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toxicanonymity · 4 months

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beach walks - prequel.

3.8k surf instructor!Billy x f!reader, night walks AU

WARNINGS: I8+, situationship angst over Joel, infidelity adjacent, forced proximity, smut (mild dubcon?), in public, voyeurism, jealousy. See Billy in action (sex): hot ❤️‍🔥 gif set by @ilovewhiteroses or this video. Skeleton Twins (2014) Feel free to skip this fic if it bothers you.

✨NEXT FIC: Beach Walks

After your late night “swim,” you’re disappointed when Joel doesn’t try to get you into his basement. But he does kiss you goodnight before you walk home. You almost text him and invite him over, but something holds you back. You don't want to mess up the dynamic and scare him away. Maybe he’ll let himself in and get in bed with you. It takes you a while to get to sleep as you realize something has shifted. You're now craving more than his dick and his way with words. You’d be happy to fall asleep in his arms, with or without the morning wood to look forward to.

After this realization, you start overanalyzing things, debating whether and when to text him, reading into how often he texts you and what he says. After a few days of nothing but a dick pic, it feels like it's been weeks. And yet, this was normal before. One night, you break down and send him a pic of a freshly rolled joint with the text, “wanna join?”

He replies “wish I could, gotta be somewhere early 😫.”

After that, he seems to text you less and less. He doesn't initiate and barely texts back. You wonder if he’s bored without the chase, so you try to play it cool. You go for walks by yourself, in case he’ll come out and join you, but weeks go by, and he never does. Some nights you hear the weights clanging in his basement, so he must be fine.

One day, you're outside, locking the basement side door, when an unfamiliar Mercedes Benz SUV pulls out of Joel's cul-de-sac. There's a speed bump just before your house, so it has to slow down, and you can clearly see a woman is driving, and Joel is in the passenger seat. Your stomach drops. He looks more put together, like he spruced himself up for her. She’s pretty. Somewhere between your age and his.

The keys are shaking in your hand as you unlock the door again. You go back inside with your heart racing. Don't text him again, you tell yourself. Don't do it. But after an hour, you do. You ask what he's up to, and he doesn't answer. He doesn't answer all day, and when he finally answers that evening, he acts totally casual, like nothing is up. Small talk. He doesn’t invite you over. Not so much as a dick pic. You leave your door unlocked and cry yourself to sleep. You judge yourself for caring so much.

You keep leaving your door unlocked at night, but he doesn't come. Then, one day, he drives by in the same SUV, with the same woman, and you're not sure you've ever seen him so happy. You’re lightheaded. It's a harsh reality check. You’ve never been exclusive, never had a talk. He'd never even taken you on a date. When you think about that, it makes you sick. Is his wife still in the picture? You decide not to text him again.

You’ve been invited on a beach trip that starts the next day, but you don’t go. You don't have the energy to pack, and part of you is still hoping Joel will just show up at your door one day. But the next few nights, when you walk by his house, all the lights are off. At first, you drive yourself crazy thinking about where he could be, but does it really matter? Your anxiety starts to fade into sadness.

You’ve got to get your mind off it, so you drive solo to catch up with your friends at the beach.

******

The resort is humble but sprawling. There are kayaks and surf lessons. You're tempted by the kayaks, but on the first day, you just relax on the beach. As soon as you lay out your towel, your friends tell you about the hot surf instructor. Then, later that day, they swear he's checking you out. You catch a glimpse from behind first, and he has a nice back.

You see the surf instructor at breakfast the next morning, and he smiles at you. It’s a devastating smile that erases all your thoughts for a second. You can’t even look right at him. You look behind yourself, and it couldn't be anyone else he was looking at. He laughs silently, then gets in line next to you. He looks at the eggs on your plate.

You’re not expecting his Australian accent. “Sunny side up. . .good to know.” It takes you a second, then your chest flutters when it hits you. “Enjoy,” he adds with a wink, then walks away. He moves like he has no worries and nowhere to be.

When you tell your friends, they lose their minds. All day they’re talking about what you could do, and speculating about his dick, and whether he’s that chill in the bedroom, too. They think he’s probably a freak. A few hours later, you realize you’ve barely thought about Joel all day, for the first time in weeks, and it feels good. You begin to think maybe a vacation fling could help you move on. Assuming that’s what you’re supposed to do.

Later that day, you're in the lobby waiting for a friend when the surf instructor comes in from the beach. You play it cool, but he sees you, stops, and takes off his shades. He approaches, and you get your first really good look at him up close. He's tall, tan, and shredded, with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. He’s got small ear gauges, and a tattoo of something with tentacles winding up his neck. He's chewing gum.

A mischievous sparkle plays on his eyes as he spreads his feet and crosses his arms. "Saw ya layin’ out, nice ‘n’ dry. . .thought I should let ya know, the real fun’s in the water."

“Oh yeah?”

He nods. "Love to get ya on a board, if ya don't surf already."

You laugh. "No, I don't."

He checks you out, then asks, “How ‘bout it?” and waits patiently for your yes.

"Maybe," you crack a smile.

"No charge. . .Name's Billy." He extends his hand. As you shake hands, he leans in closer, lowers his voice, and says, "’Lot funner gettin’ wet." As he steps away, he offers, "Come down around five, yeah?" Your tummy is swarming with butterflies as he walks off, and it must be evident. Your friend immediately assumes he asked you out.

—

You go down to the shore at five to meet Billy. Storm clouds are rolling in. Billy is looking at the sky and idly spinning a whistle on a string. He has two boards laid out. As you approach, he looks at his watch. “Punctual, aren't ya?”

First, he teaches you how to hop up on the board, something you weren’t even sure you could do. Then he demonstrates the right stance, and you can't help but notice the way his thigh muscles swell out from his swim trunks. The teal swim trunks are a little on the shorter side, which is only emphasized by the black, long-sleeve rash guard he’s wearing. Your gaze is dangerously close to his crotch when you pull your eyes back up to his face.

He looks at your stance, and asks, “Mind if I touch ya?”

“Please,” you answer without thinking.

He clucks his tongue and shakes his head playfully. “Knew ya were a bad girl.”

“I mean,” your face heats up with a smile, and he raises his eyebrows. “I mean I need all the help I can get.” He indulges you with a contemplative nod.

“Sure, love.” He comes around to stand next to you. Thunder begins to rumble, and he glances at the sky.

He crouches down, and one foot at a time, you let him adjust your position on the board. As he begins to stand, he looks up at you and his hand skims up the back of your calf, breaking away at the knee.

He steps a little closer and gently presses on the small of your back. “There ya go.” Then he gets behind you and leans forward, curving his body with yours. He puts his hands on your hips and pulls them back. He’s so close you can feel his body heat. His hands slide up your sides, hitching briefly on the bottom string of your swim top. Then he slots his hands under your arms and adjusts your posture. “Good girl,” he murmurs, then there's a loud boom of thunder. Rain begins to dot the sand before you feel it on your skin. “It’ll blow over,” he reassures you.

To wait out the storm, Billy invites you into the surf shack, up past the dunes. He leaves the door open. He doesn’t turn a light on, but there are a few windows. It’s only one room. It's got surfboards, lifeguard stuff, an old TV with a DVD/VCR combo, and a loveseat. In front of the loveseat, there’s a coffee table with a bong on it. Almost as soon as he walks in, he’s taking off his long sleeves.

“Gets muggy in here quick,” he warns as he plops down on the loveseat. He pats the space next to him, and you sit down. “Suppose we could watch a movie,” he muses and picks up two remote controls from the coffee table. He puts on Jaws at low volume so you can still listen to the storm. He offers the bong, but you decline.

He faces you, resting his head in his hand, with his elbow on the back of the loveseat. You mirror his posture, and he shamelessly checks you out, once again.

You make small talk about the weather and the resort. With his free hand, he idly strokes his own sternum, slowly dragging his middle finger up and down between his pecs. His nipples are pierced – the bars are so subtle you couldn’t tell through his top.

After a lull in the conversation, you adjust your position to face the tv. He stretches his arm across the back of the loveseat, and his hand is right behind your head. He begins to lightly caress the nape of your neck with his thumb. You don’t flinch or pull away. You chew your bottom lip, and your heart races. His eyes are glued to your body, and you’re barely pretending to watch the movie.

“So,” he asks, “Could ya feel me starin’ at your arse yesterday?”

You laugh. “No.”

“Well, I was,” he nods. “When ya were layin’ out.”

Finally you look at him, and when your eyes meet, he begins to let his fingers slowly dance on your thigh, sending a rush of desire to your loins.

You’re suddenly nervous. You don't remember how to do this. You half heartedly begin to say, “Maybe I should. . .”

“Come a little closer?” A loud clap of thunder shakes the whole shack. “Nowhere for us to go now, is there?”

He glances at the window where the sky has darkened and heavy rain is coating the glass. His voice drops. “Kinda like this storm, if I’m honest,” he admits.

“Yeah,” you quietly agree.

His thumb separates from the back of your neck, then your halter string tightens for a moment before completely loosening.

“Oops,” he whispers, looking at you.

You gasp and your hand comes to your chest to hold the top up as you turn toward him again, bringing your knee up on the cushion. Your face burns and you laugh his name in mock admonishment.

"Got a boyfriend?” He asks. “Girlfriend?"

"No," you shake your head.

"Wouldn't stop me, anyway.” His hand curves lightly around your inner thigh, stroking your warm skin. His caress gets higher and higher, further toward your throbbing core. “Not if ya want it, love. What kinda feminist would I be then?” He tilts his head and slides his hand all the way up to the crotch of your swimsuit. “Nah, what she wants, she gets,” he murmurs, staring at his hand between your legs. A knuckle nudges the crotch of your swimsuit, and you’re gushing for him. One corner of his mouth twitches knowingly as he meets your eyes again. “And I think ya want it.” God, he’s hot. He’s so hot, and so right.

The hand behind you cradles your head, and his gaze falls on your lips. His blue eyes are dark with lust. He leans in, pauses with his lips about two inches from yours. You close the gap yourself, accepting the embrace of his smooth lips on yours. Soon he tilts his head, and his tongue slides into your mouth. You drop your hand from your chest, and the un-tied strings still dangling on your back precariously hold your top up. As the kiss becomes hungrier, his hand slides easily into one side of your loosened bikini. His fingers bracket your nipple as he caresses your breast then cups with a soft, “mmm,” into your mouth. You’re absolutely throbbing.

There's a clattering outside, then an unfamiliar voice. "We've got someone out in the surf, down toward the pier."

Your eyes fly to the door, embarrassed, but the man doesn't even look at you. You quickly re-tie your swimsuit. Billy adjusts himself and replies, “Alright mate, let's hop on the jetski.”

“It’s ready.” The man steps outside to wait.

When Billy stands up, you see a massive protrusion in his shorts, resting against his upper thigh, and your breath hitches. You accidentally stare, and he smirks when he notices. “Yeah?” he asks with a downward glance. He holds his hand out and you give him yours as you stand up. He puts your hand on the bulge in his shorts. It’s stiff and warm and makes you ache to be filled. “All for you, love.” He drops your hand but it stays there for a split second.

He pulls his rashguard on and adjusts his shorts, then gives you a short but heated kiss. “Find ya later.”

—----

When the storm dies down enough, you run up the beach, arms squeezed together in front of you. You grab a towel from the hut by the pool and enter the lobby. A man has just left the vending area, and you do a double-take when you see a bag of takis in his hand, but he's already walking away. Your heart jumps when you see he's wearing pj pants. But it couldn't possibly be Joel. Not this far from home.

You brush it off, but for the rest of the day, you can't get Joel out of your mind, except for when you let your thoughts drift to being in that shack with Billy. It's gotten worse than you thought if you're thinking Joel is there on the island based on a bag of chips and someone dressing comfortably on vacation.

You let yourself imagine what it would be like to let Billy fuck you. Maybe you need this.

You're restless and don't have any privacy to get off. After dark, you go out to the pool, and quietly slip into the water, ignoring the sign that says “closed.”.

The water is about nipple-height where you are. You face the pool and rest your arms on the side, letting your legs float in front of you. You close your eyes and squeeze your thighs together thinking about what might have happened in that shack if you weren’t interrupted earlier. And just when you’re picturing what Billy looks and sounds like when he comes, you hear his voice.

"Pool's closed, rulebreaker."

You look toward his voice, and he puts down a bag near your towel. You ask, "Gonna tell on me?"

He takes off his rash guard and stretches, jutting his chest and pelvis forward with his hands clasped behind his back, then he walks over and dives in the deep end. He swims underwater and comes up for air a few feet from you. When he surfaces, he tousles his hair.

He slowly approaches, wetting his lips. He looks even sexier in the dark. "Where were we, love," he murmurs. His hands start at your floating feet–he spreads them apart, making room for himself between your legs. Then his hands slide all the way up your legs as he gets closer. He pulls you against him and you loosely wrap your legs around him.

"There ya go," he murmurs, then dips his head and cradles yours. He kisses you long and hard. He pushes his hips forward, pinning you against the pool wall, and his cock stiffens against you. Then he pulls you off the wall and holds you by the ass so his arousal is firmly pressing against your tingling front. You wrap your arms around his neck as he sinks lower into the water. He kisses and sucks your neck, just above the waterline. He’s probably leaving a mark, and you don’t care. You don’t really care about anything but the mutual throbbing between your legs at the moment.

—

You feel someone watching, and when Billy goes after your neck again, you scan the balconies until you see a dark figure sitting on a second floor balcony. You look for a few seconds and can't make out anything. You scold yourself for thinking about Joel and wrap your legs tighter around Billy. His cock swells harder against your clit, and your thoughts are gone again. You moan softly as he grinds you on himself and kisses you needily, from your lips to your neck, your throat, under your chin, back to your lips. Billy pulls your top down enough to feel your nipples against his chest and lets out a sigh that makes you ache all over with need.

The man on the balcony stands up, steps forward, and boldly leans on the railing and clasps his hands, watching. He’s still a silhouette, and you try not to look right at him.

"There's, um. Someone watching," you tell Billy.

"Bother ya?" Billy asks, keeping his eyes glued to you.

You adjust your swimsuit to cover your nipples, and he says, "Guess so, huh. Drink at my place then?"

"I dunno," you say reflexively.

He whispers in your ear, “Come home with me,” then gently bites your neck and pulls you tighter against his massive erection. You quietly gasp.

“I can't, we’re going to sunrise yoga.”

“Yours then,” he offers, undeterred and growing breathless with desire.

“My friends are there.”

“Mine’s just a few minutes up the beach. I'll bring ya back,” he offers, “Go to yoga with ya.” He begins to move your body against his again. God, you want that hard cock. Just a few days ago, the thought of anyone but Joel did nothing for you, and now, here you are.

You bite your lip and hum, “mm,” in contemplation.

"A drink at the bar," he offers, nodding toward the hotel bar. "Then my place."

You smile and he presses a gentle, closed-mouth kiss onto your lips. You're smiling against each other’s mouths for a second, until his cock throbs against you, and he seals his lips on yours, and your tongues need each other again. He grinds you against him for a few seconds and moans into your mouth before you pull your head away, and remind him, “Drink at the bar.”

“Alright,” he breathes. His cock twitches against you "Gimme a minute, love. . . Fuck, I can't walk in like this," he laughs.

Footsteps approach, and you pull away from Billy. The footsteps are from a man with shoulder length hair and a mustache. He's grinning, looking down. He keeps walking, and as he passes by he laughs, "hey, I didn't see nothin', man."

Billy looks up. "Tommyyy. Wanna catch a wave tomorrow?"

"Nah, we're rollin' out in the morning."

"Alright, mate. Good seein' ya.”

The voice of the stranger has jolted you back from your horny stupor. "I'm actually really tired," you say, facing the side of the pool. You put your forearms up on the side and rest your cheek on your hands.

Billy groans in disappointment, but he gets it.

"Maybe tomorrow night," you muse.

"I've got a set at Aqua tomorrow. You should come."

"A set?"

"I'm a DJ. And as for tonight. . ." He gets close behind you and murmurs near your ear. "I won’t leave ya like this. What kinda gentleman would I be?" Thank God. He snakes his arm around your front. The stiff shape in his swim trunks presses against your crack.

He cups your whole pussy, and his middle finger prods at the fabric right at your entrance. "Gonna let me in here next time, aren’t ya?" he whispers and begins to rub you over the fabric. Pleasure is building in your core. You begin to lose yourself under his expert touch. "Yeah, there we go." He slides his other hand up under one side of your top and his bare palm covers your nipple. You could cum any second with his hardness grinding against you.

He slips his hand into your swimsuit and rubs your clit as he palms your tit. Your head falls back, he kisses your neck, then you let it happen. You gasp and try not to be too loud as your final ascent begins, with Billy slowly rutting against your backside, breathing heavily in your ear.

—----------------

Joel doesn’t have a great view, and his eyes are tired from the sun, but he keeps watching. He’s convinced himself it’s not you, that he’s just been driving himself crazy thinking of you.

Even from a distance, it’s really hot to see. It reminds Joel of your last hook-up. Desire stirs in his pants, and he’s going to have to jack off. Maybe he’ll send you a jack-off video—he can do that now. Joel palms himself as he turns to go back inside. Then, you moan loud enough that he freezes with his hand on the sliding door. He’s heard that moan too many times.

. . .Did he just watch you, in the pool with Billy, hours from home? He tries not to look back as he goes inside and closes the door behind him.

He’s not jealous. Not jealous, he tells himself.

He has no right to be.

You don’t owe him anything, and he knows that.

He’s fine. Not freaking out.

Joel’s a chill guy, even without the weed. But his ears are hot, and his heart is pounding so hard he can hear it. He smacks the wall and yells, “FUCK,” as a picture frame falls. He tries to shake the pain off his hand.

What are you even doing here?

“You alright, man?” Tommy asks, muffled through the wall.

Joel rakes both hands through his hair and takes a few deep breaths.

“Joel?” Tommy asks and cracks open the door between their rooms.

“Yeah,” Joel answers as he sits down on the bed. He interlaces his fingers behind his head, elbows pointing forward. “I’m just stupid.”

------

thank you for reading!

#f!reader #night walks!reader #the skeleton twins #night walks!joel #FIWB #toxicanonymity ☠️#cuck!joel miller #joel miller angst #our favorite white boy #boyd holbrook #boyd bungalow ☠️#billy x reader #billy skeleton twins #beach walks #boyd holbrook smut #👱‍♂️

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writtenbymoonflower · 4 months

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hey I just wanted to say I love your work!!!! I keep binge reading your marauders posts especially!!! You are such a good writer. If it’s ok, can I send a request for the managers with an autistic reader? Maybe where they feel insecure bc of overthinking bc they act different to everyone else? I hope you have a good day xxxxxx

thanks so much for reading hunny! i hope this is okay. i'm not autistic myself so this may not be the most accurate, please let me know! autistic gn!reader x poly!marauders. modern!au

cw: insecurity, overthinking, mentions of alcohol

1k words

You couldn’t stop replaying all the interactions you had that day over and over in your head. You were scrutinizing every word you had said, every way you had gestured. You didn’t know if everyone loved, hated, or pitied you. It was possible that everything was fine, but it was equally as likely that everyone who you talked to today were still thinking about your conversations and were still annoyed with you. It was an indescribable feeling, it just made you want to curl up in bed and never see anyone again. Everything was just too much. You were grateful you were home alone right now so no one would have to see the state you were in.

You had taken off your work clothes from the day, changing into a comfy sweater and soft lounge pants. You were on the couch wrapped in a fluffy blanket. (You thought that maybe Sirius had used it last, it smelled just like his soapy and musky cologne. You hummed in satisfaction from the comforting scent.) You buried your face in between a cushion and a pillow, hoping your nest would just swallow you whole and never release you. You had a few minutes to calm down before your boyfriends started barreling in.

First it was Remus’ soft steps as he shucked off his coat before making his way to the kitchen. He probably assumed you were asleep, because when he passed you on the settee all he did was lean down to kiss your temple. You heard him (quietly) clanking around as he put the kettle on. Thankfully the sounds were familiar and comforting, rather than overstimulating.

Then was James and Sirius, being very loud as they burst through the door, laughing and joking. It made you smile against the pillow. They were talking about something they had seen on the way home.

“Moons,” Sirius made a beeline to the kitchen. You heard James hiss when he looked over to you.

“Quiet, Pads.” He scolded. “Baby’s sleeping.”

“Shit,” Sirius whispered, walking past to get to the kitchen.

“It’s okay. ‘M awake.” You mumbled, shifting to sit up.

“Oh, hi sweetheart.” James crouched by the couch. He could cry at how adorable you were, all wrapped in the blankets and what he recognized as his jumper. Sirius and Remus came back into the living room, each holding mugs of tea.

“Wow, Prongs.” Sirius rolled his eyes. “Gettin’ onto me for being loud only to wake them up right when I leave.” He tsked disappointedly and shook his head.

“I wasn’t asleep, just resting.” You took a mug from Remus while James sat beside you, hauling Sirius into his lap. The ink-haired boy turned to face you excitedly.

“Babydoll,” He started. “I was thinking, Marlene is havin’ a thing at her house tomorrow. Not really a party, just a little get together. She was saying something about ‘playing Cards Against Humanity and getting shitfaced.’ How’d you feel about going?”

You were contemplating heavily. You wanted to go, yes. It sounded like a lot of fun. But hangouts like that stressed you out. You always felt like you were saying the wrong thing, not acting the right way. Especially in small groups. You loved Marlene, you loved her girlfriend and probably everyone else that would be there. But that only made it worse. You wanted them all to like you so much that you overanalyzed everything you said, which likely only made things more awkward because you sounded so robotic and scripted. You tried to keep the worry from your face, but unfortunately James could read you (and almost everyone) like the morning paper and he usually felt the need to call it out.

“You okay, sweetness? You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” He reached over to rub your thigh with his warm hand.

“No, I want to go, I do!” You cut in quickly. “I just-” You snapped your mouth shut before taking a big gulp of your tea.

“You just what?” Remus asked curiously from where he was sitting on the coffee table.

“Are you sure she wants me there?” You asked, worriedly. Sirius looked like you had asked if the sky was green.

“Yeah she does. She wouldn’t have asked if she didn’t. Why wouldn’t she anyway?” His sculpted brows scrunched in confusion. You sighed and set your tea on the side table, starting to fidget and stim with your nails, using enough force to shred your cuticles. James grabbed your hand, encouraging you to play with his fingers instead.

“I just feel like I never fit in at those things. Like, I don’t know. I just make things weird.” You muttered shamedly.

“You don’t make things weird.” James said, squeezing your hand. “Why do you think that?” You lost your words suddenly, feeling all too vulnerable. Sirius was looking at you with enough gentleness to make you sob, like he knew you inside and out (he does).

“I know you get anxious about this stuff. But baby, everyone loves you. I don’t see how they couldn’t. I can promise no one is thinking about how you act as much as you are.” He looked at you, seeing right through you. He abandoned James, making him let out an indignant huff to catapult himself on top of you, wrapping you up and squeezing tight.

“You know,” Remus started. “I was at work today and Aoife would not stop asking about you. She kept saying I need to bring you over during break because you’re ‘heaps of fun.’” You wanted to scoff but you were too tired.

“Angel, everyone loves you. I know it doesn’t seem like it, because your brain can’t always tell what people are thinkin’ but they really do.” You looked at James over Sirius’ shoulder. He was looking so soft as he leaned forward to peck your forehead. You were looking doe eyed at Remus and James.

“Promise?” You asked, quiet and insecure. Sirius pulled away, bringing his hand up to your face.

“Pinky swear, dollface.” You knew how seriously he took those. You reached up to wrap your pinky around his, face heating as he brought your hands up to kiss your knuckles.

“Okay, it sounds fun. I’ll go.” You relented happily.

“Oh thank god.” Remus sounded oddly relieved. “Lily texted me earlier asking if you would be there and I said yes. I really did not want to face her fury.”

#poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders x you #poly!marauders fluff #poly!marauders imagine #poly!marauders #poly!marauders hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #fluff #remus lupin #sirius black #james potter #marauders #marauders fanfiction #drabble #marauders fandom #marauders era #anon ask #anon request #request

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arthenaa · 6 months

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ikaw at ikaw (only you) — mizu x f!reader

synopsis: 4 times your team lead chose you and 1 time you chose her.

content: modern!au, office romance, you and mizu are creatives, specifically in the character and concept design department in a very very famous gaming company (take a guess), she is your creative director and lead designer and you are the concept artist, 4+1 format, FLUFF, work relations, dynamic, and position might not be accurate, forgive me, this is basically just me projecting yet again.

a/n: this is requested by @andieperrie18 ! the answer shit isn't letting me edit my answer so ill be @-ing you here. TYSM FOR ENJOYING MY WORKS !! means a lot ... u also chose pasilyo 🥹🥹🥹🥹 sunkissed lola is the best

Being part of the creatives team was a nightmare.

To tell you the truth, the position for a Concept Artist with a specialty in 2D design wasn't actually all that bad. The monthly benefits and wage were something you're quite lucky to receive considering the constant side eye other departments have with the admin's treatment of the artist employees. This was also your dream job—having had to play their games, specifically, VALORANT, left you in awe and gearing to apply once you were ready for an Internship. After your OJT course, you were accepted for a position in Character and Concept Design and are considered one of the team's most beloved artists (Your followers on Twitter reckon so).

In short, the work environment was great. A solid 15/10 experience—I mean how can you beat a company that caters not only to you as an artist but also as a player? Nothing can beat that feeling of satisfaction once you see your work displayed on various monitors all around the world.

It was more of ... the relationships and interactions with that work space environment that left you grasping at a chance to breathe.

People think you're overreacting but you think it's completely reasonable.

"Yes, you are overreacting."

Your face falls at Taigen's words—watching as he plays a round of unrated in the company's leisure space decked with state of the art PC builds that could definitely beat your poor touchscreen fridge with just a move of its mouse. You could hear the familiar voicelines of Jett from VALORANT as he uses the character's abilities to swiftly enter the site and take a hold of the defenders' positions.

Taigen is part of the Gaming Development Department in the VALORANT Team. He often does routine user gameplay checks and one of its perks is that you literally just have to play the game and get paid for it. You think its unfair but then again, its Taigen. He's always unfair.

"I think you're just saying that to be mean," You frowned, eyes trained on his face—the lights reflecting back on his stupid, stupid, clear-skinned face. Taigen rolls his eyes but not an ounce of his focus leaves the game.

"Being honest equals to being mean, got it." Taigen's voice comes out in a sarcastic tone. You kick a speck of dust on the cement floor, twirling in the gaming chair you're seated on.

"I just think its a reasonable thing to complain about!" You throw your hands in the air in an attempt to get him to look at your side of things. "You're completely unfazed because your team lead has the patience of a mother with 7 kids."

You hear the familiar cue of an ACE kill as Taigen hits a headshot on the last player. The game's interface shifts to the winner screen and finally, he turns to you, pulling his headphones off and giving his best deadpan stare.

"You're freaking out over Mizu sighing over your concept design proposal for Neon and overanalyzed even the way she drank her coffee because you're obsessed with her like that." Taigen arches his eyebrow to make the situation all the more ridiculous. Your mouth closes and opens like a fish out of water. "Am I right? Wait no, don't answer that. I know I am."

"What the fuck?" Your voice comes out in a desperate attempt of self-defence but it ultimately just sounds defeated. Taigen chuckles as he turns back to his monitor to take a look at the game stats.

"Look," Taigen tries to be empathetic but you're pretty sure this is just to get you off his back. The queue for competitive is already up and running. "As your friend, I say this with the love that I have for you and your works but please, Mizu is just one woman. If my mind process went like yours, I would've assumed Akemi hated my very existence and this is coming from someone who IS dating Akemi."

You purse your lips in thought as he raises his eyebrows in exaggeration. You're not exactly sure why you approached Taigen with this problem but he was the only familiar face that you saw after walking out of the meeting room in a hurry.

But then the question in this situation is who exactly is Mizu?

Well, there were a lot of things you could associate with the familiar blue-eyed director. Mizu is your boss—the creative director for Concept and Character design for the VALORANT team. She oversees character ideas, map visuals, detailing, and the final approval for character and asset ideation before it's sent for building in the 3D and VFX departments. She is your employer but you can also consider her your friend, albeit a highly respected one (she did the character design for Jett and Yoru).

It's not that you were obsessed—Taigen is wrong, he's always wrong—it was definitely because you respected her very much. Being a Riot Design Lead is basically fucking God. You create and give life to ideas. She's part of the original team that worked on the pre-release of VALORANT during its early stages and got to see the whole thing unfold. Something you wished to see back then but glad that you were able to become part of the journey despite being a few patches late.

You respected her enough to always want to be on her good side. I mean, who wouldn't? She's talented and very... youthful-looking and one of Riot's youngest leads, you honestly think that being worried over her approval like this is just a matter of respect and definitely NOT obsession.

"You're doing that thing where you space out and I have to assume that it's probably because of Mizu, yeah?" Taigen's voice intercepts your reprieve and suddenly, a curl of your eyebrows creates a look of annoyance on your face.

"I am not obssesed with Mizu," You reiterate, but this time with your mouth. "I just... respect her."

Taigen leans back on his gaming chair, nodding as if you just told him that he didn't need to double double-click everything.

"That's the most unbelievable shit I've heard today," Taigen finally replies with a scrunch of his nose. Your jaw falls open.

"I do not!"

"Do too."

"Do not."

"Do too!"

"Do fucking not—Stop it."

Taigen purses his lips, and makes a motion of zipping his mouth and shaking his head. You huff in anger. Taigen was never going to believe you.

Just as you were about to chastise him again for being mistaken, a knock on the glass doors notifies you of a new presence. You turn by instinct and your eyes widen in shock and probably, dread—who knows.

"There you are," Mizu's voice filters through your ears like classical music on a good Friday evening. You stammer slightly as she enters the area, eyes trained on you through those tinted orange specs. Mizu momentarily greets Taigen who only raises his hand in greeting before turning towards the screen (only you can see through your peripheral vision that this motherfucker is laughing). "I've been looking for you."

"You did?" Your voice comes off quiet. Mizu furrows her eyebrows.

"Uh, yeah?" She replies with a confused tone. "I had your concept design for Neon approved, it was more direct compared to Matt's. I wanted to tell you in person since you just bolted from the meeting room."

You fall silent at her words. She looks a bit concerned as you try to make sense of the information.

"You seem in shock—Are you okay?" Mizu asks, eyes glancing towards Taigen who looks at her before shrugging.

You feel your heart speed up. You momentarily calm yourself before finally responding. "Y-Yeah, sorry. Just didn't think that you'd approve it."

Mizu tilts her head like a fucking cat and you're quite sure you would drop dead then and there. "Why not? It's your work."

You're not sure what she means by that but a sudden shiver runs through your veins at her praise and suddenly your cheeks are flushing.

"Ah," You're voice fills in the silence, awkward and quiet. "Thank you?"

There's a pause of silence before Mizu chuckles. She heaves a breath before pulling the glass door open.

"I'll see you at my office, Y/N." She smiles. "Great work."

The silence further pushes you into the void as you and Taigen watch her exit and disappear into another hallway through the glass windows. Just as you were a few minutes ago, you lean forward to slouch over your knees, hands on your face as you meltdown from what just happened. You hear Taigen chuckle beside you.

"Give it a few more months and she'll give you a ring on your finger with a bent knee on the ground."

You sob into your hands as Taigen erupts in heaps of laughter.

Oh my fucking God.

The release for Neon was a hit. An all-time new duelist originating from the Philippines, your concept design took off without a hitch. It's safe to say that your hard work paid off as you stood over the central common room—leisure areas decked with your coworkers trying out and celebrating the release. A sense of satisfaction fills you.

"I hear you spearheaded the design concept for Neon," A voice infiltrates your sense like a lure. You can't help but smile at its familiarity. Akemi wraps her arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder as she continues. "Marketing was thrilled with the positive response. Good job."

You turn around, her arms loosely accommodating you. "Akemi," you coo.

The girl grins wide and pulls you into a hug. You return the affection in a grander gesture of squeezing her tight against you.

Akemi's part of the Marketing Department for Riot. While she often creates publication material for VALORANT, she also has cross work with League of Legends for its various strategic releases (ie. KDA).

"I just want to say that I already predicted Neon would be a sure hit, it's your work after all," Akemi pulls away from the hug with a smug smile. She grabs your hands in hers, swinging them slowly. "Marketing it was like a breeze in the park."

You laugh softly at her enthusiasm. "You give me way too much credit."

Akemi rolls her eyes affectionately. "Humility is a disease—live a little."

You shake your head at her quips, opting to smile in response. A member of your team passes by, eyes widening in recognition of you before giving you a thumbs up. Akemi watches the interaction—eyes trained on that person's figure as they walked towards Mizu who was busy talking to other creative team leads. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion at her prolonged silence.

"Who are you—?" Your words trail off as you turn to look at what she's so focused on before turning back at the sight of Mizu. "Nevermind."

Akemi raises her eyebrow with an amused look on her face. "Taigen always has a penchant for exaggerating but I didn't think it was this bad?"

Your face falls at the information. "Taigen told you?"

Akemi gives you a 'duh' look—eyebrows raised and eyes half-lidded. "Taigen's a loose lock if you pry hard enough. He basically can never keep a secret."

You give her a deadpan stare before shifting in your position. Akemi crosses her arms over her chest as she eyes you up and down—filled to the brim with amusement. "I'm fine, stop making a big deal out of it."

"Uh huh," Akemi squints her eyes playfully. You could only glare back in response.

The loud cheering at the front catches your attention as resident workers, interns, and newbies alike begin to tune in at the commotion. Akemi and you move to the sidelines, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you tried to find out what's happening.

"What's happening?" You ask the person to your front. He turns, eyes beaming with excitement.

"The creative director for C&C got pulled in a 1v1. They're playing against Beckham."

Your breath hitches at the information. Akemi nudges you with her elbow, overhearing the conversation. The two of you move to the side, finally getting a glimpse of the two team leads focused on a custom game of VALORANT. Your eyes zone in on familiar raven locks seated on the right monitor.

A live stream of their game is projected on the monitor up front and suddenly you feel sick from the amount of butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

She's playing Neon. The character you designed.

Oh God. You watched her take kill after kill, headshot after headshot as she sprinted across the map—zapping characters with Neon's electric abilities. You've never seen someone look so fucking hot playing an FPS game before. It's doing things to your brain.

Just as you expected, the winning banner appears on Mizu's screen and the C&C Team erupts in cheers. You become entranced at the sight—a few of your co-workers patting her on the back before she erupts in smiles and laughs. This is not healthy for your heart.

And just as you think the night couldn't get any better, one of the people from the Marketing departments begins stirring up an interview.

"What made you choose Neon on the character pick? You usually go for Sentinels, no?"

Your eyes meet and suddenly you could feel your heart skip a few beats. Mizu chuckles.

"Wanted to do a duelist around for a spin," Mizu replies. "The design and character visuals for Neon was amazing and I ought to pay the artist who did it a homage."

Suddenly all eyes are on you—some of them even "ooh-ing" for being praised by Mizu. You pale at the attention before doing a hesitant bow in gratitude.

Mizu pulls the headphones off her head and smiles. "Congrats, Y/N. Hope you liked the win."

You feel Akemi stir up beside you, chuckling at the interaction.

You're going to die. You can feel it and its all because of your boss.

Okay, maybe admitting that you were a little bit obsessed and crushing over your employer was a bit overdue. You weren't exactly the type to parade your feelings around the office but if people were to zone in on you acting sheepish and awkward around Mizu, there was a 55% chance that you could tell based on that alone.

It wasn't like your admiration for Mizu started on a whim. As said countless and countless times, it had a foundation of respect until Mizu started trying to get to know and interact with you and those same feelings of admiration started to change. What else were you supposed to do? Mizu is a fucking all-in-one holiday basket—you didn't have it in you to resist the charms.

It also didn't help that over the past few days, Mizu seems to have her undivided attention on you. Showering you with praises, asking if you wanna spearhead a certain project, revel in your work—all that shit. It's messing with your productivity and mindset and that's not a good idea.

The Head Director for the VALORANT Team had decided to call a night out for drinking to reward the team for the positive feedback for the latest patch. You were quite thankful for the opportunity as this was a way for you to get a moment of rest from Mizu's constant attention. Not that you were complaining, it's just a little... too much.

You were seated at the far right booth of the restaurant, keeping to yourself as you watched Ringo and Taigen begin to have a debate about team composition. Akemi grumbles beside you, clearly not enjoying whatever the fuck these two were talking about.

"Look," Taigen holds his hands out in front of him, trying to make a point. "All I'm saying is if you keep putting DPS builds on your team comp, how in the hell will you be able to maximize their kit? Supports are there for a reason."

Ringo rolls his eyes. "It's called enjoying the game, Taigen. So what if I want to put dick 1, dick 2, and dick 3, together?"

Taigen's jaw drops. "Do you know how much skill point dependent they are? I'm even surprised you could bust a skill out." The raven haired man pauses before continuing with a face contorted in disgust. "And stop calling them dick 1,2,3? It's Dan Heng, Blade, and Jing Yuan."

"Of course you'd police that as well. You look like that fucking emoji." Ringo raises his prosthetic hand, imitating pushing up a pair of glasses. "Um, actually—"

"You are as annoying as my grandmother, do you know that?" Taigen snarls, eyes pulled into a glare. Your tall huggable co-worker only grins and bats his eyelashes.

You begin to tune out the two as Akemi excuses herself to take a cigarette break—already having enough of their banter. You eye the glass of beer in front of you, watching as the liquid sloshes around with each twirl of your wrist.

You had hoped to end the night with silence but alas, you can never get everything that you wanted. You feel a pair of eyes on you—direct and unashamed. Already having a feeling on who this was, you looked up and met the reflection of the ocean.

'You okay?' She mouths, concern overflowing her features. It's subtle enough for people to not notice her sudden shift of attention but enough for you to understand her. Your cheeks flush as you nod back with the same softness that she had thrown your way.

She nods in understanding, sending a soft smile your way before turning back towards her conversation with the Head. You hang your head down, wishing that the night would end faster so that you can finally have the moment of peace you have been wanting ever since this morning.

It was as if the world decided to cast hell upon you and revoked you of your rights to peace at the arrival of yet another problem.

"L/N!" The Head Director's voice encompassed the whole area—eyes turning towards him then at you in amusement. "You're one of the star employees and yet you haven't touched a single speck on that glass of yours!"

His hearty laughter follows—giggles and cheering from you co-workers following suite. You sweat drop, eyes darting to Taigen and Ringo who both looked away at your glare before turning towards the window where Akemi sends you a gracious thumbs up, a cigarette hanging from her lips. You groan.

"I-I'm fine," You wave your hand, laughing it off. Your eyes connect with Mizu, an unreadable look on her face as she takes a sip of her chosen beverage.

God decides to punish you more as the team lead beside Mizu chimes in. "Oh c'mon! You're a great asset to the company! I suggest drink up!"

One of your team members passes a full pint of beer as the others begin to urge you to drink up. You hadn't felt the intensity of peer pressure ever since your dance recital on 10th grade and that wasn't even as half bad as this. You weren't feeling on drinking yourself to death as well so trying to down a full pint of beer was a ticket for you to the afterlife (ie. you on your bed with puke all over the floors). The previous pint you had was enough.

You tried to decline as humbly as you could, afraid that this might be the instance that you could finally be fired off from Riot. You knew that if they kept pushing a 3rd more of their attempts that you'd probably give in for the sake of never doing this again but while the need hasn't yet arisen, you'll try fighting off the urge to be a people-pleaser.

Just as you finally begin to decline for the nth time, a hand emerges to your right—pushing the pint of beer in your co-worker's hands. The table falls silent. Your breath falters as the familiar scent of lavender and probably a hint of sunlight begins to seep in from behind you.

"Stop pressuring her like that," Mizu's voice sounds so close —your heart hammering off your chest. Your co-worker gives Mizu a sheepish smile.

"C'mon Mizu, let your team live a little!" The Head laughs once more before leaning forward with a smug smirk. "Unless you'll save this one yet again?"

There's a pause of silence as your co-workers darted between them—back and forth. You feel Mizu sigh behind you before her arms encase you against the table, one arm placed on the beside you each. Your breath hitches.

"Sorry," She mutters as she reaches for the pint. You stammer, turning towards her as you reach out to her wrist by instinct. Mizu blinks with her eyes wide open, suddenly surprised by your actions.

"Y-you don't have to!" You murmured, trying to keep your voice low. Mizu's eyes are unreadable. "You don't drink—!"

The woman chuckles before patting your hand and gently pulling herself off your grasp. "It's okay." She says.

You watch with stammering breath as she gulps the pint in one go, others cheering as she did. The Head claps.

"Didn't expect to see Mizu downing a beer today but here we are," The man bellows in laughter. Mizu chuckles, wiping the residue off her lips. You could only stare at her in shock.

Mizu glances down at you with a smile before patting your head then walking off. Your gaze trails on her and somehow the hammering within you becomes all the more intense.

Oh, Lord.

It was supposed to just be a little game—a past time that the others decided to force you along. You really had no qualms joining games like this but if it concerns the people around you, especially in your work place, somehow you feel the risk of being outed for liking someone in you work space.

"If you guys wanted to date someone in the office, who'd you pick?" Ise leans forward, eyes squinted as she gives you and Akemi a smirk. The three of you were currently lounging in the cafeteria during you lunch break. There weren't many people present due an event going on in one of the building's sectors, so having a conversation like this somehow was less anxiety inducing.

"Taigen, unfortunately," Akemi deadpans. Ise rolls her eyes.

"I mean! Besides him," Ise whispers excitedly. "There's a newbie from marketing that looks cute but kinda quiet, maybe he's nice."

"You mean Takayoshi?" Akemi raises an eyebrow as she takes a sip of her tea. You glance back and forth between them.

"Is that his name?" Ise watches Akemi nod in response. "Well, I'll just have to go get his number then."

Akemi shakes her head at Ise's musings and you had hoped that the conversation would end there, but Ise suddenly turns to you with that mischievous look in her eye.

"What?" You whisper out, eyebrows furrowed in innocence. Akemi side glances you, the corners of her lips upturned in a smile. God, she was enjoying this too.

"What about you, Y/N?" Ise props her arm on the table, placing her cheek on her palm. "Got someone you're interested in?"

You avoid eye contact. "No."

Ise leans forward with a gasp. "You do!"

"I don't!" You reiterate with urgency. You turn to Akemi with a frantic stare. "Tell her I don't."

Ise turns to Akemi who smiles. "She doesn't."

"Bullshit." Ise deadpans. "The moment I'd believe Akemi with a smile on her face is the moment I'd die," Akemi flashes her middle finger at her to which Ise returns generously. Finally, the girl turns to you—chair scooted over to your right as she flashes you her doe eyes. "So? Who is it?"

You Akemi chuckle against her cup as you stammer in front of Ise. "I don't really like someone though?"

"Lies," Ise declares. "We might not be that close but you got that twitch in your eye that already tells me something. Who is it?"

"Ise," You plead, eyes darting around the space. Somehow, saying it out loud meant that you're solidifying the fact that you liked Mizu—an occurrence you'd like to keep to yourself as much as possible. You loved Ise, you really do. You worked with her hand in hand in bringing Neon to life (You worked on her design while she worked on the 3D build) and have become tremendously grateful for her critique and contributions to your work. But this, this was something else. You could feel your heart speed up as she started listing some names.

"Is it Beckham? That piece of shit always too full himself." Ise places a hand on her chin in thought. "Or Ringo? Nah, he's way too focused on content map-building."

There's a pause of silence before an 'aha!' look spreads through her face. You prayed that she would get it wrong but this is Ise we're talking about.

"Is it perhaps," Ise pauses, eyes darting all over your face. "Mizu—"

"What about me?"

The three of you tense, eyes darting behind you as you turn to find the familiar stance of your boss. She leans forward, a hand on the back of your chair as she gives the three of you a curious glance. You hadn't heard her at all, and something about Ise's frantic glance towards you says she didn't expect the same thing as well.

"W-we we're just listing people we found attractive," Ise laughs uncomfortably under Mizu's stare. The creative director glances at Akemi who raises an eyebrow at her. Somehow there was a silent conversation going on between the two that left you confused.

"Really?" Mizu asks, the ends of her words trailing off as she glances back at Ise. "Who said I was attractive?"

"It was Y/—"

"NO ONE!" You exclaimed, cutting Ise off with a jump. You flush under Mizu's wide gazed, surprised at your interference. Somehow, the way you said it implied that no one found her attractive at all, and that was way too wrong so you caught yourself before you delved into a pit of despair. "I mean, w-we haven't started and was just listing people off."

Mizu nods slowly in understanding, eyes examining your face for any slip-ups. You looked away from the intensity.

Ise finally saves your ass. "Yeah. What she said."

"What about you, Director?" Akemi chimes in from your left and both you and Ise turn to her with wide gazes. She simply smiles over her cup, face contorted in a mischievous look. You couldn't read Mizu at all. You had expected Akemi to drop it—after all, she wasn't even joining in on Ise's incessant need to know everything about everyone. "Who do you find the most attractive in this office, hm?"

You can feel Mizu shifting behind you before a chuckle pulls out from her lips. You turn towards her in curiosity as she flashes a smile towards you.

"I'd pick Y/N, of course,"

Huh?

Akemi rolls her eyes, somehow already expecting the answer. Your jaw drops at her response as Mizu turns to Ise who already has a knowing look on her face.

"She's just that reliable," Mizu looks back down towards you, those shades of blue peeking from her tinted glasses. She pinches your cheek in a flash before pulling away. "Cute too."

You turn away, afraid that the flush on your cheeks might've given you away.

"Anyways, I just dropped by to see what's happening outside the event," Mizu sighs, pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. "I'll see you girls around."

Your interactions always end up one sided somehow. She gives and then leaves—resulting in you malfunctioning from whatever she's left for you to deal with.

Ise turns to you with a mischievous grin when Mizu finally turns the corner. "You and the Director huh?"

"Shut up, oh my God."

"Why do you always do stuff like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you're not leaving me any room to process the shit you do?"

Mizu lets out quiet laughs from beside you. 10:47 pm. Normally, work hours in the office end at about 9 but you've learned that staying late is where the good things happen.

"I literally just told you 'good job' the other day and you malfunctioned in front of me," Mizu giggles, leaning forward as she tapped you on the nose with the pen to her digital tablet. "And I heard everything by the way. Quite adorable of you to deny everything."

You flush under her affectionate gaze. "Everyone's so gossipy. You can't blame me."

Mizu turns her chair towards you, arms reach out to take a hold of your own before pulling them close to her side. You lean back at her sudden proximity.

"Well you can't blame me either when you're this adorable," Mizu grins. You furrow your eyebrows, finally leaning close as you cupped her cheeks within your palms.

"You even drank beer," You whisper, tone apologetic. "You don't even like alcohol."

Mizu leans into your touch. "And you don't like being pressured into something you don't want to do. I can sacrifice a little bit of something I don't like just for you."

You melt at her words, eyes darting over her softened features. "Thank you," You whisper, grateful.

"Anything for my girlfriend," Mizu teases. You roll your eyes before pulling her into a soft kiss. She kisses back instantly, hands gripping the arm chair as you take lead of the kiss. After a few pecks and chaste kisses here and there, you finally pull back—reveling in the soft flush across Mizu's cheeks.

"Also," You chime in. Mizu raises an eyebrow. "I was the one who pursued, not you. Correct that when they catch on."

Mizu chuckles at your words. "Right on. Akemi threatened me the other day, saying something like, 'I forbid you from dating Y/N Y/L/N, Mizu Tagawa!' Funniest shit, I've heard. If only she knew."

You pinch her cheeks, giggling at her words. "Of course, she's say that."

There's a pause of silence before Mizu turns to her work, a sketch of VALORANT's newest agent displayed on screen.

"Want to help me with the new guy?" She nudges towards the screen. "Heard he's French."

You turn to her monitor, dozens of details sketched on the edges with a version of her idea of the new agent. You grin, placing a kiss on her cheek.

"You could've just asked me to marry you." You tease. "Also, sure."

You turn towards the table and pulled her tablet towards you. Mizu scoffs as you take over her work.

"And if I actually did?"

"Sure, Mizu, sure."

"I'm serious!"

a/n: hey guys!!! this was so fun to write and honestly i was just inspired to do this request bc ive been drafting an office romance for mizu after the roommate thing. hope yall enjoyed ! if yall arent familiar with valorant, here are the agents mentioned or referenced (neon & chamber (french guy)). also mizu's last name is derived from master eiji's va! cary-hiroyuki tagawa!

#arthenaa #mizu x you #mizu x reader #mizu bes #the blue eyed samurai x reader #the blue eyed samurai

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anrieee · 2 years

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just a hater

scaramouche x reader

synopsis: in which you major in astronomy and scaramouche is the biggest astronomy hater (in your eyes). what happens when someone confesses their feelings for you, and you not knowing how to handle affections, suddenly blurt out that you are already taken. by who? well, scaramouche of course.

themes: modern au, enemies to friends to lovers, actually more like rivals to acquaintances to friends to lovers, both of u banter constantly, fake dating trope, fluff(?), crack, smau, college au, slight angst(?), arrange marriage but not between you and scara

warnings: kys/kms jokes, both of you suck with emotions, swearing, dn & ur mom jokes, talks of feeling unwanted and not being enough, lack of communication, misunderstandings, main characters don’t like to admit their feelings(i understand that could be frustrating), scaramouche is an asshole and you are too, mentions of alcohol and consuming it

status: irregular updates 😭

A/N: taglist is closed!! reader is gender neutral. ✍︎︎ = written portion.

profiles — [ fruits basket | emos 🖤⛓🥀 + childe ]

❥ 01 — three more days

❥ 02 — everything’s fine

︎ ✍︎︎ 02.5 — how it happened

❥ 03 — haha what if i just 🏃‍♀️

❥ 04 — (✍︎︎) you can’t run from me

❥ 05 — enemies to lovers 🤭

❥ 06 — a good bf

❥ 07 — wikihow how to be romantic, first dinner date, and being a third wheel

❥ 08 — bros fighting for his life

❥ 09 — overthinking and overanalyzing

❥ 10 — who tf?

❥ 11 — (✍︎︎) actual (but not really) first date

❥ 12 — the audacity

❥ 13 — (✍︎︎) library

❥ 14 — me thinks

❥ 15 — i feel ill

❥ 16 — no one asked

❥ 17 — BRO HE’S BACK

❥ 18 — scaray/n project

❥ 19 — (✍︎) i hate you

❥ 20 — FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT

❥ 21 — drunken confession

❥ 22 — in the kamisato siblings we trust

❥ 23 — one step ahead of you

❥ 24 — (✍︎) déjà vu

❥ 25 — you’re dead to me

❥ 26 — i like you too

❥ 27 — (✍︎) first date (real) (not clickbait)

❥ 28 — bare minimum

❥ 29 — maybe i AM a whore

❥ 30 — according to plan

❥ 31 — war is over

❥ 32 — (✍︎) double date

❥ 33 — tba

❥ 34 — tba

❥ 35 — tba

#genshin scaramouche #genshin impact #genshin smau #genshin scara #scaramouche #smau #genshin texts #genshin textfic #genshin fanfic #scaramouche smau #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche fanfic #kunikuzushi #genshin kunikuzushi #jah - just a hater #jah - chapters

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doobea · 9 months

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KISS ME THRU THE PHONE - ISAGI YOICHI

synopsis: in which Isagi texts the wrong number and things kinda go downhill.

THIRTEEN - So, baby, kiss me through the phone. -> MASTERLIST contents: fem!reader, college au, fake dating, strangers to lovers, he fell first but you fell harder, generally sfw, confessions and all things pertaining to awkward pinning, a smooch towards the end word count: 1.6K a/n: and that's all folks! ok but real talk i think i fell in love w isagi while writing this smau series whoops

Isagi blinks once, twice, and a third time. When the chatlog stays the same, he asks Bachira to punch him in the stomach.

Bachira does this action with no hesitation and adds a bit more force than his usual horseplay. It knocks the air out of Isagi and he ends up hunched over by the edge of the living room couch. Reo looks relatively disturbed and Nagi doesn't even bother looking away from the game he's currently playing on the TV.

"I'm finding new roommates next semester," Reo groans and Nagi immediately hums in agreement afterward.

Bachira crouches down in front of Isagi, a smile too big etched across his face as he asks, "Did that help?"

Isagi manages to collect his words and nods. "Y-Yeah, thanks I guess..."

"What happened this time?" Reo hesitantly jumps into the conversation.

Isagi turns up his screen's brightness before placing the phone in the center of the coffee table. Everyone, including Nagi, peers at the messages. A moment of silence and then a shared gasp.

"What are you saying back?" Bachira blinks, trying to overanalyze the chatlog.

There's a shrug and then Isagi fiddles with the collar of his shirt. "I don't know! Uuh, should I just say 'me too'?"

"No," Reo frowns and snatches the device away before Isagi can type anything. "Is that all you got? No girl wants to just see 'me too'. You have to do this in person."

Isagi sputters out a cough. "In person? Like face-to-face?"

"That's what in person means." Nagi comments.

Isagi doesn't know how he feels about that. It's nearly midnight and, while your messages made him wide awake, he isn't entirely sure if you want to see him right now. His friends seem to pick up on his thoughts, mostly because he wears his emotions on his sleeve, and interjects.

Nagi pauses his game, something he rarely does, and looks over his shoulders. "You should definitely go."

"Yeah, yeah," Bachira chimes. "She's probably waiting."

They're right and probably right about most things in Isagi's life for the past few weeks. Isagi takes his phone back from Reo's grasp and finds the courage to reply back.

want me to come over to talk about this?

You respond almost immediately.

my babygirl i would like that

Perfect.

be there in 10.

Isagi rushes to his room, fishing out a fresh pair of socks, the heaviest jacket he has, and a pair of old beat-up sneakers before making his way to the front door. This isn't a big deal, Isagi tells himself. Maybe you're playing a weird game with him, or you actually want to be friends and nothing more, or you do like-like him in a romantic way. The more he mauls over it the less sure he is.

The wind is howling when he begins to jog over to your place. It's pitch black, the only light source being from his phone's GPS and the campus' lamposts scattered around. All of this feels weirdly comforting to Isagi, and he finds himself picking up his speed.

Your phone is currently somewhere across your room, hidden under a pile of clothes and pillows after you read his text. You try to distract yourself with a generic romance show in the background but find yourself staring out the window, anticipating what the hell you're going to do when Isagi arrives.

And, for the first time, you start to wonder how you even got here to begin with. This whole situation started not too long ago, a dumb fake number exchange that turned into a movie night that eventually rolled into a mountain snowball effect of the worst case of fake dating you've experienced. All because of Isagi's dumb idea that he blurted out without any real thought behind it. It wasn't supposed to be anything.

And, the scariest part right now, is that you know you want it to be something, but whether or not everyone is on the same page is a different story.

You roll around in bed some more, hair slightly damp from your earlier shower and wearing a mismatched pair of pajama sets that your parents had gifted you last year for Christmas. You strongly debate whether to call Rin or Chigiri for any last-minute advice but the thought of it is making your stomach flips. If you were to call, that would only solidify that what you're doing right now is real. Your feelings toward Isagi are very much real.

A sudden sound from your show catches your attention again. Looks like the island's favorite couple has won the prize and the viewers' hearts.

You want to be excited but secretly, you don't like romantic comedies. At least, that’s what you tell people.

In reality, you've seen a whole bunch, because Chigiri is a sucker for them. There’s always some elaborate set-up where the two main characters meet. Then a whole lot of back and forth, some ridiculous, drawn-out conflict keeping the two lovers apart, the usual cliché stuff. But there’s always a moment at the end. A big, romantic, dramatic moment where the two come together.

But you know better. Real life isn't like that, as much as you wish it would be.

There's a long moment of silence before your thoughts are interrupted by a faint knocking noise from your windows. You break your attention from the TV and carefully pull your curtains aside, staring back at a pair of familiar, welcoming blue eyes.

Isagi fucking Yoichi is outside your apartment.

"Oh, shit!" You hastily shut your curtains, ignoring his muffled 'hey, sorry for the scare!' and stumble to get your slippers on. Your phone pings a few times from your junk pile, you assume it's from the boy freezing his ass off outside.

You throw a blanket over your outfit and strut to the entrance. You can't tell if the thumping noise is coming from your slippers hitting the floor or your heart. Your hand sits on the cold doorknob and you begin counting to five in your head before opening the door, revealing a disheveled, shivering Isagi in front of you.

"Hi," Isagi looks out of breath, cheeks stained with pink, and wearing nothing but a heavy puffer jacket, an oversized shirt, and grey sweats. You suddenly don't feel insecure about your current wardrobe.

"Hi," You say back, wondering if he knows just how much torment he's been causing you for these past few nights. "You wanna come in?" You quickly step aside when he starts sniffling.

He takes his jacket off and holds it in his lap as he plops onto your sofa. "You've got a nice place," Isagi says slowly, eyes taking in every detail of your living area. He takes notice of the dog plushie from the mall trip not too long ago sitting by the edge of his foot and grabs it.

You start chewing on your lips as you join him, carefully placing yourself on the other end of the sofa. You swear you're going to start developing nervous habits the more time you spend around him, never mind all the other sources of stress in your life. "Thanks," You reply quietly. "Sorry that you came all the way here."

"You... you were being serious?" He suddenly asks.

Your cheeks flush and you feel slightly annoyed that he has to make you explain everything. Pulling the blanket tighter against your body, you exhale a heavy sigh and groan. "Why would I joke about stuff like that?"

Isagi mindlessly plays with the stuffed animal in his lap now. "I thought you didn't like me?"

You force out a laugh, covering your warm cheeks with the blanket. "You think I would put up fake dating someone for two weeks if I didn't like them?"

"Um, maybe?" He answers lamely.

You find the confidence to lean over and grab the stuffed plushie out of his grasp, rolling your eyes in the process. "I literally named him after you."

"Thought you meant it as a degradation," He chokes out.

You pause and stare at him. "No offense, Yoichi, but you're oblivious to like everything."

Isagi laughs into his hands, probably painfully aware of the fact. He narrows his eyes and offers you a hint of a smile, a bit less nervous and more of your usual banter.

"I think that's what the guys were thinking, too." He quietly admits and turns to get a good look at you, chuckling as he says the next part. "You look like you're about to faint."

And you can't help but agree. Your stomach feels jittery, your hands shaky underneath the covers, and your nerves are shot. But you two are slowly leaning against each other, giggling and almost seemingly threading between an area of something more and something less than just friends.

Isagi stops first and takes a deep breath. He reaches his hand out tentatively for your shoulder. You freeze when his fingers curl themselves in place and the touch is electrifying and burning.

"Can I—" Isagi swallows hard, his eyes searching hard within yours, and gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze. "—kiss you right now?"

"Yeah," Your voice has gone all quiet but inviting.

As Isagi's fingers tighten slightly on your shoulder, he leans in closer, his breath warm against your lips. The room seems to hold its breath as your faces draw nearer, and then, finally, his lips meet yours in a soft, tender kiss. It's a hesitant, careful kiss filled with all the unpredictable moments and emotions that have been building up between you two.

After a few seconds, he shyly pulls back and smiles, a mixture of relief and joy in his expression. "I've wanted to do that for so long."

You smile back, your heart full. "I'm glad you finally did."

TAGLIST

@fabitheraven, @froggie-zusya23, @rroxii,@anurst,@silly-ez, @userwithlotsoftime, @tiniewife, @zeld6lvr, @macspov, @plopify, @urluvvdommm, @theweirdfloatything, @shironagi, @avogigi, @limerence-lu, @exatse, @cloooudmilk, @keijiqahara, @kakie @xacgrx @reiners-milkbiddies @arxliana @lazyogurt @kaitfae @yuxame @keiitsune @ch3nyan @ll-seishu @qwertyblo @mellozhi @y-sabell-a @izumi-astra-123 @blissblossom @slay0368 @hanniejji @mimikage @yoichiislovie @stwberri @wooasecret @faeroow @yuzurins @celestair @ascybous @satoruskitchenrag @laavatron @lupinandout @yoisami @softfor-svtptg @nymphsdomain @astro-pioneer @kunikame

a/n: i started this way back in july and finally finished!! this is my first smau series and im so glad that all of you guys stuck throughout it despite erratic uploading times hehe i love you all!!! Mwah mwah

#blue lock #doobea writing #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock imagines #blue lock x reader #blue lock headcanons #isagi yoichi #isagi yoichi x reader #blue lock smau #blue lock x female reader #blue lock x you #blue lock x y/n #kiss me thru the phone - isagi yoichi

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bookshelf-dust · 7 months

Text

community service

ghostface!billy hargrove x fem!reader

word count: 3,714

warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol, being drunk, drunk driving, domestic abuse (super small mention), rather violent and descriptive murder, literally this is just murder, slight suggestive ideas

a/n: hi!! look at me! i remembered how to write! anyway. this fic has been in the drafts for months, but here it is. one of the kills is inspired by a kill from scream 2, and another is from *i think* the first season of chucky. anyway. it’s not gonna be for everyone! it’s dark and fucked up and kinda questionable. but it’s also for my masked men lovers. i see you. i am you. i hope you enjoy!! i love you!! <333

other ghostface! au’s: steddie & eddie

————

You check your watch for what seems like the millionth time, only for a few minutes to have passed since the last time you looked. Billy is late again, but at least now you know why.

You hadn’t been stupid enough to think he was having an affair, not when you know so much better than that. When you know he’d do anything for you.

The longer you sit here, the more unfocused your eyes get, and you start to think about everything you’ve realized over the past week. Part of you has known for longer. You just didn’t want to overanalyze this, not like you do everything else.

You hoped he’d come to you. But clearly he wants to keep this to himself.

He’d been doing well, too, up until you found the smear of blood inside the bathroom cabinet. He’d pranced around the room half-naked that night after his shower, so you knew he wasn’t the one who’d been injured.

Last week you decided to clean out the closet on your day off. You remembered a pair of shoes that you hadn’t seen in forever, and began looking through all the boxes buried in the corners, under piles of clothes discarded in a rush to get ready.

You’d pulled the lid off a surprisingly light box, only to find a mask. One you’d seen in costume stores, at Halloween parties. On the news.

And you just knew.

There hadn’t ever been an instance where he’d worn it. None of his simple Halloween costumes ever required a mask. He hadn’t ever worn it for you, even if you’d like that much more than you’re sure is normal.

What’s more concerning is that this realization–it didn’t scare you. You aren’t scared now, sitting in the living room, waiting for him to come home, knowing exactly what he’s been up to. He probably thinks you’re in bed by now, anticipating him joining you.

Instead, you sit curled in a chair, socked feet tucked up under you. Your body is tired, you can feel as much, but your mind won’t rest until you’ve taken care of this.

It’s then, when you’re starting to get sick of waiting, that you hear the sound of heavy footsteps, thick-soled boots bounding up the front stairs. Your spine straightens, eyes glued to the way the lock turns with a twist of his key, his shadow as it spills across the floor when he walks inside.

Billy isn’t surprised to see the living room glowing in a yellow light. You usually leave it on for him anyway. What he’s not expecting is to see you sitting in your chair, chin resting on your hand, as you watch him remove his jacket.

“What are you doing up so late, baby?”

You don’t move, just keep your eyes on him as he walks towards you. He’s wearing a black t-shirt, a very tight one, and it occurs to you that you haven’t seen his arms in a little while. They’re bigger. You’re sure of it.

“It’s only eleven forty-five,” you say.

He laughs, dropping gently to his knees in front of you, hands going to rest on your own. He presses a kiss to the top of your bare thigh.

“You’re usually in bed by now.”

He kisses your knee, lips warm against your skin except for where the cold metal of his new piercing touches you. It’s healed, but still strange to see him with it after all this time.

“Wanted to see you.”

Billy is in love with you. And that means he knows you like the back of his hand. So this, the way you’ve sat out here for him, that sad but almost frustrated look in your eye, it tells him everything he needs to know.

It tells him that you know.

You’re a very intelligent woman. You’re his smart girl, and he knew you’d figure it out sooner or later. He’d only kept it from you because he knew you’d worry. Knew you’d overthink it and make yourself crazy. He just wanted you to have some peace of mind. But clearly that hasn’t worked out so well.

“And ask you something,” you continue, reaching down to twist one of his curls around your finger.

There it is.

“Shoot.” Billy wraps his hands around the backs of your knees, fingertips still chilly from the cool night air. His grip is soft, but still possessive.

You rub your nose, look up at the ceiling and take a deep breath.

“When were you gonna let me in on your little secret?”

You can feel his breath on your bare legs when he exhales. He tilts his head and presses his cheek gently against your knee.

“Look at me,” he says, voice firm. You oblige.

“It feels kind of shitty that you kept it from me. That I only found out because I decided to be productive for once and do a little cleaning. We’re not supposed to keep secrets from each other, Billy. That’s what makes this work.”

When you’ve finished, he straightens his back and pushes off the floor. He’s looming over you now. It doesn’t intimidate you, even if it should. If other people might be scared of him.

That’s what he’s stuck on. You’re not scared. You’re not angry about what he’s doing. You’re concerned about fucking communication.

He leans down and sets his hands against the armrests of your chair. You have no choice but to look him in the eye.

“You’re my girl. It’s a crazy world out there.” He lifts one hand and runs his thumb underneath your eye before removing it again. “I gotta keep you safe.”

You drop your head back against the chair. “Jesus christ, Billy. This goes both ways. I want to take care of you just like you do for me. I don’t think it’s fair that you kept this to yourself when I could’ve helped you deal with it, I don’t know.”

He doesn’t scoff. He doesn’t even quirk a brow. He’s taking you seriously, just like always.

“What, you wanna clean me up or somethin’?”

You’re quiet. He rubs the tip of his nose against your cheek.

“You know the answer to that.”

Billy takes your chin in his hand. “I apologize for not telling you earlier. I didn’t want to worry you. It takes awhile to get back from Hawkins, that’s why I’ve been home so late. Work was just an excuse.”

“Hawkins?”

He kisses you, mouth slotting against your own. The way he sucks on your bottom lip leaves you feeling dazed, though you know that’s exactly why he does it. Just to see the look in your eye. He should’ve known you’d take this well.

“Yeah. ‘Lotta shit left behind back there. Best to do some community service while I can, don’t you think?”

There’s a bruise on his bicep, dark in the dim lighting of your living room.

“Yeah, Billy. I think so.”

————

The phone hooked to the wall in Jason’s office starts to ring. He rolls his eyes. Anyone important enough would know what time of day it is, and that means he’s busy.

Jason stands still at the altar, flipping through the last few pages of notes he made for his next service. He checks his watch, noting that he should start confessionals soon. His shoulders rise and fall, steady breaths filling his lungs.

The phone keeps ringing, and it’s starting to make him angry. He stops what he’s doing and stomps out in the hall, stepping just far enough inside the small room to answer the phone.

“What?”

The line is silent, but someone is on the other side, and he knows it.

“Hello? What do you want?”

He hears someone inhale. “Why don’t you lose the attitude, Carver? Still haven’t gotten that stick outta your ass?”

Jason puts the phone in his other hand.

“Excuse me? Who is this?”

“No need to worry about that, Pastor Carver. Now, would you like to play a game, Jason?”

The blonde rubs a hand over his forehead. What is he, five?

“No. I have a job to do. Grow up.” He hangs up the phone, slamming it back in its place before walking back out.

Jason is older now. Went to community college, pursued ministry. He always knew that’s where he would end up. It’s what he deserves. It gives him great power, preaching.

Not that a damn word that comes out of his mouth isn’t bullshit.

But this is what he is good at. He will not be teased. He is important, and he knows it.

He collects his notes from where he’d set them on the altar, picks up his personalized Bible, slips the cap back onto his pen.

The confessional booth is set up in the corner, against the wall with the biggest window. He thinks it’s the most beautiful spot in the church, what with the way the stain glass plays across the floor.

He enters the booth, thumb entwining in the chain around his neck. When Jason started his work, he’d taken part in confessionals much more often. Now that he’s so committed, he has to schedule a specific time period where people can come in.

And he knows they will. They always do. People praise Pastor Carver for being so wise, for guiding them in the right direction, into the right hands.

But he doesn’t take kindly to criticism. He knows what he’s doing. He was made for this. Now he can protect people like him from the people he went to high school with. Now he has real power.

There’s some light shuffling coming from the other side of the booth. Did someone come in? Maybe he didn’t hear them over that stupid phone call. He shouldn’t have answered.

“Hello? Is someone there?”

He’s met with silence. He listens, but there’s nothing. He knows he heard something. He’s still young, in perfect health. He doesn’t make mistakes like that.

“We can begin whenever you’re ready,” he says, wondering if maybe whoever is in the other booth might be shy. If maybe they’re a new member of the church congress.

Still he gets no response. He doesn’t like being ignored. What is with people today?

Jason presses the side of his face against the wood, trying to hear through the small gaps. They’re not wide enough to see through clearly, but he gets a glance at something moving. He knew it. He hears the shuffle again, temper rising.

“Listen, If you’re not gonna—”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. A knife, with a freshly sharpened blade, slices through that cheap wood, settling in his cheek. He can’t speak. The metal scrapes against his teeth. If he were to try, he’d certainly lose his tongue.

Blood fills his mouth, and his ears start to ring. He can’t breathe, can’t hear. When the knife is yanked back, pulled maliciously from his face, he’s so completely shocked that he falls, brain malfunctioning. Shutting down, surely.

Quick and easy was best for someone like Jason Carver. Such a big fuckin’ mouth. Never using it for any good, only to push his corrupt agenda on others—like he’s some god.

He should’ve played the damn game. Maybe Billy ought to forego the phone calls and get eight to it. Seems that being blunt is the only way to get through to these assholes.

Wiping his knife off against his robe, Billy steps out of the booth and walks around to Jason’s side. The man sits on the floor, slumped against the seat. His eyes are open, but he’s lost too much blood to be able to form a retort.

Billy leans down, grabbing at the chain around Jason’s neck. The blonde tries to grab for this mysterious figure's arm, tries to do anything, but it doesn’t matter.

The chain breaks easily, gold cross standing out against his gloved hand. He tucks it into his pocket. Such a waste of space, this guy. So fucking pretentious.

Billy has never been happier to take out the trash.

————

When Billy gets home, he’s pissed. Mainly because he’s dirty. Carver was a bleeder, got that shit everywhere. It’s on the hem of his robe, caked onto his shoe where he had to step up and get the necklace off.

But more so, he’s pissed that he has to be the one to do this. That people are so blind to the shit storm around them.

He kicks the back door shut behind him.

“Billy?” Your voice calls out to him.

“Headin’ to the bathroom, sweet thing.” He hears you hop off the bed and pad down the hall.

You’re such a fuckin’ sweetheart. He can’t believe it.

You walk into the bathroom the moment he throws the mask down on the toilet seat, blood staining the white material. You watch him put his shoes and the robe in the tub.

He spins around, a smile spreading across his face. “Hey, baby. How’s my girl?”

You meet him halfway for a kiss. “I’m okay. Are you?”

“Better now that I’m with you. Listen, can you do me a favor, sugar?”

You nod.

“In the back of the closet, you know where, there’s a little jewelry box. Can you bring it in here?”

“Of course.”

He winks at you, tying his curls up on the top of his head. “Be quick.”

When you return, he opens the box, and your heart drops at the sheer amount of jewelry inside. But the longer you look, the more you realize what this is.

He’s kept something from everyone. There are rings. Chains. Keyrings. Holy shit. There’s a pair of earrings that look like some Karen Wheeler used to wear. Something very expensive looking, like only a Harrington would have. There’s a lighter, too. With the last name Byers engraved on it.

You stop gawking when Billy tosses the cross necklace inside. He’s almost done. And when he is, you’ll both get out of here. He’s gonna give you such a good life. You just don’t know his plans yet.

“It’s so much safer without them here, you know that, baby?”

Billy looks you in the eye. You push a curl back behind his ear.

“I know. You do such a good job, Billy.”

————

Tommy Hagan has been a piece of shit since elementary school, and he’s destined to be one for the rest of his life.

He works at a car dealership, still in Hawkins, still drinking and pretending like he’s seventeen. He peaked in high school, and everyone knows it. Shit, he knows it, and that’s why he’s still clinging to this lifestyle, even when no one else has.

Fucking Steve Harrington even got his ass out of Hawkins, and that’s saying something. Tommy thought Steve would be there for the rest of his life, raising that stupid family he blabbed about, sending the kids to the same schools, but no.

Even Carol left. The woman he should have married. The chick he treated like shit after they graduated, all because he wasn’t ready to grow up–and she was.

He’s still not ready. Not as he sits in his living room, alone because his wife went to stay with her sister. He’s been drinking out of his ass lately, and the other night, he put his hands on her. Tommy isn’t even sure he cares, if he’s honest with himself.

He’s an insecure asshole. He was in high school, and Billy saw the way he treated you because you were quiet. Saw the way he spoke to Carol when they were alone, the way he’d corner other girls at football games or parties, even when Carol was looking for him.

It doesn’t matter who he married. Not really. Tommy Hagan was destined to become a deadbeat wife-beater, and he’d never have had the initiative to change that.

He finishes the beer he’s been nursing and pushes off the couch, heading for the kitchen to find another.

He tosses the bottle into the garbage can rather than the recycling, and it seems to hit hard enough that it shatters inside the trash bag. He shrugs it off. It’s not like he ever takes it out anyway.

Tommy pulls the refrigerator door open, metal handle cool under his fingertips. That was his last beer.

“Y’gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

He slams the door closed, the rattling of jars and bottles inside echoing throughout the quiet room. He presses his forehead against the wall, thinking. Shit, if he can’t drink, he might as well eat something.

There’s a TV dinner in the freezer. He pulls it out, shoving it in the microwave as quickly as possible.

Something else that hasn’t changed: how fucking impatient Tommy is. He can’t even handle waiting the two minutes required for his food.

He opens drawers, trying to find the silverware before realizing it’s all dirty. He can’t believe this shit.

He yanks open the dishwasher and pulls out the bottom rack. The microwave starts to beep though, and Tommy backs off for a moment to retrieve his dinner.

With how loud the beeping was, he didn’t hear anyone approach. Didn’t hear the floorboards creak. Didn’t realize that there was someone lurking behind him.

He removes the TV dinner and wipes his hands down his face. “Fuckin’ hell.”

He bends down once more, reaching for a knife so that he’ll be able to cut up his tiny steak.

He doesn’t expect to be shoved, not in the safety of his own home. And he’s certainly not quick enough or to be able to prevent it himself from stumbling, tripping, unable to catch himself. He yells out, but there’s no one else to hear it.

He grabs for the counter, but it’s much too slippery with that fucking vinyl countertop. He’s got no chance.

Tommy Hagan falls forward. When he realizes where he’s headed, what his body is falling over, he thinks for a moment that he should try and brace himself for the fall. But it’s no use. Nothing about his situation is providing him a way out.

His body collides with the silverware basket, into every knife and fork standing there. Like they were waiting for him.

It’s happened so fast that he can’t even scream. All that comes out is a strangled moan. He’s bleeding and he can feel it. He can hear the footsteps behind him, and he tries to reach for the floor, tries to push up and twist to see who’s done this to him. His hand slips in the mess, but he doesn’t have to do much when someone is pulling his hair, using it as leverage to yank him up. The knives below him scrape and drag, his skin tugging in unnatural ways.

Tommy coughs, blood filling his mouth. He can’t speak. He can’t do the one thing he’s good at: open that big mouth.

The masked figure looming over him grabs his other hand, causing him to press further into the silverware. He screams, but it comes out garbled as they tug off his wedding ring.

Tommy’s hair is released, and he sinks impossibly deeper, metal piercing everything.

“Such a shame, Hagan.” The figure speaks. Tommy doesn’t recognize the voice. He wishes he could yell, ask what they want, why they’re doing this–but he can’t.

“Never deserved that wife of yours. Never deserved anything you got. But this? Yeah, this is the surprise you needed.”

The last thing Tommy hears is his own front door slamming shut and locking. How did they get a key? He’ll never know. He’ll die here, and no one is coming for him.

————

When Billy slips into bed with you that night, he coaxes your head onto his chest, wanting to feel you. Wanting to know that you’re really there. He leans down to kiss you, finding your eyes glued to the closet door. You know it’s in there.

“What is it, baby?”

You blink, shaking your head. You sit up some, and slip your hand under the edge of his t-shirt, fingers running over the soft of his warm tummy.

“Is this fulfilling for you? Is it something you think you’ll do forever?”

Billy allows himself to think for a moment, and while he does, he gently pulls you closer, leaning up to get that kiss he wanted. When he pulls away, he has an answer for you.

“It’s not something I want to do forever, no. I know we moved to the city and out of Hawkins, but I go back there because it doesn’t feel right to leave those motherfuckers there, roaming around and making it worse. There are good people there, and they don’t deserve to live in a place that’s drowning in shit. So yeah, it’s fulfilling in that I know I can make it a better place. I can protect the people who once protected me.”

And that’s true. Joyce is still there. He talks to her on the phone a few times a week. Shit, the woman is practically his surrogate mother. Max is still there, in college with her friends. Sure, she’ll transfer soon, but still. He can’t leave it like that.

He would’ve taken care of Neil had he not done that himself. Stomped off one night, drunk, and never came home. He got in an accident. Billy was glad to skip that chore.

“I’m almost done, sweetheart, I promise. Just wanted to leave behind something better. I won’t do this much longer. Just wanna keep you safe. It’s so scary out there, baby. I only want the best for you.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, watching his chest rise and fall. This should freak you out, shouldn’t it? It should alarm you? It doesn’t. He’s so good at this. He’s a natural. Doesn’t leave a trace. You do feel safer, admittedly.

“I understand. I just want you to be careful.”

His nails scratch lightly at your neck. “Hey, you don’t have to worry about that. I’ve got this. Nothing’s gonna hurt you, baby. This hellhole is gonna be so much better when I’m done.”

“Yeah, Billy. It is. Then maybe we can get out of here for real.”

“Of course. Anything for my girl.”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

#savannah’s fics #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x fem!reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove fanfiction #ghostface!billy hargrove #ghostface!billy #billy hargrove x female reader

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regular-gnome · 3 months

Note

How did you get into owl house and the titan/archivists story in general?

Pretty normal way I think, I knew about TOH from some art and as dumb as it sounds the one thing that convinced me to watch the show is how irises in eyes are drawn. Set in like inactual eyes, not just on top of the eye

the titan archivist story is a bit more random. I love environmental storytelling, so figuring out stories from backgrounds, overanalyzing shots, and implications of things are my jam. Later on tumblr I saw a short fic of end of the war about Collector confused walking next to the sea as it began to boil, with structures crashing into the water that kinda made me do more fanart around the titans and archivists. That spiralled into spamming ma freindo with theories and them cursing me with hyperfixation about this part of the lore. Some asks gave me ideas for short comics and concepts that evolved into writing down au and here we are, my sketchbook is pretty monotematic these days

#ask #If someone saw the fanfic please send it to me xD #I think it was in english but at the time i was using google translate to read them so there is quite bit chance its not xD

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dean-a-mean-tae · 5 months

Text

Piercing | Stray Kids Extra Member AU

WARNINGS: Switches from 3rd person to 1st person. Depending on how well this is written, it might make you feel what he's feeling. There's angst, but I don't want to put too many warnings. Don't wanna spoil this extremely short drabble.

I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU CHOOSE TO READ!

Nicholas Ross Master List | Proceed with caution. I love you 💜

He couldn't name it. Granted, Nicholas didn't know much about feelings. He knew the basics. Happy, sad, mad, and fearful. Chan was the first person to help him feel safe. The most common feeling for him was numbness. But this?

This was different.

This feeling, emotion, whatever it's called, was unfamiliar. It was this nagging feeling, and he couldn't place it. He hadn't felt something this intense, ever. No, he did. Nicholas was overjoyed when he got to debut with his friends. But this?

This is on a different scale, a completely different hierarchy.

This feeling caused other emotions he never thought of. It made him name feelings he's already had. Feelings he could never put a label on but now could with his newly gained freedom. Nicholas isn't sure if he likes this freedom. Then again. Was it truthfully freedom?

Nicholas couldn't leave the dorm. Not without drastic security, and even then, he still needed at least two members with them. He was scared. What if something happened while he wasn't there? Fear.

Who was he kidding? What would he do if something did happen? He knows nothing. Nicholas is just a boy. Doubt.

Someone, or something, was watching him. All the time. Even at home. He could feel them staring at him. Their eyes pierced his skull, his back, and occasionally his face. Only when he dared to look back. The feeling never stopped. That feeling he couldn't place. It kept looking with inhumanly wide eyes. He could see it in the distance.

Nicholas can't tell the others. No, what if something happened to them? What if they began to see what he could see? The feeling with long hair, wide eyes, and a gaping mouth. A mouth forever stuck in a silent scream. It was there. He could see it.

It made him overanalyze. Maybe it's anxiety? An everlasting anxiety attack? No, it's not that. It doesn't like false names. It's closer. I can hear it's scream now. It's quiet, but what if it gets louder?

You don't believe him?

He thought he could trust you. It's why he told you. You saw his abuse. You felt for him. You saw him almost lose the battle to his insecurities. Granted, you only saw what was said and how his members fixed it. But you were there!

He can't tell other people. They'll send him to a therapist. A psychiatrist. They'll take him to someone who will give me pills. Everyone will force me to take those pills because it's for the better.

Why don't you believe me?

Why won't anyone believe me? It follows me, and I can't get away. I'm terrified. I'm intensely scared. There's a word for it. What is it? Tell me, please. Maybe if I call out its name, it will leave me alone.

It's eyes. They- It's here. It's watching me. It could be watching you. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel like this. I'll be quiet. Momma told me I scared people with this bullshit. I didn't mean to scare you. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. I won't do it again.

You will stay, right?

I'm still me. I'm Nicholas Ross! The boy- The man you imagine. The person broken by his parents is slowly being built together again. You're helping me, right?

You said you feel sad for me. You expressed my stories as comforting. I can tell you more. Just please don't leave me with it.

Don't leave me with paranoia.

Nicholas Ross Master List

©️DEANAMEANTAE2024

Tags list: @bada-lee-ily, @jinnie-ret, @hwxnghyynjin, @foxilsdenn, @rensahazard, @mynameisnotlaura, @lucianidealz, You can be added by asking in the replies, sending me a message, or doing an ask thingy.

#deantae nicholas ross #skz 9th member #stray kids 9th member #skz x 9th member #stray kids extra member #stray kids with the 9th member #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x male reader #stray kids x male reader #skz imagines #9th member of skz #9th member of stray kids #stray kids angst

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chaoticspeedrun · 1 month

Note

Hellooo

I was wondering if you have any tips when writing a retelling fic, like how to keep characters' personalities close to canon throughout the story and things like that?

Sorry for the long question ^ ^"/

The way I smiled, it makes me very happy to see people think I have written the character's personality right.

I love psychoanalyzing people and characters, I love watching series and considering the reason characters act a certain way and comparing situations to things that happened to them before, in short, I overanalyze characters a bit too much and I think I understand most of their reasoning for acting the way they do even if I can't always put it in words.

It's the same when writing, as an example with The little merturtle I was very worried at the beginning that because of the tone of the story I would end up writing Donnie too out of character, I wanted the reader to be able to understand that though Donnie had been infatuated by the MC very quickly, it had more to do with his desire to see the human world, the way Donnie seems to obsess over things he enjoys/likes carried on into the way he saw MC, and though it was in fact a crush at first, it wasn't love at first sight, which is part of what he narrates when he saves the MC, how he would like for them to show him the world he has been obsessing over for years.

Donnie wants to learn, to understand, Donnie wants to know how the humans modify metal, how their buildings are made, how they use their feet to dance, because he is an anthropologist at heart in this situation first, and once he understands the way humans work he can understand the things they create like an engineer.

Donnie is perfect for the role of Ariel, but I didn't want it to feel unnatural with the cheesiness of the original story, so I was always considering the way he would react to certain things.

Same with the Anastasia AU, the moment I thought about it I already knew Leo would be Dimitri, he is absolutely perfect for the role, it is a re-telling of a story even with the changes and world-building I add, but I did make sure on both that the character playing the role made sense, otherwise the story would be a mess.

The wants of Ariel and Dimitri match the ones that Donnie and Leo would have in the same situation, which makes it easier to match the tone of the story while changing it as necessary.

For Donnie, Leo ended up as a turtle to follow him as Leo had a clear picture of what was happening and how to help him, meanwhile Raph as the worried older brother was the one who spilled the beans to Splinter in hopes of protecting his brother and unaware of the consequences that could have, and Mikey is encouraging Donnie the whole way.

For Leo, unlike Dimitri, he is not accompanied by just one person, but all his brothers, and he has an extra responsibility to take care of, which is Casey, why? Because that PROMPTS Leo to leave, if it had just been the four brothers, they could have done okay in there, or could have tried to find more risky ways to leave, but Casey pushes the plot into the direction Leo takes instead, which is a con that can get them a means to live outside of the city without the possible repercussions that could have come instead, that is what he uses to convince Raph into his idea, to get Casey Jr out of the Spirit city, to give the kid a better life.

[Flashbacks of F! Leo pushing Casey JR through the time portal]

I extended myself a bit too much with this, but my point is, know your characters, understand who they are and why they do the things they do. Who around them can help them or ostracize them? Who is necessary for the plot and who isn't?

There's a reason April has not been introduced in my Anastasia fic yet~

#ask #chaos shut up #rottmnt fanfiction #rottmnt x reader #anastasia au #leo anastasia au #rise leo x reader #rise donnie x reader #rottmnt anastasia au #the little merturtle #merturtle donnie #the little mermaid au #donnie tlm #donnie tlm au #donnie x reader #leo x reader #rottmnt leo x reader #rottmnt donnie x reader

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selective-insomniac · 1 year

Text

Rottmnt fics i found, ao3 edition. Join me in my misery

Updated: March 14, 2023

Key

word count guide:

🟣 - long finished (70k+)

🔵 - long unfinished (70k+)

🟢 - short finished (70k-)

🔴 - medium unfinished (20k-70k)

🟠 - short unfinished (20k-)

🟡 - comic

Subject:

🐢 - Future Leo

🐬 - Crossover

🐙 - Recovery/Aftermath

🌈 - LeoSagi

🦍 - Trapped Leo

📦 - Seperated Au

🐆 - Different World

🌂 - Donnie Centric

🦊 - Mikey Centric

🍓 - Raph Centric

🐊 - 2012/other iteration

💧- Major Character Death

Ottherwise, it’s Leo-centric lol

🟣📦Red Rover Red Rover Send My Brothers On Over! - Theserpentsnight

🟣🧢🐢🐆His World - SkylerSkyHigh

🟣🌂👾The Dawning of the Hour - Faiakishi

🟣🌂🤕Causa Scientia - urlocalllama

🟣🐙🧢Aftershocks - Katiemonz, McBethins, octolingkiera, theashemarie, this_kills_the_man

🟣🧢🐢💧Dead Man’s Deal - loneAnonon

🟣🐬🐊Dagger From the Mirror - TotallyNotASecretAO3Account

🔵🧢🐢Mutant Ninja Midlife Crisis - a_platypus

🔵🐬A Tale of Spirits - unorthodoxx

🔵👓🧢I May Be Invisible, But I Still Look Good - Dandy

🔵🧢🌈Worlds Apart - ash_kunoichi1925

🔵🐙The Aftermath - Starcrossrose

🔵🧢Change of Perspective - characcoon

🔵🧢🐬Shredder’s Vendetta - Cass_Phoenix

🔵🧢🐬Two Souls - Virgilisspidey

🔵🧢Like Father Like Son - eternalglitch

🔵📦Blood is Thicker than Ooze - mybrainisacandywrapper

🔵🧢🐬💧Tattered Remains (the sequel to Frayed Knots)

🔵🧢🌂🐙Brother Dearest - Wardenov

🔵🧢🐢Trial and Error - ApatheticRobots

🔵🍓🐬The Eldest Brother - dEBB987

🔵🐙Power Up - pickledcarrotsandradish

🔵🦊A Mystic Connection - rytheoneandonly

🟢🧢🌈🐙Rest With Me - sometimesimakebadchoices

🟢🧢🐙The Call Back Home - Gooselnsurance

🟢🦍🐙What Happens After - Fandom_Brat

🟢🧢🐆The golden flowers of life - Fandomnerdfrogs

🟢🐬Recoil - unorthodoxx

🟢🦊Empathy Amplified - Filsamek

🟢🦊🐬The Fight for Mikey - hinacu_writes

🟢🌂 Unmaking - corvidown

🟢🧢🐬Of Leo’s and Leonardo’s - Toothlessbored

🟢🍓First Words - less_depresso_more_espresso

🟢🧢Would It Really Matter? - Angelpuns

🟢🐢Remember Me - VanillaVengeance

🟢👾👓🐙So Many Different Ways To Say It - CupidsAroAce

🟢🐢🧢🦇if i don't make it back from where i've gone, just know i loved you all along - purpleturtle9000

🟢🌂With (Internet) Friends Like These - StormFireGirl

🟢🧢🌈Paper rings - lydiasgrace

🟢🧢Games We Play - NewFallenLeaves

🟢🌂Dial Tone - SleepyCyborg

🟢🧢🐬Frayed Knots - renawaywithme

🟢💧Fading Memories - HellsTrojanHorse

🟢🐊B.E.A.S.T - skylerskyhigh

🟢💧🌂🦊Quiet Your Mind - daedelweiss

🟢Bed bargain - VeryCoolKid69

🟢🌈🐙give me something that’ll haunt me when you’re not around - taizi

🟢🐙🐬waiting on a miracle - lydiasgrace

🔴🧢🐢Odd man out - cosmoscrow

🔴👓🐬Behind the Scenes - catboycamdotcom

🔴🐢🧢At My Worst - teainthesnow

🔴🐢🧢Yesterday (it was so far away) - Midnight_Duel

🔴🦍🧢Never Do That Again - DiscowingSuit

🔴🌂Carapace - SkeletalConstellation

🔴The Same Little Faces - awkwardusagi

🔴🧢🦍Adrift - Zanrelle

🔴🧢🐬Neon - characoon

🔴🧢🐢We’ll meet again, soon - chiangyorange

🔴🍓📦We Share Blood - Clovrtree

🔴🧢🐆Rotten Reflections - Nicoforlife

🔴🐊Fusions - AmevelloBlue

🔴🐊🐬The hogwarts remix aka screaming and magic at all times - cxlesstial, HeyAssbuttImBatman

🔴🌂🐙Do The D. A. N. C. E. - Pariscite

🔴🧢🐢Last Grain Of Sand In The Hourglass - TjLockticon

🔴🌂📦Nothing Left To Lose - halfwayzone

🔴🌂Donatello’s guide to overanalyzing things - LasciviousEnby

🔴🌂🐬👓Ghost in the Shell - AmevelloBlueb

🔴🦁Fracturing Time - ofdogsandwriting

🔴🐬🐊🌂Arcadia - SkylerSkyHigh

🔴🧢🌂👓The Old College Try - theashemarie

🔴🦁Too lucky to count - iooiu

🔴🧢And… We’re Off!! - SailorSaysAhoy

🔴🧢🐢🦇In The Bottom Of The Bottle (I See Your Reflection) - BeeCeit

🔴🦁🐢Just this once, everybody lives - TheDragonTribes

🔴💧🦊Mystic Hands - characoon

🔴🧢🤕Every Night the Longest Day - ashtreelane

🟠🧢🐢🦁🐀Not quite kintsugi, but close - katterv

🟠🧢🐢Three-Sided Coin - Willow_Wept

🟠🧢Let’s Make A Deal - BeeCeit

🟠🧢🐢To See Another Day - teainthesnow

🟠🌂🤕Young Root, Old Rock - SirryGray

🟠🐢🦇Traveling Memories - Camiliero

🟠🧢🦍💧Ghost with the most - Moth_mutant

🟠🐢I think I would prefer the prison dimension - PurpleCatGhost

🟠🐬💧Different Places, Different Faces - RoyaltyStudios

🟠🌂🦊🐬The Purpleest Man Alive - Cloud_Hater

🟠🧢🦍Krang Graveyard - Blue1Pheonix

🟠🧢🐢Wrapped in Regret - Vallmo_05

🟠🐙🌂Seven Times - Fastern

🟠🐬Is This A “No Way Home” Reference? - ShadowOfFandoms

🟠🐙🧢In Time, We’ll Be Alright - MetamorphicRocky

🟠👓Brotherly Snippets - Secret_Universe

🟡🍓🌂The Brains and the Brawn - jadethestone

One shots:

Shellshocked - redhairedmuses

On Understanding Caring Hearts - ParvumAutomaton

Lined with gold - mad_and_thick_as_thieves

Catch - Annkey

Promise? - TechnicalMachine

Indigo Sunset/Indigo Sunrise - TheObsidianSun12

Bar the door - ApatheticRobots

A Throbbing Headache - DiscowingSuit

Someone just as inspiring - mad_and_thick_as_thieves

🦊Angelo - daniartonline

Leonardo's Secrets - ofdogsandwriting

Patterns - FanGirlFreak16

🐊In The Aftermath - sccredhead

Nothing to Say - morning_sun

It’s About the Peace of Mind - characoon (sequel to Neon)

🐙🦊Hold him tight (and never let go again) - ItzZaira

Somehow It’s Worse - Filsamek

🌈Fifty Cents - emiartse

🌂Switch 404 (dead man's error) - VeryCoolKid69

💧Meteor Shower - Surmie

Lay It All Out - NicoleAW

💧🐀A Ninja’s Greatest Weapon - get_scrambled

🐢🐙Chiquitita (Or, The Complicated Act Of Forgiving Yourself) - Bubbly_Kandy

💧🌂🍓Rocks fall, everyone dies - Tenka

💧🌂Forget-me-not - TheArchetypeArchives

Feel the Colors in Between - GalacticDreamer

🐙Electric Blue - MidnightDuel

😷Who’re you hiding - sunflowerstarfruit

🤕Sword and Shield - The_City_Kitty

🤕👾This heart of mine that’s guilty, not remorseful - strawberryfwog (karamarinara)

🤕🌂🧢I Feel You - GriffinStone

I guess this is my life now

#rise of the tmnt #rottmnt #future leo #rottmnt fanfiction #rottmnt fic #rise donnie #rise mikey #rise leo #rise raph #rise april #rise casey

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blade-that-was-broken · 25 days

Note

Can we get more info about your I’m Still Here AU AU?

Oh I got one better.

I’m Still Here AU AU- Feel I Belong

Branch woke up coughing up water and one of his friend’s worried expressions filled his vision almost entirely. He blinked once, confused, before suddenly turning to the side in the sand to vomit out excess water. He let out several more coughs and it took minutes for him to actually hear what was being said to him.

“Thank goodness, ya alright?” The accent of his friend Holly was always prominent, especially with her people but it often got thick and sloshy when she was worried. Branch closed his eyes and sucked in a large breath.

“No,” he heaved. “But I’ll live. Is everyone else okay?”

Holly paused and looked around before grabbing Branch’s hand and helping him upright. “Darnell is holding Synth. He’s freaking out. Minuette is kind of hurt and a bit water logged but she’s conscious and coherent.”

“And she can hear you!” the familiar voice of the classical prodigy shouted, annoyed. “She’s fine! She just can’t fly at the moment.”

“What happened?” Branch asked before he realized the words were coming out of his mouth. They were on a beach, water gently lapping the water towards them. The sea looked fairly calm but there were tiny pieces of the destroyed boat Branch had built stuck in the sand and floating in the tides. He stood up, his brow furrowing, with Holly by his side, using her flank to help keep him upright if his balance wavered.

“We kind of got shipwrecked,” Holly admitted with a frown.

Branch wilted. He kind of figured that the boat he had built was destroyed, considering they were on a beach and he had no memory of how they got there. But it still hurt. He had taken a lot of time to make that thing and he was so proud of it. “Do we know why?”

Holly paused and glanced away. “We saw Hard Rock come out of the water with their angler beasts. The Techno trolls were attacked.”

Branch’s head spun towards her, eyes wide. He had never heard of another tribe outright attacking another. Angler beasts were only for the largest population of Hard Rock Trolls, splinter groups and sub genres were not only not allowed access to them but training them without the proper tools and process was practically impossible. He knew what Holly was implying. “Is everyone okay?”

“Branch…” her voice went sympathetic and soft. “They’re gone.”

“What do you mean, they’re gone? Where did they go?”

“They were taken!”

Branch tore his gaze away from her towards the sound of the new voice. Synth and Darnell approached from the water’s edge, the former with a fiery gaze Branch had never seen in his friend. Synth was a Techno Troll who, like all of his people, loved to party more than just about anything. And that was saying something. But despite their differences, he was also one of Branch’s closest friends.

Their group spanned several different genres and had a wide range of characters that just so happened to be friends now. It had taken years of time to get the point of friendship that they were all at, but they had gotten there. It had been a simple thing. They had orchestrated a get together, partially to celebrate the creation and ultimate test of the boat Branch had built. They wanted to be able to hang out closer to Synth without having to take the long journey underwater.

The boat worked, they were in the middle of the ocean, and were having fun just chilling out, talking and playing a couple card games. Branch’s brow furrowed as he tried to remember what happened.

“Synth?”

His friend was in tears and angrier than Branch had ever seen him before. Synth was not one to get angry or upset, a lot of times, things just kind of rolled off his back. It was part of the reason he and Branch got along. While Branch had a tendency to overanalyze and overthink, Synth did not and took things more at face value, which Branch learned to appreciate. Synth spoke what he meant and although it could be confusing at times, it worked out well for them. But seeing him so upset like this was more than just a little shocking.

“Hard Rock Trolls,” Darnell filed in, stomping a paw in the sand. Their friend group had a lot of diversity, which wasn’t particularly common with the tribes, as they often tended to keep to themselves. It had mostly been by accident, them finding each other and could probably be also partially blamed on the traveling Branch and his brother did. It was easier to befriend other tribes when you traveled while living, rather than just settling down in one area.

“Yeah, Holly said Angler Beasts came out of the water. What happened?”

“Synth and I went to check it out afterwards, since we weren’t hurt. It’s further away than expected,” Darnell continued. “Some of the structures are broken apart. Everyone is gone. The rock trolls took them.”

“But… why?”

“I don’t know.”

Darnell was by far the most important of their group, at least in terms of tribe status. Not that he would say that. He was the lone prince of the Funk Trolls and although everyone knew it, he would never tell anyone he was more important. Although everyone knew that too. Next in line to take care of an entire tribe was stressful as it was and it was hard to find friends within a tribe that knew that. People treated royalty differently; they always had.

But since none of the rest of them were Funk Trolls, they didn’t have that expectation or attachment to the tribe. He actually became Holly Darlin’s friend first - a situation neither of them talked about - and although hesitant at first, he latched onto Branch and the rest of them.

“We need to get Mini some help,” Holly insisted, now at the tiny Classical troll’s side. Her wings were sopping and would continue to be so for quite some time. Everyone knew how long it took for her wings to really dry out. It was another reason why the boat idea was brought up. “She’s hurt.”

“I’m fine, honest,” Minuette tried, sitting in the sand. There was blood dripping slowly down her arm.

“You can’t fly like that and we all know Classical trolls don’t really do much in the terms of walking,” Darnell pointed out.

“I can learn!”

Yeah, that sounded like her.

“Not immediately,” Holly huffed with the light roll of her eyes.

“You’re crazy talented, Mini but seriously, you really can’t,” Branch agreed as they got closer. “Holly, can you carry her?”

The country troll nodded and proceeded to scoop the little troll out of the sand, placing her on her back and giving her quiet instructions. “Of course.”

“We have to go and help my people,” Synth insisted.

“It doesn’t sound like there is much we can do yet,” Branch grimaced. He hated saying that. It felt so callous. “We need to get Mini some help, in case that wound on her arm is worse than we think, then we need to figure out what is even going on, make a plan and then go help.”

“That’s… a lot of steps.”

“Do you think the other tribes will be targeted too?” Darnell asked worriedly. It made sense that he would immediately be concerned for his own. It was the way he was raised. Put the tribe first and foremost. Branch knew, no matter what, he’d make a great king one day.

“I don’t know,” Branch admitted, truthfully. He had no idea what was even going on. The Rock Trolls didn’t really interact with anyone - even less than the other tribes. Aside from Branch’s group and his brother, most tribes didn’t really hang out or talk much with one another but the Rock Trolls even less so. He wondered if there was bad blood there. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. We have no idea what is happening, much less why. One thing at a time.”

“Where do we go?”

“Into the island,” Branch continued, glancing around. “Getting around through the beach looks hard, for any of us that can’t swim like you, Synth. And Minuette is in no condition for that.”

“What do you think we’ll find?”

“I don’t know,” he confessed, truthfully. “We just should get away from the water. Darnell, can you lead? I’m going to try to bandage Mini’s wound. “Just start straight through and see where we end up.” He grabbed a medium sized knife out of his hair and passed it over to his friend. It wasn’t very large like his brother’s machete, so it wouldn’t cut through everything but with a bit of work, it would get through some obstacles.

The group dove into the jungle with Branch walking beside Holly with the classical troll on her back, trying to clean the wound on her arm and wrap it. “Thanks, Branch,” she said, quietly.

“You okay?”

“I… I knew Rock was loud and crazy but… the way they came out of the water…” she whispered, shivering. “They… they must have had all the Techno trolls inside.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Branch tried to assure, attempting to put confidence in his tone.

“Do you think they’ll go after Symphonyville too?” she asked soft and scared but low enough that Darnell and Synth wouldn’t hear.

“We don’t know what is happening yet,” Branch continued. “Get some sleep, okay? We’ll wake you when we find something.”

“I don’t…” Minuette opened her mouth to start but Holly let her back buck in a quiet reminder. “I don’t agree with this.” It was barely fifteen minutes later when she was fast asleep and Holly dared to speak.

“If the Rock Trolls do go after the others, Classical is closest to Techno.”

“I know.”

“It won’t be long until they hit Lonesome Flatts.”

“I’m aware. We don’t know what is going on.”

“It’s easier for you, your family is all hidden away and-”

“Holly, you are just going to freak yourself out if you keep this up,” Branch swallowed. She wasn’t wrong. Branch only lived with one another pop troll and the home he and his brother lived in was rather hidden away. “I get it and I care. We just have no idea what is going on yet and we can’t do anything. Not yet. But that will change.”

“I’m just worried.”

“Me too.”

“Hey guys? I think we found something?” Darnell called back. The group got close together again on a ridge overlooking the far beach on the other side of the island. Music was playing and a giant sandcastle was plopped in the middle. Color swirled with flags and towels and other decorations. Movement was all around the sand and although they looked small from the distance, Branch knew the beings were giant.

“They are huge,” Minuette whispered, leaning off the side of Holly’s back. Her voice was trying not to tremble but Branch understood the fear. “Are they…?”

Branch knew what question she was trying to ask. “No, they aren’t… grotesque enough,” Branch shook his head. All of his friends knew about the dreadful Bergens and the horrifying things that they did to Pop Trolls. Branch had been so upset when he never went back to the Tree but over time, he got over it. It took a lot of talking but also he had settled into his new life eventually as well. That made it easier. He liked his life and his friends. They were different but they still fit together. Like a puzzle.

Branch loved puzzles.

“They look… okay?” Darnell’s voice cracked, a little, uncertainly. Branch took a pair of binoculars out of his hair and passed them to his friend as the Funk prince gave him back his knife. “But you’re the plan guy, B. And you have more experience with giants. You don’t think they are friendly?”

“Do you want to take that chance?”

“Good point,” Minuette agreed. “But how? This is an island. If we can’t get help from them, how do we get off?”

“Look! There is a ferry,” Holly said, pointing across the beach on the other side of the area. Branch squinted at the boat that was docked at the end, swaying gently in the tide. He didn’t see any giants on it.

“It looks automated too,” Darnell added, looking through Branch’s binoculars.

“So we just need to get across this… what is this?”

“Uh… the sign says Bruce and Sons,” Darnell said, looking around. “I think this is some sort of vacation spot. A resort, maybe? They seem to be just kind of chilling out.”

“Maybe they won’t notice us.”

“We should try to be stealthy when we can,” Branch added. “Try not to attract any attention yet. Synth, why don’t you swim around. You’ll get there before us. Maybe get a look at the Ferry and how it works.”

He nodded. “You got it bro.”

“Minuette, you’re gonna have to hold on tight sweetie,” Holly added. “In case we get a chase on our hands.”

The classical troll nodded.

“Try to follow me. If I say, run, you run,” Branch said and jumped down, making his way towards the beach and the people. They almost made it too. The giants weren’t really paying attention and the four of them tried to stick to the shadows anyway. Or, at least, what little shadow there was in the raging sunlight. Branch didn’t know if he tripped or made a sound or what it was but he heard a loud gasp and saw a giant’s eyes and attention on them.

“Oh! A troll!”

And suddenly the news was parroted around like an out loud game of telephone. “A troll!”

“Trolls!”

“There’s more!”

Holly’s mad dash was on. They didn’t check to see how many were chasing but they ran. Branch motioned for Holly to run ahead. Country Trolls were much faster runners than other types and she listened to him, racing across the sand towards their destination. “Darnell,” Branch called. “Go.”

“Dude!”

“Get that Ferry going!”

He hesitated but tore off after Holly, faster than Branch could go. “We won’t leave without you!” It was barely moments and then suddenly, Branch was left alone amidst giants.

“Tell the boss!”

Branch ran across the sand with a renewed fury and determination, dodging beach balls and the giant feet of the residents. His heart was pounding. He hadn’t been around Bergens for years but the fear of them still remained. And though these weren’t actually Bergens, he had no idea if they shared their taste for Trolls and their happiness.

“Bruce!” a giant’s voice called.

Branch paid no mind, eye on his destination closer and closer. He could see his friends waiting, eagerly staring. “Start it up!” he yelled.

They looked alarmed but Darnell obeyed, scurrying away and out of sight. Bare seconds after, the ferry began to move, slowly removing itself from the dock. For a moment, he was sure he wasn’t going to make it.

“Branch!”

“Holly!” he shouted and threw himself off the dock, extending his hair. In that moment, she threw the lasso she kept on her at all times, the rope curling around him the second his hair did the same.

“Branch!?” A voice called.

It didn’t sound familiar and he didn’t have any time to figure it out as he crashed into Holly on the deck of the ferry, hitting the wooden floor hard. He had made it. Branch sucked in a deep breath, his head pounding in fear and adrenaline.

He made it.

#btw this is all I have written rn #I've been kinda drenching it up while working bit by bit #it's not great by any means and def not my best writing but at this point #well it's what i got to offer #I'm still here au au #feel I belong au #idk if its better #its not really info but if you really want info... idk i feel like it would kinda be spoilers #ask whatever you like ill try to keep it not spoilery???

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lizard-on-a-window-pane · 1 year

Text

The Prettiest Star

i started writing this last night but finished it today so it’s kind of both Song-fic Saturday and Smutty Sunday for my 250 Followers Writing Event

Song-fic Saturday 🎶 song: The Prettiest Star by David Bowie

pairing: Sirius Black x plus size! reader

tags / warnings: NSFW (minors do not interact!), smut, angst, fluff, friends to lovers, oral, p in v (unprotected — use condoms y’all, this is fantasy), fem!reader, plus size! reader, reader insecurities about her weight, body positivity, non-magical au (couldn’t have them just apparating out of the rain, right?)

notes: i’m a huge music fan and love Bowie and have been listening to Aladdin Sane a lot because it’s just had its 50th anniversary, so hence the song inspiration (“The Prettiest Star”)

word count: 8.1k (yike, please enjoy)

“Does this look too tight?” you ask Lily as you look at your reflection in your favourite jumper, tugging it down repeatedly. You’ve never been particularly thin, but you’d gained a noticeable amount recently, and it was increasingly making getting dressed the worst part of your day. “It looks fine, Y/N,” she says, a bit dismissively, then catches herself (and the look on your face), and adds, “Really. You look beautiful. Don’t ever let the scale tell you different,” giving you a warm smile. It was the “right” thing to say, perhaps, and you were grateful for what a sweet friend she always was to you, truly, but it didn’t make you feel any better. And… if you were brutally honest, it kind of annoyed you. You couldn’t quite put your finger on why, and the feeling made you feel guilty on top of everything else. After all, she hadn’t done anything wrong; in fact, she was just genuinely trying to help, or perhaps even just genuine in what she said. But somehow, when it came to any comments on your body — especially specifically about your weight, negative or positive, you grew irritable even more than uncomfortable. You felt as if no one understood the mix of self-consciousness and self-confidence that you felt. As if everyone projected either how they felt about themselves or how they assumed all fat people felt onto you. Worse, you felt that you could never express your true feelings to anyone. Even when you tried, things came out muddled, or things you said were directly contradictory — yet equally true. It couldn’t possibly be that no one else felt contradictory things about themselves, about their bodies, could it? Were you just shit at articulating your feelings, or were your feelings that atypical?

You opt to keep the jumper on even though it hugged your chest a bit more tightly than usual. A twinge of regret went through you at the thought that usually winter was your favourite time in terms of fashion in general and your wardrobe specifically. You loved your winter clothes and winter aesthetics overall. You really didn’t want to let a little weight gain get in the way of that, but it had a way of making itself known no matter how much you tried to avoid it.

On cue, it whispers in your head, “You probably only like winter clothes more because they cover more of you. None of those pretty sundresses Lily, Marlene, Mary, or Dorcas wear ever fit you. Not to mention any summer outfit that involves no bra or a visible bralette - not a chance.” You shake your head at yourself, trying to convince yourself that comfort was a complicated thing, that you didn’t have to overanalyze everything in such an accusatory way.

You finish getting ready and head to the pub with Lily to meet the others. Remus and James greet you, and James can’t say enough times how lovely Lily looks. It makes you happy for them, two of your best friends so in love, but you can’t help but feel a little funny, a little longing at the lack of those comments ever made about you.

The thing is, you didn’t dislike yourself. In fact, there were many times you genuinely thought you were beautiful, or that you wouldn’t trade yourself for anyone else. But those thoughts came more easily when you were alone, and not wanting to be anyone else did not include not wanting to be yourself, minus a bit here or there.

You feel a pair of arms come around your middle from behind you, and there’s no time to be freaked out because you immediately know who it is. It’s like a sixth sense. Sure, you recognize his intoxicating smell, can feel and hear the texture of his characteristic leather jacket, but there’s more to it. Before you even consciously register these things or hear him whisper in your ear, you know it’s him. Sirius. Your best friend in the entire world. “Hello, darling girl,” he greets. “How is my finest friend on this finest of evenings?”

“Hi, Siri,” you smile, leaning back into him. “I’m alright; you?” You turn your head up to look at him. “Just alright? Oh, we need to remedy that, love. Urgently.” He looks around a bit, registering your other friends, sharing greetings here and there. “D’you have a drink yet? Let’s go get one, yeah?” he asks, unwinding his arms from his hug but leaving one around your shoulders, where it stays as you walk over to the bar together.

“You’re good then?” you ask again, giggling a bit - sometimes it was as if you couldn’t help it; his presence made you giddy. “Me? Oh, I’m wonderful. I’ve been having the greatest hair day, which is truly saying something, and now I’m with you,” he squeezes your shoulder a bit, “What else could I possibly ask for?”

You roll your eyes, your smile never fading, wrap your arm around his waist, and say, “Two rum and cokes, maybe?” You nod toward the bartender. “You always have better luck getting their attention than I do. It’s like they only see the attractive girls, honestly.”

Comments like these came easily to you when you were around people you trusted. It was strange; they weren’t really intended as self-deprecating. And you weren’t fishing for compliments either, especially not with your closest friends. Part of you wanted to be able to make comments like that freely, to not have to censor your thoughts and feelings when it came to your appearance, thinking that such things really shouldn’t be taboo in the first place, and especially not with people you loved. The other part, well, you weren’t so sure what the other part wanted.

“You’re attractive,” Sirius responds, matter-of-factly, your heart rushing a little at the sound of it. You knew you had feelings for him, had for ages and had no use in denying it, but there was also the lack of pity in his comment. He never treated you as fragile; his voice never took on the tone of a motivational poster. “Maybe not to everyone,” he adds candidly, “but no one is attractive to everyone. And,” he pauses, looking down at you conspiratorially, “a lot of people have shit taste anyway.” He pauses again, considering you intently. Then something shifts in his expression, and he adds, speaking more quickly than before, “I mean, not everyone likes Bowie, for example. Bowie, Y/N, Bowie. Why should we ever put stock in what other people think if some of those people can’t see - or hear or whatever - beauty when it’s right in front of them?”

You grin but shoot back, “You’re attractive to everyone.”

Raising his eyebrows, looking straight into your eyes, he responds, “Does that include you then?” A careless group of girls bumping into you saves you from having to decide how much of a joking tone to put on your response. You didn’t find Sirius attractive. You found Sirius the most beautiful person you’d ever met, in senses that went far beyond his impeccable hair, his striking grey eyes, his pronounced cheekbones.

He holds you closer protectively at the jostling crowd, turns to ask for your drinks, and begins absentmindedly stroking your shoulder as he does so.

“No wonder you always wear this,” he says, pinching your jumper, “It’s so bloody soft.”

You had no idea he ever remembered or even noticed what you wore. Marlene, sure. Marlene was making a statement every time she stepped out of the house. And her face and body punctuated that statement with a big exclamation mark. But you? You hardly ever got that kind of attention. Maybe a “nice shirt” when you wore a particularly fun pattern, but that was about it.

You notice him looking at your torso as he says this and swear his eyes linger on your chest. You’re worrying he can tell it’s tighter than usual, so you tug at the hem, but when he looks quickly away, you try not to make too much of it.

You’re having loads of fun with your friends, swapping stories, sharing shots, occasionally shouting the lyrics to the good songs that come on. You and Sirius — who’s standing next you, his arm perpetually around you, much to the dismay of the many girls and few guys who come flirting — have a habit of turning to each other every time a new song comes on, deciding in unison whether it’s a good or bad one. The very occasional disagreement yields the most fun arguments, always along the lines of “You think this isn’t rubbish? You’re making me question our entire friendship here, love. I don’t know if I can trust you anymore.” (Sirius) or “Oh, come on. This sounds exactly like every other song in the genre but mediocre. Not everything has to be original, but it’d be nice if it weren’t typical and trash.” (You)

Then some new Bowie comes on. And Sirius looks as though he’s just received the greatest news of his life.

Cold fire, you’ve got everything but cold fire / You will be my rest and peace child, rings out Bowie’s electric voice. “Come dance with me!” Sirius bursts at you, hardly asking, dragging you by the hand to where a few (mostly quite drunk) people were dancing. He’s holding both your hands, and you’re moving together organically, falling into a languid rhythm with each other and the song. By the next line, Sirius is singing along, and as he sings with Bowie, “I moved up to take a place… Near you,” he shuffles closer to you seductively, looking nowhere but into your eyes as he places your hand on his shoulder and moves his own to your hip.

He’s theatrical with every lyric, each of which he knows by heart; “So tired,” he swoons; “It’s the sky that makes you feel tried,” he belts looking up toward the ceiling; “It’s a trick to make you see wide,” his eyes come back to yours, open wide and full of mirth; “It can all but break your heart…,” he steps closer to you again; “… In pieces,” he swoons again, this time onto your shoulder, leaning on you and holding you close. You’re too busy laughing both with and at him to be able to sing along yourself.

“Staying back in your memory… Are the movies in the past,” he continues, acting less and dancing smoothly with you, spinning you around and catching you close afterward.

He’s staring into your eyes, his face very close to yours as he sings, much more softly now, swaying slowly more than dancing, “How you moved is all it takes… to sing a song of when I loved… the prettiest star.” His hands squeeze you as he says those last three words.

He gives you another playful spin and goes on, “One day… though it might as well be someday… you and I will rise up all the way… all because of what you are…” Then, for the first time in the whole song, he and Bowie don’t synchronize. As Bowie finishes the line over the speakers, “the prettiest star,” you distinctly hear — and see, since his lips are so close to you after all — Sirius finish, “my prettiest star.”

The rest of the world has all melted away by this point; all that’s left is Sirius; all you can hear is the song, his voice, your frantic heartbeat in your ears. His hand comes to your face, caressing your cheek then resting there.

You have no idea how to react. Sirius flirted with you often. But Sirius flirted with everyone often. It was just a quirk of his personality. And Sirius touched you often. But it was never this gentle, this intimate. You don’t want to get your hopes up. Because as much as — or perhaps because of how much — you love him, you can’t really believe he’d see you that way. You’ve let yourself entertain the idea many times, sure, even suspected from time to time over the years of your friendship that maybe just maybe your desire was mutual, but ultimately, your fears and doubts — doubled every time a girl half your size who could so easily be on any billboard flirted with Sirius — would win out and push those thoughts and feelings down.

Your rhythmic swaying, your prolonged eye contact, your bursting heart and muddled mind continued through the end of the song. Though you knew it must have been about a minute and a half, it had felt like hours, time expanded by both bliss and trepidation, by the time the music changed and you broke apart. As you do, Sirius just watches you, as if searching for something.

You’re fidgeting with the sleeves of your jumper when you whisper, “That was fun,” and give him a quick hug, not letting yourself linger and pulling back before his arms were comfortably around you.

You have plans with Sirius the next day, and as you’re getting ready, you can’t help but remember back to his comment on your jumper last night, more worried at your appearance now that you think he noticed it more than you did before. You’re standing in your room in just your underwear stressing out over what to wear. You’ve put on your best bra, the one that does the most to help your figure without being too uncomfortable, and you’ve made a mess of your knickers drawer looking for a clean pair of high-waisted ones.

There was a time you would’ve avoided looking in the mirror at this stage, but now, you stand in front of it and give yourself a serious look. You suck your stomach in, and pull a bit with your hands on your hips, then let it all go, contemplating the difference. You turn to your profile, admiring the curves of your chest and your arse, but wishing there was less of your thighs immediately after. Arching your back and grabbing your arse, you wonder whether anyone — you close your eyes and admit to yourself: no, not anyone, Sirius — whether Sirius would find this, would find you attractive. As you take a deep breath, you lament how thinking of others’ opinions always made it so much harder to look at yourself with loving eyes. You didn’t hate your body, but your frequent worries that others would brought you down on more days than you wanted to admit.

You put on your favorite jeans, but as you go to choose a top, you remember one you’d borrowed from Lily a few months ago that had looked good. It was quite loose on her and a bit tight on you, but you each pulled it off differently. You ask her for it, and she happily obliges, but when you put it on, a knot turns in your stomach. It’s way too tight. The pattern is stretched; your boobs look huge; it somehow brings out rather than covers the fat on your sides. Taking it off in a hurry, you have to take another long, calming breath to keep tears of frustration at bay.

After finally finding something of yours that worked, giving the top back to Lily with a quick “Thanks, but it didn’t look as good as last time,” and giving yourself too many “final” glances in the mirror, you bundle up as you head into the windy afternoon.

You meet Sirius at the record shop near his flat. You see him before he sees you. He’s browsing the racks, and per usual, he looks effortlessly cool and unreasonably attractive. His long fingers are accentuated by his several silver rings as he flips through the records. He pushes his long hair out of his eyes in a careless gesture, and you’re almost angry at how it falls so perfectly he might as well have just spent an hour in front of a mirror.

You’re approaching him when a cute girl in a hot crop top walks up to him. She steps closer to him than any normal interaction would warrant. “Anything I can help you find, handsome?” she asks, and you wonder whether you’re imagining the twinge of a double meaning in the question. Maybe she’s just a flirty person doing her job. “We have a few special ones in the stock room I could show you…” Nope, not just doing her job. “Thanks, sweetheart, but I’m waiting for someone.” As he looks away from her back toward the records, he catches you in his peripherals. He smiles a beaming smile at you and gestures you over.

“You’re not going to believe what I found,” he begins enthusiastically. You hug; it lingers, and he squeezes you lovingly. “Mm, you smell nice,” he adds, as if it’s a normal thing to say. Is it a normal thing to say? Maybe it is. Maybe you’re overthinking, especially after the moment you shared last night.

“Thanks, new shampoo. What’d you find?” You look toward the records to ease the tension you were probably creating.

“Check this out.” If he noticed any awkwardness, he definitely doesn’t show it. He pulls out a record you had recently had a long conversation about.

“Brilliant!” you react, snatching it from him and turning it over in your hands, reading its contents eagerly.

He chuckles at you, and if you’d been looking at him instead of the record, you might have seen the accompanying adoring look.

“I know. It’s our lucky day.”

You browse around the shop together, chatting easily, both about music and all sorts of random things that came to mind. Talking to Sirius is always easy, always gives you more than the contents of the conversation to hold onto, to fill you up.

You go to pay, and the girl from earlier is working the till. Sirius goes to the loo, so it’s just you and her when you hand her a couple of records to ring up.

“Cool choices.” “Thanks.” “Is that your boyfriend?” she asks, nodding behind her toward the toilets.

“Oh, um,” you stutter. You’re not exactly sure why “no” doesn’t just easily come to your mouth. “I don’t know how you managed it. Lucky bitch,” she half laughs. You’re mortified; you can’t tell for sure, but you think she is trying to be friendly, just in a very strange record-shop-employee, rock and roll kind of way.

Sirius comes back around, and you hope to hell he hasn’t heard anything.

“All good, darling?” he asks, putting his arm around you. This wasn’t unusual for him, the nickname, the contact. But you’re already in an uncomfortable headspace, and your first thought is that you hope he isn’t doing it as an act for her benefit. You don’t even know if he’d heard, and your anxiety is taking over anyway. You keep running the woman’s words over in your head. How had she meant it? Did she mean she couldn’t believe you had managed it? As in specific, chubby, you? Or was she just making girly conversation? Would she have said the same to any woman, no matter how attractive, who had come into the shop with Sirius?

“You alright?” Sirius’s voice breaks you out of your spiraling. You look over at him, and his gaze is gentle but concerned.

“Yeah, fine, sorry,” you reply quickly. “It’s all good,” he smiles comfortingly at you.

Once outside the shop, you debate your next move. Normally on weekends when you’d get records, you’d then go eat, then go to his and listen to some of them, sometimes sharing a blunt, sometimes just getting high on the music.

You’re both looking up into the newly drizzling sky when Sirius says, “How about, we get take-away somewhere close, then just eat at mine? It looks like it’ll get worse soon, but I reckon we can make it before it really starts up.”

“Yeah, great.”

You’ve made it only a few blocks, though, when the rain pours down in sudden torrents.

“Oh, shit!” he laughingly yells, protecting the records, taking your hand, and sprinting to the nearest protective awning. By the time you make it, you’re both already extremely wet, and the weather is so windy the cover hardly helps in keeping it from getting even worse.

You’re squeezing as close to the wall as possible, standing chest to chest, the records between you, his arm around your waist, your faces close enough for you to see each individual drop as it travels down his face. His eyes match the sky behind him, and you silently marvel at his beauty. He looks up for a second then is overtaken by heartfelt laughter.

“Didn’t quite gauge that one right, I guess,” he chuckles. You’re laughing with him when a particularly strong gust blows freezing water forcefully at you, making you gasp and stiffen.

“Shit,” he laughs. “Let’s make a run for it.” He takes your hand again, and you both jog the few blocks to his flat.

You’re both still giggly when you step inside, leaving a puddle in the doorway where you stand. You take off your shoes and outer layers, but you’re drenched all the way through.

“Bloody hell, it’s freezing,” he amusedly complains, stripping down to only his jeans, leaving his clothes in a pile by the door. He hugs himself and rubs his arms, trying to warm up, and you’re glad your soaked demeanour is already such a mess he probably can’t tell how flustered you are by how attractive — and bare — he is. He reaches over to you and rubs your arms like he had been doing his. “Fuck, you’re freezing too. Come to my room, and I’ll lend you something to wear.” Your giddy mood dissipates immediately. There was no way in hell his clothes would fit you. He was obviously leaner than you, and your hips and thighs hadn’t gotten along well with men’s clothes even in your thinnest of states. He’s halfway to his room already, and you’re frozen by the door. “Y/N?”

You look over. You hope he doesn’t notice your eyes quickly travel his bare torso. “You coming or what?” he keeps on casually. When you get to his room, he’s bringing some towels out of the bathroom and throws you one. You start drying your hair as he rummages in his drawers. “Um,” you start. You sound more nervous than you mean to. He clearly notices because he immediately turns back to look at you to see what’s going on. “What is it?”

You hate worrying him like this, especially over something so stupid. Why did you always have to make things uncomfortable? Or better yet, why couldn’t you just be a girl who would fit in his clothes. “Hey, what is it?” he repeats, gentler this time, coming over to rest his hands on your shoulders. Your self-deprecating, cruel inner monologue is clearly showing more than you’d hope. “You alright, love?” “Yeah, no, I’m fine, sorry,” you try to laugh it off. “Don’t apologise.” It’s gentle, not scolding. “Just talk to me.” His hands continue rubbing your shoulders lovingly. “Just that I think I’m fine like this is all. Don’t worry about finding stuff for me,” you try. “Don’t be ridiculous; you’ll freeze to death. It’s fine; I don’t mind.” He goes back toward his dresser.

Ugh, how do you say “It’s not about your minding, actually. It’s about my stretching and ruining anything you could possibly lend me” without sounding weird and embarrassing?

“Thanks. Um, I’m not quite sure anything of yours would fit me though.” “We’ll find something,” he says relaxedly, opening another drawer. “Here, this one is really warm and comfy, and it’ll definitely fit,” he says, tossing you a sweatshirt. You recognize it, have seen him wearing it before. He only ever wore it while lounging at home, and it was quite big on him, so maybe it would be okay.

“And… uh,” he rummages, “try these. They’re a bit small, but they’re stretchy.” He hands you a pair of sweatpants. You’ve never seen him wear these. They would probably be too big on him. He grabs his towel and some clothes for himself.

“I’ll go change in the living room. Just come out when you’re ready. Grab whatever you want.” His tone is friendly, at ease. Unlike your feelings. You are freaking out. As soon as he closes the door, you strip down to your knickers, which thankfully aren’t very wet, at top speed, thinking you should hurry in case it takes you time to figure out the clothes. You don’t want to take too long and make things awkward. You towel yourself off and slip on the sweatshirt. It fits fine. It isn’t loose like it is on him, but it doesn’t look too weird. And it is indeed warm and comfy. Now for the more concerning part: you try pulling the pants on, a repeating “please, please, please” playing in your head. Fuck. No luck. They stop a bit above your mid-thigh, and there is no way you’d be able to pull them all the way up. You think of putting your jeans back on, but they are drenched, and it would’ve been like trying to get back into a heavy straight-jacket. You start panicking, unsure what to do, already worrying you are taking too long to come out. You look through his drawers, but all his other bottoms look even smaller. You try just wrapping the towel around your hips, but you look quite strange in the mirror.

You’re pacing in his room when he knocks. “Y/N? You alright? No rush, really, just making sure everything’s okay?”

You brace yourself, go to the door, and crack it open, hiding your body behind it, just popping your head around. He’s standing there, his wet hair half tied up, a dry t-shirt and sweats on.

“Um… the sweatpants don’t fit,” you whisper, embarrassed.

“Oh. Uh, that’s okay. Um, how about…,” he looks around, as if bigger pants would magically materialise somewhere in his living room. “Oh, perfect.” What could possibly be perfect right now? “Your favourite blanket is already on the sofa. How about I turn around, and you can just go get under it, and I’ll hang your trousers on my heater.”

You nod timidly, the warmth in your cheeks from your embarrassment blazing even hotter at the thought of how sweet he always is to you.

“Great. Uh, ok,” he chuckles, awkwardly turning around. You scamper to his sofa in your underwear, quickly covering your legs with his big cosy blanket.

“Ok,” you let out softly. He turns around and looks you over. You can’t tell what’s in his eyes as he does so, but there is an intensity there that you’re not used to. He blinks quickly and gives you a strange, strained smile. He disappears into his room, and you hear him sorting your clothes out to dry.

You’re fidgeting with the sleeves of his sweatshirt when he returns.

“You alright? Comfortable?” he asks, seemingly back to normal.

“Yeah, I’m good. Sorry, I didn’t meat to, uh, well, sorry I’m a bit difficult,” you reply a bit awkwardly, not knowing what exactly to apologise for but feeling the need to. “Don’t be ridiculous, love. You have nothing to be sorry for. Really. If you’re okay like this, then we’re all good, right?” You can’t help but worry what will happen as soon as you have to get up. Would you wrap the blanket around yourself like a weirdo? As if reading your thoughts, Sirius goes on playfully, “I’ll wait on you like royalty so you don’t even have to get up.” You make an odd half laugh, half relieved exhale sound in response, and he just chuckles. “Starting with…” he fast walks over to the door, grabs the bag of records and brings it back over to the sofa, sitting next to you but not getting under the same blanket like he usually does. “Which do you want to listen to first?” he asks, bringing them all out to look at together.

As soon as you started discussing it, it’s like waking up from a nightmare, realising all is well and returning to a calm normality. You debate and joke, decide on a record, and he gets up to put it on and make some tea, still chatting casually to you throughout.

When he’s back on the sofa with you, he looks down, smiles, and says, “Looks better on you than on me.” You tug on the sweatshirt self-consciously, smiling shyly at him. You fall into your easy rhythm, listening, talking, laughing, and before you knew it, the whole record’s played. Sirius gets up, walking toward his collection rather than the small stack of new records on the table. He picks one easily, and puts it on. The quirky piano of Bowie’s “Time” begins, and your heart speeds up. You love this album. So does Sirius. But this isn’t the first track. It’s the first track on the B-side, and the next song after this, you remember, is “The Prettiest Star,” the song you and Sirius danced to just last night. He doesn’t say anything until he’s seated next to you again. “I know we usually listen from the beginning, but the B-side is better on this one, and I didn’t feel like being patient.” His tone is playful, but there’s a heaviness to it. He glances away from you and leans toward the table to take a sip of his tea.

“What’s your favourite track?” you ask, smiling. You’ve asked him this question innumerable times over the years, but you’ve never been as excited for his answer as this time, and you have a feeling you know what it’ll be.

“‘The Prettiest Star,’” he replies immediately, looking toward you again. As quickly as he had, he looks away again as he adds, “Because it reminds me of you… even before last night…” After a beat, he ventures a glance toward you, that same searching look from last night taking over his beautiful features.

Unlike last night, you don’t feel panicked — nervous, sure, but more than that, loved. “Last night felt pretty special,” you say. “Yeah?” He seems hopeful. “Yeah, it was.” His voice is serene, like he’s contemplating something utterly peaceful. “It’s funny, though,” you say, and he looks at you, his eyebrow quirked. “It’s really about you, isn’t it? Not me.” You laugh. He looks like he wants to laugh with you, a twinkle in his eye, clearly happy that you are happy, but confusion holds his expression. You explain, “Well, you’re ‘the prettiest star,’ aren’t you? You’re obviously prettier, the prettiest… and the brightest in the night sky in fact… ‘Sirius.’” You say his name with all the love you feel for him.

He leans toward you, taking your hand. He’s smiling, but there’s a sadness to it.

“You might not be named for a star, but you’re my prettiest star, Y/N.” He looks into your eyes. “You’re so beautiful.” His eyes scan your face. “It’s almost too bright to bear sometimes, to be honest, your beauty,” he adds, smiling more vividly now. He brings his other hand to your face, just as he did last night. But this time, his fingertips begin by taking their time tracing your features: your eyebrow first, your nose, your cheekbone, down to your jaw. His thumb grazes your lip, barely touching it but lingering there, before moving to caress you cheek. “You’re so beautiful, my prettiest star,” he repeats, as the song begins in the background.

“Sirius,” you whisper, squeezing his hand.

“Darling girl,” he responds, moving closer to you until your foreheads meet. Your nose nuzzles his, and you stay like this for several seconds. You bring your hand to the crook of his neck, and holding him, you lean forward. The song goes silent, the intro ending, the anticipation built, and right as Bowie’s voice comes in, your lips meet.

Sirius’s hand slips from the side of your face to the back of your head, holding you firmly, leaning into you hungrily. His hand holding yours goes to your waist, pulling you close to him until your chest is flush with his. You wrap your arms around his neck and slip your fingers into his hair.

He moans into your mouth, and you deepen the kiss, pushing his tongue with yours, breaching into his mouth. He lets you, and as you explore him, he pulls your body until you find yourself kneeling on the sofa in front of him, the blanket fallen to the floor.

You pull back momentarily, and he stills his movements, watching you, waiting for your cue for what to do next. His eyes are lidded, his pupils blown, his lips parted, but you know that if you sat back down and told him you just wanted to listen to the record, that’s exactly what he’d do. But that’s not what you want. So, you lean forward and pick up your exploration right where you left it. He groans appreciatively and sucks on your tongue in his mouth, before pulling you on top of him.

You’re straddling him, and you’re so attracted to him you’re drowning in it, but even still, your nerves are there. You feel heavy. Too heavy to be sitting on top of him like this. He keeps his hands on your waist and strokes your back, not venturing any further down, pulling back to look at you. You shift clumsily, trying to put more of your weight on your knees on the sofa, but not being able to without spreading awkwardly wider or ending up lopsided. He holds you firmly, centering you again, hugging you close. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” you whisper, trying to explain what he’s already figured out.

He can’t help the chuckle that escapes him before he says, “Trust me, darling, I’m about as far form uncomfortable as a person can be right now.” He squeezes you lovingly, clearly careful to squeeze all of you and not just any specific place, which might make you uncomfortable. “I’ve been going absolutely mental this whole time just knowing you weren’t wearing anything but your knickers under that blanket.”

“You have?” you ask, surprised, your eyes wide, your voice soft. He giggles again, always adoring, never mocking. “Fuck, how can someone be so adorable and so sexy at the same time?” It baffles you how someone can say the word “sexy” so seriously and not sound silly at all, give it so much confidence that it just sounds so, well, so sexy. He pecks your lips. “You’re going to kill me, woman.” Now you laugh.

“Oh?” “Mm,” he groans affirmatively as he runs his hands up your sides and back and kisses you ardently. He moves to your jaw, kissing languidly down to your ear, where he nips playfully and sucks on your neck another moment before looking into your eyes again and saying, “Fuck, Y/N, tell me you want this too.” A kiss. “I’m desperate for you.” Another kiss. “But only if you want me too.” Another kiss, longer this time. “I want to make you feel good, darling. Fuck, I can make you feel so so good.” Your hips grind down on his at his words, and he throws his head back in a lustful groan, and his hands squeeze you tightly where they hold you. He recovers, stroking your back again and resting his forehead on yours as he asks, “Can I touch you, Y/N? I’ll stop anytime you say so, but I’m dying to worship you.” You kiss him deeply, holding him close, grinding your hips down again. “I want you to touch me, Siri.” At this, his mouth immediately devours yours, and his hands come down to squeeze your arse. He kneads it roughly, pulling you into him with each motion, inadvertently pushing his hips up a bit each time to meet yours. You feel the hard, evident bulge in his pants underneath you, and it turns you on even more to feel wanted in such a visceral way. There is no missing how much his body wants yours, and that surprises but arouses you to no end.

His hands come down to your thighs, and you gasp and stiffen a bit. He stops but leaves his hand there, stroking you cautiously.

“Y/N?” He bumps your nose with his. “I…” You peck his lips. “You really don’t mind my body?” you ask, your voice small.

“Darling,” he breaks a little. “Mind it? I adore it. Can’t you feel what you do to me?” he half jokes, thrusting up into you. You close your eyes and bite your lower lip at the addictive friction. “Y/N. Look at me, love,” he whispers. You do. “I think you are the most gorgeous, sexiest woman in the world. Of course it’s all intertwined with how much I love you, but that just makes it even better. God, you have no idea how much you turn me on.” He kisses you short but hard. “I never want to tell you how to feel, love, but I just wish you knew how beautiful you are, how you are the most beautiful to me.” You kiss him again and become immersed in it fully. Your tongues are dancing with each other, your hips, your hands, moving in tandem with each other, melting into each other in a perfect push and pull.

His hands slip under his sweatshirt, and he whispers, “Can I?” You don’t hesitate, entrusting yourself to him, and detaching yourself from him only enough for him to slip it over your head. His hands come to your breasts, and you hear him say “fuck” again as he kneads them and keeps kissing you. His hands keep massaging as his mouth moves down your jaw wetly. He takes his time moving down your body, sucking your neck, licking across your sternum, kissing delicately down to between your breasts. He buries his face there and moans, and it’s so hot you pull him to you and scratch his scalp where you’re holding him by his hair. He kisses there again then his fingers move to pinch your nipples. He mixes pulling it with massaging your whole breast with one hand, but the other just grips your tit as his mouth wraps around your nipple. His tongue licks around it a few times before he sucks on it, and his groan is drowned out by your pleasured yell.

“Fuck, Sirius,” you say, your voice a rasp.

“Mmm,” he responds, not letting up, switching breasts after sucking a bit harder. Once he’s satisfied (for now) and your nipples are hard and sore, he grips your tits again with his hands and licks into your mouth.

“Fuck, baby, you have the most incredible tits.” He squeezes them. “You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamt of taking your shirt off and touching you.” He goes back down and gives each a quick but delicious suck. “Let’s go to my bed, yeah?” You nod heatedly.

You’re a bit self-conscious as you move to get off of him, more aware of your body beyond the pleasure again though you had been so lost in it just a moment ago you’d forgotten about everything else. Sirius helps you off and up, his hands on your hips, and he pulls you into him as you both stand, making out with you before squeezing your arse as he pulls away to walk to his bedroom. You wrap your arms around yourself as you walk with him, but when you’re standing in front of the bed, he takes each of your hands in his and kisses you while holding them, bringing his body flush with yours. You break the contact to pull on his shirt, and he eagerly obliges, removing it and tossing it aside.

He guides you onto the bed, his body following on top of yours, your mouths connected the whole time. You shuffle up the bed then tug his sweats down when you’re settled. He helps you, shimmying out of them. They get caught on one of his ankles, and you both laugh as he curses and contorts awkwardly to pull them all the way off.

You’re both left only in your underwear as he starts kissing you again, slowly making his way down your body. He spends a lingering amount of time on your tits again as he goes down then keeps kissing down your stomach to the waistband of your knickers. He looks up at you for any hesitation, but you just bite your lip and lift your hips. He smirks in excitement as he pulls your panties off of you. He does it slowly, teasingly, and he licks down your thigh tracing where the fabric passes. Once they’re off, he pushes your knees a bit further apart and starts kissing and licking his way back up. He sucks at the top of your thigh, and it makes a pop as he separates from you.

Kneeling between your legs, massaging your thighs on either side of him, he says, “You drive me mad, Y/N. You’re so fucking delicious, I could spend eternity between these thighs.” You squirm at his graphic words, already exceptionally strung out. He chuckles lowly down at you and kisses you quickly before adjusting himself with his head between your thighs.

“Today really is my lucky day,” he says, face lined up with your cunt. “This is the second time I see you drenched today, and I fucking love being the cause of it this time.” Without further ado, he licks a sopping stripe from your entrance up to your clit. Even this first motion sounds wet. You’re sure you’ve never been so wet in your life.

Sirius buries his face in your cunt, groaning as he licks into you then sucks on your lips. He goes back and forth between sucking on you and fucking you with his tongue. He keeps playing with you until you’re squirming before bringing his mouth directly to your clit. He’d grazed it as he licked you before now, bumped you with his nose, teasing you, but now he gives it his full attention. He’s licking and sucking, moaning all the while like you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever eaten, moving his whole body with the passion of it, and it takes very little more for you to start cumming on his mouth. You make a yelping sound you’ve never made before in your ecstasy, and with your eyes closed, you feel as if the world is a million miles away; all you feel is your body and where it is connected to Sirius’s. He keeps up his motions and fervor until your pleasured squirming turns into overstimulation squirming. He gives you one last lick and suck then shuffles up your body, kissing it intermittently as he does, until he’s face to face with you, smiling a smile you’ve never seen before.

“Hello, darling,” he says, clearly satisfied with himself, kissing you.

“Hi,” you sigh, sounding completely fucked out. He giggles at you and kisses you again.

“Feel good?”

“Mmhhmm.” You stretch underneath him and languidly wrap your arms around him, licking his lips slowly before kissing him again.

“Fuck,” he responds.

“Yes, please.” Your voice is high, blissful. You rut up into him. He chuckles at you and strokes your hairline, kissing your forehead.

“You want to? You’re alright?” “Of course, Siri. I’m brilliant.” “That you are, my love,” he beams at you then pushes his pants off. “My prettiest star,” he says, as he pecks your lips then your nose then lines himself up with your entrance.

His eyes penetrate yours as he pushes into you. You moan in unison, and his mouth lingers just above yours, grazing your lips, your foreheads touching, as he slowly pushes deeper and deeper. When he bottoms out, he kisses you eagerly, stroking his tongue into your mouth as his cock ruts deep inside you. Your hands grip his back. His hands come down to your thighs one at a time, squeezing passionately before pushing your legs up and out, wrapping them around his waist.

Normally, you’d feel self-conscious in this position. Almost bent in half, your stomach protrudes between the two of you. Your thighs are thick at his sides. But the look on his face, the feel of the movements of his body is all love and adoration and ardor.

He kisses you as he thrusts a bit harder, keeping it slow at first but vigorously punctuating each thrust. One of his hands rests beside you, holding him up, but the other stayed on your leg, stroking your thigh and gripping your arse or hip bruisingly with each forceful motion of his hips.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps, “You’re fucking perfect.” He thrusts hard, a gentle kiss on your forehead contrasting it seductively, then begins picking up his pace. He rests his face in the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking on it as he pounds repeatedly into you.

You’re gripping him tightly to stay in position, your arms and legs tense around him. You can’t move much, but his movements are enough for the both of you, especially as he brings his knees up a bit to get a new angle. He’s hitting your spot with almost every thrust, and you’re whining in pleasure in time with each. You squeeze hard around him, not just your arms and legs but the soft walls around his cock as well, and he groans animalistically into your skin. His hips stutter in response, but a moment later he’s pounding rhythmically again.

His breathing gets heavier, his muscles tighter, and with a broken gasp, he shifts sideways a bit to snake his hand between you to where you’re connected. He rubs harshly on your clit, not bothering to start slow, clearly aware he doesn’t have time for that. His hips piston even faster; his hand presses harder, and a few seconds later, you feel fit to burst. You let out a yell as you release around him, the most intense orgasm of your life making you see white stars.

“Sirius,” you half yell, half sigh. “I’m gonna cum, baby. Fuck, fuck. Where do you want me to?” he rushes out, his hips still moving fast in and out of you. You tighten your legs around him, and clench your cunt, pulling him into you. “Inside, Siri. Cum in me.” His immediate groan sounds strangled as you feel the warmth of him inside you. The words “cold fire” play in your mind. He thrusts a few more times then goes limp on top of you, panting loudly, kissing your neck and cheek between heavy breaths.

He rolls off but stays close, never fully breaking contact with you, and he wraps his arm around your waist, lightly stroking your back, as you both lie on your sides facing each other. You feel the urge to cover yourself up but resist it, trying to melt into the vulnerability. The utter adoration in his eyes when you look into them helps.

“I love you,” you whisper. He smiles a smile that makes his stormy eyes shine, leans in, and kisses you tenderly.

“And I love you,” he says matter-of-factly, his voice smooth and sappy.

You pause, contemplating, reveling in the joy of the moment but unable to ignore a tug in your stomach. “I’m sorry I was too… I don’t know, scared? to really show you before.”

“Don’t be, darling. I’m sorry I waited so long to really show you too, but I’m even more sorry if I ever made you doubt how much I do, how loved you are.” “You didn’t.” You shake your head then nuzzle his nose with yours. “I just sometimes didn’t understand. It’s confusing, how someone like you can love someone like me so much.” “Darling. It’s the least confusing thing in the world. You’re the most beautiful person I know. In all kinds of ways. And I’ll show you every day you’ll have me; you’ll see it clearly too; I’m sure of it. I’m just worried when you do, you’ll realise the real wonder is you loving me.” He laughs a bit, but you can hear the truth to his concern, his own insecurities surfacing.

You stroke his cheek, kiss him, and say, “We’ll both keep showing each other then. For always.” His smile is subtle, full of love.

He nods, kisses you again, pulls you into his body, and, hugging you close, repeats, “For always.”

P.S. notes: I try to keep my reader character inclusive, and this is a bit more specific than I usually do. I just want to acknowledge that everyone relates to their bodies, especially if they’re bigger, in different ways, and I in no way think of anything I write as a generalized take on being plus sized (or any other experience really). These are just things that I have felt in my life, and it has always meant a lot to me to see and hear stories about bigger characters, both when attention is brought to that specific aspect about them and when it isn’t. So, this is my way of adding to that and to write something for myself in that vein.

#marauders #marauder x reader #sirius black x reader #sirius black #sirius black imagine #sirius black one shot #smut #fluff #angst #friends to lovers #plus size!reader #fem!reader #reader insert #david bowie #ria250 #fanfiction

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