but times change. Much like they did for you and Mirabelle. I believe I may have loved my roommate in that way, too… but it’s as I said. Then again, she was always more of a psychic than me. I just got lucky. As for the answers to my questions, I’m quite sure none of those were secrets. Unless, of course, your favorite color is known only by myself. In which case, I’d consider myself lucky again. But either way, come to the table please Odette. Tell me yours - but only if you wish to.

Weller is not a word, Best, Larissa W.’

‘February 23rd, 2023

Dear Larissa,

Weller is a word if I want it to be. That is my secret. No, but in all seriousness, you’re correct. Fair is fair. So I’ll grant you this: I’m a redhead. Ugh I know! I know! It’s terrible. Horrible. I’m sorry. If you find that you can’t stand me anymore, I understand. A writer, secretary, AND a redhead? What’s next? An FBI agent? I can’t disclose that information. Speaking of which, you have yet to answer your own questions. All is fair in love and pen-paling, am I right or am I right Larissa? It’s okay. You can admit it. I’m right. Just like I’m right in saying that your roommate made a big mistake if she’s not with you now. Speaking from experience, love like that is not something one finds often. I’d say I’m glad you experienced it, for it has its good moments, but I know that the ache can be bad. Quite bad. Not to worry, though! If you figure you want to send her a letter, you may get a pen-pal out of it. Kind of neat, huh?

I’m sorry she broke your heart, too. What a foolish woman. Tsk tsk.

Best, Odette’

‘February 28th, 2023

To the resident redhead,

How could you betray me like this? A redhead? On the other side of these pages? I feel scorned. Scorned and touched. Very much like a writer to offer comfort for an offhand comment. I appreciate the sentiment more than you know. And just for your information, Ms. I’m-Always-Right: Silver. Getting my teachers certification and celebrating with a few friends before life pulled us in different directions. It was a wonderful night. I haven’t laughed so much since - and that was quite a while ago. 32 next year. Principal. I do hope that was enough to sate your burning curiosity; I’m sure you can be at ease now. And since I do so enjoy meeting you halfway, I’ll tell you that I’m very fair-haired. Very. Perhaps one day you’ll see. Until then, don’t let the curiosity kill you little cat.

Best, Larissa W.’

‘March 5th, 2023’

‘March 12th, 2023’

‘March 16th, 2023’

‘April 14th, 2023’

‘May 21st, 2023’

‘June 9th, 2023’

...

And the months went on.

And on.

And on.

And every few days, another letter came. Another letter went. Another letter was written. Another letter was sealed. Another letter was received. Another letter was cherished. Kept. Forever a lovely memory. Larissa and Odette went and went and went- on and on and on- exchanging and smiling as each paragraph grew in length. From this to that and whatever else they could find to think about; they formed a banter and connection like no other. Poking fun, making jokes, referencing previous letters, gossiping until their hearts were content. Purring within their chests, eagerly awaiting another letter. It kept their days moving. It kept their souls dancing. From miles away, they cheered each time they saw the thin familiar scrawl of Larissa’s writing and the loopy tilted words of Odette’s penmanship. At one point, they even tried copying each other’s style. It was hilarious. It had both of them laughing at the same time - and later doing it purely to mock. Such things, little but large, were frequent and lovely. One time, Odette mailed a perfume scent strip of her new favorite; and Larissa, never one to be outdone, sent a roll-on tube of La Belle. Odette got so ticked off she made her promise that they stick to letters and paper only. Larissa, usually a stubborn soul, agreed. That was their dynamic. Their push and pull. Their agree to disagree. Never did they fight; rarely did they not see eye to eye; and constantly did they playfully argue. It was small things- small insignificant little things- but they moved the conversation along. And it made them smile. It made them laugh. And during the hardest parts, the parts in which life pinched at their skin and dragged at their souls, it made them cry. It made them weep. It made them open up. It led to Odette confessing that Mirabelle had left her and it led to Larissa confessing that Morticia had left her as well. Two women, two ships in the night, both of which got away. And not gently, not two slow drifts into the night, but a harsh yank. Morticia left school with a man on her arm and Mirabelle returned to California one day from a business trip in France with a ring on her finger. The two of them agreed that it was funny how life likes to slap lovers in the face. That it was funny how life likes to get in the way. And enjoys ending good things and ruining them. Taking them away too quickly. With no warning at all. Without a single goodbye.

The last letter Odette sent was on October 28th, 2024.

Larissa hadn’t responded to her previous one. Or the one before that. And eventually, after much contemplation, she gave up. It wasn’t healthy- worrying so much. Odette figured that perhaps, finally, her worst fear came true and that Larissa realized their little arrangement was more odd than she thought. That she knew virtually nothing about Odette, not even her last name. And that she didn’t find her amusing anymore and didn’t want to associate with her anymore and didn’t want to even say hello. Or goodbye. Or anything in between.

It broke her heart a little bit.

Okay it broke her heart a lot a bit.

The radio silence left Odette living on autopilot for weeks. Months. Nearly half a year. She’d get up, check her mailbox, and go to work - only to come home, check her mailbox, and go to bed - just to do the same thing over and over and over again. Day and night. Night and day. It was worse than Mirabelle. It was worse than anything. No amount of teenage angst or familial grief could get over the deep void left within her soul once those letters stopped coming. Once the friend she found by accident, the kindred spirit she stumbled upon, the woman she lov-…. well. Once that one person decided never to write again.

Though like most difficult things that left her raw, Odette’s heart began scabbing over. She cleared her desk, packed away the special pens she used, put the paper neatly into a box, and tucked the leftover Larissa letters away right along with those sweet memories. Then she put them into the back of a closet she rarely rifled through… and tried to forget it was all there. The La Belle, which she rarely touched, was hidden in her pajama drawer at the very back- wrapped up in old T-shirts she no longer wore. And every other thing that existed around her, that reminded her of Larissa, was pushed out of sight. Out of sight and out of mind. Out of sight, out of mind. Out of sight, out of mind. Out of sight… out of mind.

The company was celebrating her 5 year anniversary. They wanted to fly her out to Vermont. Jericho, Vermont. To have a little vacation there. To enjoy life. To fucking torture her.

She almost didn’t go. She almost canceled entirely. She almost quit her goddamn job because that was the same job she had when she first met Lar-…..

But she went anyway. Vermont was large enough. She’d be fine.

And she was, much to her surprise. She was entirely fine. It was a beautiful change of season; the air was crisp, the trees were changing color- morphing back into sunny greens. The world enjoyed its rain as April introduced May to Jericho and as the year of 2025 blossomed into being. Odette spent her days reading, taking walks, basking in the beauty of the log cabin the company rented for her. It was truly lovely. Truly a dream come true. And she didn’t even think- didn’t even wonder- about the other ship that got away from her. That barely even brushed past her, or lingered, before parting the water and skating away into the night all those months ago.

It was blissful. It reminded her of New York. Of that freedom- that independence- that song within her soul, dredged up from the depths.

But there was one thing.

One tiny little thing.

One little reminder that never left her. That she didn’t let go of.

“Hot chocolate, no whip, for Odette?”

A small smile grew on her lips as she slid out of the booth and made her way up to the counter. The young man met her eyes, returned the smile, and gestured to the warm cup on the counter with a nod of his head.

“Thank you lots.” And with that, she retreated to her booth.

Hot chocolate.

She wasn’t going to give up hot chocolate, let alone any chocolate at all, just because a distant soul enjoyed it. The whipped cream was something she wanted, but… old habits did always die hard, didn’t they? Oh most definitely. And as Odette reclined against the comfortable seat, eyes tracking the screen of her work laptop, hot chocolate firmly placed on the coaster to her right, she lived up to that sentiment with no room to spare. Leaving work at home was hard. She dove into it some time ago; dedicating more time, thinking, and hours into the well-oiled machine of her job just to distract her from everything outside of it. When she was there, responding, taking calls, managing dates and meetings and this, that, and the other, the world fell silent. Into a distant buzzy din. Into a land of muffled sounds and unimportant chatter - like her head was dunked under water as soon as she opened her emails. To a certain extent, it was calming. Repetitive and not at all that difficult after she figured out a proper routine; the worst part was dealing with those who couldn’t write properly. And in the professional world, that was rare. Well- if a person wanted to keep their job of course. And she definitely wanted to keep hers. It was fulfilling. Enriching. She made some friends, she shook some hands, she reassured her bosses. They knew she was reliable. Friendly. Odette never faltered. And they counted on that. Counted on her. Gave her the time of day. Responded when they could. Cherished her like a human. Like a friend. Unlike-

“Larissa? Hot chocolate, no whip?”

Odette blinked.

The muffled bubble popped. The world flooded back. She looked up from her screen.

Was she going mad? Crazy? Bonkers, finally? After all that time? Had she misheard? Maybe the young man said Patricia. Or Melissa. Or-

“Larissa! Hey, long time no see!”

Larissa.

Odette turned around in her seat so fast, she nearly broke her neck. She shuffled to the end of the booth, peered around the side, eyes wide and hands gripping the edge of the table… only to feel her excitement die as soon as it existed.

Of course. Foolish her. She didn’t know what Larissa looked like. She never got a proper description. Never got a photograph. Or a phone number. Or anything at all. Just a P.O. Box and a state. Just… nothing.

“Hello Jerry, it has been a while, hasn’t it? How are you?”

No, she- well she did get something. She got little things. Details. Odette’s brow furrowed as her eyes, hazel and starry and glazed over with apprehension and fear and admiration and horror, ran up and down the woman’s body. She was tall. Larissa never mentioned tall. She was curvy. Larissa never mentioned curvy.

‘I am watching my figure after all.’

…She was stylish. Larissa never mentioned style and fashion.

“Oh I’m good, I’m good. What about you? How’s the semester going?”

“I’m well, thank you. It’s… well it’s definitely going, Jerry.” They shared a laugh.

She was English. Larissa never mentioned being English. She wore gloves. Larissa never mentioned gloves. She-

Wait. Semester?

‘Getting my teachers certification…’ ‘Principal.’

Odette felt her heart drop.

But-

“I’m sure it is! I- oh shoot. More customers. Sorry, Larissa. Can we catch up later?”

“Of course Jerry. You know where to find me. Until next time.”

Hazel eyes watched the stranger wave. Then turn around.

Oh.

Dear lord…

She didn’t recognize her- not really- but the fair hair, which only registered then… and the silver jewelry. And the… the…

Odette watched as the woman walked past. She watched and she felt her heart in her ears- pounding, clawing, dancing- as she closed her eyes and breathed deeply. So deeply. So deeply it made her lungs ache. So deeply it made her soul tear in two.

La Belle.

Odette had never packed up her things so quickly. She never slammed her laptop closed so fast, never slid it into her bag so messily, never threw the bag over her shoulder or shoved her wallet into her pocket or grabbed the hot chocolate with such vigor ever before. Not once in her life. And rarely did she act so impulsively- not after Larissa. But seeing her then, somehow knowing deep within her soul that it was her… it broke- snapped- the thin resolve of Odette’s sanity and sent her flying out of the Weathervane like a bat out of Hell. She was burning up inside. Electric. Her eyes held fire and ice and so much warmth, so much desperation, that she nearly toppled over herself in her hurry.

The woman- Larissa- was a fast walker. Her long legs took her far as she distractedly typed on her phone with one hand and held the cup of hot chocolate in the other. Odette, being short and clumsy, was red and out of breath by the time she got close enough to call out her name. And call, she did. Call, cry, silently plead, she did.

“LARISSA!”

It was loud. Like a roar. Like a harrowing yell. Like something that held months and months and months of pain and sorrow and grief behind it. It instantly made her throat hurt, running it raw in only a second, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care at all. Not when her voice got Larissa to stop in her tracks and turn around, eyes searching and confused.

Of course, as to be expected, she had no clue who she was. Not even an inkling. Larissa got no description either - not even a photo. All she knew was that Odette had red hair. And that a woman with red hair was storming toward her, all fucks thrown to the wind, sneakers smacking the pavement hard as she stomped down the sidewalk. Larissa looked utterly puzzled, slightly mortified, entirely put off by the sight of such a determined stranger. Like she wasn’t sure if she had done something wrong and if she had, she wasn’t sure how to fix it. But Odette would tell her. Odette would make it known.

“What the fuck?” was the first thing out of her mouth.

A rather harsh introduction, but necessary nonetheless. She didn’t even really mean to say it, but the surprised widening of Larissa’s eyes had a twisted spark of satisfaction spiraling up within her soul.

And her outburst, naturally, meant many things. Not just ‘What the fuck?’ but ‘What the fuck? Why did you disappear? What did I do? Did I hurt you? Did I say something? Did something happen to you? Do you feel sorry? Do you miss me? Do you wish you responded? Do you hope to never hear from me again? Did you always know this would happen? Did you ever even bother to think that you should tell me you’re that beautiful? What the fuck, why are your eyes so blue? And why are they piercing? Staring at me? Heavenly and deep and never-ending? Like.. oceans… and why are your lips so soft looking and plump and red? Where did that scar come from? Do you hate it? Do you know that I like it even though I’m only seeing it now for the first time ever? Did you always wear your hair like that? How long does it take you to get it like that? How does it feel to take it out after a long day? Did you know your makeup is flawless? And that your jawline is magnificent? And that you’re so tall… and you look so strong… inside and out… and why the fuck did you not mention you were British? English? What does it matter? Just what the fuck? Why the fuck? How the fuck? What the fuckity fuck?!’

But overall, it only meant ‘What the fuck? Why didn’t you say goodbye?’

“I beg your pardon?”

Unfortunately, Larissa could never read minds. Or hearts. So the vague pangs of longing, like old rusted blood, only ached harder as the taller woman blinked and frowned.

A blush painted Odette’s cheeks. Right. Somehow, along the way of admiring, she’d forgotten. Larissa had no idea who she was.

“Um.” Clearing her throat, she adjusted the bag on her shoulder. Suddenly, things were very awkward. Terribly awkward. So horribly bloody awkward. It was a wonder if Larissa could feel the odd lull in conversation, the sudden dousing of Odette’s flames, but it didn’t really matter. If she wanted to, Odette was sure that if she chose to walk away, if she chose to take one last look before turning around and never coming back, then Larissa would never know. Then she’d just be another story. Another odd memory to tell her children one day, if she ever wished to have them. In her letters, the taller woman admitted that she didn’t think she ever would. But Odette always had a feeling that she’d be an amazing mother. Looking at her then, taking in the perfect posture and the crisp seams of her clothing, the feeling became fact. Larissa would be the best mom.

Funny that… there was a time, long ago, where Odette fantasized about making sandwiches for picnics and uprooting her entire life. Just to see the proud smile on her pen-pal’s face as her child grew and grew and grew and flourished. And maybe even ended up calling her ‘mom’ one day too.

But as Larissa wrote once upon a time, things changed. Time went on. And that was how it was.

So she could turn around. She could very well wrench herself from her spot and drag herself back the way she came. She could apologize, tell her she was mistaken, and that she was sorry - and then she could walk off into the sunset and pretend nothing ever happened. She could burn the letters. She could burn the very memory of her. She could forget the name ‘Larissa’ entirely and all would be left to rest. And that would be that. Que sera, sera.

But Odette was never the type to give up easily. Mirabelle, wherever she was, could attest.

So instead of abandoning ship, she powered through.

“It’s Odette,” came her firm tone. She straightened her back and tilted her head to look up properly, trying to stand tall in the face of heartache.

But heartache didn’t recognize her.

“Have we… met before?” Larissa blinked, turning to present her full attention.

Odette flushed red. Angry. Sad. Liberated.

“Have- have we met before?” She repeated, scoffed, outraged by her old friend’s obliviousness. “Just how many Odettes do you know?!” Her hands ran to her hips, firmly rooting themselves there as she began tapping her foot and glowering.

Such a display had Larissa scanning her from head to toe, desperately scrambling for understanding and recognition. The loose T-shirt, the black leggings, the sneakers, the hazel eyes, the pretty features, the freckles, the plump cheeks and curved body, the bag on her shoulder, the hair on her head. Red. Fiery. Standing out against the blue of the sky like a stain on white fabric. Messy curls and natural red red red.

Red… red…

Odette watched as Larissa froze. Her lips fell open, her eyes widened, she could practically see the way her heart stopped in her chest.

She remembered.

She remembered.

“…Odette?”

The shorter woman nodded, slowly feeling the anger and excitement drain from her body. It was fun being anonymous for just a moment. It was fun being the only one that remembered - having the chance to feel properly scorned and betrayed. But that didn’t last very long. The come down was harsh. Quick. A fall from immense grace. Especially when she saw the tears. They welled up in Larissa’s eyes, glossy and wet, making those sapphires shine. So swift they were. So rapid. As if sparked by Odette’s very existence.

Though maybe Larissa wasn’t the one that was tearing up. Maybe it was just her. Maybe the haze of the world, growing slightly blurry, was caused by the water that threatened to fall over her own lashes.

“Yeah.” It was all she could think to say.

For even with all of her passion, even with her love of words and her many discarded story drafts (all coincidentally started in the year 2023), even with whatever eloquence she was naturally born with, Odette couldn’t come up with a single meaningful thing to say. There was much, of course. But none of it fit. None of it made sense. Everything that lingered on her tongue, finally unlodging itself from the stickiness of her throat, was too heavy. Too heavy for the moment. Too heavy for the sidewalk. Too heavy for the side of the street. Too heavy for Jericho. Out in the open. Vermont. Miles away from home. Too close too close too close. Too much all at once. Maybe running after her was a bad idea. Maybe taking the vacation was even worse. Maybe sending that letter to Mirabelle in the first place was the poignant moment in which she should have changed her mind and threw it away when she considered it.

But she hadn’t.

And so there she was, staring up at Larissa, suddenly helpless. That ship that passed her in the night all those months ago had come back around; except that time she had stumbled upon it herself. And she wasn’t entirely sure if she was grateful- or terrified. Maybe the ship hated her. Maybe the ship would crash into her and ruin her and maybe the ship would begin shooting cannons. Maybe the ship would continue right past her. Maybe the ship would-

-hug her?

Odette blinked, very much unsure of what was happening as soon as she felt the comforting weight of long arms pushing themselves under her biceps and interlocking behind her back. La Belle and the soft clean smell of faded shampoo filled her senses. Her nose. Her lungs. Her eyes. Her heart. And soul. Part of her was so confused it wanted to grasp Larissa’s shoulders and shove her off. And the other part of her, the part of her that had dreams about receiving another letter from the one that broke her heart, wanted to give in.

‘That ship sailed a long time ago - I’m just not the type to give up easily.’

Odette’s arms pressed against Larissa’s waist. Their holds were odd, skewed by the cups of hot chocolate they held and the other items in their grasps. But nonetheless, it was… it was unlike anything. Each breath died on Odette’s tongue. She felt the atoms in her brain disappear. Like they never existed at all.

“I’m sorry.” It was said so softly, she was near certain it wasn’t uttered at all. But then Larissa was pulling back, hands shaking as she brought them to her lips. “I’m sorry.”

There was grief in her eyes. A sadness that not even the most haunted of poets could explore, nor understand, nor emulate. It gleamed. It cut Odette in half. It had her taking steps back, suddenly unsure. Suddenly disoriented.

“What-… what happened?” She was breathless, bewildered at the sight of regret swimming in Larissa’s eyes.

The taller woman opened her mouth… then hesitated. Her gaze burned through her old friend- then twitched away and ran over the world around them. The sidewalk, the street, the shops, the Weathervane, the town itself. They were out in the open. And their… reunion… was too good for that. Too painful for that. Odette watched as Larissa’s lower lip quivered; as the thoughts ran through her mind at the speed of light. And before she even spoke, she knew what she was going to say.

“Please, come with me,” her voice was soft. Silken. Heavy with guilt. Pouring with unspoken words.

It was Odette’s turn to hesitate. Years… nearly. However much time. She didn’t really know. She stopped keeping track once she realized she was losing sleep over it. Hours upon hours of sleep. It affected her work - it affected her body. It slit the throat of her life and dragged it through dirt. ‘It’ being the silence. ‘It’ being the goodbye that never came. ‘It’ being Larissa, Larissa, Larissa.

The same Larissa who held an apology wound up in her lungs. The same Larissa who looked down at her as if she couldn’t quite believe she was real, standing before her, breathing and living. The same Larissa whose shaking hands held a cellphone and a cup of hot chocolate that was swiftly running cold. The same Larissa with the same shining eyes that glistened with tears and crackling memories and affection, warmth, that seemed so out of place. Years without the comfort of that dove-like soul… years without the… the love? Love? Is that what they had? Perhaps it was too little too late to wonder. Perhaps Odette was just dipping into wishful thinking. Giving into the dreams she repeated over the years. With every word, every breath, every letter - she found herself begging. Pleading. ‘Please. Please please please invite me to Vermont. See me. Know me. These pages are killing me.’ All of it secretly scrawled between her slanting lines. Running in circles behind her hazel eyes. Displayed for Larissa, even though Larissa did not exist before her at the time.

Not like she did in that moment. In Jericho. In tears.

“Let me explain, Odette. I meant- I… just- give me a chance.” Larissa blinked her tears away and straightened her shoulders, tone growing desperate, body growing tense.

Never before did she sound like that in their letters. But never before did she leave Odette for so long. Interesting circumstances… Funny how life ended things so quickly. Funny how life brought out the truth in a person when they felt themselves tugged at a loss. Pushed to their knees. Though she said she had an explanation… and her old friend had never been a liar.

“Okay,” Odette breathed, clearing her throat. “Okay.”

“Really?”

‘Yes of course, really,’ Odette thought, looking at her with a mix of surprise and anger and devotion. ‘What are you, mad? I’d never just walk away. I’d never just give up. I can’t help myself. I never could. You know this. You know me.’

───※ ·❆· ※───

I quite enjoyed writing this. Might take a break from writing 'Heat' and 'To People Watch One Person' for a bit- same with requests. For the foreseeable future, whatever comes to mind will be written. I've started watching GOT again... and a certain Ser of Tarth has strummed the strings of my heart {as always} so maybe expect something with her? Dunno. Either way, thank you for staying with me. You mean the moon and stars, believe me. - Ripley x

───※ ·❆· ※───

[yupthisisshe]

Your voice is my favorite sound -- Neville Longbottom x gn! Reader

Summary: Nevile begins rambling about plants and Neville apologizes for talking too much. Reader assures him that they do not mind at all.

A/N: Reader and Neville may or may not be dating. It’s up to you <3

Happy reading! :)

Neville had been rambling on about plants for the last 6 minutes. You didn’t mind. You liked plants as well, and you loved learning more from Neville. You also loved it when he felt confident and comfortable enough to talk as much as he was right now.

“ohandmynewfavoriteplantisohmymerlinitssooooooocoolandithealsanditsfriendlyand [oh and my new favorite is oh my Merlin it's soooooooo cool and it heals and it's friendly and]- oh my Merlin I’m so sorry I’m talking so much. I’ll stop now.” Neville says abruptly, cutting himself off.

“What? Why?!” you questioned.

“Well- because- I-… am I not talking too much? I mean most people tend to get annoyed and tell me to shut up and-”

“Then those people won’t get to hear all the lovely and helpful things you have to say,” you responded with a smile, indicating that you weren’t annoyed in the slightest and that you wanted to hear more.

“Oh… um… thank you. For saying that.”

“Well, I meant it. I love listening to you. I could listen to you talk all day, although I don't know if I could go all day without accidentally interrupting when I get excited,” you chuckled. “But honestly, I love it when you talk, and I love talking to you. And you're super helpful. I've learned a lot from you and the information you share is extremely useful.” Neville grinned widely but sheepishly all the same. After a pause, he spoke again.

“So then, would you… like for me to continue?” he asked nervously.

“Of course!” you replied positively.

“Really?” Neville asked. His surprise that you wanted to hear him talk broke your heart a little bit. Even though the two of you had been close for a while now, he still wasn’t always sure of himself, even about simple things. You knew you had to say something to reassure him and demonstrate just how much you truly did love to hear him talk.

“Neville,” you began. Neville looked way more nervous than he should’ve. You gave him a smile to ease his worries as you continued. “Do you know what my favorite sound is?”

He pauses, taken aback by the seemingly sudden question, but not necessarily thrown off by the randomness in of itself. You can be pretty random at times, but he doesn’t mind. He thinks for a moment, then responds,

“Um, n-no. I don’t,” he responds, awaiting a revelation that he will surely take note of later, so as to not forget.

“Your voice.” You smile, and Neville looks like he could burst with joy and like he can’t believe his ears. It seems he really can’t believe his ears because he asks for clarification.

“M-my voice?” he asks tentatively.

“Yes.” you smile sweetly, and Neville swears he looking at the kindest person he’s ever met and ever will meet, “your voice.” He smiles even wider than before, and you swear his brightness puts the sun to shame. He continues to tell you more about plants and you continue to listen faithfully, adding in a few questions and thoughts of your own along the way. Neville’s jubilance doesn’t fade one bit for the rest of the day, and you could swear he must’ve worn his smile to sleep because he was still grinning a bit when you saw him the next morning.

[lustbile]

Something To Prove

JaeminxReader

Word Count: 13.4k

Warnings/Summary: enemies to lovers, smut, mentions of drinking, vaguely dub con, fingering, oral (reader receiving), penetrative, degradation, public. And where Jaemin is kind immature dick, the reader is an emotional masochist, and together they’re both fucking morons, so I hope you enjoy. (Also sorry Jeno I used you for story development)

——————————————————————

Jaemin was a good boy. 

Jaemin was a very good boy. 

That’s why, as he rambled on about something, something blah blah momentum and force nonsense, you wanted to lean over and take a big bite right from his pretty long neck. 

It’s also why you kind of hated him if you thought about it for too long. 

~

~

Jaemin wasn’t someone you’d consider yourself very close with, actually, he wasn’t someone you ever really spoke to until very recently. He was a nice guy, a hard working student, and seemed to get along with everyone that spoke to him, but to you, he was more of just a guy you’d admire from afar. You knew enough about him to know that he just wasn’t someone you’d ever cross paths with if it wasn’t for your shared classes and mutual friends. 

But other than that, you never had any reason to dislike him. Not until your physics professor gave you a reason. 

—

“This is just how it is,” the older man had said, his face showing more age than he had actually lived from how many students he’d had to deal with, “the few homework assignments you do turn in, aren’t good,” he spoke honestly as he flips through the very few copies of your submitted work, “and your grade just keeps dropping by the day. So it’s either you find some initiative to bring up your grade, or I’m going to request you drop my class.”

“But it’s already past the drop period,” you argued, worry blooming across the features of your face, “if I drop it now, I fail immediately.”

“I mean this in the nicest way I can possibly say it,” he said with an exhausted sigh, “but that’s not really my problem. I do as much as I can as your professor, but I can’t force you to do your work.”

When he said this you wanted to cry. Well, no, you wanted to offer to suck his dick for a higher grade if you’re being totally honest with yourself, but the lovely picture that he kept on his desk of him, his wife, and baby daughter was enough to plague you with guilt for even considering that. 

“Well, then I can bring up my grade instead, right?” You asked hopefully, the look of skepticism that flashed on his face making you shrink, “that’s what you said,” you reminded, your hands moving rapidly in front of you as you tried to encourage him and yourself, “bring up my grade or drop the class. Bringing up my grade is an option.”

“The science department has a student-ran study center,” he told you with a sigh, standing from his desk to politely tell you the conversation was coming to an end, “they even have student tutors that can help you if you’re that determined to make this work.”

“Thank you, professor,” you spoke genuinely, moving to his office door with a weak smile on your face, “I swear I’ll figure this out.”

“Study center is just down the hall,” he informed you, “but,” he continued, stopping you in your tracks as you already had a foot out his door, “only go there if you’re serious about this. They’re students too, so you don’t need to be wasting their time.”

—

His words still sting even now as you sit next to Jaemin, your pen bouncing against the library table in impatience. It stung, but now as you sit zoned out staring at the way Jaemin’s Adam’s apple bounces as he speaks, you can kind of understand where he was coming from. 

You weren’t a horrible student, you just struggled to focus on classes that don’t actually interest you, and physics does not interest you in the slightest. Jaemin on the other hand, was a phenomenal student. There didn’t seem to be any subject he had any real issue with, but physics was his bread and butter. That’s why the sweet girl who assigned tutors sent you to him, but it’s also why you kind of wanted to rip his head off his nice, wide shoulders. 

You wouldn’t call Jaemin a nerd, not to his face at least, but he genuinely wasn’t what you’d think of when you pictured a text-book “nerd.” He didn’t struggle in social situations, he didn’t seem weird or creepy, and he was admittedly drop-dead gorgeous. He just really seemed to really love math and science, which would be a huge help to you, if you could just stop staring at his throat like a hungry animal. 

“And when you consider the angle in which…” he says as he turns to look at you, the dazed look being very evident on your face and making him trail off before he sternly says your name, “are you even listening to me right now?”

You jump at his sudden acknowledgment, the annoyed look on his face reminding you of the main issue you had with him. 

Jaemin kind of hated you. 

You would understand if he hated you for not paying attention, you could see how frustrating that would be, but he seemed to hate you before he even started tutoring you. The day you met, he was immediately distant and cold towards you, and you had seen plenty of instances of him being a very friendly guy. So, you were very confused, and you even tried to switch your tutor to avoid the tension and preserve the image of him you liked to fantasize about, but unfortunately, Jaemin was all they had. So the deeper you got into tutoring sessions with him, and the more you saw just how blatantly he did not like your presence, that’s where you started to zone out, choosing to at least appreciate the eye candy if you weren’t going to get anything academic out of the relationship. 

“Yeah totally,” you lie, leaning closer to look at the textbook as you clear your throat, “just trying to keep up.”

You laugh weakly as he keeps staring at you, his dark eyes and the way his thick eyebrows lower making you feel like he can read your mind. You shift uncomfortably under his glare, and when he simply rolls his eyes, you feel your own spark of annoyance bubble up in your chest. 

“How about we call it a day then, hm?” He offers, flashing a fake smile in your direction before he loudly slams the book in front of him closed, “you very clearly have more important things to worry about.”

“You know what, Jaemin,” you sigh, matching his sarcastically sweet tone, “I actually do.” 

You both immediately turn to your respective things, packing your bags and moving to leave the small private study room. He stands quickly before you, turning to look down at you as irritation radiates off his body. 

“Well, whatever it is,” he starts, putting his hands together in front of his chest to speak to you like a kindergarten teacher, “I can only assume it must be incredibly important considering you’re putting it above the class you’re miserably failing.”

“I’ll have you know,” you argue, making him stop in his walk towards the door, “my grade has gone up more than a few points these past few weeks,” you speak honestly this time, an amused laugh coming out as a huff from your nose, “which I can admit, is partially due to your help, but also because some of us, actually know how to balance school work and having a fucking life.”

“And what exactly was that supposed to suggest?” He asks, turning back to you with an offended twist in his features. 

“Oh come on,” you huff again, getting up and walking to stand next to him at the door, “you know exactly what I was suggesting.”

“Actually I don’t,” he shrugs, crossing his arms and tilting his head, “so why don’t you enlighten me?”

“You. Have. No. Life,” you speak slowly and childishly, smiling when you can tell your words bother him. 

“I have a life,” he scoffs, getting annoyed in a way that is a lot more enjoyable to you then it should be, “you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh I don’t?” You start, looking up at the ceiling as if you’re deep in thought, “I have never seen you without your head buried in a book, and of all the parties I’ve been to, I’ve never seen you once,” your hand flitters in the air as you speak, and you continue, speaking over him as he tries to defend himself, “which arguably, could just mean we don’t go to the same parties, right? But that’s not the case, at least not according to Jeno.”

The mention of his friend’s name makes him stiffen, his lips curling in between his teeth as he shakes his head, “just because I don’t go to parties doesn’t mean I don’t have a life.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t,” you agree, nodding your head, “but the fact that the only place you go to aside from your dorm and your classes is the library…” you trail off, clicking your tongue in faux disappointment, before you turn to open the door. 

“Also,” you start to add as you step out of the room, “you might want to have a talk to Jeno about keeping some things to himself,” you nod gently, “I swear that boy is just an open book when you find the right questions to ask.”

——

Jaemin clearly doesn’t take your advice about talking to Jeno, or at least Jeno just didn’t care if he did. Because not even a full hour later, he was sending you a text to tell you how annoyed Jaemin was when he got back to their shared dorm. 

I’m surprised there wasn’t steam coming out of his ears, Jeno’s message read, the multiple laughing emojis he put on the end telling you he was probably rolling in unsympathetic laughter after Jaemin gave him a rundown of what happened. 

You didn’t want to enjoy the relayed information as much as you did, but there was just something about getting the last laugh with Jaemin that gave you a rush. So you grinned stupidly at your phone, the idea that you could plague Jaemin’s mind without having to be physically present making the device shake in your hand. 

The shaking stops when another text from Jeno pops up on your screen. 

Anyways, the message starts, now that you’re free of Jaemin’s wrath you should come out to the bar with us tonight. 

You don’t know exactly who the “us” in his message entails, Jeno’s list of friends being long and always interchangeable, but you agree regardless. The need to get wasted to celebrate getting on Jaemin’s nerves almost overwhelming. 

——

The bar is loud but familiar as you stumble in. Bodies of already drunk college students dance and writhe in front of you, and you reach to tug at the hem of your dress as your eyes dart around in search of a familiar face. 

The fading pink of Haechan’s hair is the first thing you see, and you let out a sigh of relief that gets lost amongst the heavy bass that shakes the floor. You start to stumble towards the beacon that is the boy’s head, and when you see Jeno sat next to him animatedly telling a story, you feel a soft smile pull at your lips. 

Your smile doesn’t prevail for long, as when you get within a few feet of the table they have claimed, you see that the person who sits on Jeno’s other side is none other than the boy who put the fire in your chest that you anticipated in smothering out with alcohol. 

You stop in shock for a moment, the sight of Jaemin sitting in the bar unfamiliar and admittedly, a bit weird. He doesn’t look extremely out of place, for one he doesn’t have his face within inches of an academic article, but you can see the tension that pushes at his shoulders. 

His hand is wrapped around a mostly filled drink, his lips strained slightly red to tell you that he’s taken at least a few sips, and he leans in with a furrow in his brow as he tries to hear Jeno’s voice over the music. 

You aren’t really aware of how blatantly you’re staring at him, analyzing the way he moves and interacts like he’s a wild animal outside of his usual environment, until his eyes flicker quickly towards you. He has to double take, not registering who you are at first glance, but when he returns your stare, you can tell he feels shy under your intense eyes. 

You can tell he clears his throat from the way his throat shifts, his head dropping slightly as he nudges a still rambling Jeno. Your legs seem to remember their function in that moment as you start approaching them again, a degree more hesitantly now, and you’re almost directly behind Jeno when he finally turns around. 

“Hey,” Jeno drawls, speaking your name as a smile fills his face, “I was wondering when the fuck you’d get here.” 

You can tell he’s already a few drinks in from the way the skin of his face flushes and how he wraps his arms loosely around the back of his chair. Without thinking, you reach to brush the few strands of hair that’s fallen in front of his eyes, and return his smile with a small laugh. 

“Well, I’m here,” you say, leaning back to playfully motion your hands up and down your body, “you can hold your applause.”

Your words earn a laugh from Haechan as he reaches to pinch at your elbow, but Jeno only scoffs. You almost forget Jaemin is even there as he sits there silently, but when Jeno turns towards him as quickly as his intoxicated brain will allow him, the boy straightens at the sudden acknowledgment. 

“We saved you a seat next to Jaem,” he nods, leaning his head back to wink at you not as discreetly as he had probably intended, “if you think you can hold back from ripping his head off for the night.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” you hollowly promise, leaning down to kiss his heated forehead before you step towards the empty seat, “for now at least.”

Jaemin shifts uncomfortably in his seat as you sit down, and you hold back the urge to roll your eyes. Instead you scoot your chair closer and lean towards him as Jeno starts to clue you in to the story he had already gotten halfway through. 

——

You, Haechan, and Jeno bounce the conversation around the three of you as the night goes on, Jaemin only adding grunts and nods of acknowledgment where he sought fit. He looks more comfortable than when you first arrived, and you can only imagine it’s due to his drink now being mostly finished at this point, but he seems to refuse to let his eyes linger on you for more than a few brief seconds every now and again. 

“So, Jeno,” Haechan starts, taking a long swig of his beer as a teasing slur weaves through his words, “how’d you get our little bookworm out of the library for once?”

He leans over Jeno to pinch roughly at Jaemin’s thigh as he speaks, the boy next to you jumping and shooting him a scowl in response. His fingers tap in annoyance against the table in front of him, and as the beer you stole from Jeno slinks through your veins, you can’t stop yourself as your eyes zero in on the movement. 

“He asked to come,” Jeno admits playfully, proudly slapping Jaemin on the back and forcing a sarcastic smile to spread over his face, “I guess he finally decided we were good enough to get a drink with.”

“He needed it,” you interject before you can even stop the words from coming from your mouth, and as Jaemin’s blank stare flicks over to you for longer than a few seconds, you stumble to explain, “I mean,” you say with a huff, laying a hesitant hand on his bicep, “you should see how tense this one gets when were in that study room.”

“Probably because he’s bricked up from being locked in a room with you,” Jeno laughs, leaning forward to shoot you what you think is his attempt at another wink, “I know I’d be.”

“That’s because you’re disgusting,” you argue, rolling your eyes, “Jaemin’s a good boy, isn’t that right?”

You glance at him with a smile, just trying to include him in the conversation that centers around himself, but when his arm tenses under your touch, you slip your hand away from him quickly. 

“Yeah, our perfect little guy,” Haechan coos, reaching behind Jeno now to tug at Jaemin’s ear. 

Jaemin jerks away from his touch quickly, grumbling under his breath and making you tense as his knee accidentally pushes between yours briefly. He doesn’t seem to notice the action or the way you respond, as he just straightens back up when Haechan pulls away and rolls his shoulders back. 

“I’m tense because the person I tutor,” Jaemin finally interjects, his eyes darting back to you, “doesn’t seem to actually care about anything I’m telling them,” he continues, turning back to his friends, and you can’t help but feel like he’s tattling on you. 

“He speaks!” Jeno almost yells, ignoring Jaemin’s admission that you’re a horrible student, “but admit it,” he says, his voice calmer as his arm falls across the back of Jaemin’s chair, “you have a hard time paying attention too with someone that hot sitting so close to you, don’t you?”

“Jeno,” you interrupt as he tries to wink again, trying to spare yourself and Jaemin from his question, “have I ever told you how much of a gentleman you are?”

“Actually, no you haven’t,” he responds, the shock in his voice being so genuine that it throws you a bit. 

“Good,” you nod, “because it would be a lie if I did.”

You want to enjoy the way Jeno starts to petulantly writhe in his seat, his head falling back as he whines about how mean you are, but you suddenly feel the weight of eyes on you. You hesitantly flick your eyes towards Jaemin, and you see him staring blankly at you in your peripherals. You know he sees the cautious glance you offer him before you look back towards where Haechan is laughing at Jeno’s display, but he shows no interest in looking away, instead he just sinks back in his seat as you start to squirm. 

You cross your legs as he seems lost in trailing his eyes over you shamelessly, your eyes darting back to him a few times as you try to focus on the new conversation Haechan and Jeno had started, but he seems unmoving aside from his eyebrows knitting together like he’s trying to figure something out. You want to ask him what’s up, the question bubbling rudely at the back of your throat, but his face just continues to screw up as if he’s angry and it kills any syllable that tries to form on your tongue. 

You jump slightly at the first touch of his hand on your knee, his fingers swirling curiously against your skin as if it was a normal action for him. But you could count on one hand the times Jaemin has made any physical contact with you, and considering how most of them were completely unintentional, having him move towards you with so much purpose made you twitch. 

You glance down at where his fingers prod at your skin, the same fingers you’ve unfortunately found yourself staring at as he wrote notes down in your textbook during your tutoring session, before you finally look up towards him. 

His head is tilted down, watching the small invisible patterns he creates on your leg with the same deep, angry look on his face. You can’t even begin to imagine what he’s thinking, but when he looks up to make eye contact with you, it feels like he can see every thought you’ve ever had. 

You feel sucked into a bubble with him as Jeno and Haechan are too busy talking over one another to notice the newly formed tension. It feels like you’ve started a staring contest with one another, the unspoken rule that you can’t look away being agreed upon quickly, but you can’t help but wonder what would happen if you did. 

You see a small twitch at the corner of his lip when you harshly swallow, a movement so minuscule that you’re shocked you notice it, but you feel your head jerk back slightly in response. You feel like he’s challenging you to something, to make a move or say something to clue in your other friends into what he’s doing, but you just sit there, waiting. 

At the exact moment you bring your bottom lip between your teeth, he moves. His hand slides up further, cupping your knee with his entire palm, as his fingers brush against your thigh in a way that would be comforting if it wasn’t for how confused you were. 

You notice quickly how much you like the feeling of his hand, the realization flooding through your chest so quickly, you pray it doesn’t show on your face. His fingers are slightly calloused, gentle but firm as they dimple your skin, and his touch makes goosebumps raise on your skin, and from the way his eyebrow darts up quickly towards his hairline, you know he feels it. 

A sharp intake of air goes through your nose when he slides up your thigh, his hand getting more confident as he starts to roughly grope at your flesh, but his face stays as blank as ever. Your facade drops as you finally toss him a look of confusion, but he just continues to knead your tensing muscle until you feel his fingertips start to push under the hem of your dress. 

You stand too quickly on wobbling legs as a hiccup of shock bubbles from your lips, and you have to place your hand on the table to steady yourself as his hand falls away. Jeno and Haechan’s conversation dies as they turn to look at you in shocked concern, but all you can focus on is the way Jaemin’s head tilts back, his face finally pulling into a look of sleazy pride as he watches you in amusement. 

“I um,” you try to speak, your voice coming out cracked and quiet before you clear your throat, “I’m gonna go get a new drink,” you nod, a weak smile pulling on your lips, “your taste in beer is shit, Jeno.”

He groans immediately at your words, the concern slipping from his face and getting replaced by playful annoyance, “no one told you to steal my drink you big baby,” he grunts, reaching for the abandoned bottle only to be disappointed to learn that you finished it off. 

You roll your eyes as he stares at the empty bottle longingly, his ability to sulk over anything being admirable to some extent, but you’re glad that he’s now distracted by the label as he doesn’t see the way Jaemin’s hand sticks out to brush against the inside of your thigh as you step away. 

You walk quickly away from the table, your arms lifting to cross over your chest as your thoughts swirl in your brain rapidly. You don’t look back towards the table as you push towards the bar, but you can feel the way Jaemin’s eyes follow your every move regardless. 

—

You have a new drink in hand when you feel a presence next to you, a broad chest pushing into your shoulder as you slide your finger around the rim of your glass. You stayed at the bar, taking a few sips of your drink, in hopes to collect your thoughts about what had just happened between you and the boy that had never shown any other feelings but hatred and indifference towards you since you met him. And you felt like you had formed some coherent opinions on the situation, until he pressed against your side and made every thought fly from your mind at once. 

You turn your head hesitantly towards him as he leans his side against the bar, the soft smile he wears making you even more confused as he nods. You try to smile back, but it doesn’t reach your eyes in a way that you know would be more convincing, so you just look back towards your drink with a huff. 

“I told the guys I was coming to make sure you were okay,” he admits, his voice rumbling his chest and shooting vibrations against your shoulder, “also that I wanted another drink.”

“Do you?” You ask, the question honest as you’re shocked to think he would ever finish the first one. 

“I guess,” he shrugs, leaning to get the bartender’s attention, before he looks back to you, “I’m here so I might as well.”

“Why are you here?” You ask bluntly, your eyebrows furrowing in curiosity as you look at him again, his stare just as intense as it was at the table as you make eye contact. 

“It’s a public place,” he grins, reaching to tug at your ear. 

“Why did you really come?” You ask, pulling away from his touch as annoyance builds in your chest, how casually he’s treating you suddenly making you suspicious. 

He hesitates for a moment, his face twitching as if he’s debating whether or not to tell you the truth, before he smiles again. 

“Jeno told me you were coming,” he nods, pushing his tongue against his cheek as he hums. You don’t respond, instead you just stare at him in confusion as you wait for him to elaborate, “and you think I don’t have a life,” he continues, making you tense, “so… here I am. Having a life.”

“Jaemin,” you start, speaking genuinely for once as it starts to feel like everything that conspired between you earlier happened in an alternate dimension, “you’re a good guy,” you try to reassure, feeling a small inkling of guilt about your earlier words, “you don’t have to be Mr. party animal just because you’re in college.”

“No,” he agrees, with a sigh, “but you clearly seem to think I’m some boring goody two shoes.”

“Jaemin, why do you care what I think?” You ask as you take a sip of your drink, “we’re not even friends.”

You see a flash of something on his face when you say this, but he covers it quickly and just leaves you more confused, “what if I showed you that I’m not some loser who just sits in the library all day?” He asks as he steps closer to you, lowering his voice as he locks his eyes onto yours, “I can prove to you that I can cause as much trouble as Jeno.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” you argue, the mention of your mutual friend making you shake your head as you try to think of a correlation, “when has my opinion ever mattered to you?”

“I’d give the exact date if I could,” he mutters as he reaches to grab your wrist, and before you can even question what he could possibly mean by what he said, he’s pulling you from the bar. 

Your drink clatters from your hand as you stumble on your feet, and in a panic, you try to reach to catch it, but as he tugs you through the mass of people trying to squeeze into the now empty spot you leave, you abandon the glass as you try to keep up with his long strides. He steps so quickly and with so much purpose you trip over your feet and earn a few elbows in your sides, but as he leads you to a familiar door, you can’t help but focus on wondering where this is going. 

“Why are you taking me to the bathroom?” You ask without thinking, speaking loudly over the music and causing strangers to turn to you two in confusion. He ignores your words though, and before you can try to interrogate him further, he’s pushing open the door and pulling you in. 

You gasp as you stumble into the room, surprised at the rough way he handles you as well as the fact that no one’s inside. You’ve been in this bathroom enough times in your college career to know that it usually has at least one or two drunk girls in it, either crying in a stall or fixing their makeup, but as Jaemin turns to lay his back against the door, you realize quickly it’s just you two alone. 

“Now can you tell me why we’re in the bathroom?” You sigh, laughing gently to cover the nerves that bloom in your chest as your eyes trail over the obscene amount of graffiti that covers the walls. 

Your laughter trails off awkwardly as he just continues staring at you, and you come to realize you somehow prefer when Jaemin is mean to you rather than when he’s silent. You didn’t love the fact that Jaemin hated you, but you had at least come to find it amusing; him staring silently just made you feel anxious and small. 

You feel like weak prey as he starts stepping over to you, his steps slow and calculated as he eyes your entire body. You want to ask something else, to fill the quiet of the bathroom with something other than just the muffled music and voices that slip under the door, but your voice dies in your throat as he gnaws on the inside of his cheek in thought. 

Your arms cross over your ribs as you hug yourself anxiously, shrinking slightly when he stands in front of you. You try to hold eye contact with him, trying to read whatever thoughts he has swimming in his head, but the intensity he holds in his glare licks at your skin until you're forced to turn your eyes towards the floor. 

You tense when you feel his fingers brush against your jaw, a reminder of how they felt gripping your thigh flooding into your mind and making you pull in a deep breath. You stay frozen in your spot as his hands trail across your skin, his thumbs pushing gently into your cheeks, before his palms lay against the sides of your neck. He squeezes at your skin, forcing your head back up slowly until all you can see is his blank expression, the lack of emotion he shows making your lips part slightly. 

You stumble back slightly as he pushes himself into you, and it takes a few seconds for your brain to register that his lips are pressed tightly against yours. He kisses you roughly, your teeth clacking together and rattling your skull, and you reach quickly towards his chest in an attempt to steady yourself. 

You grunt in confusion against his mouth, your eyes fluttering as the voices in your head debate on whether or not to kiss him back. The last remaining sliver of rationality in your mind screams at you, begging for answers and to understand the way he’s acting, and with a sharp breath, you finally gain the strength to push your bodies apart. 

His hands remain on you as you stare at him wildly, your mouth opening and closing as you try to find your voice, but the way his tongue darts out to lick your lipgloss off his lips makes your thoughts stutter. Your fingers dig into and curl around the fabric of his shirt, a need to pull him back to you making your arms twitch, but before you can make the move, you blurt out the first words that come to your mind. 

“What the fuck is up with you tonight?” You ask, your voice exasperated and winded. You stare at him, your eyes darting around his face as you silently beg him for answers, but when he just smiles in response, anger bubbles in your chest. 

Every emotion you’ve ever felt for the boy that clings to you floods your system; your annoyance when he makes mean comments, your amusement when you get on his nerves, and even the weird underlying arousal you’ve felt towards him whenever you paid too much attention to how handsome he was. But all of it was just always met with his clear indifference towards you, so why was he doing these things to you so suddenly? Accusing him of not having a life wasn’t even close to the rudest thing you’ve ever said to him, so why was that his tipping point? And why was groping your thigh and kissing you in a dirty bar bathroom his response?

“Does it bother you?” He whispers, his voice becoming rougher and making your hands twist tighter into his shirt, “I thought you liked making me mad?”

You want to respond, to ask him something that will give you clarification of where his head was at, but he doesn’t give you the chance to formulate a coherent sentence before his lips are pressing against yours again. 

You don’t push him away this time, your resolve breaking as he licks at your mouth. You lean into him instead, your mouth falling open as he starts to walk you backwards, and you tuck the question of what was it that I said to make him act like this into your pocket for another day. 

You feel breathless as his tongue dips into your mouth, his hands pushing tightly into your skin so you can’t pull away even if you wanted. You jerk slightly when your back bumps into the wall of one of the stalls, smacking your shoulder painfully into the edge as he blindly guides you to step into the small space. You hear the high pitched creaking of the stall door as he reaches one hand to pull it behind him, and as he pushes you to lean against the cool metal wall, you hear him slide the rusted lock into place. 

When his hand returns to your body, he pushes it against the curve of your back, pulling you closer to him as he grunts into your mouth. You pant when he finally detaches his lips from yours, your lungs begging for oxygen as he tilts your head back and licks at your jaw. His teeth scrape against your skin harshly, and as he pushes his leg to rest between yours, you let out a grumbling plea of his name. 

He bites roughly at your neck, stopping only to suck at patches of flesh until it stings. You feel your hips start to tilt towards his thigh, searching for friction as he abuses the skin that protects your drying throat, and when he smooths both his hands down your body until they rest on your ass, he digs his fingers into your skin to hold you still. 

You mumble pathetically, moving your hands to wrap around his shoulders as you try to shift your body in his hold, but all he does is smile against your skin as he drops his head to lick between your collarbones. 

“You think you deserve anything?’ He asks with an amused scoff, kneading at your ass until your dress starts to lift, “I’m doing this because I want to, not because you’re asking.”

His nails dig into your skin as he speaks, his head lifting again to lick at the shell of your ear as he pulls your thighs further apart. Your underwear shifts tighter against your body as he moves you as he pleases, the fabric sticking to your skin and making you gasp as you realize how wet you’ve gotten, and it feels like you might start falling apart if he doesn’t do something more. 

“Jaemin, you’re a good boy,” he grunts in your ear, mocking your voice and words from earlier as he moves to tug your underwear upward, “and good boys don’t do stuff like this right?”

You whimper quietly, the fear that he’ll stop making your hips squirm against his hold. You would take back what you said if you could, if it meant him giving you what you need now, but you can’t help but wonder if he’d even think to do this if you hadn’t said it in the first place. 

“How wet are you?’ He asks crudely, pressing his nose into your temple as he bites down on your cheek, “how badly have you ruined your pretty little panties for some boring little bookworm?”

Your head bumps dully against the wall behind you as you tilt it back in frustration, a small huff slips from your nose as your body heats up in embarrassment. You don’t want to answer him, the way he throws your beliefs back into your face making you feel stupid for ever thinking it, but you would never said any of it if you knew what he could do to your body. 

You jolt when his hand swats at the skin of your ass, the way he holds his palm and fingers flat making the sting bad enough that you let out a small squeak, and when his fingers immediately move to scratch at the tender skin, a sob deflates your chest. 

“No wonder you’re such a bad student,” he clicks his tongue, “you can’t even answer when someone asks you a simple question. Guess I’ll have to find out for myself.”

He keeps his nails sunk into your skin as he drags his hand to the front of your thigh, leaving angry scratches in his path. You feel the painful throbbing between your thighs, and when his traces over the seam of your underwear, you grit your teeth and whine. 

The way he continues to bite at your skin feels like a punishment, his teeth scraping at your face and jaw making stabs of pain spread throughout your nerves, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the dull ache you feel in your core. You need something, but how his fingers feel tickling at the inside of your thigh stops you from voicing any demands. 

He lets out a rumbling groan when he presses his middle finger against the damp spot that’s formed at the seat of your underwear, the sound deep and loud around you and making your heart flutter in your chest. And when he starts to circle it and pushes until he shoves the fabric shallowly inside you, your thighs tense and clamp around his hand. 

“You’re ruined,” he confirms, sounding proud and cocky over how your arousal seeps through and sticks to his finger, “it’s dripping down your thighs.”

You mumble in shame at his words, the way he chuckles softly making you let out a soft hum of his name. One of your shaking hands falls from his shoulder, wrapping around his wrist as you suddenly want to pull him away, but you feel his forearm flex immediately, keeping his hand where he wants as you fall apart. 

He grabs roughly at the crotch of your underwear, twisting and pulling up on the thin fabric until it digs into your sensitive clit. It’s a weird feeling, not enough movement or friction to give you any relief, but from the sounds that roll from the back of his throat, he must be more than pleased from how the sensation makes your face twist. 

He forces the fabric in place for another moment or two, tugging on it just enough to make your breathing pick up as your knees buckle, before he finally pushes it out of the way. You cringe when his fingers finally slip against you, the sticky sounds that attack your eardrums as he smears your arousal around making you much too aware of what you already knew. 

“So good,” he praises, prodding at your entrance as he drops his forehead onto your shoulder, “so fucking slutty and perfect.”

You both sign when he sinks his fingers inside you, two of his long digits stretching you open as he curls them gently. He pushes slowly, taking his time to feel the way you wrap around him, and when you clench softly he lets out a hiss of approval. 

He shifts slightly, straightening up and pulling the hand that was still pressed against your back until it rests around your throat. His fingers drum against the side of your neck, testing the waters for a moment, and when they finally push against your veins, your eyes fly open again in shock. 

He pushes you tightly against the wall, keeping you in place as he stares into your eyes, and when he can see them glass over from how dizzy you’ve become, he starts to drag his fingers out of you. 

He seems fascinated by how your face reacts to the friction, even the smallest twitch in your features making him tilt his head and grumble under his breath. But when he shoves his fingers back in too quickly for you to handle, he smiles at the way your mouth falls open. 

He starts fucking you quickly with his fingers, the pace rough and overwhelming and makes your legs shake. You twist your hand that still wraps around his wrist as you try to get him to slow down, but he’s too strong for your weakening muscles, and he pushes easily past your tightening grip. 

“Take it,” he commands, spitting the words quietly into your face as shakes your neck slightly, “you’re gonna fucking take it.”

You cry out as he parts his fingers inside you, the sound coming out broken and strained as your hips start rocking sloppily. Your nails dig into his wrist, your eyes starting to roll back, and all you can do is give him control of your body as you start to melt in his hold. 

You can’t control the volume of the noises that break mindlessly from your throat, the wet sounds that come from between your legs being the only thing to combat how your moans bounce around the metal walls. You want to calm down, to find your bearings and keep some decorum, but when he tilts his wrist to push the heel of his hand into your neglected clit, the last remaining bits of sanity and awareness slip from your body. 

The pleasure comes on too fast, the tightening knot in your belly forming too quickly and making your vision blur. You can barely make out the details of his determined face, but the vulgar words that spill out in a jumble off his tongue is enough to let you know much he dreamed of seeing you like this. 

You bounce in his palm, the lack of control he has on your hips making you move wildly and without rhythm. You can feel now the arousal he claimed was dripping down your legs, but your mind is too far gone to be ashamed of it anymore. 

“You’re such a mess,” he sighs, keeping his fingers steady and quick no matter how much you squirm against him, “you’re gonna come so hard it drips down my arm aren’t you?”

You pant and moan without thought, agreeing with him with mindless hums as you try to nod against his fist, and as if waiting for your acknowledgment, you feel the promise of your orgasm start scratching down your spine. 

Your breath comes out in short, sharp huffs as your stomach starts to flex tightly, the way your toes curl into your shoes making the arches of your feet ache. You try to hold off, to control the way you react as the reality of where he has you weighs on your shoulders, but as he pushes the tips of his fingers into the spot that makes your blood rush loudly in your ears, you feel pleasure crashing down on you all at once. 

Your sounds are muffled as he leans forward to press his mouth against yours, his tongue licking past your teeth until he can brush it against yours crudely. He kisses you messily, eating the moans you let out as if he needs them to survive, and as your back arches away from the wall, you feel your combined saliva drip down your chin. 

He keeps his hand moving against you, fucking you roughly through your orgasm as he rolls against your sensitive clit. You finally let go of his wrist, the overstimulation of your nerves becoming too much, and you move until both your hands are clinging to his shoulders in the need to keep him close. 

He slows down when he hears the begging whimpers you let out against his lips, his fingers pushing gently until they slip out and start to pet at your heated skin. He continues toying with you, coating you in the evidence of your orgasm, and he smiles when you let out a hiccup every time he brushes your buzzing clit. 

You're still swimming in the afterglow of his body against yours, clinging to him desperately as the fear of what will happen after his lips slip away from yours tries to clear the fog that wraps around your mind, when the bathroom door creaks open. You barely hear it, not registering what it means as his fingers still tap against your neck, and you're too lost in the taste of his lips to hear the heavy footsteps approaching the stall. 

The loud banging that rattles the door makes you both jump, Jaemin having the awareness to pull away from the kiss, but not enough to stop sliding his fingers against you. You try to slam your thighs together, trying to push him out and away, but he looks too unbothered by the interruption for your liking. 

“Come on kids,” a deep, unfamiliar voice speaks from the other side of the door, “this isn’t a classy establishment, but you still can’t do that shit here.”

If you could crawl into a hole and die at that moment, you would, but instead you just curl into Jaemin’s chest in shame. He finally pulls his hands away, releasing your throat to hold gently at the back of your head, and you grumble in annoyance when you feel laughter shake his chest. 

You move towards the door when you hear the stranger step away, your skin heated and your hands falling to push at the hem of your dress as the need to run away from the room overwhelms your senses. Your limbs feel too heavy, and your weak legs make you stumble, but you scramble to be presentable enough to face the room full of strangers. 

“Hey, wait,” Jaemin stops you, his hand moving to grab your arm and you cringe at the feeling of your arousal that still sticks to his skin. You tense as he pulls you back, your anxiety rising at the idea of talking about what just happened, but you huff in annoyance when he just slams you back into his chest. 

“What are yo-“ you try to ask, pushing against his arms as you try to squirm away, but he wraps an arm around you tightly as he slinks to squat behind you. You say his name, your voice scandalized as you feel him pushing your dress back up your hips, “we have to go.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he blows you off, using his free hand to drag your underwear down your thighs. He taps carelessly at the back of your knees when the fabric pools around your feet, and you jerk in shock enough for him to slip the still damp article of clothing from under you. 

He stands quickly, letting you go and allowing you to whip around with an angry furrow in your brow. You move to fix your dress again in confusion, and when he twirls your underwear around his fingers and offers you a sleazy grin, your hands twitch in the need to hit him. 

“Call it a memento,” he shrugs, holding your underwear out as if to appraise them, before he shoves them in his pocket, “my own little souvenir.”

—

You stumbled out of the bathroom quickly, an annoyed grimace on your face and a grinning Jaemin hot on your heels. You returned to the table, feeling incredibly exposed from the lack of underwear beneath your dress, but grateful as Haechan and Jeno seemed too drunk to notice how long you were both gone and the fact that neither of you returned with drinks. 

You didn’t talk anymore to Jaemin, even though you left the bathroom with way more questions than when you entered, and you continued not talking to him for the next few days. You texted Jeno, asking him to tell Jaemin that you would have to skip your tutoring sessions for a while, and you made sure to dart out of the room before him anytime you were in the same class as him. 

You weren’t sure why you were avoiding him, maybe the shame of what you two did was just too much for you to look him in the eyes, but that didn’t stop you from itching for an answer. You found yourself staring at him in class, drilling holes into the side of his face as he listened to the lecture in oblivion, as if you’d find some kind of answer lingering on his form. 

It was about a week later when your curiosity became too much, and the way you were constantly using Jeno to cancel your tutoring sessions felt too childish. He had sent you a text, asking you if he needed to relay anything to Jaemin, and you felt almost crushed at the fact that he was anticipating you being a big baby. Not that he knew why you were canceling, you hadn’t told him what happened and you assumed Jaemin didn’t either, but it all made you feel a little foolish. 

Which is how you ended up back in the library, staring blankly at the door of the private study room as if there was a carnivorous animal behind it, rather than just Jaemin. 

You cringe as the door creaks open, your hand so tight around the handle that it makes your fingers ache, and when you peek around the edge of the door, you see him sitting there studying quietly. 

He turns quickly, his face flush as he squeezes his pencil in his hand. All the confidence and slyness he held in his features the other night is gone, and is replaced by a soft nervousness instead. 

You watch each other intently, neither of you speaking as you see his shoulders tensing as you step into the room. You feel how clammy your palm has gotten after you pull your hand away from the door handle, and you clench your fingers together to relieve some of the stiffness. 

“Hey…” he speaks slowly, testing the waters and visibly relaxing just a bit when you smile softly at him. 

You notice almost immediately how he’s pushed his chair as far to the end of the table as he could, your heart sinking slightly when you see the chair left empty for you has faced the same fate at the other end. You respond just as quietly as you pull out your seat, and you can hear him tapping his pencil on the table when you move it closer to him. 

“Am I allowed to get closer to you?” You ask, trying to break the tension with a nervous laugh, “or are you gonna jump on me for skipping out on tutoring?”

You see his eyes widen at your words, his mouth falling open and closing a few times before he lets out a breath, “yeah I just didn’t know…” he stumbles, “I didn’t mind you skipping.”

“It probably just confirmed you thinking I’m a shitty student, right?” You tease, moving to hit him playfully for a moment, before you reconsider and shrink back as you sit. 

“I don’t think you’re a shitty student,” he argues quietly, turning to you and offering you a soft smile, how genuine he sounds making you shift. 

“That’s not what you said at the bar,” you huff, the words coming out of your mouth before you can stop them. If the tension was thick when you walked in, it thickens even further with you mentioning that night, and you mentally kick yourself for bringing it up. 

He falls quiet again, his eyes turning towards the table as thoughts move through his head. You want to eat the words out of the air, rewind time and never bring it up, but instead you’re just forced to sit there and stew in your lapse of judgment. 

“I said some stupid shit that night,” he mumbles, tracing his pencil against his paper and watching it like he’s hypnotized, “did even stupider shit.”

“So you regret it?” You hesitantly ask, keeping your eyes trained on the side of his face in hopes of catching the smallest movement or reaction. 

“Yes,” he breaths, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling, oblivious to the way your chest tightens, “and no,” he sounds strained, confused as he filters through his thoughts, “I can’t sit here and act like I didn’t enjoy it, but I can’t help but feel like a bad friend.”

“Why would you feel like a bad friend?” 

“Because you know,” he grumbles, moving his hands in front of him as he speaks, “it kind of intrudes on whatever you and Jeno have going on. Not that I know what you two have going on, but to make a move like that on you was kind of a dick head thing to do.”

You jerk back at his rambling, his words coming out too quickly and making your mind take a moment to register what he means. But even when you collected everything he said in your mind, you’re left even more confused than you did that night. 

“What are you talking about?” You interrupt, his shoddy defense and explanation coming to a halt as his head whips towards you, “there’s nothing going on between me and Jeno.”

“What do you mean what am I talking about?” He asks, his eyebrows pulling together tightly as his voice pitches in confusion, “you and Jeno!”

“What about me and Jeno?” You lean towards him, matching his volume as you resist the urge to grab and shake him, “Jeno is my friend.”

“I know that,” he says in frustration, leaning closer to you as well, “but you’re also kind of more than friends, right?”

“No,” you say quickly, shaking your head, “did Jeno say something to you to make you think we were?”

“No,” he says shyly, shrinking back slightly in shame, “but I see the way you two act, and I just thought… you’re always texting and hanging out, and the fact that you never say anything to me directly, it’s always through Jeno.”

You stare at him in shock, the jealousy that drips from his words making your brain feel like it’s coated in mud. 

“Jeno is just fun to get drunk with,” you defend, “and he texts everyone, that doesn’t mean there’s something going on between us,” you feel lost as you speak, the accusations he throws at you making you feel flustered, “and you hate me! So why would I go to you directly?”

You watch as emotions shift across his face, the hope that picks up his features when you confirm you and Jeno are just friends makes your chest warm, but it’s short lived when he deflates at the last thing you say. 

“I don’t…” he groans, moving his hand to roughly swipe at his face, “I’m such an idiot.” 

You move your chair again, bringing it closer to him and forcing yourself into his space before you reach to pull his hand away. 

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” You ask sternly, the confusion getting too much for you to deal with patiently anymore. 

“You’re going to think I’m an asshole,” he warns, hesitating until you throw him a look that tells him you already think that exactly, “I… when I first met you, I really liked you,” he confesses, his body relaxing as if truth takes a weight off of him, “but you were already friends with Jeno and I thought you were into him, so I figured if I distanced myself from you then I wouldn’t have to think about it. It was just a stupid crush so I didn’t think it was that big of a deal, but when it didn’t go away, and I had to start tutoring you,” he groans in frustration, “I just ended up being a dick to you instead. I feel like a stupid middle schooler, but that’s just how it ended up.” 

You both sit quietly when he finishes speaking, his body visibly shaking slightly as you stew in his explanation. Was it incredibly stupid and immature of him? Yes. But the way you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him, the way he looked at you and touched you, blurred your rationality and made your heart thump wildly in your chest. Even the way he treated you before that night always gave you a weird rush of excitement whenever you were near him; it made shame settle over you, but it still couldn’t fight the urge you felt to accept his confession blindly. 

“If you thought there was something between me and Jeno,” you start, avoiding acknowledging his confession to give you more time to think, “then why did you do what you did the other night?”

“Alcohol?” He tries, sounding unsure and unconvinced as if the word doesn’t fit right in his mouth. 

“Jaemin, you only had one drink,” you hum, rolling your eyes as he starts to beat around the bush again. 

“I’m… very stupid?” 

“You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met,” you cut him off quickly, throwing him a disappointed look as you roll your eyes, “try again.”

You can see panic settle behind his eyes, the first inkling of fear that you’ve ever seen him show, and it makes concern settle in your stomach. He plays nervously with his fingers, shifting in his seat and sucking in a deep breath before he speaks again.  

“I don’t know,” he speaks honestly, reaching to finally touch you with his hand resting gently on your thigh, “there was just something about what you said that day,” he grunts at the memory, brushing his fingers against your skin as if it helps him think, “and it wasn’t just you saying I don’t have a life, I kind of agree with you on that one, but it was the fact that kept reiterating how good of a guy I am. Even after how I treated you.”

“But you are a good guy,” you defend quietly, moving your hand to lay across his, “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing.”

“I don’t think being a good guy is a bad thing, I try to be a good guy all the time,” he rushes to elaborate, turning his hand to tangle his fingers with yours, “I just… I know good guys aren’t your thing. I let everything get to me, and the way Jeno just laughed when I told him about our argument, I felt like I had something to prove.”

“Maybe you are stupid,” you sigh, trying to keep a straight face until his hand tenses around yours and he jerks back in offense, making a soft smile pull on your lips, “you never had to prove anything to me, and maybe I’m fucked up, but even when you were being a dick I still couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

He bites harshly on his lip, shaking his head in disbelief, “thought about me how?” He asks hesitantly, nervous that the conversation will turn against him, but ready to accept it in shame. 

“When I’d zone out while we were studying,” you start, leaning to whisper softly in his ear, hoping to smother your nerves with faux confidence as you pull your connected hands towards your chest, “all I was thinking about was how your hands would feel on me, and how badly I wanted you to do whatever you wanted to me.”

You watch as a shiver runs up his spine, his nails digging into your skin as his eyes slide shut, “I don’t deserve that,” he mutters, wallowing in doubt as images of you crumbling beneath him flutter through his mind. 

“No,” you agree, moving your free hand to brush against the side of his face, “but that didn’t stop me from wanting it.”

You pull him closer before he can respond, your heart jumping to your throat as you press your mouth softly against his. It feels wrong, like you’re doing something you’re not supposed to, but the familiar taste of his lips warms you enough that you can’t even think about pulling away. 

He deepens the kiss quickly, his hand that’s not squeezing almost painfully around yours reaching to push tightly against the curve of your back. He moans quietly, the sound making your jaw fall open, and when he licks desperately into your mouth, you respond with a moan of your own. 

He forces you out of your seat, guiding you with his palm as he keeps his lips locked to yours. You fumble slightly, your eyes fluttering and making you clumsy to your surroundings, but once he pulls you to straddle his lap, you sink comfortably against his chest. 

Your tangled fingers fall apart as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, your arms stretching to curl around his neck as he slides his hands up your side. His fingers tap rhythmically against your ribs, making you curl into him and sigh, but when you feel his hips start to jerk, you tense. 

His palms smooth down until they rest on your hips, the way he pets at your body making a warmth roll over you, and when he pushes down on you until you feel his bulge slide over the crotch of your underwear, you breathe out in surprise. 

“Can’t,” you mumble against his lips, your voice coming out winded and unsure as he guides you to grind against him slowly, “can’t do it here.”

“Why not?” He asks, playful arrogance coating his words, “after you went on about fantasizing about me in this room?” He taunts, using your confession against you, “you shouldn’t have started something you couldn’t finish.”

Jaemin’s ability to go from stoic and shy, to this other being of confidence and shamelessness gave you whiplash, but it also made you melt in his palms. You want to push him away, beg him to take you to your apartment and do whatever he wishes there, but as his fingers grip at the fabric of your skirt and force you to move faster, you can’t imagine having to pry yourself off of him. 

“Don’t want to get caught,” you argue, your body working against your words as you start moving on your own, “someone coul-“

“No one will catch us,” he interrupts, reassuring you as he tilts his head down to kiss down your chin, “we have the room booked for an hour,” he reminds, licking at your jaw, “and it’s better than you letting me fuck you open in the bathroom, yeah?”

Your head falls back at the memories of that night, his tongue smoothing over your throat as you remember how his fingers felt inside you. You bounce more eagerly against him, and when he bites down harshly on your skin, you thread your fingers in his hair and groan. 

You whimper as his greedy fingers brush against the hem of your shirt, his cold skin making you hiss out a swear as they push under the fabric and crawl towards your chest. The first knead against the swell of your flesh is rough, desperate as if he’s dreamed of feeling you under him like this, and when he tugs the cup of your bra away from your body, he immediately pinches your nipple between his knuckles. 

He shoves your shirt up until it bunches under your armpits, the cool air of the room brushing against your partially exposed chest as he ducks down to replace his fingers with his tongue. He laps quickly at your stiffening skin, and when he uses one arm to pull you close again, he wraps his lips around your nipple and bites down. 

You squirm in his hold, pained pleasure spreading across your chest as he abuses your skin with his mouth, and all that fills your ears are your small whimpers and the slick sound of his saliva bouncing against the walls. 

You barely register his free hand tickling down your body, his mouth encapsulating your skin and taking all your attention as he slips his fingers under the hem of your skirt. He gropes mindlessly at your thigh, squeezing roughly at your flesh before he moves to tug at the seam of your underwear. 

You gasp out when his fingers dip into you, his wandering digits slipping to prod at your entrance as he groans against you. You can hear the slick noises of your arousal dripping around his fingers, and when he drags it up to smear it around your clit, your body trembles in his hold. 

“I missed this,” he hums, keeping his lips pouted against your chest as he mumbles without thought, “all I thought about for days, just thinking about how warm you were when I had nothing but my hand.”

You buzz at the thought of him touching himself while thinking of you, the image amplifying how he circles his calloused fingers around your clit. You tilt your hips down to grind against his hand, trying to meet his patterns as you lament not being able to have him sooner. 

You whine when he takes his hand away from your skin, his fingers curling around the seat of your underwear as he pushes it aside, and when you feel the way the denim of his pants brushes against your sensitive skin, your thighs tense around his. 

The sound of him messing with the button of jeans makes you pant in excitement, your fingers pulling roughly at his hair as the metallic sound of his zipper falling open hits your ears. You feel a hunger deep in your belly, a nervous anticipation building in your chest, and when he tugs clumsily at his pants and underwear, it feels like the room around you falls away. 

You feel his length brush against your skin as he pulls himself from the confines of his underwear, the small amount of friction making you both hum and twitch. You glance down as he pushes himself against his stomach, and the size of him wrapped tightly in his fist makes you tilt his head back until your eyes lock together. 

“Please Jaemin I-“ you babble wildly, shifting your body forward until you can grind against the underside of his length, “please, need it.”

“Calm down,” he shushes you, running his hand softly up and down your back as he brings you to press against his chest. 

He handles your body carelessly, moving you how he wishes as he lifts you slightly above him, and when he pushes himself against your entrance, your eyelids flutter. He sinks you down slowly, stretching you open around him, and when your thighs start to shake and broken sighs fall from your mouth, he moves both hands to hold against your sides. 

“Slow down,” he warns as you accidentally shift down, his head tilting so his lips can brush against yours, “don’t hurt yourself.”

You let him pull you down gently, his skin sliding against yours as your arousal drips around him. You feel your body weaken and go lax in his hold as his size overwhelms your senses, and he mumbles soft praises against your lips as his fingers dig into your skin. 

He presses his mouth into yours again once he’s fully seated inside you, the way you clench and shift around him making him smile against your lips, and when he feels the heavy breaths of air that puff from your nose brush his skin, he moves his hand to grab your ass. 

He keeps you still for a moment, reveling in the way your body flutters around him, but when your hips start to jerk as if they have a mind of their own, he grunts in amusement. The way his hands feel against you is more than you could ever imagine, how they brush and dimple your skin makes you feel like he has control over every one of your atoms, and the way he fills you completely makes stars dance behind your eyes. 

Your movements are immediately messy as he moves you to bounce in his lap, his nails scraping at your skin and your legs shaking as you struggle to keep kissing him with the way he fucks you quicker than your fuzzy mind is prepared for. You feel your stomach tensing and your body screaming as he stretches you, but you love every moment you sink down on him with a broken moan. 

He swears crudely against your lips, the way you wrap around him making his hips jump until he’s fucking up into you roughly, and your thighs ache to slam shut as he splits you open perfectly. 

“So perfect,” he moans, his voice strained as he holds you still again, gripping your skin tightly as slams his hips against yours, “take me so well.”

Your head falls against his shoulder as the sound of your skin slapping together rings in your ears. You can feel your arousal start to stick to the inside of your thighs, and with the way he pushes as deeply as possible with every thrust has you crying out and nipping at his neck. 

You huff out when he tightens his arm around your waist, pulling you tightly as the air gets knocked from your lungs, before his tense fingers scrape along the skin of your ass. He scratches against your hip, making the skin burn and rise in his path, until he dips his hand back between your thighs in a rush. 

He presses roughly against your neglected clit, pinching and rolling the skin between his fingers as he continues to thrust against your wildly. He abuses your nerves meanly, toying with you, until he lays his fingers flat against you and starts sliding them against you sloppily. 

A rush of pleasure licks up your spine too quickly for you to handle, your body pushing against his hold as you roll against him. Your hips try to lift away from him, trying to escape his quick fingers, but he holds you tightly and keeps you pressed against his chest as you’re helpless against his touch. 

You clench around him tightly as your orgasm starts to consume you whole, cries of pleasure hitting against the skin of his neck as you sink your teeth into his flesh. He keeps his fingers and hips moving against you, fucking you through the way your nerves feel like they’re on fire, but as you drip and tense around him, he feels himself following close behind you. 

His fingers shake against you, his hips becoming messier as you writhe in pleasure on top of him. He groans and swears loudly as you flutter around him from the overstimulation your body endures, and he only makes it harder when he shifts to fucking you with deeper and slower thrusts, his length dragging and stilling against your sensitive walls as his breathing labors. 

The sound that rattles his chest as he comes makes you delirious, your head lifting like it’s filled with lead as you turn to watch his face screw up tightly. You gasp and pant softly at the feeling of him filling you completely, and watch him with a dazed look as he pushes his hips until they’re flush against you. 

You smile at one another when his eyes open back up, both of your features pulled soft and delirious as you cling to each other. You melt into him as his arms wind around you to pull you into a tight embrace, and for a moment you feel your breathing start to calm as he leans in to brush his nose against yours. 

You don’t think much when his arms tense against you, or the way his thighs continue to shift below you as you scratch your nails against his scalp. You feel warm and sated as you curl around him, but your peace is interrupted as he starts to stand on his wobbling legs. 

You squeak as he lifts you in his arms, your hands falling to grip at his shoulders as he moves you to sit on the edge of the table in front of him, and when he slips out of you, you whine at the sudden emptiness. 

You try to question him, your confusion bubbling at the back of your throat, but it dies on your tongue when he pushes you back. He looks oddly energetic as he watches over you, his fingers moving to dance along the waistband of your skirt as you stare at him with wide eyes. 

“There was one thing I couldn’t stop thinking about after that night,” he starts, his voice gravely and strained as he shakes his head, “and I’m not letting you leave this room until I do it.”

You yelp his name when he grabs your thighs, the way he tugs at your limbs making your head bump against the wood below you as you fall flat, but he ignores your exclamation as his fingers quickly dance back up your skin. 

You squirm when he grabs at your underwear, your thighs trying to slam shut as he tugs the fabric down, but the determination that makes his muscles tense overpowers you as you try to push him away. 

He gets your underwear off with ease, as if the way you kick doesn’t bother him in the slightest, and when you see the still damp cotton twisted around his fingers, you huff in frustration. 

You watch with a pout as he lifts them up with a grin, and when he presses them shamelessly against his face, you let a scandalized shout of his name. 

“You smell amazing, angel,” he compliments sleazily, his words muffled behind the fabric as he makes a show of pressing the damp spot against his septum, “do you think you taste just as lovely?”

He doesn’t present it as a question as much as he does a threat, and when he shoves your underwear deep into his back pocket, you try to push yourself up the table away from him. 

“No you don’t,” he laughs, grabbing your legs before you can get too far, “I know you can handle it.”

You whine when he drops to his knees in front of you, only the top of his head visible as you move to lean on your elbows. You gasp when he tugs you closer to his face, and at the first tap of his tongue against your entrance, your head falls back between your shoulders. 

He keeps your thighs open wide with his tense palms, a wet sound coming from between your legs as he lays his tongue flat against you, and with a shuddering sigh you realize he’s lapping at his come as it drips out of you. 

You clench around his tongue as he pushes it inside of you, the action earning you a deep growl from him that vibrates against your skin, and you wiggle as if you’re possessed from the way he curls his tongue against you. 

He’s messy as he licks at you, his saliva and the new arousal that drips from your spreading to the insides of your thighs and across the lower half of his face. He moans happily against you, holding you tightly against his mouth as he licks you clean, and once he’s gotten every drop of his come from your body, he leans to swipe the flat of his tongue up the length of your cunt. 

You hiss and sob when his lips wrap around your clit, finally being able to see the wild look he holds in his eyes as he sucks at your skin harshly. Your hips cant up roughly, trying to push him off your hypersensitive nerves, but he follows your movements easily as his eyes slide shut in pleasure. 

You sit up quickly as he rolls tongue against you, your hands flying to tug at his hair as your shoulders lift towards your ears and your mouth falls open. Your entire body shivers as pleasure takes over your senses, the heat between your thighs aching painfully as you still aren’t recovered from when he was inside of you, but even with the way you struggle against him, he happily licks at you in hunger. 

Your second orgasm builds too quickly, your feet moving to hit against his shifting shoulders as he lays his tongue flat against you before shaking his head. The sounds he makes below you are vulgar and make your skin hot to the touch, and before you can even think to beg for sympathy, you feel your body start to fall apart at the seams. 

You can’t control the sounds that spill from your lips, mindless words getting lost in the mix of syllables and broken moans as your hips start to roll against his face, and before your mind can come to terms with what he’s doing to you, your orgasm washes over you in violent bursts. 

He laps at you greedily as your hands push at the back of his skull, seemingly glad to be smothered by your body as he loosens his hold until your thighs close around his head. His eyes flutter open again, looking up at you with a look drenched in satisfaction and pride, and all of it combined makes you shudder harshly. 

You both gasp when he finally pulls away, both of you sinking back in relief as he stands back on his feet with a rattling intake of air. His face is slick with your arousal when he leans into you again, but he seems unfazed by his state as he wastes no time before pressing his mouth into yours. 

The taste of both of your orgasms that sticks to his tongue spreads across your taste buds as he licks into your mouth, and the way it invades your senses makes you sigh and twitch. You can feel the wetness on his skin transfer to yours as he kisses you hungrily, but as he pushes his hips between yours and lays his chest flush against you, you can’t find it in yourself to care. 

“You’re so perfect,” he mumbles as he pulls away in apprehension, “I will never forgive myself for acting the way I did and pushing you away.”

“Jaemin,” you huff, kissing across his face as his fingers grab at you as if you’ll slip away, “there’s no point in worrying about that now.”

You both know that’s not true, that whatever is happening between you two will need a deeper discussion, but with how you press against each other in hopes to make up for wasted time, it pushes rationality to the side. 

“I’ll do everything I can to make up for it,” he nods, looking you intensely in the eye, his still remaining desperation buzzing around him, “I’ll do anything you ask me.”

“Really?” You ask, breaking the tension with the playful tone you adopt without thinking, but he hums in agreement eagerly regardless, “then can I have my underwear back?”

“Oh,” he jerks back in shock, pausing to think, “which pair?”

“Both?” You say in suspicion, not liking the guilty look that pulls on his features. 

“Oh that’s not happening.”

[frenchfrywrites]

4/20

MINORS DNI

Warnings: soft dom top amab gn reader, bottom sub trans man Solomon, character is high, drug use, pseudo somno, piss, multiple orgasms, squirting

Terms used for Solomon: chest, cunt, pussy, clit, cock

Solomon has a reputation with food. 

Famously, he is an absolute menace in the kitchen- cooking up the most foul courses you’ve ever had the displeasure of witnessing- and less well-known is his habit of frequently indulging in edibles.

You’re more than lucky that Solomon hasn’t tried to mix these hobbies of his by making his own edibles, and that he instead favors buying them premade. In fact, he’s generally pretty smart and safe about having them: storing them away in his room, making sure that they stay out of the reach of Luke, and inviting you over when he wants to get high.

There are two reasons Solomon likes having you over when he eats edibles, the first being that he more often than not ends up believing that they’re not working and eats too many. The second is that he always gets a bit handsy when he’s high, and loves the sloppy, sleepy makeouts that result from that. 

When you get a flirty text asking you to come to him, you quickly make your way to Purgatory Hall. Upon entering his room, you find him lounging on his bed in his most comfortable clothes, giggling, surrounded by empty wrappers of his favorite edible treats. Your brows furrow with concern.

“Hello darling,” Solomon gives you a flirty little wave when he notices you enter the room, “what are you doing here?” he asks cutely, sitting up and moving his bangs away from his face so he can see you better. You hum, closing the door behind you. 

“You asked me to come over,” you remind him, heading to his bathroom, so you can fill up a glass of water for him. Solomon gasps, still sitting on his bed.

“I can’t believe it,” he’s genuinely awestruck by this information, “Ah, I’m so smart. Thank you for coming over, I could not stop thinking about you,” he sighs happily. 

You let out a small laugh, and hand him the glass of water, “drink this for me?” he obeys easily, taking it from you and gulping it down.

“I didn’t even,” he pauses to slowly wipe the water from his mouth, and then brushes off the edible wrappers from his bed. You’re able to grab one before they all fall, and read that each one had 10mg. Counting carefully, you figure he’s ingested 30mg, which is a relief. With that much THC effecting him, he won’t be panicked or nauseous. You’ve had to care for him through worse.

He giggles, “oh love, I didn’t mean to eat so many. But the first one wasn’t working. I thought, well I ate more than I planned, but it’s okay!” he pauses again, “sorry, I was saying something else before…” he trails off. 

You sit next to him on the bed, patiently waiting for him to finish his sentence. 

“Oh!” he shoves the glass back in your hand, “I wasn't even aware of how thirsty I was, thank you,” he leans in to give you a kiss. He misses your lips and lands the kiss at the corner of your mouth.

You place the cup down on the bedside table as Solomon falls into a fit of giggles. His sounds are soon swallowed up by you placing a proper kiss on his lips. Humming happily, he wraps his arms around your shoulders and pulls you in deeper. He licks against your lips sloppily, and when your tongue enters his mouth, you can taste the sugar that’s coating his tongue and teeth from the treats. 

He pulls away suddenly, his lips shining with saliva “wait,” he slurs, looking dazed and confused. After a second he gently pushes you back against some pillows, “I would like you to hold me,” he whines, finally getting around to articulating his thoughts. Smiling, you watch as he clumsily hauls himself onto your lap. You steady him by holding his hips, and Solomon makes himself comfortable, nuzzling his face into your neck.

He starts rambling, every thought entering his head leaving his mouth. He tells you about his day, getting side tracked, then starting over again. Solomon talks until his voice goes hoarse, and finally he slumps against you, exhaustion taking over. 

Part of you hopes that he’ll fall asleep like this, because that’s the best way for him to come down from his high, but if that doesn’t happen, at least you’re here to watch over him.

You hold him quietly until his giggles start again, seemingly prompted by nothing. They escalate quickly, until he’s shaking, snorting, and gasping for air as he laughs. You’d ask Solomon what he thinks is so funny, but you’re not sure if he could answer you. His laugh is so cute that you’re not even bothered that you’re not in on the joke.

Solomon leans back, pulling himself out of your neck and wiping tears away from his cheeks. You can’t help but smile as you look at his overjoyed face. He hiccups, and the sound makes him laugh more. You’re so consumed with watching him, that it takes you a second to notice the wet feeling spreading across your lap. 

Looking down, you find that Solomon’s pissed himself. If he’s realized what’s happened, he doesn’t show it, still giggling to himself. You rub affectionate circles into his hips, moaning softly to yourself as the warm liquid soaks your pants.

It takes him a bit, but he does eventually realize where your attention is directed, and looks down at his lap. “Oops,” he is sent into another episode of giggles at the discovery of his accident. As he laughs, Solomon squirms on top of you, grinding himself against your quickly hardening cock. 

“Ooh fuck,” he gasps once he finally stops laughing, “that felt better than usual,” he tells you, slowly grinding his pussy against you. 

“Yeah?” the two of you have done a bit of watersports in the past, but it’s a fairly new kink that you’re exploring. You may not have prepared for this like you have in the past, with towels and several glasses of water and far more dirty talk before the event, but you won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Yeah. I couldn’t um,” he lets out a breathy moan, “I couldn’t tell you if it’s the weed or-” he whines, “ah, I only know that would like to feel you inside me, please.”

One of your hands move from his hips, to cup him through his piss soaked sweatpants. Solomon lets out a low groan, roughly jerking against you. When he’s like this, he knows exactly what he wants and needs, he chases his pleasure recklessly. He huffs, bringing his hands down from your shoulders, to yank his shirt off. The action causes him to sway, but you’re able to steady him before he falls off your lap.

With his pact-marked covered body exposed, your eyes flick to his pierced nipples. Solomon preens under your attention, arching his chest towards you. “Suck them?” he whines, begging easily. While still groping his pussy over the wet sweatpants, you take one of his nipples into his mouth. 

Solomon lets out a high keen, his hips twitching violently. He’s certainly going to cum more than once before you’re done with him. 

You suck and lick at his nipple, tugging gently at the piercing there. Solomon’s hands hold onto your head, his grip weak, but steady. 

“Feel’s s’good,” he whispers, largely to himself you think. Before you move to give the other side attention, you duck your head down and lick at the jagged scars that are long healed. Solomon babbles something incomprehensible to you- perhaps in entirely different language- at the action.

When you move to the other side, he slurs out your name, and nearly falls off your lap again. You steady him by placing your hand on his back and keeping him in place. 

“Oh-” he jerks his hips erratically into your hand, “darling, love, I’m- mhmm- gonna cum,” you spare a glance upwards to see how gone he is already. His dilated eyes are glazed over, and his puffy, pink lips are parted as he gasps for breath. 

You move your hand so your thumb is pressed directly against his clit, and Solomon lets out a gurgled moan as he cums. 

His orgasms are always longer when he’s high, so it takes him a while to ride it out. You diligently suck on his chest until he pulls your head away from his body. 

Solomon slumps against you, and again you wonder if he’s going to fall asleep. You’re sure he wouldn’t mind if you used him to get off- in fact he’s made it explicitly clear that’s something he’d take great pleasure in.

“I’m awake,” he mumbles, as if reading your mind. He sways off your lap and onto the bed, looking up at you sleepily as he lays on his back. You follow him, settling between his soaked, spread legs. 

“Was gonna fuck you either way,” you tell him honestly. Solomon moans, reaching out and tugging at your shirt, indicating he wants it off. You fulfill his request, puling the article of clothing off. 

“Ahh, I was ready to be done, but when you said that, my love,” he sighs happily, “I need more. Tell me more,” he begs, “I want that, I want you to- to fuck me when I’m sleeping. I’ve told you that, right?” he rambles, trying to catch up with his train of thought. You nod,

“Oh yes, you’ve told me at length about how you wanna wake up filled with my cum,” you remind him, tugging at his wet sweats. You peel them off, revealing his drenched panties. His cock is already hard again, creating a small tent in the front.

“I would have laid you down just like this,” you tell him, “and maybe I wouldn’t even take off your panties, just move them to the side and use your hole to get off.” Solomon gasps your name, a wicked smile growing across his face.

“Let’s pretend!” he giggles. You smile at his enthusiasm, but you’re a bit lost. Solomon must gather that you’re confused, so he shuts his eyes, “do what you would have done, if I had fallen asleep. I’ll act like I’m sleeping,” he explains. 

It’s your turn to laugh, at how absurd the idea is. As you look down at him though, it’s easy to imagine he’s asleep. You shrug, because you have a terrible weak spot when it comes to this old man.

If he were asleep, you’d undress yourself first, so you do that, taking off your own soaked clothes and tossing them elsewhere. Your dick is hard and, upon giving it a good stroke, you find that it’s sticky from Solomon’s piss. You moan at your realization. 

Returning your attention to Solomon, you touch his thighs gently. Solomon snickers, taking you out of the scene.

“Babe,” you tease. He laughs, waving his hand to show that he wants you to continue.

“Sorry, sorry, that tickled, you know,” he explains. You pinch the meat of his thigh, 

“If you were asleep you wouldn’t be giggling so much,” you remind him.

“But I’m high,” he opens his eyes, pouting, “I can’t control it.” You give him a look, and he smirks, “okay, okay. I’m asleep,” he closes his eyes again. You roll your eyes, and continue when he really looks like he’s asleep.

Doing what you’d fantasized, you peel his panties to the side, revealing his piss and cum slicked pussy. You can’t help but moan at the sight of him. His cock is erect and twitches under your gaze. You peel his lips apart to get a good look at his hole, and your feel yourself throb. He’s slicked with cum and piss, making him look downright delicious. You can’t wait to be inside of him.

You rub your dick against him, frotting yourself against his sticky cunt. “Fuck, Solomon,” you whisper, looking up to see that he’s still “asleep.” 

Remembering that he’ll need a bit of prep before you can fuck him, you pull your hips back and spit on his hole. Solomon jerks, and his breath hitches, but he otherwise stays in character. 

You press in two fingers, finding him pliant and open under your fingers. Solomon lets out a quiet moan, and flutters around the intrusion. Part of you is aching and desperate to get off, but part of you wants to see him cum one more time before you fuck him. So, you take it slow, curling your fingers, stretching them, pulling them out and playing with his clit, in turn dragging the sweetest, softest sounds from him. 

“More,”’ he begs quietly, his hand flex within the sheets, and you know he’s close. You double down on your efforts, finger fucking him harder and faster, until he’s arching his back and trying to silence his sounds. 

Solomon gushes around you when he cums, fluttering around you as he coats your hand in his fluids. You moan to yourself as you watch him cum for the second time tonight, imagining what he’ll feel like when he cums around your cock.

After some time, Solomon finally slumps back down on the bed and you remove your fingers. They’ve pruned due to how long you’d had your fingers within him, but you pay it no mind as you shuffle around to find the lube. 

Quickly, and quietly, you lather your dick with proper lube, then once again press yourself against Solomon’s cunt. To steady yourself above him, you place your hands on either side of his head, gripping the pillow tightly like how you wish you could grip his hips (but if he really were asleep you think you might be too scared to touch him, worried any touch may be the one to bring him out of his slumber). 

“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself as your tip catches against his hole. You push your hips forward, and he lets out a whine. You pause, anticipation rising at the prospect of waking him. It’s agony waiting, but eventually Solomon’s breathing evens out, and that’s your cue to continue. These same series of events occurs once or twice more before your hips press flush against his. 

Solomon lets out a shaky curse, his eyes scrunch shut, and he shudders, cumming for the third time tonight. You feel him pulse and squeeze on your dick, and it takes everything in you not to pound him into the bed. 

As soon as he’s done, he goes boneless, breathing heavily as he catches his breath. Now he really looks like he’s sleeping. You know he’s beyond exhausted, so you give him a moment, trying to make sure he doesn’t get overstimulated.

It’s agony to wait, with a shuddering breath, you begin to slowly fuck him.

He lets out a muffled whine, so you take it gentle and easy with him. While you get him used to taking your length you busy yourself with fantasy. Looking down at him you imagine you woke up from him wetting the bed, that he slept through the event, and was blissfully unaware of how hard you got from his pee soaking your pajamas. A shiver goes down your spine at the image you’ve cooked up for yourself, and you let out a low, deep moan. 

Solomon puts on a good show, looking sweet, innocent, and entirely unconscious under you. Your hands flex each time his pussy clenches around you. He feels so hot and wet inside, tight as all hell, even though you spent so long working him open. 

You want to make him wetter, want to fill his cunt with your cum, and the revelation makes your hips jerk erratically. Solomon gasps, and your breath hitches. You stop, feeling like every hair on your body is standing on edge. He hums peacefully after a moment, relaxing further into the bed. 

After a moment, you want to make sure he’s really back “asleep,” you resume fucking him, picking up the pace. 

You’re not going to last too much longer, too worked up by the excitement of the scene before you, and the feeling of him around you.

Finally, you bring a hand down to rub his clit, and Solomon squeals your name. His eyes pop open for a millisecond, and then he’s trying his hardest to act like he’s sleeping again. You’re so preoccupied with getting yourself, and him, to cum that you hardly notice. 

“Solomon,” you whine, chasing after your orgasm, picking up the pace and shakily rubbing at his clit. He clenches like a vice around you, and then a familiar wetness jets from his cunt. “Fuck,” you groan, unable to stop the way that you lose control and pound him into the mattress at the realization that he’s pissing on you once again. 

His stream is far more short-lived this time, but you’re still effected by it all the same. With a long drawn out groan you finish inside him, clumsily and erratically fucking him through your orgasm. 

With you rubbing at his clit, Solomon gets off as soon as you come down from your high. You jerk him off and let him squeeze around your overstimulated cock until he lets out a whimper of pain. 

After you pull out, you spend a second watching your cum drip from his messy cunt, and let out a satisfied sigh. Exhaustion hits next, and you flop down beside him.

“Wuh-what happened?” Solomon asks, turning to you and rubbing at his eyes as if he’d just woken up. His delighted smile gives him away. 

“You’re so cute,” you tell him, covering his face with kisses. 

He giggles, and lays back against the pillow. You watch as his lashes flutter shut, and his laughter ceases. It dawns on you as you watch him, that he’s really falling asleep right now; meaning you’ll have to manage his dead weight as you go about cleaning up.

Despite this, you love him too much to wake him.

[larvaem1lk]

talk too much

ellie williams x reader

🦋 ok so. this is kinda a little bit based off of me because when i’m around someone i really like i will talk their head off & just be annoying overall LOL. anyway, just reader being a lil too talkative while ellie’s trying to work ! but at the end she just gives in bc she loves her gf duhh

🦋 um no warnings !! thanks for reading :-*

(also sorry if ur name is miranda, kristy or ashlin. i just picked names off the top of my head whoops)

ellie’s sat at her desk typing on her computer, with a textbook open and desktop lamp casting a soft golden yellow across the thick pages. you’re in a chair beside her, the type with wheels that roll around, chatting and giggling about nonsense. you’re chirpy and awfully energetic being that it was midnight.

since you hadn’t seen your favorite green eyed girl all day, you walked in her dorm worried and confused. though the feeling quickly subsided as you saw her slumped over her desk, eyes glued to the large book in front of her.

greeting her with a quick peck to the cheek, you immediately plopped down on her bed and began rambling about your day, your girlfriend being the perfect person to tell all your thoughts to.

that was about three hours ago, and you were still here, talking and flying through the clouds in your own little world, practically annoying ellie at this point.

you were filling her in on the drama now, but ellie was too busy absorbing information about stars and celestial bodies and the universe. she’d give the occasional ‘mhm’, or ‘oh okay…’ in attempts to seem interested, yet her efforts went unnoticed.

“yeah like i was saying, i just can’t believe that miranda found kristy and ashlin in the bathroom…together? i mean it’s kristina, stuck up and bitchy kristina who i’m sure was straight. that girl—yeah. but then it’s like, i don’t understand what position they’d have to be in for both of them to be on the wall… you know? i dunno! shits crazy, el. like batshit fucking mad. utterly ridiculous. off the charts. luludelulu. like-” you giggle, finding the words coming out your mouth silly and slightly embarrassing.

ellie blows a stale laugh through her nose, hoping that’d satisfy you as she was completely lost in whatever you were talking about. something about girls on girls, but she wasn’t interested. if it didn’t relate to you on top of her, or vice versa, she didn’t care.

she nibbled on her bottom lip as her eyes scanned over the tiny words of the textbook, brows furrowing as she was in deep thought. though she couldn't really focus due to the sound of a pen clicking nonstop. she gives you a glance and mumbles, “you have any work to do babe?” the sound quite literally driving her insane.

you tap the pen on the table now, pretending to draw love hearts around ellie’s name. “mmm, no. i don’t know. i just wanna be with you right now,”

“hm, okay.” ellie widens her eyes while letting a sigh slip out. this was going to be a loonngg night.

you twirl around in the chair for a while, humming a melody before another topic comes to mind. ellie doesn’t even say anything, pleased that you moved on from the pen to humming.

“anyway. i’ve been thinking…” you trail off, eyes meeting the ceiling as you tilted your head to the side in wonder. ellie hums flatly, lifting her head to the computer screen as she begins typing.

“…when we get married one day,” you begin, and ellie hums with more interest in her voice. okay, you were talking about marriage now. not between kristy and ashlin, but you and her. see, she was paying attention.

“y’think it would be on the beach? or, i dunno. maybe… like homey, set up in our cute backyard, once we get a house of course—with like, dina and jesse and joel and my people. just family. oh! oh my gosh! yeah it should definitely be in our backyard. that’s so cute. that’s cute, right el?”

“totally.” ellie agreed, leaning forward to squint through the white noise of the computer.

you chuckle at the monotone of her voice, wheeling forward to get a closer look at her. “totally, she said. when has ellie williams ever said totally?”

“now.” she responds, and somehow her comment is even funnier. you swing your feet back and forth, babbling on.

“ooh, what about las vegas? you know we’ll be eating good. like, good ellie. i think gordon ramsay has a restaurant there. or what if we get married in paris!” you practically squeal, scooting closer to your girlfriend.

you’re only quiet for a few seconds, eyes flitting over her scattered desk before another idea comes to mind. “oh, the eiffel tower… wait! wait.” you place a hand on her shoulder, fingers tapping against the soft material of her hoodie as you try to gather your thoughts.

there’s a brief moment of silence, and ellie’s mind feels calmer. cooler. she exhales a small slip of breath, letting her fingers type efficiently against the keys. besides that, the dorm is quiet. she could even hear the crickets outside chirping. finally. ellie thinks.

don’t get her wrong, she loved your rambles. your rants. your voice in general. but right now she was in work mode, 76% immersed in the material as the other 24% was for you.

that number was slowly ticking down with each second longer you stayed quiet, her completely focused on studying and only studying. she’s glad you took a break though. allowing your voice to rest, taking a moment to soak in the stillness—

“oh my fucking gosh! italy! we should get married in italy!”

nevermind.

ellie flinches. she flinches so hard that a cramp forms in her neck, squeezing and throbbing with a heat that burns through her upper back. “fuck,” she curses under her breath, rubbing at the spot. it’s like a tiny ringing appears in her ears at the sound of your voice; you’re babbling now, eyes wide as you shake ellie’s shoulder in excitement.

she lets you shake her as she tries to turn to you, tense and cautious of your next possible outburst.

“baby,” she says in an attempt to calm you, but you don’t hear her. obviously. too busy arranging wedding plans in your head.

“just—imagine the love, the romance. oh ellie, i really think we should do it! we’re gonna have to fly everyone out, and—ohhh the food…”

she smiles, feeling her heart swell against her chest. you were the cutest thing. oh, she was being such a dick. just let your girl ramble about wedding plans ellie, is your studying really that important?

yes. it was. so important in that all of the knowledge she had consumed tonight was to be used for a huge exam tomorrow that she could not fail. she couldn't fail. i can’t fail it.

but look at you, with your big bright smile, and your pretty sparkly eyes. the way you’re so excited about marrying her makes her wanna kiss you. kiss you. oh shit, that’s it.

“oh my gosh ellie, the food. would it be stupid to serve pizza? ‘cause y’know, some people don’t like pasta. but we’re in italy, and it’s literally… so like…everyone loves pizza! ugh, what should we serve?! and who the fuck doesn’t like pasta? hey, d’yknow if dina or joel—”

you’re cut off when her lips meet yours abruptly, both of her hands grab each side of your face to pull you closer. the kiss doesn’t deepen. it doesn’t escalate. your lips are just pressed to hers for a very, long time.

you try to wiggle free but ellie doesn’t let go. your lips smush together when you try to talk, and ellie sighs internally. the only thing you had done all night was talk, talk, talk. ellie didn’t wanna be mean, but damn, what else did you have to say?

she pulls away with an agitated groan, and you try to catch your breath while licking your lips.

“wha—what was that for? i was talking—”

“yeah, babe. you were talking. give it a rest, alright? geez,” she shakes her head and sighs out a breathy laugh before turning back over to her computer. “i can’t focus with you in my ear like that.” she mutters, not realizing that she’d just stabbed a knife through your heart.

you’re quiet, cheeks burning in embarrassment. you bounce your leg as you stare at the side of her face before looking at her computer, a wave of sadness creeping over you.

a few minutes pass, and it’s still quiet. too quiet. your mind is still whirring and picturing the perfect wedding for you and your girlfriend, and all you wanna do is talk about it. talk, talk, talk.

you bite your lip to prevent any sudden outbursts or peeps that might irritate ellie. you fiddle with your hands in your lap, and when ellie glances over to your pitiful frame, she frowns.

okay… shit. maybe i kinda fucked up. lemme see what’s wrong.

she types out the final words of her sentence before turning to face you, tilting her head to see your facial expression as your head is hung low.

“hey, babe,” she whispers, and you lift your head with a sigh.

“hm.” is all you say, your spark dimmed and nearing burnout.

ellie places a hand on your knee. her hand is cold and rough, which makes a ding go off in your mind.

“you know they say cold hands mean a warm heart.” you mumble, eyes shifting down to your fingers to continue fiddling with them. you had to let it slip it out, whether she liked it or not. you were sure after this that you’d keep your responses to a minimum, though.

ellie chuckles. you were always the type to say little phrases like that. “yeah? who’s they? ‘cause i dunno if that’s really true—”

“it is true! and don’t ask me. that’s what they always say… and it’s really true, because your—” you cut yourself off, a faint smile on your lips, but it soon falls once you realize you were supposed to be giving the almost silent treatment.

“…well? i’m intrigued now. you can’t just leave me hangin’ like that y’know.”

“ellie… i’ll tell you later.”

“later? why not now?”

you shrug, and ellie scoffs.

“hey, don’t be like that, i wanna know!” she nudges your arm with a smile, trying to pick up your mood. your facial expression remains, unamused.

“okay,” ellie sits up straighter and faces her desk to slam her computer, her book right after. that gets your attention, your head whipping up in confusion. she turns back to you, intent on giving you her undivided attention.

“alright. talk to me.”

you groan, trying to refrain from smiling. “ellie, i can’t-”

“you can.”

“but i was being really rude while you were working, and then you told me to basically shut up so i—“

ellie feels regret bubble in the pit of her chest, sizzling and erupting into her veins. she felt hot now. guilty.

damn, i really fucked up. “babe, i-i didn’t…” she pauses as she slides a hand down her face. “i didn’t tell you to shut up. not... in that way. i was just, a little overwhelmed, that’s all. i’m sorry, okay? truly. you know i love it when you talk to me. so… c’mon. lemme hear that pretty voice of yours.”

you feel bashful, eyelashes fluttering as your gaze meets the floor. you wanna give in, you really want to… but you quickly shake your head, no. she’s gotta finish her work. “but… you need to work, el. i told you i’ll just tell you later.”

her brows furrow, “uh, what work? right now is dedicated to me and my girl.” her green eyes shimmer a silver in the glow of the lamplight as she searches your face, and you feel shy under her gaze, your heart beating a little bit faster. you sigh quietly, a grin finding itself on your lips. “you sure?”

ellie shrugs. “of course. tell me allll about it.” she rests her elbow on her desk while leaning her head in her hand. 

“okay.” you beam, starting another one of your rambles. ellie can’t help but stare at you in awe.