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familyvideostevie · 3 months

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it's your turn for choosing

this was born out of a prompt request from my dear, dear, @softlyspector. this is for you, becca!

getting asked out via a smudgy scribble on a coffee cup | valentine's day prompts

joel miller x reader

summary/warnings: joel stops by your coffee shack every day. it's not your fault you're a little in love with him because of it. | modern au, fluff, flirting, jesse and cat and ellie cameos, game!joel in my head. i have not been a barista so sorry to all baristas if this reads wildly off-base. | 5.6k

a/n: it's giving rom-com! happy valentine's day. a bit different from my usual fare but hopefully it makes your heart warm. love u. thank u always to @macfrog and @bageldaddy for your eyes.

___

7:32 am. It’s helpful in this line of work to know exactly when you’re fucked.

The espresso machine has been on the fritz all week and despite how much you want your current method of fixing it to work – banging a fist on the top until it stops wheezing – all signs point to today being a very bad day indeed.

You’ve only been open for two hours.

Here for three, awake for four. God, you’re tired.

Anyway – you’re fucked. And there’s nothing you can do about it.

You call the time of death on the machine and search for something you can write on.

The Zone – a stupid name, but you can’t be bothered to change the sign that came with the place – is a coffee shop that sits between towns.

Your coffee shop.

It's more shack than shop, not really a zone of anything, just an order window and a five-drink menu. It's the kind of place that appears like a mirage for tourists right before they get on the highway at an ungodly hour and serves as a quick stop for everyone else. You open earlier than any other place around to get the truckers and the farmers and close when you stop being able to keep your eyes open.

The faded brown clapboard building is no bigger than an RV. The paint is chipped and the roof is a too-bright shade of green and you serve your drinks and the occasional sweet treat when you can get a good deal off of the baker two towns over through a window. It’s not a fancy chain, it’s not a drive-thru. You’ve got a bathroom and a few rickety cafe tables and chairs and no fucking common sense since you like it.

You even love it, some days.

And the craziest part is that it works. Even on mornings like this one, when your espresso machine breaks during the lull between rushes and your part-time help calls in sick and you’ve spilled coffee all over your apron twice – it works.

You tear off the lip of a cardboard box and write in big block letters: NO ESPRESSO TODAY. Maybe Tess, the baker, knows someone who can fix it. She knows everyone.

“Fuck you, you piece of junk,” you say. You give the machine another smack for good measure.

Someone clears their throat and you whirl around, makeshift sign in hand.

You’ve been doing this long enough that a handsome customer doesn’t phase you, but the man standing at your order window makes your stomach swoop for just a second.

“Morning,” you say, summoning your smile. “Hold on a sec, let me just –”

You lean out the window and wedge the piece of cardboard against the napkin holder on the ledge.

The man’s gaze drops to read. You take the opportunity to look at him.

He’s tall and broad – if you had to guess, you’d say he works on one of the farms around here. He’s tan, dark hair threaded through with grey. His arms are crossed and you wish he wasn’t wearing a jacket so you could see his forearms. His denim shirt is undone at the top and you fixate on the chorded column of his throat, on the teasing glimpse of chest hair underneath.

The guy looks tired.

Bone-tired, the kind of exhaustion you see when you look in the mirror. It comes from hundreds of early mornings and late nights, from hours on your feet and plenty of worry. He’s got lines at the corners of his eyes and a few around his mouth and you find yourself hoping they’re from laughter.

“No espresso,” he reads, slow and unhurried. His drawl fits in with most of the folks around here, but you’re sure you haven’t seen him before. You’d remember.

“Hope that doesn't scare you off,” you say. “Still got everything else.”

“Everything else being…” He glances at the chalkboard that serves as your menu.

DRIP COFFEE. LATTE. CAPPUCCINO. TEA. HOT CHOCOLATE. All written in your blocky hand in white paint.

“Three options.”

Trial and error have taught you that simple works best. You’ll make anything people ask for, so long as you know how and have the supplies, and if they’re nice about it you won’t charge too much extra.

“Can I get you one of those three options?”

You’re not trying to rush him, but the next wave of people is bound to show up any minute.

“Black coffee will do,” he says. His mouth tugs up at the corner into a smirk that makes your face feel hot. “If you have that.”

“Thank you for taking pity on me,” you say, going for teasing and missing the mark by a mile. You just sound tired and genuine. “You just made my morning.”

He looks amused and you turn from him, unable to hide your grin. You pour a steaming cup and snap the lid on.

“Pretty shit morning if this is makin’ it,” he drawls.

You hand him the cup and your fingers brush.

“You have no idea.”

He eyes the sign again and then your stained apron. “I got some notion.” He tugs his wallet from his back pocket and pulls out a $5 bill. “Keep the change,” he says.

You want to refuse, to thank him, but a few more cars pull up and Mr. Black Coffee just raises his cup to you and heads back to his truck.

Well, shit. You hope he comes back. A tipper like that, and hot? You sure wouldn’t mind if he became a regular customer. __

You call Tess that afternoon and she does know a guy, so the espresso machine gets fixed and things go back to normal. Your part-time help returns in the morning and nothing else breaks.

Today is uncharacteristically warm for the season. The inside of The Zone is almost stifling, always at least 15 degrees warmer than outside, and you keep wiping your sweaty hands on your apron as you make espresso after espresso for the lunch crowd.

Cat, a spunky girl who likes to practice her latte art when it’s slow, takes orders at the register. You keep half of your attention on her and half on the four drinks you’re working on.

“Black coffee, please,” someone says to her. Someone whose voice you recognize.

“Can I get a name for that?” Cat asks. It’s busy enough that calling names is easier than calling orders, no matter how small your menu is.

“Joel,” he says. You let the milk steam on its own and pour the black coffee before Cat can do it.

“I’ve got it,” you tell her. “Can you finish up those drinks?”

She shrugs and you swap places. You know you’re sweaty and coffee-stained but you smile at him and hand over his coffee.

“Hot coffee on a day like this?” you tease. He – Joel – is sweaty, too. The collar of his work shirt is dark with sweat and his hair is a mess. He must be here on his lunch break. He takes the cup from you and slurps a long sip as a reply to your question.

You laugh. Joel looks pleased.

“Operatin’ a full menu, I see,” he says, pulling out another $5. “Glad you got it fixed.”

“It’s still a piece of junk,” you shrug. “Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”

He waves off your offer of change and raises his cup at you, taking a few steps backward towards his truck.

“Thank you,” he says. He eyes the tag on your chest and tacks your name on at the end. It sounds good from his mouth.

“Bye, Joel,” you say. His lips twitch but you barely have time to think about it before you have to take the next few orders.

The line dies down and you step away from the register to help Cat with some cappuccinos – your least favorite drink by far due to all the damn foam they require – and she eyes you.

“Dude,” Cat says. “What the hell was that?”

If it wasn’t already a billion degrees in here you know your face would feel hot.

“What the hell was what?”

She can’t reply for a few seconds while you grind beans for some espresso.

“I didn’t even know you knew how to flirt,” she muses, tapping a frother full of milk a few times. “That was pretty bad flirting if you ask me –”

You turn the grinder on again to drown her out.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you yell. She rolls her eyes at you until you turn off the machine.

You tamp down the grounds and slot them into the machine.

“I mean, not my type at all, for like, so many reasons,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “Way too old for me, for one. Man, for another. But I see the appeal, I guess. Seems like he likes you. And was that a five-dollar bill? Black coffee is two bucks, last time I checked –”

“Can we get back to steaming milk, please?” you snap, more embarrassed than mad. “I am not taking flirting advice from a teenager.”

“I’m twenty!” she sputters. “Wait, so you admit that you like him?”

“Milk.”

Cat is right, though, and you know it. You just don’t see any harm in having a crush on some guy who comes to your coffee shop. Running this place means you see hundreds of people every day. You know their names, you ask them about their kids and their pets and their jobs, and you smile at them even on your bad days. It’s just part of the job. The daily interactions keep you afloat, make you feel more solid in your own life. People see you, they recognize you, they know you – even if it’s just because you make them coffee.

Maybe Joel will keep coming back. Maybe he’ll become one of the regulars you know things about.

And if you have a crush on him?

No harm done. He’s nice to look at.

And he tips well.

Joel stops by again.

And again.

He comes in every morning – sometimes at lunch – and orders the same thing. You learn the rumble of his truck by ear alone, the crunch of his boots on the gravel. Sometimes people in line say hi to him and a smile works its way onto your face on instinct when his voice reaches your ear. It’s never slow enough to have a proper conversation but he smiles at you, tells you he likes the flowers, your new apron.

All of it is flirting but maybe not flirting.

Maybe he’s just being polite.

Also, he keeps overpaying.

One day, almost a month since you first saw him, he doesn’t come in the morning. When you don’t see him in line at lunch, either, you’re a little disappointed. The weather is perfect – not too hot, not too cold, the sun shining – and you want to see him in the sunlight.

The day crowd is long gone and you’re only an hour or two from closing when his truck pulls up.

“I was getting worried,” you call as he walks over. Usually, he’s got some kind of dust or paint or something on them – Joel is a contractor, you’ve learned through your brief encounters, not a farmer – but today his clothes are clean and un-ripped.

“I’m honored,” he says.

You have his cup ready by the time he reaches the window.

“I’m just surprised you can get through the day without a cup of coffee.”

He snorts and hands you his cash.

“I can’t,” he says. “Had shitty home brew this morning.”

He takes a sip of your coffee and sighs. Your heart picks up and you don’t hide your grin.

“What’s with the schedule change?” you ask.

He smirks. “Miss me?”

You scoff and cross your arms. Heat rises in your chest and you feel almost giddy.

“Just curious,” you say. “Don’t let it go to your head, but you’re my favorite customer.”

Joel laughs and scratches the back of his neck.

“Reckon that’s the tip.”

“Actually, ordering a cup of black coffee is the way to any barista’s heart.”

Joel’s eyebrows climb up his forehead.

“Ah,” he says. He takes another sip, his eyes dancing with mirth. “‘Course.”

“Nah,” you say with a teasing smile. “I’d never be so shallow.”

There’s no line behind him but you expect him to go back to his truck, anyway. But here he is. Talking to you.

You grab a rag and wipe down the counter to keep your hands busy.

“I’m, uh. Meetin’ one of my kids here,” Joel says. The sudden shyness that accompanies his admission is a surprise.

Your eyes dart to his hand but you see no ring, nor the pale shadow of one.

“Both of ‘em moved to the city recently. Ellie – she’s comin’ up for the night.”

“I’ll bet you miss them,” you offer. You’re not sure why he’d want to bring his daughter to your coffee shack, but you’re not complaining.

Joel smiles at you. It’s a sad smile but still a good one. The affection in his eyes is raw.

“Sure do,” he says. He tucks one hand in his pocket and takes another sip of his coffee. “But it’s good for them. Sarah – she’s a little older – is in school and Ellie is workin’ on her music and whatever else she’s into these days.” The pride in his voice is clear.

“Well, I’m honored you want to bring her here.” You gesture to your slightly sad sitting area and the empty lot behind him.

Joel looks ready to argue with you when a faded, older version of his truck pulls up. Music leaks from the open windows and the driver bops her head to the beat a few times before shutting it off and hoping out, thumbs flying on the screen of her phone.

“That’ll be her,” he says drily. “Hey, kiddo.”

Ellie looks up from her hands, tucks her phone in her back pocket, and grins at Joel.

She doesn’t look a thing like him, but the connection is obvious. She moves like him, her shoulders set like she’s ready for a challenge at any moment. Joel sets his coffee down at the window and meets her halfway for a hug.

You look away and busy yourself with restocking whatever you can get your hands on.

“Dude, you come here every day?” Ellie asks. “Joel, this is so far from –”

Joel talks over her.

“Drive go okay? Sarah said they’re doin’ shit on the 35 –”

Ellie huffs.

“Yeah, yeah, some traffic getting out of the city ‘cause of the fucking lane closure, but otherwise fine.”

“Good.”

You turn to face them, a genuine smile firmly in place.

“Hi,” you say. Joel picks up his coffee again, which Ellie eyes with a scowl. You introduce yourself to her. “You’re Ellie, right? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Ellie frowns. Behind her, Joel’s mouth twitches but he says nothing. It’s a lie, obviously, but something tells you he doesn’t mind and she believes it.

“Really?” She throws him a glare and then rolls her eyes. “You gotta stop telling strangers about me, man.”

“Someone’s gotta warn ‘em,” he says.

She laughs. “Hey, fuck you!”

“Only good stuff,” you say. You like her. “Joel says you’re working on your music?”

Ellie’s eyes light up. “Oh, yeah,” she says. “I’ve got an audition next week.” She turns to Joel. “I brought my guitar ‘cause I have a fuck ton of songs to play for you.”

He puts a hand on her shoulder and she settles a little.

“I bet they’re real good.”

Ellie flushes and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well. You have to hear them first.”

You feel a little off-balance again, like you’re on the fringes of something you shouldn’t be seeing. The love on Joel’s face is clear as day.

“Do you want some coffee?” you ask her.

Joel winces. Ellie gags.

“No offense,” she starts, eyes darting between you and Joel. “I know Joel is fifty percent coffee on a good day, but it’s not my thing.” She looks at the menu and narrows her eyes. “I had a mocha the other day and didn’t hate it. Do you make those?”

“Look at that,” Joel says. “You’re convertin’.”

“Am not,” Ellie says. “It’s got chocolate in it, dude. No shit, I like it.”

“Yeah, give me a few minutes,” you laugh. “I’ll put lots of chocolate in it.”

They sit at one of your tables and you hear their laughter in the background as you make her drink.

It’s strange to see Joel like this – to build up on the man you’ve imagined him to be in your mind. Father never occurred to you. It makes sense, though, like a missing piece of him slotted into place. But it also makes the crush feel a little more real. Now that he’s more than your favorite regular customer. Now that you know a piece of him, of who he really is.

It makes you want to know more.

You finish her drink and call Ellie’s name. They both stand and Joel digs in his wallet again.

“Don’t you dare pay me, Joel,” you say. You direct your next words at Ellie. “Really. I’m just honored you stopped by.”

She eyes Joel and he eyes her right back with the same look. She must have learned it from him.

“Yeah,” she says. “Me too.” She grins at you with all of her teeth. “Joel loves this place. Talks about it all the time.”

She takes a sip of her mocha and her eyes go wide.

“Wait, this is fucking good. Man, I see why you drive –”

Joel clears his throat.

“We’re off,” he says. “Thank you, as always.” He sounds softer than usual as if being nice to his daughter is the best thing you could do for him.

You suppose it is.

“You’re welcome, as always.”

Ellie knocks her shoulder with Joel’s as they head back to their trucks. She must be whispering something to him because he swats her away with a groan and she cackles.

They both wave at you as they drive away.

Joel keeps coming in the mornings, and your conversations return to their fleeting cadence. Even so, it’s hard to deny that your crush on him has kicked into high gear.

You try not to let your gaze linger on his lips, on his throat. On his hands when he takes the cup from you, how your skin brushes and it makes you warm all over. You think about how he laughed, how relaxed he was around Ellie. You want to know what he’s like outside of your small daily interaction. You want to know what he eats for dinner, how he spends his weekends, what he listens to on the radio.

You want him.

Business is busy, which helps. A kid from a few towns over – Jesse, he’s called – signs on to work part-time, mostly for the second half of the day. He’s been a barista before so the training is minimal, but it still changes the flow of things. He’s a charming guy and the regulars take to him easy enough.

It’s you who is distracted.

One morning, Joel comes in as expected. Jesse is working, too, trying to clock some extra hours this week.

Joel is on the phone in line, his attention somewhere else. He’s frowning, a deep crease between his brows as he waits in line. All it would take to smooth it away is the press of your thumb.

You try not to stare and probably fail, but manage to take and make the orders ahead of him without making any mistakes, though your whole body feels alight.

He hangs up right as he gets to the window and sighs, giving you a tired smile.

“Howdy,” he says. You set his coffee down in front of him and he pulls out a ten-dollar bill instead of a five.

“Joel –” you say, but he interrupts you.

“My brother called and said he needs breakfast,” Joel grumbles. “Y’got any of Tess’s bear claws?”

Right, they work together, you remember. He’s mentioned Tommy in passing.

“I think so, just hold on a sec.”

“Take your time,” Joel says. It sounds like he means it, even though there’s a line behind him and he probably needs to get to work.

You do find a few bear claws in the box Tess gave you early this morning when you stopped by the bakery.

“You’re in luck,” you say, putting it in a paper bag. “Well, Tommy is.”

“Savin’ my ass,” he tells you when you hand it to him. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

The word sends a jolt of lightning through your whole body. He doesn’t even seem to realize he’s said it but your world shifts slightly on its axis. Sweetheart.

He turns on his heel before you can give him change for his cash, his phone ringing.

“Jesus, Tommy, I said I’d –”

You let him fade into the distance and smile at your next customer.

“How can I help you?”

A few orders later you end up next to Jesse making some lattes.

“Was that Joel Miller?” Jesse asks. “Before. The guy with the black coffee and bear claw?”

You startle. “Um. It was. How do you –”

“I didn’t know he was a customer here,” Jesse says. “Does he come in a lot?”

You unpack a few more cinnamon buns that Tess gave you this morning. “Yeah, every day.”

“Damn,” he says. “He must really like your coffee.”

“Are you trying to say it’s bad coffee, Jesse?”

He huffs a laugh. “No, boss, ‘course not.” He grinds beans for a few seconds but continues once he’s done, steady hands tamping down the results. “I just know he lives like, a half-hour away. And that there are plenty of coffee shops there, too.”

You narrow your eyes. “How do you know him, Jesse?”

“His daughter, Ellie, is a friend of mine,” he shrugs. “Went over to their house plenty of times in high school.”

“Well. He’s a contractor, right? I bet he has a job out here.”

Jesse clips the espresso into the machine and starts on some milk.

“I’m not saying he doesn’t,” he muses. “I am saying that it takes at least 30 minutes to get here from where he lives.”

It’s silly. You’re half-flattered, half-confused. Yeah, you like Joel, and yeah, you’re pretty sure you’ve been flirting every day for over a month. But you figure it’s convenient for him. Coffee and an ego boost all in one.

But if he’s going out of his way to come to The Zone? Well, maybe it’s not just for the coffee.

“Your coffee is good,” Jesse stresses, seeing the gears in your mind turning. It looks like he’s trying to hide a grin. You need to stop hiring young people who have keen eyes and big mouths.

“I think the ice needs a refill,” you say, snapping back into focus.

“He might be here for something else, too -”

“Go refill the ice.”

He throws up his hands with a smirk. “I’m going!”

7:24 am. You’re on your own again and you’re fucked.

The espresso machine is working perfectly and the early rush has ended. The weather is beyond shitty. Rain falls in sheets and the sky is so dark it feels like the sun didn’t bother to rise. It pounds on the roof and blows in the window every time you open it. The awning does nothing to shield customers as they shout their orders over the wind at you. Your fingers are going numb and your front is damp enough to set your teeth chattering.

Joel’s truck pulls up and – well. You’re fucked. And he’s why.

You’re fucked because you can’t stop thinking about him. You can’t stop thinking about what Jesse said. What Joel said. Sweetheart.

A harmless crush turned into something more intense, something heavy in your stomach. You want him earnestly, fully, with every piece of you.

And you still barely know him. But you want to.

Maybe it’s the weather, maybe it’s the fact that you’re damp and cold and frustrated with your own heart and brain. But you see his truck and you decide to do something about this stupid crush.

You write your phone number on a cup with steady hands and set it aside for Joel. You scrawl on it as neatly as you can: Want to get a drink somewhere else sometime?

It’s a bit of a coward’s way out. You should just ask him, say how you feel to his face. He’d probably like that better, anyway. But, well, this just feels safer. He could ignore it, he could throw it out, he could see it and decide to never come back.

Sweetheart.

Somehow you don’t think he’ll do any of those.

The rain lashes against the window so hard you don’t open it until you see the lonely figure approach. The morning rush has been a morning trickle, a few brave souls venturing out for something from you.

Joel, it seems, is one.

You open the window and are greeted with a spray of mist.

“Gimme a sec,” you tell him. It’s so windy he leans in close to hear you. He’s wearing a jacket that’s ill-suited for the rain, his hair plastered to his forehead. Your fingers twitch with the need to brush it back.

You quickly fill the cup you’ve set aside and pass it to him with two hands so it doesn’t blow over.

“Brave of you,” you say. He’s in the rain and you’re both getting soaked but you want to talk to him desperately. It’s a buzzing need at the front of your brain. “Thought the weather would get you, too.”

“Told you,” he all but yells over the wind with a flash of white teeth. “Shitty coffee at home.”

“Drive safe, Joel,” you tell him. He nods at you and jogs back to the truck, cup in hand. You won’t be able to see if he reads it from here, but you hope so. All you have to do is wait.

And wait.

The rain stops.

You’re still waiting, phone silent.

Sunshine peeks through the clouds with a slightly surreal post-storm glow. A few more folks have made their way to The Zone but today has been slow. The clock ticks slowly towards 3 pm and your phone does not ring.

“Don’t be stupid,” you mutter. “He’s working.”

You step out of the shack and into the slightly humid air, the gravel under your feet shifting wetly. The tables you’d set out this morning are, mercifully, still there, though they’re spattered with rain. You might as well close up now.

You’re bent over the last of the chairs, wiping them down with an old rag. You’re focused, so much so that you don’t pay much attention to the hum of an engine and the crunch of tires behind you.

A door slams but you don’t turn around.

“Sorry,” you call over your shoulder. “We just closed.”

“Shame,” he says.

You whip around and find Joel, hands in his pockets. He’s in a different shirt than this morning and his jeans don’t look soaked. You’re still damp, water stains on your pants and shirt.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi, Joel.”

He smirks. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you outside of that window,” he says, before jutting his chin towards the tables. “Can I help?”

You’re very aware of your whole body all at once. He’s looking at you, drinking you in like you’re his morning cup of coffee.

“Uh, sure,” you say. You want to ask why he’s here but the words won’t come. “They go in there, in the little closet on the right.” You point to the open door to the shack.

He dips his chin low just once and then crosses the distance between you in three big strides. He grabs the chair closest to you. The t-shirt he’s wearing shows his arms and you feel what he’s just said – it’s weird to be in the same space like this. You’re outside but he feels so big.

Joel’s arms flex and you swallow, following him with another chair. He stacks his in the right place and holds a hand out for yours.

“What did you write on it?” he asks, casually.

The words don’t totally register. “What?”

He doesn’t answer. His arms are crossed, brow furrowed. Your mouth goes dry.

“On my cup. This mornin’.” He keeps his gaze on yours and for some reason, you can’t look away.

“Oh – you, you didn’t see?”

He shakes his head. “Was rainin’, remember? Got smudged before I got in my truck.”

“Right.”

You tear yourself away and leave him standing there. Maybe you should just lie.

But then you think about the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when you make him laugh, and how he asks you how you are and how he brought his daughter here and how he tips and how he drives all this way for your – for you.

Joel waits, his footsteps the only indication he’s followed you.

You turn around.

“I wrote my phone number,” you say. “And I asked you on a date.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up and you think he’s…blushing?

He rubs a hand over his beard and you hope he’s hiding a smile. Your heart is in your throat, beating so loud you worry that he can hear it. All of your bravado sinks into the damp ground at your feet. Maybe you’ve read this totally wrong. Maybe he’s just a nice guy, maybe your coffee is just really good and your employees are fucking with you. He’s here to let you down easy, to tell you he’s not even available, not interested, not –

“Alright,” Joel says. He walks towards you and tugs his phone from his back pocket. “I’ll take that number.”

Oh.

He hands it over and you type it in, heart jackhammering in your chest. But you watch his face, see the quirk of his mouth and his blush and it makes you brave.

“And the date?” you ask, giving it back. Your fingers brush and your heart keeps pounding but your nerves take a sharp turn away from doubt and towards excitement.

“Well, you gonna ask again?”

You both seem to have found your footing with whatever this is. The flirt in him is back full force, and he’s looking at you in that way of his. You want to know all of his expressions. There is so much to learn.

“Are you going to say yes?”

“S’why I came back,” he admits. “Figured you’d be closin’. Hoped you’d be free.”

“So you could read the cup?”

Joel takes the other two chairs and heads for the door again. You trail him. God, his arms are distracting.

“Most of it,” he says. “Couldn’t make out the last few numbers, though.”

“Well, once we’re done here, I’m free. If you wanted to go on a date with me.”

Joel turns and you’re in the small space at the same time, your chests almost pressed together. You must smell like sweat and stale coffee but you watch as Joel inhales, eyes on yours.

“I do,” he says.

It would be so easy to kiss him, a quick, chaste press of your lips to see what he tastes like.

His pupils dilate and you sway into him for a breath before you realize what you’re doing and step back outside.

You take a deep breath of fresh air. “Great.”

He rubs the back of his neck with one hand and you head for the tables.

“Y’know,” he says. “Ellie’s been on my ass about this.”

You laugh, high and bright. “Has she?”

“That girl ain’t capable of missin’ an opportunity to stick her nose in,” he grumbles, but it’s affectionate.

“Well, I think she’s smart,” you goad.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Reckon she is.”

Joel’s brows furrow and he takes a few quick steps into your space, so close the tips of your shoes almost touch.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi.”

“Hold still,” he says. He reaches for your face slowly, slow enough that you could pull away but you don’t. He brushes something from your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Grounds.” His voice is a little hoarse.

“Thanks,” you breathe.

He smirks but the flush creeping up his neck tells you he’s not wholly unaffected. It makes you feel…it just makes you feel.

Joel Miller likes you.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” you say.

His eyes widen slightly and he leans in just a little but you slide out of his space with a grin.

“The sooner we finish up the sooner I can buy you a drink.”

Joel laughs, loud and full. “Oh, how generous of you.”

“You’re very lucky,” you say.

“I agree,” he drawls. He taps your chin with one knuckle.

His eyes sparkle and he smiles, looking luminous in the post-storm sunshine. You see a flash of a future – watching him drink coffee in a kitchen instead of through the window of The Zone. Your hands meeting over a shared table, fingers tangling, that smile directed at you in the morning light.

Giddiness rises in your throat and spills out of you in a delighted laugh of your own. Joel just grins.

“So,” he says. “Where’re you takin’ me?”

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff

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that-sarcastic-writer · 6 months

Text

A Good Father

Dad!Dean Winchester X Wife!Mom!Reader

Summary: Dean has a beautiful wife and the cutest little girl. The perfect family. Maybe it's time to have a real home, too.

Part 2 of A Good Man but can be read as a standalone. This is actually how supernatural ended thank you very much

Warnings: not much, candy cane fluff, foul language. Still minors dni cause I don't want minor on my blog

WC: 2.6k

A/N: this has been sitting in my drafts for a while. Why not post it right? I love Dean with all my heart. That's nothing new. Enjoy the teeth rooting fluff cause I don't have the mental capacity to write smut rn :,)

Sleep still covered your eyes as you rubbed them softly. It couldn't have been later than six a.m., or at least what you saw through half-closed eyes on your phone screen when you woke up. You weren't fully sure, you were still processing that you were awake. You hadn't entirely wanted to get out of bed, but the lack of your husband's warmth all but forced you out of the comfort of your covers. Your feet took you to the study first. That's normally where you would find the brothers anyway. But you only saw Sam.

"Morning." You mumbled softly, running a hand over your face as you walked over to the younger Winchester.

Sam lifted his eyes from the ancient looking book in front of him, and he gave you a warm smile.

"Oh, hey, good morning."

You stood beside him, leaning a hand on the table as you looked around for Dean with a small frown.

"Where's your brother?"

"In the kitchen with Rosie. She woke up like an hour ago, so he's making her breakfast." He answered with a smile.

Your own lips irked up in pleasant surprise. Normally, Rosalie— yours and Dean's little girl— would come running to wake you— or both you and Dean, depending who was home at the time. You never minded that she would be up before you since Sam was always up before sunrise, and he loved spending time with his niece. But it did surprise you a bit that Dean didn't wake you at all this morning. Though, you were more so in awe at the fact that he had decided to take care of her that morning by himself.

Truth was, he had been gone a while, almost a week. That had been the longest he had spent on a hunt ever since she was born— five years ago. And your little girl was definitely missing her dad. She loved you, no doubt about it, but the little one was a daddy's girl for sure, but you blamed Dean for spoiling her so much. So she was feeling his absence greatly. She cried almost every night, asking why daddy wasn't there to tuck her in. It broke your heart a hundred times over to see her so heartbroken. When Dean came home last night, she all but clung to him, refusing to leave his side. And you guessed that had carried over to this morning.

"Thanks, Sam." You patted his shoulder and padded through the long halls of the bunker to the kitchen. You held in your breath as you peaked your head through the door and you nearly teared up at the sight.

"You think mommy and Sammy will like these?" Dean pursed his lips, nudging at the tiny human resting on his hip as three different pans with pancake batter, sizzling bacon and scrambled eggs cooked on the stove.

"Uh-huh. It looks yummy." She nodded, resting her head on his shoulder as he held her.

"Yeah, sure does." Dean shrugged, lips pulled into a proud grin at his own work. He always was a great cook.

He stood for a second, keeping an eye on one thing as he moved around another with a spatula and still somehow held a five year-old on his hip. He had his attention somewhere else, so he almost missed the tiny voice in his ear.

"I missed you, daddy." Rosie mumbled, her soft voice almost inaudible against him. Dean looked down at her, his eyes slightly big and his lips parted. He stared at her for a long second before he said anything. He was wondering just what the fuck he ever did to deserve something like this.

"I… I missed you too, baby. Always." He sighed out, his chest aching with an indescriptible feeling as he brushed some loose strands behind her ear, and he pressed a kiss to the side of her head.

You were silent for a long minute, lips slightly parted and eyes filled with awe as you leaned against the doorframe to watch the sight in front of you. Dean, still in his pajamas, with his little girl on his hip as he cooked. He was saying something to her, or so you figured since you heard her giggles, her tiny hands bunched around his t-shirt as she buried her face in his shoulder. He was smiling too.

"I'm deeply hurt. Making breakfast without me?" You spoke up, feigning hurt.

Dean turned around, he smiled at you at first but when Rosie started giggling at you, hiding deeper into his chest, he gritted his teeth.

"Ah, busted. Told you mommy would find out." He shook his head, holding back a smile as you approached them.

You playfully narrowed your eyes at him. He gave you a shrug with a toothy smile that showed the edges of his canines, and he gave you that innocent puppy dog look. You groaned out.

"We'll talk later." You warned, but your tone was playful. You finally slipped a smile as you stood on the tip of your toes to give Dean a kiss on the lips. He happily leaned down to meet you halfway. And then you kissed your little girl, leaving kisses all over her tiny face.

She giggled, nearly jumping out of her dad's arms into yours. Dean happily passed her over to you, his hip starting to get numb. You held her happily, pressing a kiss to the mess of her bedhead. God, the more this one grew, the more she looked like Dean. The same green eyes, the same freckled cheeks. But she had your nose, and her hair was a shade darker than Dean's, closer to Sam's brown. But you knew that she would be the spitting image of her dad when she grew older.

"Did you help daddy make breakfast?" You asked Rosie, and she nodded excitedly.

"Yeah! I helps daddy make pancakes." You gasped, lips parted to share her excitement.

"Those are gonna be the yummiest of pancakes, right sweetheart?" Dean leaned down, nudging her cheek with his finger. She nodded.

"Alright, little one, go sit with Sammy, we'll bring you out some pancakes, okay?" You told the little girl, and she nodded again, mumbling an 'okay'. You smiled at her, pressing a kiss to her forehead before you set her down her tiny feet. She had spent her whole short life in this bunker. You were sure she could find her way around the general area.

"Tell Sammy he's a nerd for me." Dean called out to Rosie as she ran off, chanting that her uncle Sammy was a nerd. Dean was smiling proudly to himself. He was raising her right.

"You're an ass." You playfully scolded him, and he gave you a look of feign innocence. He shrugged at you.

"I ever tell you how beautiful you look in the morning?" He irked his lips at you, resting his hands on your hips as he pulled you close. God he had missed you so fucking much.

"Missed you, too, hun." You leaned up on your toes, pressing a kiss to his jaw. He tried to hide it, muffle the sound, but he winced when your hand touched his cheek.

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you immediately pulled back to look at his face. You hadn't noticed the red bruise on his cheek, on the purple bruising around his eye. You gasped quietly, gently brushing the tip of your fingers over the bruised skin. He scrunched up his face at you, about to pull back, but you shot him a sharp look.

"I'm fine, baby. Just some bruises. You shoulda seen the other guy." He grinned, trying to humor you, but the concern didn't leave your face.

"I don't want to, actually." You sighed softly, your eyes falling to his chest, avoiding his eyes.

You wouldn't say it to his face, not actually. How could you? He never lied to you, from the moment he wanted something real with you he told you the truth. You knew exactly what you were getting yourself into with him. Sammy and hunting come with the package— he told you. And you accepted it. All of it. You married him anyway. You gave him a daughter anyway. But God, it terrified you beyond words that he was still hunting. That he still left you and your little girl for days at a time. And that he would come home with new scars and bruises that would last days. But at times— like this one— you feared that neither of them would come home at all.

"Sweetheart…" There was a bit of warning in his voice. He could read you so easily. He grabbed your face, forcing your head up to look at him now. "What is it?"

"You worry me, Dean. Look at your face. I don't even want to know how it looks under your shirt." Your eyes fell to the side, and your chest filled with ache as you tried to say the right words. "I'm sorry, I know I have no right to guilt trip you. But your daughter missed you, I missed you, and we need you, Dean, that's all."

Dean said nothing at this, his face stayed unreadable as he listened to you. And he heard you, he heard you loud and clear. He felt pressure on his chest and a sick feeling to his stomach. Fuck, he had grown soft.

"C'mere." He pulled you to his chest. He rested his hand on your hair, and he sighed softly when you threw your arms around his torso. "You know I love you, and Rosie, so much, right?"

You nodded against his chest. "I know babe, I love you, too."

We need you, Dean.

"Daddy! I told uncle Sammy he's a— a nerd!" Rosie announced loudly when she saw you and Dean again. And you had to hide your smile at the pointed look Sam shot his older brother.

Dean played dumb, his lips falling open, and he clicked his tongue in disapproval. "I'm telling ya, Sammy, I dunno where she learns it from."

"Yeah, great parenting dude." Sam rolled his eyes at Dean, and he could only snort in response.

"Yeah, well, here's my apology." Dean shrugged, setting down a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of Sam with a shit eating smile. Sam pretended to be offended, but he ate the plate in front of him without protesting.

"Alright, Rosie, you wanna eat some pancakes before school?" You set the plate with the smaller portion of pancakes and bacon in front of her and she nodded happily.

"Yes, please!" She excitedly grabbed a fork and dug in, but stopped a second later and looked at Dean. "Daddy can I has syrup?"

"Sure, baby." He practically saturated her plate with syrup and then his own. You shook your head at how alike they were already. You shared a knowing look with Sam and sighed softly, eating from your own plate.

You didn't often have the chance to have breakfast as a family, so you always treasured little moments like this when you had them. And deep in your heart, you wished you had moments like this more.

~~~~~~

"Sweetheart, you in here?" Dean peeked his head into your shared bedroom, his eyes darting around for a few seconds, and then his lips curved up at the sight of you on your shared bed, face deep in your laptop.

"Hi love," You smiled at him, setting your laptop aside to greet him. He happily joined your side, his lips pressing a kiss to yours instantly. "You left Rosie at school, right?"

Your words were stern as was the look you gave him. He pulled back and pouted. You were definitely scolding him for the time he decided to take Rosalie on a drive with Baby just because she asked instead of dropping her off at school.

"'Course I did. No rides in Baby this time, I promise." He smiled at you, and you rolled your eyes.

"Hope so." He saw you reach for your laptop again so he decided to speak again.

Dean thought about it. He thought about it all morning. He drove around town for another hour just to get his thoughts straight.

"Listen, I was thinkin' 'bout what you said this morning.."

You shook your head at him, "I'm sorry, Dean, I know I shouldn't have. Let's just forget about it, yeah?"

"Hey, no, don't do that. Let's not forget about it." You frowned at him, but you didn't respond, so he kept talking. "You're right. I know you are. Hell, I got thrown around so hard, I don't know how I got outta bed this morning. I thought about you, thought about Rosie. Thought about my old man, too."

You frowned softly, resting your hand on the back of his neck, fingers threading through the short hair gently, "Dean.."

"I don't want to be like my old man. I don't want to leave you and Rosie alone anymore, I just can't."

You straightened up, a bit unsure where he was getting at.

"Dean, baby, what are you trying to say?"

"You and Rosie deserve a normal life, a house, all of that shit." Dean breathed out the words, and he held your face in his hands, a tiny smile on his lips. "I want to try it. A normal life. Don't you?"

"I… Dean.." You sighed out softly, attempting to process his words. You stared at him long and hard, and all you saw was love, his green eyes were sincere. "I wouldn't force you to give up hunting. I mean, that's all you've known? And what about Sam? I just—"

"That's exactly it. I'm… I'm so goddamn tired of the life. Don't get me wrong, we save people, hell, we've saved the world, but is that really all worth it if I can't come home to my wife and daughter?" He tilted his head, his free hand was on your thigh, and he squeezed softly. "And Sammy, I know he's tired of it too. He's always wanted a normal life. But he stayed because of me. If I get out, I know he'll do it, too. He's done it before. Who knows, maybe he can find his own pretty girl to marry and have a couple of kids with."

For the longest time, Dean had refused to even consider doing anything else with his life, doing anything better. This was all he had ever known, all he was ever actually good at, right? But lately, God, just lately, he was seeing that light at the end of the tunnel. You and Rosalie were right there. And if you were there with him, the rest of the world could go to hell for all he cared.

"Dean, I love you, I loved you then, hunter and all, and I will love you no matter what. But if you want to settle down.." You breathed out a soft laugh, the words sounding so nice when you said them out loud. You leaned closer to him, a smile on your lips as you pressed your forehead against his. "We'll settle down. A house, normal jobs, play dates, all of it."

"Christ, what did I ever do to deserve you in my life?" He smiled wide, and he pressed a hard kiss to your lips. It was warm, loving.

"Mhmm, so, what would a former hunter do for a living?"

"I'm pretty good with cars aren't I? What do you say? Think I should open my own car shop?"

Your husband as a mechanic? That wouldn't be half bad.

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x you #supernatural

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idkfitememate · 4 months

Note

I NEED A CONTINUATION OF GOLDEN WEASEL!

As you sat wrapped around The Old Man’s neck, you watched as the scenery of Liyue passed you both by.

No one stared, looked, or even glanced at him, you guess it was noticeably pissing you off, because he began to gently scratch under your chin. You leaned into the gentle touch, making him chuckle.

The hand he wasn’t using to pet you was gripped around a cane, a basket hanging off his arm as well. Compared to rest of Liyue, he was dressed in extremely traditional clothing, his hair was tied into a traditional top knot with a beautiful guan. He also had a nice little beard. With his looks, you honestly wondered how old the man was, because on top of his… well his beauty, his home - despite it being a house boat - was also decked out in traditional furnishings and decor.

The only accessory you had was an earring made of mora with a dragon modeled after Morax attached to the bottom - it was a hanging earring. When you found out your old man had spent ONE HUNDRED MORA ON IT, you scolded him for an hour. Him kneeling as you stood on your hind legs loudly chittering at him.

The only reasons you wore it was because:

A. He bought it as a thank you for staying by his side, even in old age.

And

B. The damn thing cost a hundred mora why the fuck wouldn’t you

And finally

C. It helped differentiate you from other weasel thieves.

As you continued down the lanes, his little basket began to fill up, though its weight never seemed to bother him. You’d often chirp at him to see if you could carry it - you were strong for a weasel - but he’d just shake off your concerns with another chuckle.

And as you continued, you began to feel sleep with the gently sway of his body slowly walking along the paths, and probably would’ve too, if it weren’t for the fact that he stopped to speak with someone. Wait no that’s red and black bird.

… wait a minute.

“Mountain Shaper, my friend. Why do you walk among the mortals this fine day? To what do we owe the pleasure?” Did you mention The Old Man spoke super fucking eloquently? Because he does.

“Nothing but a stroll. And why are you here, old friend?” Wait Old Man knew an Adeptus? Old friend? What the hell-

“Ah, simply retrieving some items from the merchants. Nothing more. And as much as I’d adore to stay and chat, I must be off, so as to make me and my little friend here’s daily afternoon tea time, hehe!” You noticed that the Adeptus’s eyes were now on you, but only with a hint of curiosity.

“I see… well don’t let me take up more of your time.” The bird mused.

“Well actually… I believe we may have space for one more, if you’d care to join.” You looked around to see if anyone else was seeing this shit, but it seemed like no one else was around.

“Well if you’d allow me…” And with that, you were now walking with an Adeptus towards The Old Man’s houseboat. Feeling a bit bold, you stuck a paw out in the direction of the bird. All he did was glance at you, before chuckling. You smacked your lips before settling down on Old Man’s neck.

Your mind drifted as you thought of what tea he would make today… maybe Mountain Shaper would have something new in mind… perhaps a story awaited you as well… you yawned and closed your eyes, pressing your face into into the crook of your neck.

“You feel it as well, don’t you my friend.” Mountain Shaper asked.

“I do.” The Old Man responded.

“Will you ever tell them-“

“Only when the time is right.” The Old Man interrupted. “Now, they just want to live, and I will allow them that freedom. I have no right to strip that from them.”

“You sound like the God of Freedom.” The bird chuckled, making the Man sigh.

“Be quiet before I tie your beak shut.”

“*GASP* You wouldn’t dare!”

“I may not be as nimble as I was back then, but you and I both know you’d have no chance, especially if I actually tried.~”

“WHY YOU-“

Uh oh, Old Man had a secret, what ever will it be?~ Anyway, Weasel really just wants to live life. And since we’re doing some past stuff now, I imagine they were a petty thief in their past life, which is why they became a little thieving guy in Genshin ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა!

#anon <3 #asks <3 #Golden Weasel!Creator

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lucyandthepen · 2 years

Text

gorgeous | lmh ( m )

there is a part 2!

you don’t know what in the football uniform mark is wearing is so attractive. maybe it’s how broad is shoulders always look in that jersey. maybe it’s how nicely accentuated his ass is when he’s running. or, maybe, just maybe, it’s how painfully conspicuous the outline of his cock is through those pants.

or, you know. all of the above.

pairing: mark x reader rating: R genre: college / football au, romance, humor, smut warnings: kind of feels like pwp with just a bit of background pining I guess, semi-public (?) sex, oral sex, just good ol’ fashioned smut perhaps with minimal dirty talk. nothing depraved (yet). please be sure that you are 18+ to read! word count: 12.4k

author’s notes: i literally have nothing to say like . i just wanted to post something that would gain me access into the 18+ section of the nctzen library i guess :^) this is once again an edited fic, but it is pretty unbeta’d, so i’d love for anyone to point out any mistakes they see! since this has explicit content, please do not read this unless you are of age! honesty is the best policy, everyone. :^) enjoy !

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You know you’re done for the moment the sky opens up and starts raining.

You can’t even get off the field and run from the rain because it’s all a part of the whole cheerleading gig; if the playing team’s on the field, then you have to be, too.

Sometimes, you think that there are more drawbacks to being in this position. For one, it’s completely risk-heavy; you can’t remember a game where someone didn’t at least obtain a sprain or slip on the mud in front of five hundred people while trying to still look like everything’s fine. Pile on other issues, like having to cut back hours of free time in a week to practice, having to constantly fit and refit uniforms that you also have to shell out your own money for (because what else is the university’s budget for if not to pay for a yet another science lab?), and dealing with slightly catty teammates because on no particular day of the month is the entire team period-free, and you almost have a deal ready to be broken.

Just almost, though.

Possibly the only perk that beats all those downsides is the fact that you have free access to the football team and all their practices and games. Most days, you think it’s actually worth it to risk breaking your neck coming down from a human pyramid (or, worse, being the base of one, which requires the kind of upper body strength you don’t think you have a lot of in you) if you get to at least see eleven cute guys jogging around the perimeter of the field they share with your team for practice.

Oh, and, yeah, even if you had to pay for the cheerleading uniforms, they were kind of cute, in all honesty.

You look up as the first droplets fall on your head, and you can see the collective grimace that sweeps over the cheerleading team; one girl even stamps her feet and yells something about her not wearing waterproof mascara just as the rain mixes with the crowd’s cheers when it starts to intensify. It quickly forms a thick curtain, and you lift a hand up to your forehead to shield your eyes as you scan the field in front of you. Everything is just a blur of white and blue sometimes interrupted by the droplets that hang off your eyelashes, but you keep looking anyway. It shouldn’t be that hard to spot him because he’s fairly tall in his own right, you think, except it’s hard because so is everyone else — perhaps even more so — and he’s probably being eclipsed by all these jacked up guys from the visiting team.

You get called out of your search temporarily when the cheerleading captain plucks on your sleeve and tells you you’re all going to do one more routine; in that time, all you can do is think about not slipping on the mud that’s slowly deepening under your feet. Even your fucking pom-poms are a saggy mess.

The only time you manage to see him is when the referee’s whistle blows for a time out, and the teams troop back, somewhat sluggishly, to their benches. He always walks at the back of the line, like he’s careful to not get crushed between his teammates, even though they always tell him to walk with them. He glances up at the scoreboard; there’s two minutes of play left, and your home team is ahead by a mile, so he could sit pretty for the rest of the game and they’d probably still win.

In all honesty, no one had ever thought Mark would make the football team. Not even Donghyuck, his freshman roommate, who, in his own weird way, idolizes Mark (at times, to a fault). Not even you, his best friend, who had criticized him for never being active in any kind of extracurricular activity ever since you had met in your first year of high school. And especially not Mark himself, who had, in an attempt to get you off his back about being a hermit, tried out for college football just so that he could prove that he would never make it and would never fit in a team, anyway.

Except for some strange reason, he had. Inexplicably, he had even placed on the actual starting team instead of the reserve, like you and Donghyuck had initially guessed when he’d come home, slightly starstruck, with a jersey in his hand. You thought it was a joke — even though Mark rarely makes any of those in the first place — until he announced that he’d placed as a free safety and would be starting practice that coming Thursday.

You’d thought it was a joke even when Thursday came along, convinced he was just trying to one up you and get you to admit maybe it’s not a big deal if he’s essentially disconnected from the rest of society, until you actually saw him come out of the locker rooms and start doing laps with the rest of the team. At that point, something just… snapped.

Sure, Mark has always been attractive to you, in that kind of boy next door with the nice skin and the naturally casual laid-backness so many people try so hard to achieve, and a part of you has always been pretty aware of how appealing he was. You’d been pretty good at repressing it, though; only Donghyuck had slowly cottoned on over time, mostly because he refused to make friends with classmates he would only spend one semester with, which led him to tagging along on yours and Mark’s trips to the library (which he hates) as well as your trips to unlimited refill barbecue restaurants (which he loves).

(Sometimes he hangs out with some other freshman kid named Renjun, whom neither you nor Mark have ever seen, but Mark swears he exists because he sometimes finds that his bed seems to have been slept in on days that Donghyuck is much more vocal about how cool he thinks Mark is.)

“Why don’t you just tell Mark hyung that you like him?” Donghyuck had once asked when you’d both been sitting on the frontmost bleacher, waiting for Mark to finish a particularly long and seemingly grueling weekend practice. “You know it’s not like he’s going to think any less of you. Also, it would be better if you just ended up honest with him before he catches your dried up drool on your chin.”

You’d flicked him on the forehead, partly because he was sticking his nose into where it didn’t belong, but mostly because he was suggesting the one thing that would overturn the delicate internal balance you’d been carefully building up since the first day you’d met Mark.

Not that you’d never thought of it. You’d just been really, really good at talking yourself out of it, making excuses about how it’d probably just been your hormones telling you that you could stand to entertain a boyfriend or even a friend with benefits every once in a while. It had never really been about Mark, specifically.

Until now.

These days, you’re not so great at keeping yourself calm and collected at the thought of him. It’s the curse of being able to see him run across a field almost daily, his asscheeks tightening visibly when he lunges and the veins on his forearms bulging when he uses all his upper body strength to toss the ball. You’re thankful that cheerleading practice almost always winds up earlier than football practice because you can use the little gap between when you have to leave the field and when you have to see him again to do your homework together to take a cold shower or, when it’s really bad and your roommate isn’t around, to masturbate to the thought of him bending you over and pounding so deeply into you that you’re practically speaking in tongues.

And it’s never any one else’s face that you imagine looking up at during a blowjob. It’s always his.

You squint across the space between you and him, and even through the rain, your vision tunnels towards him. His shirt is soaked completely now, and it clings to his skin; you can see the deep curve of his spine and the definition of his right bicep even from here — proof that this football thing is really starting to shape his body in a way that is both frustrating and totally attractive to you. Behind the steady noise of the rain, you can’t help but give a slight whimper.

You’re not sure if it’s because you catch his eye or just because he feels like someone’s watching him, but he suddenly looks up at you, mirroring your expression and squinting through the rain. When he realizes he’s looking at you, the corners of his lips turn up into a small but genuine smile, and your heart skids dangerously, breaking its already fast rhythm. You respond with a bigger, goofier grin before you can stop yourself, and you see the whites of his teeth peek out as he laughs at your expression.

Damn you, Mark Lee. You gnash your teeth together as you turn away, but you’re really only chastising yourself. You hate that this is confusing. You hate that this situation is actually simple, but you’re too hesitant to do anything about it, so it becomes confusing. You hate that ever since Donghyuck had brought it up, you’ve been secretly planning out the ways you could just seduce him, and you also hate the slightly sick feeling that comes after those fantasies when you remind yourself that you’re being a hopeless pervert. You hate that the rain his making his pants just the slightest bit translucent, so you can see the outline of his cock just pushing against the fabric, and you almost want to scream because you really, really hate how much you wish he were fucking you with it at that exact moment.

Mostly, you hate that your body seems to be going through its whole mid-adolescent years sexual arousal phase all over again.

The referee’s whistle sounds through the air, and the team troops back onto the field and gets into position. Someone from the squad calls your name, and you walk stiffly over to join the routine again, trying to make excuses about how you’re wet from the rain and not from thinking too much about your best friend.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You’re drenched by the time the game comes to a close, the home team scoring an impressive 6-1, but you’re not the slightest bit concerned about the cheering and hugging that’s occurring all around you. You had just seen Mark bend over to pick up a bottle of water and scoped two whole eyefuls of his substantial ass stretching the fabric of his pants, so, yeah, you kind of have to do something about it.

It isn’t as easy as it seems in your head, though. For one, he’s being blocked by people much, much larger than you, and they’re traveling in groups — the referee and the vice principal, three of his teammates carrying the team’s water cooler over to throw onto the coach (boys, seriously), and the two teams’ mascots walking side by side, their costumes absorbing all the rainfall. There’s also the problem of people holding you back, like Park Sooyoung, one of the juniors on the squad, hooking her finger into the back of your shirt and dragging you backwards to shout very loudly into your ear that most of the girls were going to go to a McDonald’s with some of the players right now. You try to shake her off with weak excuses, but her grip is unnaturally strong.

“There still might be room in Jeno’s car, if you want to join,” she yells over the rain that’s practically torrential at this stage.

“No thanks,” you shout back, although you have the decency to at least keep your mouth a few inches away from her ear canal. “Stuff to do. Gotta shower, and all. And… Homework,” you add lamely when she gives you a disbelieving look.

“You can do it when we get back! Jeno’s car has a heater anyway. Aren’t you hungry?”

Hungry? No. Thirsty? Yes. But not in the physiologically necessary sense.

You manage to get her to cotton on that you have no intention of tagging along after a couple more refusals, making sure she zips off across the field with the rest of the squad before turning your attention back to Mark.

Who is no longer where he had been five minutes ago.

The weighty feeling of regret at a missed opportunity settles in your stomach as you spot him across the field now, nothing but a tiny white and blue dot disappearing into the boys’ locker room. The feeling is only alleviated slightly by you telling yourself that you didn’t even really have a plan anyway, so it was better that he’d disappeared before you got the chance to embarrass yourself.

The rain stops overhead suddenly; you look up to see a familiar baby blue umbrella covering you, and you let out a small sigh of relief.

“I thought you went back to the dorms already.”

“I almost did, but I saw you standing like a dumbass out here,” Donghyuck laughs. “You could just ask someone to sneeze on you if you really want to catch a cold.”

“What I really want is a hot shower and a snack,” you respond.

“I saw your teammates leave with Lee Jeno like three minutes ago. Why didn’t you go with them? I thought people liked you on that team,” he teases. You whack him in the face with a ruined, soggy pom-pom, but you don’t dignify his question with an answer. He spits out a piece of the paper that had stuck to his tongue on impact. "Oh, I see. Distracted by external elements? More specifically, external elements on Mark hyung’s body?“

"There isn’t a day that passes that I don’t wish you had a mute button.”

“My mom couldn’t afford the down payment for it,” he shrugs. “You know, I could always mention it to him if you’re too chicken —”

“I will never forgive you if you do that,” you cut him off. “Never. I will strangle you before I strangle myself if you tell him.”

“So you tell him,” Donghyuck snaps. “All you ever do is moon over him now. Just get laid so that we can go back to eating breakfast for dinner every Thursday instead of you never showing up or backing out at the last minute because you’re too worried seeing him eat pancakes will trigger hyperrealistic fantasies of him eating you out.”

“I don’t think that way!” You yell, but you’re glad that he’s not really looking at you, so he doesn’t see the flush that spreads like wildfire across your face.

“Fine; I won’t tell. But you have to soon. I can’t stand being in the middle of all this awkward atmosphere you’re suddenly creating. Plus, he keeps asking me if I’ve talked to you recently.” He shoots you a meaningful look that you ignore. “It’s not like he’s stupid. He thinks you’re avoiding him because you suddenly hate him, or something.”

“I’m trying to fix that,” you frown.

“Fix it faster,” he nags, and you smack the pom-pom into his face again. It’s satisfying to see how little bits of wet paper stick to his nose.

Donghyuck walks you to the locker rooms, overestimating the capacity of his umbrella by saying he’ll wait for you and Mark to come out so you can all head back to the dorms together. You try not to read too into the fact that he’s essentially forcing you to live through another fifteen minutes of wading through one-sided sexual tension and troop yourself into the locker room while he strolls off to the nearest waiting shed. It’s odd that you can’t hear any water running, and no one seems to even be inside. You figure everyone’s out making a mess out of the nearest McDonald’s until you turn on one of the showers and realize that there’s no hot water in the stall you’re in. And in the next one. And in the next one. Or the one after that.

You groan in frustration, now acutely aware of how sticky and heavy your uniform feels against your skin. You could always just shower at the dorm, but that just means staying and walking around in this state longer, which doesn’t feel like a very comfortable option. You could also just brave the cold, but in this weather, it doesn’t sound like a healthy idea.

Of course, there is one other way.

You weigh out your options briefly, but it’s not like there’s any better and more immediate choice. You gather your spare clothes and quickly exit the girls’ locker room, your hand over your mouth as though your breathing is going to be too loud and give you away.

The distance between the girls’ locker room and the boys’ locker room is less than ten steps, but because you’re trying to be unbelievably careful, the tiptoe over to its entrance feels like a mile-long and extremely stressful endeavor. You bump into one of the members, Jung Jaehyun, right as you’re about to enter, but he at least doesn’t seem to notice how guilty you’re looking, or the fact that you have a towel and a shampoo bottle in your arms.

“Hey, _______________,” he greets you, shaking the remaining water out of his hair. “I thought you would have gone with Jeno and Doyoung. Most of the cheerleaders did.”

“I wanted to take a shower first,” you say lamely. You don’t add the in your locker room part.

“Same.” There’s steam forming a thin cloud around him as he stands in the doorway, so you’re at least assured your rule-breaking isn’t going to go to waste. “If you’re going to catch up, maybe you can invite Mark to come along with you. I asked him, but he said he was just going to go home and rest. He’s like a grandpa.”

“Oh,” you swallow thickly. “He — is Mark in there? Still?”

“Yeah, he was talking to coach about something, so he’s still in there getting ready. Anyway, at least try to get him to tag along; it’s as much his victory as it is the rest of the team’s. Text me if you guys are both coming to McDonald’s later. I’ll save you seats.”

He gives you a pat on the shoulder before walking off; the rain has calmed into a light drizzle now, and you hear his jovial voice greet Donghyuck by the waiting shed, asking him if he wants to tag along for a burger.

This is… fine. It’s not a big deal. You really just want to shower. Except, you know, you’re not really sure how you’re going to explain yourself to Mark. Except, do you really have to? It’s just a shower. He’d understand. He… showers too, doesn’t he? Yeah. That’s good.

Even with this logic, you walk in carefully, trying to keep your steps as light and as quiet as possible. The rows of lockers in here somehow look longer and larger — male athlete privilege, you guess — but you’re grateful for the fact that maybe in this tiny labyrinth of lockers and benches, you can completely avoid Mark.

You almost do, too, right until your foot lands in a puddle and goes skidding so far you feel like your pelvis has snapped in half; with a squeak of surprise, you claw at the side of a locker row, making the loudest, most obnoxious set of sounds an accident could produce as you crumple to the floor, mildly shell-shocked.

“Who’s there?”

The voice is unmistakable, and you right yourself just in time for Mark to peek out from behind the set of lockers two rows down. His face morphs from initial alarm, to brief surprise, finally settling with confusion. You try your best to look as collected as possible, but it’s hard when you take the whole form of him in and notice that he’s already stripped off his shirt and remains only in his pants.

“Hey, um. Mark. Hey,” you force a smile out. “I didn’t know you were still here.”

“I was talking to coach,” he says in a small, slightly disbelieving voice. You don’t miss the once-over he gives your whole drowned rat aesthetic. “Sorry — what are you doing here, ____________?”

“I was, um—” you try to come up with something less stupid, but nothing sticks to you better than the truth, so you admit it anyway. “Just… wanted to take a shower here.”

“Oh… you know this… is the boys’ locker room,” he reminds you carefully, as if he’s trying not to hurt your feelings even if he’s essentially pointing out how stupid he thinks you are.

“I know. There’s no hot water in the girls’ locker room, so I thought… I thought I would just—“ you gesture around yourself, and Mark’s round eyes follow the course of your left hand.

“Right.”

“It would be really great if you didn’t tell anyone,” you add.

“I won’t. It’s just me in here, anyway.”

A terrible silence passes between you two. You can see the gooseflesh forming on his arms and shoulders from being exposed to the chill for too long. You’re acutely aware of how loud the sound of your heavy, wet skirt is when you shift your weight from foot to foot, and he’s watching you carefully, with this sort of strange, glazed-over look that you can’t read. You both open your mouth at the same time to speak.

“Have you been avoi—”

“Great game, by th—”

You stop at the same time too, and you share a nervous laugh. At this, the tension in his shoulders goes away, even though he does look slightly uncomfortable standing half-naked in front of you. He gestures for you to keep talking.

“You played great, was what I wanted to say,” you rub at your arm. “I know Donghyuck and I weren’t serious about it at first, but you really play like you belong out there.”

“Oh — thanks,” for some reason, even if it’s a compliment, he looks mildly disappointed. “It’s really just practice.”

“I know that you practiced hard, but I also think you play pretty naturally. And you run… well, too.” You avoided a bullet by biting your tongue down and keeping it from saying something about how good he looks running.

“Thank you.” He folds his arms across his chest, keeping out the cold as much as he can. “Do — have you been, you know, avoiding me?” You shake your head, but he continues to elaborate. “I can quit, you know, if you don’t like it — me being on the football team. If it’s taking up too much time that we can’t even hang out after, I don’t really want that to be the reason for us to just fall out. I already talked to coach about it, and he said—”

“Mark,” you speak over him, a little alarmed. “I don’t — of course I don’t want you to quit.”

“Oh.” He looks slightly relieved. “But, then, you’ve been—”

“Yeah, I know I’ve been missing in action,” you lick your lips nervously. “It’s just personal stuff, but like, not the serious kind? Don’t — I mean, you don’t have to worry about it.”

“I thought maybe you hated that I was on the team now,” he goes on.

“It’s not that. I love that you’re on the team.” More than you know. “I’m sorry; I’ll be better. We can do breakfast for dinner on Thursdays again, like we used to.”

He stares at you, like he’s unsure of how to phrase his next thought into a meaningful sentence, so he just nods and settles with a shorter, “Donghyuck will like that.”

The next silence kills you as the desire to explain yourself bubbles up again, but the dying purity inside you causes you to swallow it back. Mark is the first to break the silence this time, without any interruption from you.

“I should really go take a shower.”

“Oh — yeah, me too,” you gesture vaguely to the exit with your thumb. “Donghyuck’s waiting for us.”

“Better not keep him standing out there in the rain, then,” he points jerkily to the next row of lockers. “You can just change there. Or wherever else. I’ll be in the shower anyway.”

You nod your thanks, not trusting yourself to speak clearly anymore, opting to shuffle to where he’d indicated. You’re all alone on this side of the lockers, but you can hear Mark moving about, a locker door opening and closing as he gets his things ready. You have to keep reminding yourself to stay on target instead of listening in like some creepy maniac, but you pause, swallowing thickly as you hear the tell-tale sound of wet fabric hitting the concrete floor, and you know that’s him taking off the last article of clothing he has on.

You think that this experience can’t be good for your mental health, but it doesn’t even matter because your mind is so invested in the idea that Mark’s bare body is less than four feet away from you that it can’t think about its slow, inevitable death.

The sound of a shower curtain being pulled close followed by water running signals that Mark is in the shower. You peel off the rest of your clothes, and hold your towel close to your chest as you walk over to the stalls. The one that he’s occupying falls right under the ceiling light, so you can see his blurry silhouette move through the fairly thin curtain. Your throat is dry, and you want to walk past it to get to the next stall, but you stop right in front of it, weirdly mesmerized by his form.

“Mark,” you say before you can stop yourself. You see him stop and listen, one hand still in his hair, frozen in the act of shampooing. His head turns, and you can tell he knows you’re standing right outside the stall, mere inches away from him.

“Yeah?” His voice sounds different — maybe higher and a little more frail, although you assume it’s just the steam affecting his vocal chords, or whatever excuse your mind half-assedly churns out.

“I have been avoiding you,” you confess, doing that stupid shifting from foot to foot thing again. Something like a sigh escapes his lips, rising above the stall along with the steam.

“I knew it. Do you really not like me being in the team that much? You should have just said so. I told you, I can quit — really. Our friendship is more important than some sport I didn’t even know how to play six months ago.”

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” you chew your lip. “It’s more that I like it so much I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“What? Football?”

“No. You playing football.”

Something hits the floor inside — probably a bar of soap — and you see Mark fumble with it for a moment before straightening back up. He doesn’t say anything, though, so you press on.

“Ever since you started playing, I sort of felt like you were — I don’t know. Different? You look different for sure, but you act differently; you even walk differently. But not in a bad way. Like, in a good way. A really good way. And it’s distracting me a lot, so for my own, um, sake, I had to… take a step back.”

You feel like you’ve said everything you can at this point without giving extreme on-the-nose specifics or a terrible love confession, so there’s nothing for you to do except wait for a response. When it comes, it isn’t what you’re really expecting.

“Actually, I don’t think there’s any hot water in the other stalls either,” he says in a careful voice, so soft that it’s almost drowned out by the water.

“I can just shower after you,” you mutter in disappointment. The conversation seems over for a brief second until he replies with a much firmer voice.

“There won’t be any hot water after I shower.”

“I’ll just go to the dorms, then.”

“_____________,” he says your name in slow, deliberate syllables. “There won’t be any hot water there either. Trust me.“

You stare dully at his form through the shower curtain for what feels like forever until something dawns on you, and a mild shiver runs down your spine — not at the cold but at the thought of your interpretation being correct. Slowly, carefully, you toss your towel so that it hangs next to his on the metal rod on the shower curtain. You wait for him to protest, but all he does is make his silhouette grow slightly smaller as he steps back, and you take this as a good sign, pulling the shower curtain aside and quickly stepping into the stall before your nerve completely abandons you.

You’ve never seen Mark naked before. It’s not like you’ve tried before recently, but when you think about it now, you feel like your assumptions have slightly undersold him. He’s always been on the slightly lankier side (at least, in your opinion), and even with all the toning up he’s done, you don’t actually expect him to look this… good. His muscles are actually well-defined now that you can see the shadows they create under the light, and his body is extremely well-groomed.

His cock is slightly bigger than you’d initially imagined, too, probably because you’ve only ever guessed at its form through stolen glances. It’s as long as you’ve assumed, but its girth is strangely more than the football pants had let on. You wonder if it had always been like this or if he had grown into it over a span of, like, ten years, and then you feel like a pervert again for being more concerned with that more than the fact that your best friend is backed up against the wall, regarding you with wide eyes.

His lips are parted, and the water coming down from the shower catches on its curves and rolls down, creating a new dimension to them. It takes all of your self-restraint to stop yourself from kissing them at that exact moment.

Your gaze meets his, and nervousness overtakes your lust; you have to remind yourself that he wanted this too — invited you in — just so that you don’t make a run for it.

“I don’t think I’ve ever—” He swallows hard; the water on his lips make them look slick and irritatingly delicious. “Told you why I stayed on the team either.”

“Now’s a good time,” you say quietly, trying to be nonchalant, which is stupid, because your naked bodies are at most two feet away from each other.

“At first, I was thinking we could hang out more, since you were always caught up in practice during the afternoons. But recently, I—” Mark lets out a nervous chuckle. “When we take breaks, I watch you practice. I’ve never actually seen you; you look so pretty when you dance.”

“Shut up,” you whisper, feeling a blush crawl up your neck. “When have you ever said something like that to me?”

“What? You thought you were the only one brave enough to confess?” He laughs a little more easily. His back is off the wall now, body a little closer to yours. Whether this is intentional or not, you don’t know, and you don’t ask. “I was thinking… that I would pluck the courage to ask you out soon, but then it felt like you were ignoring me, and I worried, I guess?” He’s shifting from foot to foot now, too; the habit seems to be contagious. “I thought you didn’t like that I was on the football team.”

“I’ve always liked it. Maybe a little too much.”

He’s inches closer now; you think that this can’t be some random set of movements he’s unaware of. You’re also vividly aware of how hard his cock is, standing erect extremely close to your thigh.

“I’ve always liked you,” he murmurs. “Maybe a little too much.”

“You never acted like it,” you accuse him without real heat. He smiles, more to himself than anything.

“I didn’t really know until the first time I saw you out on the field,” he chuckles. “If you hadn’t said anything first, I might have taken it to the grave, too.”

“I guess I have to live up to being the pushier one in this friendship now and then.”

He laughs, a rich sound that causes a pleasant shiver to pass through your body. Mark notices the slight movement, and he reaches out, pausing in hesitation before taking your waist, his palms pressing against your flesh.

“We’re in the shower together,” he mumbles as if it’s the first time he’s noticing. “Two hours ago, I was worried you were going to stop being my friend.”

“We’re in the shower together,” you repeat, a small smile lifting your lips. Mark mirrors the action. “I think that fact kind of trumps your fears.”

It takes him a while to say anything, his fingers doing most of the work by trailing along your side, dipping into the curve of your waist and skimming over your hip. The steam curls up over the both of you, creating a thin veil that leaves his skin glowing. He only speaks up again when his hands place light pressure against your skin, and he draws closer with this anchor, his eyes traveling further down the landscape of your frame.

“I—” he lets out a nervous laugh. “I can’t believe — we must be breaking twenty school rules right now.”

“Do you mind?”

“Not really. It’s new to me, but — you know. It’s not that weird; not when it’s with you.” His eyes move up again, gaze meeting yours. “Do you?”

“Mind?” You laugh, and his smile widens at the sound. “Not at all. Not when the pay off is looking at you this way.”

He stops pulling himself closer until you’re almost nose to nose, and he replaces his hands with his arms, slowly winding them around your form. From this level of closeness, you can see the droplets of water forming on his eyelashes, dripping down the curve of his cupid’s bow.

“You said,” he tries again, his voice a little softer now — a whisper just for the both of you. “You said I was distracting you.”

“You were.”

“How?”

“I thought a lot about you,” your voice is level with his, almost drowned out by the sound of the shower spray.

“What did you think about?”

You hesitate. The situation at the present is well-established for sex, but you somehow still feel like you’re the only impure one in this stall. Mark is watching you, though, his expression somewhat expectant but mostly genuinely curious. You decide to go the gradually honest route.

“At first, I just… thought a lot about how different you were on the field. You’re more confident; you’re more… alive, I guess?” You laugh at your poor choice of words. “I was surprised, but I liked it a lot. But, um — more recently, you’ve been playing a more active role in the fiction-generated part of my train of thought.”

“Like how?”

You check his expression, and nothing has changed, except maybe his eyes have grown slightly wider.

“I think about… us,” you admit, suddenly refusing to meet his gaze for the rest of your spiel. “I thought a lot about situations where I’d get to see you like this. Where I would get to touch you and taste you.”

You’re so close to him now, wound up in his figure that you feel the shiver run through his body. He clears his throat. “Do I get to touch and taste you in any of those distracting thoughts, too?”

Your mouth falls open, but no sound comes out, and he looks… amused now. Slightly nervous, but there’s a small twinkle in his eye that is unmistakably mischievous. When you don’t respond, he plows on anyway.

“You’re not that special, ____________,” he teases breathily. Your eyes snap up to his again. His face is growing pink, but he doesn’t have any intention of stopping, clearly. “What? Like you’re the only one who’s allowed to think about us? I think about it, too. Sometimes I think about lying in bed with you. Other days, I think about making love to you. Most days, though…”

He sucks in a deep breath; you notice that his arms are shaking a little, like the act of saying so many things at once has drained him of a bulk of energy, but his grip around your waist only grows tighter, and his cock, pressed between your stomachs, twitches.

“Most days I just think about kissing you.”

“Well,” you say, a little hoarsely. “Great minds think alike.”

Mark laughs right before he presses his mouth against yours, cutting the sound off with your lips. You initially assume that it’s going to be brief, but he seems to decide that now is not really the time for elementary-school-style chasteness, opting to part his lips against yours quickly and flicking his tongue out against the seam of your lips. You eagerly respond in kind, coaxing his tongue into your mouth and allowing him to explore it, the wet muscle flicking against your palate and passing over the ridges of your teeth. It kind of tickles, actually, and you want to laugh, except that would ruin the moment you’ve worked so damn hard for, and you would never forgive yourself for that.

His hands are at your sides again, skimming up and down your skin with more fervor, and you return the favor by pressing your palm against his chest, fingers tracing long, slow lines down his chest, one digit catching on his nipple. You’d say something about how cute the consequent shiver is, but you’re currently rubbing your tongue against his eagerly, so you don’t really get to. There’s no other word to encompass Mark’s taste; it’s just clean — fresh, a little bit minty, maybe, and sharp in the most pleasant of ways. A moan passes between you, and you’re not sure who the source is, but it causes your lips to vibrate against his.

Both of you are under the spray of the shower now, the warm water constantly running between your lips, and your hand follows the liquid trail downwards, stopping just above the base of his cock. Mark stiffens, and for a brief moment of panic, you think maybe you’re acting too fast. The fear dissipates just as quickly as it comes when his lips mouth against yours more eagerly, his teeth digging into the flesh of your bottom lip. You let out a soft whine, and he pulls away, his face suddenly morphing into unparalleled concern.

“Did that hurt? I’m sorry.”

“No,” your fingers, acting on the unspoken green light, wrap around his shaft, and you can see him trying extremely hard not to drop his eyes and stare. A low huff escapes him. “I just wanted to do that to you first.”

He chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. “Do you really have the time to be competitive about this? Right now?”

“I guess not,” you admit. “I should probably focus on what I’m doing, anyway.”

His second laugh segues into a low moan as your hand begins to stroke his cock slowly; it’s almost weird how much more heightened your arousal is at the sound, coupled with the sight of his jaw going just a little bit slack, his eyelids dropping halfway. You’ve never seen Mark like this — in fact, you’re fairly certain no one has, and the thought of you being the first to witness pleasure on his face makes you feel maybe a little inappropriately emotional at a time like this. Luckily, the sounds he’s making are some you’re wholly willing to focus on instead.

He leans back in, and you’re prepared for another sweet kiss, but he dips his head, soft lips landing on your shoulder. His kisses are firmer this time, more audible against your skin, and he trails them along the curve of your shoulder inwards until he reaches the dip of your neck. Something that doesn’t feel like his lips presses against your skin there — it’s his tongue, you realize a little belatedly as he licks a slow, careful stripe up your neck, causing a soft, surprised moan to leave you, and the hum that rumbles in his throat as he kisses back down your neck leaves small, tingling patches against your skin.

You also think his mouth is content where it is, but it seems like Mark has a penchant for the unexpected that you’d never been fully aware of, because his lips trace a messy line even further down. When his hands come up your sides, they stop just above your stomach, and you feel his thumbs stretch out, tracing the lower curve of your breasts slowly. You’d planned on saying something — maybe to egg him on (the specifics hadn’t been laid out in your head yet) — but that plan flies out the window when he bends a little more, his lips tracing a small spiral around your nipple before he takes it between his lips.

“Holy shit.” The electric shock of his lips causes you to tighten your fingers slightly on his shaft, and your hand moves at a slightly quicker pace. You’re satisfied to hear the groan that sounds against your skin, even though this triumph is easily overwhelmed by the feeling of him sucking diligently — almost reverently — on your nipple, his hand cupped under your breast with just the right amount of pinch.

The stall is filled with steam now, but with it rises the frequent sounds of your moans and heavy breaths. The water beating down on you makes Mark’s cock interestingly slippery, letting you speed up your strokes with little friction or resistance. The result is amazing; while his head is still bent, lips pressed down on your skin as they move relentlessly against your nipple, you see his hips moving slightly against your hand. You try to push past the haze of pleasure his fingers and mouth on your body are creating and slow your hand to a stop. You’re absolutely fascinated by the fact that even though he makes a soft, slightly questioning noise, his hips are still rocking in minute motions against your hold. Not for the first time, you feel faint in the shower stall; you’d never imagined you’d see Mark fucking himself into your hand, but here you are, witnessing it in high definition, and it’s glorious.

It doesn’t last for long, but it’s still a good enough amount of time before he realizes you’re almost motionless, dazed by the sight. You almost miss his question entirely. “What’s wrong?”

“You,” your words come out breathless. “Are so hot. It’s not fair.”

“You’re kidding, right?” He chuckles softly. You meet his eye now that the mini show is over. He’s looking up at you, wide-eyed and amused, lips still unintentionally grazing against your nipple.

“Can we try something?” You ignore him entirely, but thanks to his general personality, he doesn’t complain; he just nods a little in response. No sooner has he pressed a tiny kiss to your nipple do you back him up against the shower stall’s wall, and he straightens his posture. Your plan is only slightly derailed when he reaches up, cradling your face and landing a brief kiss against your lips. He doesn’t say anything even as he watches you take a small step back before you carefully sink up to your knees or even when you place your palms flush against his thighs. The only time he actually starts asking questions again is when you brush your lips against the tip of his cock, to which he responds with a soft intake of breath.

“What’s the plan here, ___________?”

“I’m going to put your cock in my mouth,” you announce, and you don’t miss how his eyebrows lift slightly. “And you’re going to move your hips. Can we do that?”

“I don’t think I’m going to live through it,” he rasps. “I’m actually two seconds away from a heart attack.”

“Well, hold it in,” you laugh softly, but he doesn’t join in this time; you can tell he’s torn between keeping himself in check and just letting his desire take the reins entirely. He stares down at you, chest rising and falling a little more aggressively. “Come on. Please?”

“I’ve never done that. What if I hurt you?”

“You won’t,” you make the promise for him. “Just do it slowly. I’ll tell you if it’s too much. Please?”

“You know you’re being unfair. It’s really hard to say no when you’re like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like this. Kneeling down in front of me. You know. Begging me,” his hands curl into your hair, making more of a mess of it. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter than ever. “Okay. We can try.”

He doesn’t lead you closer like you think he will with his hold on your hair, so you take the initiative, parting your lips so that your tongue can flick out against the tip of the head. It elicits a shiver that visibly runs through his body, and that’s all the invitation you need to wrap your lips around his cock. His grip tightens minutely, and he looks down at you again, still somewhat concerned. You think it would be kind of stupid to just nod with part of a dick in your mouth, so you squeeze his thighs lightly. Luckily, Mark gets the signal, and with a soft, drawn-out exhale, he starts to move his hips shallowly.

It’s nothing extreme at this point, really; the tip doesn’t even hit the halfway point of your mouth, and he’s moving so carefully that a kid’s gait might outrun him at this rate, but the look on his face is exquisite. Mark in any angle is attractive, and you’ve long come to admit this, but you haven’t been able to decide on which angle is actually his best. You’d always assumed it was his profile, but the view you have now, with him looking down at you, gaze burning, his lips formed around an unspoken ‘o’ of pleasure, has trumped every other angle by a mile.

You still think that him being quiet isn’t so much what you wanted — in fact, the minutes you’ve spent in the shower have not only come to embolden you but have also sparked a weird, internal competitiveness that makes you want to push all of Mark’s buttons until you can find the one that makes him noisy. So far, you’ve gotten a few moans out of him, but nothing that feels satisfying. Even when you roll your tongue against the underside of his cock with every slow pump into your mouth, he doesn’t do much but hum or groan a little, brow furrowed in concentration. You want to egg him on, but you don’t know how, and you’re also not sure how far down his cock you can go before something unfortunate happens.

The solution presents itself when you focus a little less on Mark’s face and more on his cock; more than half of his length is exposed to hot air and water. Your right hand leaves his thigh as your left one gives his thigh another reassuring squeeze, and your fingers once again wrap around the now familiar shape of his shaft just as he rolls them forward.

Mark swears sparingly, especially since he tries to avoid situations that stress him out enough to get him to drop a bomb. For some reason, that just makes it more potent and extreme, like it’s a signal that indicates just how far something’s pushed him. It’s not surprising that you feel some kind of pride swell in your chest when the first out of a long string of fucks suddenly falls from his lips, hoarse and frustrated. His other hand joins the one already tangled in your hair, and there’s an uncharacteristic glassiness in his eyes as he rocks his hips forward with more intent.

“Fuck, ____________,” he slows his litany of curse words with your name, tongue peeking out to catch the water that’s pooled just above his upper lip. “Fuck, you look so hot. What the fuck.”

You can’t respond, so you make a pleased noise in the back of your throat that resonates down his shaft, and he tilts his head back at the feeling. His Adam’s apple bobs dangerously, like he’s swallowed down the rest of his obscenities, and you can’t see much of his face apart from his jawline, which has tensed into a sharp angle.

Your left hand finally leaves his thigh, assured that he won’t need any more guidance, and it finds its way between your legs. You’ve gotten off embarrassingly quickly by imagining Mark like this — moaning, erect, drowning in pleasure because of you — but now that it’s playing out in real time in front of you, you have all the content you could ask for and more. Your fingers find your clit, rubbing it with the same speed his hips are following, and while you haven’t had much practice with your subordinate hand, it doesn’t even matter; you’re so turned on that even half-assed masturbation could probably get you off easily at this point.

You actually think this is how it’s going to end — with Mark fucking into your hand and mouth until he cums, with you fingering yourself until you climax as well — but that fantasy comes to a disappointing halt when he stops moving his hips again, panting as he finally finds the strength to look back down at you. His hands lead your mouth back, easing your lips off his cock as he lets out a soft noise of relief.

“Why’d you stop?” Your mouth feels a little numb, so you stumble over your words somewhat.

“Wa — are you fingering yourself?” He asks, fascinated and now ignoring your question, drawing his head back in a vain attempt to get a better angle.

“You looked so good,” you state, like this should explain everything. “You tasted so good. Why did we stop?”

“As hot as that was, and it was really hot,” he chuckles. “I kind of feel like it’s unfair that you’re keeping your pussy to yourself.”

His voice and words make your chest clench so hard that you can’t even make a noise; your mouth just forms soundlessly around an incredulous oh my god. Mark’s thumb traces your lips as they move.

“Think you can still stand?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. Your calves and thighs had started burning a few minutes into this position, considering you’d spent a good part of the evening before running around and jumping. “If I can’t, will you kneel down with me?“

“Yeah. But let’s try getting you up first.” He takes both of your hands, and you use his hold as leverage, slowly getting to your feet. Your face is impossibly close to his, and his hands are back around your waist. You can see a streak of water slide down his nose, and you lean in to press your lips to the tip, stopping it in its tracks. Mark laughs again, a low rumble of a sound that comes from his chest. “You good?”

You nod, opting to to spend more of your energy on pressing a kiss to his lips again; he returns it without hesitation, but it only lasts very briefly. When he pulls away, you notice that he squeezes your hips a little tighter.

“Turn around,” His voice is still soft, but it’s lost whatever hesitation he’d had before this moment. You follow wordlessly, keeping yourself as close to his form as possible, and his hands never leave your waist, skimming over your stomach. Even if you hear him take a small step back to adjust, you can still feel his cock hard against you, settled between your asscheeks. You press your hips back against his, closing whatever tiny gap he may have made, and you hear him laugh quietly again.

The one regrettable thing about agreeing to turn around is that you can’t see him anymore; his hands move across your skin, rising and falling over the curve of your ass, but you can’t watch him do it without putting a lot of strain on your neck. You have to content yourself with imagining his expression as his fingers dig into your skin lightly, spreading your cheeks apart slightly. At least he makes a sound — a low, appreciative hum that gives you just enough to guess.

He shifts his stance, moving his cock downwards before his hands ease them between your legs; you feel his length pressed up against your folds, and he starts to rock his hips again in the same slow, controlled movements that seem almost trademark. You make the mistake of not keeping your volume in check as you let out a moan, feeling the tip rub against your clit.

Fingers crawl up your stomach, his hands briefly stopping at your chest to squeeze at your breasts. He keeps one hand in place while the other continues its journey, settling gently at the base of your neck. His forefinger stretches upward slightly to press against your lips.

“Someone could hear you.”

“We’re the only people left.”

“You don’t know who could be outside,” he sounds amused at your quick, nonchalant response.

“I don’t think they can hear us from outside. Even if they did, they wouldn’t know who’s in here,” you pause before smiling against his finger. “Unless you want them to.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I can be a little more specific, if that turns you on.”

Mark falls silent, clearly trying to decide how to proceed. His finger traces the shape of your lips before falling lax in front of them, and you take this opportunity to flick your tongue out against it.

You expect him to retract his hand, or something, but you don’t expect his hips to jerk forward a little in surprise, and you let out an even louder moan as his cock skims against your folds. Your thighs close a little more deliberately, adding to the friction.

“Jesus.” His voice is thick, distant, like he’s choked up on something. You can only imagine that he’s probably gritting his teeth, which is a sight you wish you could see, if you weren’t so intent on pushing this newfound button of his.

“Mark,” you breathe out. You feel his cock twitch between your legs. “I want you inside me.”

As soon as you finish your sentence, you part your lips, taking his finger into your mouth. There’s a sharp intake of breath behind you, and you waste no time in bringing your lips down to the knuckle, suckling languidly.

You hear him say something about a heart attack again, but he complies, pulling his hips back so he can align himself to your entrance. In your impatience, you push your hips back. Your moans harmonize as you feel him enter you, and he only waits a moment to collect himself before he’s slowly pushing in, his grip on your breast tightening a little. He’s careful, so careful, like he’s worried if he moves too suddenly you’ll freak out and leave. Reluctantly, you release his finger.

“More,” you murmur when he seems to be slowing to a stop. “I want all of you.”

“You need to relax or something. You’re so fucking tight. Holy shit.”

“You don’t have to act like I’m made of glass,” you laugh softly before letting out a noise of frustration as he actually stops halfway. “Mark.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. But also,” he exhales a little shakily. “This view is nice. Like, really nice.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve been wet since I saw you shirtless outside,” you admit. He makes an amused sound. “Come on. I want to feel all of you stretch my pussy.”

“If you keep talking like this I’m just going to cum on the spot,” he warns. “Is this the kind of dialogue you’ve been imagining we’d have during sex?”

“Sort of.” You don’t even have it in you to sound sheepish; you’ve focused your attention on more pressing matters, like trying to push yourself further along his length. “You’re kind of nastier in my head though. But that’s probably my fault more than yours.”

“Okay, now that just makes me more curious.” His hands realign at your hips before moving backwards, and he spreads your asscheeks again, gripping your flesh a little more tightly as he inches himself forward. You finally let out a soft sigh of relief when you feel his hips flush against yours again, and your walls pulse around him. “Tell me what else you and I say in your head.”

“Why don’t you start moving,” you suggest. “And we’ll see what comes out of my mouth.”

He hums in assent before drawing his hips back and rolling them forward; the soft moan that comes from you is a signal for him to keep going. Mark thrusts in the same manner he seems to do everything in his life — cleanly, carefully, thoroughly. It feels good, but you can also tell he’s holding back, because his grip on your hips is unconventionally tight for his current pace.

It’s actually quiet apart from the intermittent sounds that pass between you; you actually think about saying something dirty, but you put that thought aside when it feels a little too sudden after a silence. You chew on your lip, trying to figure out how to get him to let loose without sounding way too demanding about it. It’s only when you think about Mark’s words — his heightened concern — that you start to pinpoint what the problem is.

“It’s not just about hurting me, is it?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re worried about something else.”

“Is it that transparent?” He chuckles softly, his hips slowing to a stop again. You decide to let it slide this time.

“You were fine before this,” you point out. “You even said—”

“I know, I know.”

“Do you not want to… anymore? It’s okay, you know. If you don’t,” you add quickly.

“Wha — no,” this time, it’s his voice that rises a little. “No, that’s not it at all. I’ve always wanted to — you have no idea how much I’ve…”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I don’t know. A while ago, I was kind of in the heat of the moment, and you looked so… so hot, and it was all good, and then, just now, I just realized,” he laughs softly at nothing in particular, but it’s an embarrassed kind of laugh. “I might not live up to your expectations at all.”

You want to throw him a look of disbelief, but you can only turn your head so far sideways, so you can’t see his face fully. You settle with giving him a side eye that you hope translates just how absurd you think he’s being.

“Are you kidding?”

“I don’t want our first time to be disappointing for you,” he continues. “If you have standards, and I don’t meet them, won’t it be too awkward for us after?”

“I really want to look you in the eye right now, but since I like the fact that you’re still inside me while we’re having this conversation, you’re just going to have to imagine me looking a little sternly but affectionately at you,” you instruct, and he snorts softly. “Mark, the one and only standard I have for any fantasy I’ve ever had is that you’re part of it. Since you’re here, I think we can call this a win.”

“So after this…?”

“After this, we’re going to take Donghyuck out for a late dinner, and if we still have the energy after that, you’re going to tell him to sleep in Renjun’s room so I can come over and ride you, or something.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he hums approvingly. “I guess I could roll with that, then.”

“So stop holding back,” you groan. He chuckles, leaning in to press a kiss to your shoulder blade, the act of him nodding causing his lips to brush against your skin. This time, without your prompting, he starts to move his hips again, pulling them back and rolling them back forward with more resolution. “Fuck. Okay, this, I’m on board for.”

His breath cools against your skin as he laughs silently, but it doesn’t last long; he focuses more of his energy on his movements, and you can hear a low groan echo from the back of his throat. His palms move to press against your stomach lightly, but one of them slides further downward. You feel his fingers press against your clit, rubbing it in intense circles that match his pace. You moan low, feeling yourself tighten around him again.

“I guess shower sex has that whole keeping you super wet perk.”

“Nope,” your voice is higher than usual, but it isn’t cracking yet, at least. “That’s all you.”

“Yeah, I kind of just wanted to hear you say it,” he chuckles. Your admission of it seems to renew his confidence, and his thrusts grow sharper, his two fingers spreading your folds so he can rub the middle one along your slit, having it brush against your clit with every upward stroke. You can’t help but squirm a little at the stimulation, but he keeps you firmly in the embrace of his other arm.

“You like hearing how wet you make me?”

“It’s suddenly become my new favorite topic.”

“I’ll be sure to bring it up at every appropriate time,” you promise. “Like when you’re balls deep in me, or something.”

“Great plan,” his voice sounds a little short, but your assumption is just that he’s trying to conserve his breath now that he’s giving it his all. Now that he’s not burdened with irrational worries, he’s fallen into the delicious pattern of drawing his hips back almost until he’s out of you before snapping his hips forward, burying himself back into you until the base. The feeling of being filled doesn’t turn you on as much as the idea of him being the one who’s filling you, and your moans increase in pitch and volume with every thrust. He doesn’t even try to shush you anymore; in fact, you feel like it’s sort of driving him, considering that he seems to move his hips more intensely whenever you moan his name, prolonging the last syllable.

The hot water is starting to run out; you feel even more goosebumps on your back and shoulder as the water starts to cool down. Your teeth are digging hard into your bottom lip because you’re desperately trying to hold back the fact that you’ve been humiliatingly close to cumming since you’d felt his cock against your clit, but you can feel yourself pulsing around him dangerously. Just when you’re about to confess, though, he suddenly pushes his hips harder into you, suddenly stopping with a low groan.

“Mark —“

“Don’t be mad,” he mutters, his voice dangerously low. “But I’ve been holding myself back since you gave me that blowjob.”

“Technically, you fucked my mouth —“

“Yeah, whatever, that really hot thing you did that almost made me blow a load,” he snaps. You feel his cock throb inside you, and you mewl.

“I’m really fucking close too,” you admit, and he doesn’t skip a single beat. His hips jerk up, allowing him to grind his cock into you for one intense second as he pulls your back flush hard against his chest. He buries his face into your shoulder, and you can feel his short, labored breathing as he pumps into you.

You can’t even form coherent sentences to keep egging him on, so you’re just stammering at this point, switching between Mark and so close and a string of obscenities that heightens in volume when you feel yourself tighten right before you reach your peak. Even when your shoulders tense and you fall into a blissful silence in your climax, Mark doesn’t stop, diligently fucking into you in his determination to keep you riding your high. It doesn’t end when you come back down, either, and you’re a whimpering mess in his arms, nails digging into his forearms and repeatedly moaning out how much you want to see him cum.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, and his voice breaks uncharacteristically; he’s close, but he’s still going, his thrusts growing erratic and sharp. “Fuck, _____________.”

“Mark,” you whine, neediness thick in your voice. “Let me blow you again.”

“You feel so good, though,” he whispers reluctantly. “I don’t want to stop.”

“Mark—”

“Shit, I know,” he groans, easing you away. You turn to look at him, and the sight makes your knees weak; his brow is furrowed, and his hand on his cock, stroking it haphazardly. His lips are parted slightly, and he’s staring at you with a burning desire that somehow makes you wish you hadn’t asked him to pull out. You’re so entranced by how he looks that you almost forget why you’d turned around in the first place, and it’s his low, drawn-out moan that snaps you back into focus.

Getting back on your knees, you tug his hand away; it falls back to his side as you replace it with your own hand, stroking his length at a quicker pace. You can see him threatening to tilt backwards, and you call his attention before it can tip all the way.

“Mark,” you breathe out. “Baby, look at me.”

He complies, slowly bending his head and squeezing his eyes shut for a second before opening them to gaze down at you. His pupils are blown out, and water caught on his lips drips down onto your hand and face.

“Tell me where you want to cum.”

“Shit,” he looks dazed; the fact that you’re squeezing him probably isn’t helping. “I — I don’t know.”

“Do you want to cum in my mouth?”

“Oh my god.” He squeezes his eyes shut again. “Fuck. Fuck yes, yes.”

“Look at me when you do,” you press. “I want you to see your cum all over my lips.”

He looks positively overwhelmed at this point, but he opens his eyes again, fixing his stare on your lips, which have parted to kiss his tip. Your tongue peeks out, pressing flat against the underside of his cock as you continue to stroke him, trying to coax him into climaxing.

He starts to rock his hips again, but instead of intensifying his thrusts, he suddenly tenses; his cock twitches against your hold, and you feel the heat of his cum spill onto your tongue and stain your lips. You can tell he really wants to keep his voice down, but he can’t control the long groan that leaves him. Mark’s expression is something straight out of the million fantasies you’ve had, with him unconsciously licking his lips at the same time you lick your own clean. He stands in slightly dumbfounded silence, not breaking eye contact as he watches you swallow.

He doesn’t even say anything as he helps you up, but he does gather you in his arms again. His embrace is tighter than before, and he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, then the bridge of your nose, then finally your lips. His fingers glide down your back, resting naturally just above your ass.

“Holy shit,” he finally manages to cough out as he pulls away.

“For sure,” you agree, and you watch his lips curl up into a grin. “Never had a shower sex fantasy. Not sure why, but I guess I found out what I should have imagined.”

“These fantasies of yours — do you have, like, a list, or—?”

“Only up in here,” you point to your temple, and he pulls out a disappointed expression. “What does it matter?”

“Well, what kind of checklist am I supposed to make now?”

“You want a sex checklist? Can’t it just be spontaneous like this?”

“I’ll have to work on it.” He reaches behind you, taking the soap from the holder and pressing the flat of it against your back before rubbing it in gentle, circular motions. “It would be nice to have a guide, though, so I’m not repeating myself, or whatever. For example, we can’t have shower sex again tomorrow. That would just be lazy planning.”

“You don’t need a guide,” you say dismissively. “But I’m kind of into the fact that you already think we’re going to fuck again tomorrow.”

“Are we not?”

“We are. That’s why I’m into it.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

When you come out of the boys’ locker room, Donghyuck is standing by the door, arms folded across his chest. He’s visibly miffed and bursts into an enraged whisper when you step out, followed by Mark.

“You guys were in there for an hour! The janitor came and tried to lock the door. Thank god he said there was a ghost inside and he went to the chapel to get the priest. What took you so long?”

“There was only one shower,” Mark says simply. “The girls’ locker room didn’t have any hot water.”

“You take like ten minutes showering,” Donghyuck accuses him before turning to you. “And you hate long showers because they make your fingers wrinkly. Two showers back to back don’t equal an hour in there.”

“We didn’t take back to back showers,” you reply, equally monotone.

The three of you stand in silence, with Mark only moving to close the door behind him. Donghyuck points a slim finger at him, then at you, then at the door. Finally, it makes its way back to you, and his jaw drops a little as the pieces fall into place.

“You’re the ghost?”

“Hey, I wasn’t the only one making noise in there.”

“I wasn’t that loud,” Mark defends himself, hugging his jacket closer to his chest. Donghyuck shakes his closed umbrella, the droplets flying around.

“You guys made me stand out here and try to talk the janitor into getting a different mop while you had locker room sex?”

“Technically, it was shower sex. Locker room sex sounds too public,” you correct him, and he makes a disbelieving noise.

“Weren’t you the one pressuring me into admitting I had feelings for her?” Mark frowns, and Donghyuck freezes, his mouth still open from the words he had been about to say. Your eyes widen, and it’s your turn to point an accusing finger at him.

“You told Mark what?”

“He said I needed to confess or some other guy on the team would beat me to it.” Mark inhales sharply at his following realization. “There isn’t another guy on the team, is there?”

“Technically, we don’t know who has feelings for her on the team, so I might not have been lying so much as guessing with only little information,” Donghyuck sounds decidedly less hostile now. Mark rolls his eyes.

“You told me to just get laid!” You recall, and Donghyuck flinches.

“I didn’t mean right now in the damn showers while I waited for you out here for eons. I was thinking, like, one of you would confess, and then you’d go on a date later in the week, and if things go well then you’d kick me out of the room so you could bone, or something. It’s not my fault you guys made it sound like a scene from the exorcist in there.”

“We didn’t— okay, you know what?” You snatch his umbrella, and he lets it go without much resistance. “Let’s just go back. Come on, Mark.”

You open the umbrella, the remnants of the rain flying outwards as you do. Mark takes the handle from you, and you both march away, leaving Donghyuck behind in front of the boys’ locker room.

You’re halfway across the field when Mark speaks up in a low voice.

“We can’t leave him there.”

“I know. I’m just trying to spook him.”

You both stop, turning to face Donghyuck, who’s still by the locker rooms. He’s clearly watching you, though, because the moment he sees you looking at him, he makes a run for it, his long legs carrying him across the grass at top speed. He’s huffing when he arrives, and he throws his arms around the both of you so he can minimize the space he takes up under the umbrella.

When you reach the parking lot, Donghyuck speaks up.

“So, was it just one round in there, or what?”

#mark smut #mark lee smut #nct smut #mark x you #mark x reader #mark scenarios #mark scenario #mark imagines #mark imagine #mark drabble #mark drabbles #nct scenarios #nct scenario #nct imagine #nct imagines #nct drabble #nct drabbles

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vintagemulti · 4 months

Text

shards and splinters

parings: marc spector x reader , steven grant x reader

desc: apparently what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. now you’ve died and returned alive, perhaps it’s time to test that theory; or risk losing your life once and for all.

warnings: blood, angst, swearing, fighting, guns and gun violence, death descriptions, long as fuck, sex mentions i guess(? if you squint), hurt/comfort, gory i guess (jake🤷🏻‍♀️) writers note: idk how accurate these are bc i’ve been writing this on and off for years but cover all bases i guess xx

a/n: psa to pls reblog anyway she’s BAAAAAACKKK did you miss me ?? i missed youse … if there’s even a moonknight fandom anymore 🫣 i’m so sorry for the 2 years gone from the face of tumblr, i’ve quite honestly had two years from hell and insane writers block so. can anyone even remember this series?? idk maybe you should all reread the first parts 👀👀 anyways. there’ll be one more part to this (will it come this year? next? 2026? who knows…) bc i HATED my original ending and just had to change it. also sorry if this feels rushed or like it jumps around a lot, it’s been written over YEARS, but i’ve tried my best for continuity. also, i know there’s a lot missing in like fight scenes but they are BORING and i hate writing em so i’m not doing it. tried, got half way thru then didn’t touch this for 7 months so.. it’s no fight scene or no part at all. but my last part is pretty much done so hopefully it’ll be posted soon! ill let youse savour this for a while tho lol. on a real note thank you all SO much for all the love, even two years later. it means the world. all my love, all the time x

series masterlist

masterlist

the air felt different now. it was funny; you and marc had been apart hundreds, if not thousands of times, but he had never felt your absence. not like this. no, never like this. it was different now because he knew he could look for you everywhere and you would still be in that room, not breathing, not living.

he could see it all so clearly now. all of what? all of it. everything; life, your life, his life, where everything went wrong, what he should have done, should have said, how he could have saved you.

there was nothing you could have done, marc.

“that’s easy for you to say.” he mumbled, looking down at his hands. “you’re not the one who was halfway through a fucking argument when harrow took her. and if you can remember, harrow took her because of me.”

steven sighed, and went quiet.

“i should’ve died on that fucking alter.”

marc said it over and over, like a prayer, to go back in time and pull the trigger. he was fuck knows where, it looked like the middle of the desert but marc didn’t care enough to question it.

he had walked out of that pyramid and kept on walking - for hours. the hot egyptian sun had began to set, casting a rosy hue on everything. the humidity make marc’s head ache.

steven had gone silent - a small hum of anger in the back of marc’s head. it usually would have surprised marc, for steven to be the angry one. but he wasn’t sure he would never feel surprised again.

are you going to wallow here forever?

marc looked up, low sun glinting in his eyes, making him squint. but he could tell exactly who it was - crescent staff in his peripheral.

“fuck off.”

khonshu laughed. that’s one way to talk to a god.

“fuck off.” he repeated.

and why should i, mortal? why should i listen to you?

“you did this.” it was stiff, cold, a definite statement. “you did this to us.”

khonshu groaned, moving to block the sun from marc’s eyes so he could see him properly. aren’t you going to question how i am here?

“no.”

perhaps you should.

marc could never cope with khonshu’s riddles. they had always infuriated him - never getting a straight answer. but this one, he could tolerate.

“fuck does that mean?” he was looking directly into khonshu’s eyes now - something he had readily avoided for years. “and don’t give me any of your goddamn riddles.”

if you must be so blunt, it would seem like osiris has taken a liking to your poor lady wife. hathor isn’t half fond of her, either. maybe you ought to go back to the pyramid, something tells me your needed.

and he was gone. disappeared with a gust of wind, leaving marc alone in the saharan sunset, shaking and still covered in his wife’s blood.

she’s alive?

“i-” marc looked around. “i don’t-”

his eyes slipped into the back of his head.

steven took a deep breath, swallowing hard. he set off in a run - towards the pyramid.

“this feels so fucking weird.”

you were pressed flat against the wall, peeking around every few seconds to make sure one of harrow’s followers wasn’t coming your way.

i must admit, it’s been a while since i’ve had an avatar.

you let out a breathy laugh. was that your first ever laugh since being revived? you supposed it must be. oh, you wished it was one of steven’s jokes you were laughing at instead.

you didn’t think you’d ever find one of his jokes unfunny again.

“where is he?”

it’s hard to tell. i can’t check, unless i’d like ammit to spot me.

humming, you looked around the corner once again, breath hitching when you saw a shadow come closer.

what made your breath stop completely, however, was the slow, melodic tapping of a cane, following every footstep the person took.

harrow was less than two feet away from you.

swallowing hard, you pushed yourself against the wall even harder, back cold against the concrete. you hoped - prayed with your newfound faith in osiris and his mercy - that harrow would turn back the other way, not hearing your thumping heart.

but your luck had ran out for this lifetime.

the tapping of the cane became louder, until you could see the tip of it in your peripheral, crunching glass finally becoming audible. he was about to come around the corner, and see you. you would be impossible to miss, even the bright red of your new outfit making you stand out.

it seemed like it was impossible to escape harrow, and the tapping of his cane. he had killed you once, what would stop him from doing it again?

apparently, a guardian angel. someone spoke, making harrow turn to look behind him.

this was your chance - to slip away and turn the opposite corner, escape harrow in your new life as you couldn’t in your last.

his voice made you flinch. cool, charming, low. like a snake - exactly like a snake, now you thought about it. the way he slid through life, from the bar all those years ago, to now, awakening a centuries old god, aiming to destroy the world.

you could slither away too, though.

still holding your breath, you sidestepped along the wall, making sure to watch your step over any lose stones, until the wall fell away behind you and led you into another corridor.

as soon as the light from the hall had faded, you let out your breath, hands coming to your forehead and rubbing your eyes.

we have to keep moving. ammit is almost ready to begin.

nodding - although it felt like your brain was rattling around your skull - you looked back up and saw hathor, still looking as beautiful as ever.

this hallway was much dimmer than the last. colder, too. it was like all the light had been blocked, the only thing keeping your vision was the small, fading candles lining the walls every meter or so.

perhaps it was your natural instinct, or a new given sense as an avatar, but you could tell - something wasn’t right. something in the air had shifted, on top of the hot, sticky, egyptian heat, there was something sinister.

your years as a mercenary had taught you to recognise something - blood in the air. and there was certainly blood in the air around you.

“what is harrow’s plan?”

he wants to judge people. through ammit, he believes he can rid the world of everyone bad, even if they aren’t already bad.

“so he’s playing god?” the corridor seemed to go on forever.

he would never admit it, but yes. and ammit is the perfect enabler for him, she’ll know exactly what he’s up to, but because he can give her her power back, she’ll play along.

you scoffed lightly. “harrow isn’t stupid either. he’ll know what she thinks.”

hathor shrugged, a few paces in front of you. only time will tell, my dear.

for a few minutes, the walk along the corridor was silent. the tap of your shoes echoed down the hall, breeze from your passing flickering the candles on the wall.

why did you marry him?

it stopped you in your tracks, hathor stopping too.

“what?”

marc. why did you marry him?

you stuttered for a moment, looking around as if someone would come and help you.

i don’t mean it in a rude way. i’m the goddess of love, it’s natural for me to want to know.

“well,” you paused for a moment and began walking again, slower this time. “we were young when we met, i was coming up for 18 and he was 19.”

and?

“and i knew what i had done to him.” you swallowed. “i felt fucking awful, i thought, maybe if i get to know the guy, and he’s not as much of an ass as everyone makes him out to be, it’ll make it easier for me to forgive myself.”

the corridor kept on, as if it were never ending.

“as you can tell, it didn’t work.”

he wasn’t as much of an asshole as everyone thought?

“no, he was,” you gave a dry smile. “it just so happened that assholes are my type, and i think he worked it out pretty quickly. so after only about two months of knowing each other, he asked me on a date. a real date. it was my first ever date too, god knows anton never took me out. but god, he was such a gentleman.

he picked me up, gave me flowers, wore a fucking tie. and he payed for everything, too. dinner at a four star restaurant, a movie, then out to a bar for drinks.

i knew i had fucked up when he kissed me that night.”

you regret it?

“not for a day. and that’s my mistake- i mean, i was supposed to hate him. i told myself i would hate him. so i wouldn’t feel bad about telling someone to kill him. i didn’t even know how he got out alive- he didn’t tell me about the khonshu shit until after we got married.

oh, our wedding,” you smiled again, a real one. “it was perfect. i was twenty one, marc was twenty three. we were so young. it was a small wedding, just some friends, neither of us invited our family. it was the best night of my life.

it was the night i met steven, too. i think the stress of the day must have triggered it. and that was it- there was marc, and there was steven.”

didn’t it take a while to get used to?

the corridor began to open up, getting slightly wider by the meter. still - there was no end to it in sight.

“it did and it didn’t. i knew for a while there was something happening to him, he would disappear, look confused all the time. i knew it was a matter of time until something changed. and then came steven, perfect steven.

he changed so much- it was like dating all over again. he was even more perfect than marc, stupid english accent included. but, naturally, abuthing that’s perfect must come to an end.”

hathor sighed. and it gave you the impression, just for a moment, that she already knew the whole story. that she was humouring you by letting you tell it. her sigh, sad and resigned, almost confirmed that she knew what was coming.

“the-” you stopped. your voice had broken, and your feet no longer moved. hathor continued for a few paces before looking back at you.

i understand, but if there’s any time you need to tell this, it’s now.

“you know?” you voiced your suspicions.

take into account which god i am, my dear. there is no one else i could chose, but you.

you swallowed. “what’s the point of talking about it if you already know?”

you have been born again. revived. would you like to carry this, this horrible vendetta against someone who has done nothing but love you, for the rest of your new life?

“no.”

then voice it. i can take this pain from you, if you only ask me too. i can help you.

you bit your tongue, looking down at your feet and kicking around a few of the loose rocks. hathor waited.

“the baby was supposed to be born just after my twenty-third birthday.”

a beat. hathor didn’t reply.

“but he didn’t live past twelve weeks.”

you looked back up at hathor, anxious for a reply. she didn’t give you one, only nodding.

“i don’t- i don’t know what i did. i was waiting until i could get a scan, tell marc, have it done properly, you know? but when i went to my appointment, i knew. she didn’t say anything, she just looked. then she left, got the doctor to come in.

he said that the baby had died, that they weren’t sure of the cause, but it was a boy. that my baby boy had died.”

tears threatened your eyes. never - never - had you spoken about this before. not even with marc.

“i went home, with a hatred in my heart. the next few days were the worst. i was grieving a child no one knew i even had. the blood was horrible, it hurt so badly. i told marc i was on my period. fuck, for all he knew i was.

and then my baby was gone. and i hated marc.”

why did you hate him?

you shrugged. “i have no idea. i needed someone to blame and marc was the easiest. that’s when it all went downhill, you know? i wanted him to be there for me, for something he didn’t even know happened. and when he wasn’t, i blew up at him. and he blew up at me.

and that was it, for three years. this horrible hatred towards each other, me hating marc for something he knew nothing about, and marc hating me for every other reason.

he hated me the most for making him stay a mercenary. he wanted out, he wanted a normal life in the suburbs with a dog and a big house and maybe, one day, a child.

but i can’t have that. i don’t want that kind of normal - not when i was so close to it and lost it. so i pushed him into this world. i made him take jobs and work himself to death, even when i found out about khonshu. i made him do it.

and that’s why we’re here. because i told him to follow khonshu here. and now look what i’ve done.”

hathor took two, wide steps towards you, and cradled your face in her hands.

you have done nothing that makes you inhumane. none of this mess is you fault. khonshu would have gotten marc here one way or another. anyone in your shoes would be the same.

her hands were warm. you felt a tear fall, running underneath her fingers. “but i’ve been so horrible. i’m a monster - if not for this, for everything else.”

hathor shook her head. you are a human being.

there was silence as you cried and hathor wiped your tears. at least two minutes passed - but it didn’t matter to you. harrow could come running around the corner and you wouldn’t bat an eyelash.

hathor took a deep breath, looking to her left along the corridor. she opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, another figure appeared.

is now a bad time, human?

you flinched at the rough edge in khonshu’s voice. “what do you want?”

what do i want? there’s a long list.

even through your tears, your patience thinned. “seriously?”

hathor took her hands from your face, turning to look at khonshu. enough of your riddles. just tell her.

the unmistakable sound of footsteps, running, drew your attention. they were getting closer.

i don’t think i have to say a word, actually.

just as khonshu had finished, a figure appeared, coming around the twists and turns of the corridor.

your heart stopped.

marc looked around in a daze, eyes falling first on khonshu, then on hathor, then…

“y/n!”

just as he had stopped running, he started again, coming towards you like a lion out of his cage, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off of your feet.

“oh baby,” he mumbled into your neck.

you had just reached - wrapping your arms around him in equal tightness, hands flying into his hair. oh, god. his hair - his curls, his skin - you’d never take it for granted again.

he pulled back, hands on your cheeks in a mirror image to hathor. his eyes locked into yours, brown irises melting into his pupils, filling with tears.

marc stuttered, trying to get several sentences out at once, before you hushed him.

“please, marc, we don’t have much time. harrow is gonna-”

“i know,” he nodded, eyes still not breaking from yours. “i know- baby, i know. please- please, just give me a minute. i never- i thought i’d never- oh, baby.”

he leaned in, moving his hands out of the way to rest his forehead against yours. he was hot - sticky with sweat and dirt and, although you didnt want to think about it, your blood.

“i know,” you whispered, closing your eyes. “marc, i know.”

barely having finished your sentence, he leaned in and kissed you.

it was like the first kiss all over again, and you supposed it was. hot, needy, passionate, desperate. you could live in this moment.

but the unmistakable sound of khonshu clearing his throat broke your kiss.

if you wouldn’t mind, harrow is about to release ammit. i’m sure your couples catch-up can wait another hour.

“yeah,” you nodded, breaking away, but marc was far more hesitant to let go.

“i can’t-” he looked around, paranoid. “i can’t do this, y/n. i just lost you, i can’t run the risk of losing you again, i’ve never- y/n, i can’t let you go, you’re everything to me, and if harrow- oh god, what did harrow do to you? i swear to god, the minute i see him, i’m gonna-”

he blinked. a beat.

“paranoid git never did know when to be quiet, did he?”

“oh, steven,” you threw your arms around him again. “fucking hell.”

steven, unlike marc, seemed far more willing to let you go. “love, i know, but if we don’t go now, we’re all gonna end up dead. please, we can do this all after, yeah?”

he took your hands in his, stilling your shaking fingers. he was so warm - always so warm.

“okay,” you nodded, looking between him and the gods beside you. “okay.”

you had severely underestimated how far harrow was willing to go. it had been what felt like hours, an unrelenting fight. you weren’t even sure when layla showed up, hoping to help you in any way she could.

but her attempts were futile; ammit was huge. really - huge, bigger than the pyramid behind her. khonshu had, as usual, gotten involved too, so that meant he was the same size, almost trampling you with every step he took.

you had tried. really, you had. you’d tried to use your new found avatar abilities to at least land something on harrow, but truth be told, you were failing. he’d hit you far more times that you’d even aimed for him, you were covered in cuts and rapidly forming bruises, you were sure your shoulder was dislocated.

but worst of all? your head wasn’t right. you weren’t sure what was wrong with it - it seemed fine every time you focused on identifying the issue, but every time you weren’t paying attention, it was there again. dizzy, a ringing in your eyes, everything a second or two behind; your vision lagging and cloudy. but just as you’d notice it, it was gone.

it was getting worse, too. you could see marc out of the corner of your eye; he was one to one with harrow. it would have made you anxious if you could properly focus on what was going on. but you couldn’t - your thought were scattered, a ringing back tenfold in your ears, the world had gone distant and hazy.

the doctors told you it was a concussion the next morning. layla had actually came in very handy, able to translate the man’s arabic into english for you.

he had told you that you’d sustained a massive head injury - you figured it would have been investigated, if you hadn’t been one of the people there last night.

‘there’ was all people could talk about. first the sky had gone backwards (you’d missed that part, thanks to being dead), then, out of nowhere, two ancient egyptian gods had appeared, destroying all the buildings in their wake, pyramids too.

it wasn’t that you couldn’t remember it. you could - it was clear in every aspect. it just didn’t feel like you’d been there at all. even the build up to it, every moment from when you’d stepped out of that pyramid, hand in hand with steven, hot air hitting your face;

it wasn’t you.

well, obviously it was you. but it wasn’t the same you. everything felt different, you didn’t have the same emotions you did before. the same key ones, yes, like how you felt about marc, and steven, and who you are as a person, but basic thing, like fear, and compassion? it was gone.

you’d have voiced this to a doctor if you could put ‘i died and got brought back to like by an ancient god, but not the same one who destroyed half of your city last night, sorry about that, by the way’ into layman’s terms.

trauma induced dissociation was enough of a label for you. it fit - everything just felt a little hazy, was all. not that you’d asked your doctor, a google search (excluding the resurrection part) had taken you to pages and pages about dissociation and how it’s normal to feel it after a traumatic event. you were pretty sure dying was a traumatic event.

and yes, you could bring it up to your doctor, he was payed to help you, after all. but there was a strange gnawing in the back of your head: that if you voiced this feeling, it would only get worse, and the happy ending you and your husband currently had would be shred in two because you couldn’t feel properly.

so instead, you listened to his professional diagnosis; a severe concussion, fractured rib, dislocated shoulder, several cosmetic wounds, and mental trauma that would be discovered at a later point, if you ever got around to voicing it to a doctor.

what a lovely shopping list, you thought.

it was three days before they let you out, and marc wasn’t getting out for another two after that. you’d had to beg him to even go to the hospital in the first place, but now he was getting the medical attention he’d needed for years, he seemed content in his hospital bed. not that he’d ever admit it.

with two days to yourself (not nights, you’d go back to the hospital and stay with marc), you decided to have the egyptian holiday you had come for.

the first stop was obvious; buy clothes. all of the ones you had were either covered in blood or halfway shredded. once you’d achieved this, in a new white linen sundress (cut below the knees to hide the still raw scars), you felt just slightly lost.

of course, you weren’t lost, you were always quick to get your bearings in new places - mercenary years had left you with a few skills, after all - and you kept yourself in a fairly small area, close to the hospital in case you got an emergency call.

no - the feeling of being lost came from deep down. ever since you’d come back to life it was the same, a strange longing for something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. something you felt you just had to have, maybe not right now, but in the near future. the hazy feeling had already begun to pass, you were sure google had served you well. but it left behind this in its wake, a new, even stranger feeling.

a breeze blew your hair lightly as you looked down the street in front of you. it was picturesque, all kinds of small shops and cafes as far as you could see. you could hear kids playing somewhere, a baby crying in the distance.

the lost-longing feeling piqued at this.

“oh.” you breathed. “oh.”

beside you, hathor, dressed in a golden, floor length dress and looking beautiful as ever, laughed.

oh, indeed. did you forget which god i am?

168 notes · View notes

andypantsx3 · 1 year

Text

fingerprints | 7 | todoroki x reader

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 4k of est. 35k words | 7th of 9 chapters

summary: When you’re outed as pro hero Shouto’s soulmate on national television, there are really only two sensible things for you to do: blame someone else and run.

tags/warnings: romance, soulmate au, fluff, pining, not actually unrequited love, aged up characters, eventual smut

It was worse than you could have ever imagined.

Almost as soon as you’d gotten inside, your neighborhood had begun crawling with unfamiliar people. Your phone had started ringing incessantly, your texts and twitter notifications suddenly exploding.

From the brief flashes of the messages you could see, it all had to do with Shouto. Text whizzed past–hiii i saw your handle posted in a thread, are you really running girl? and Is it true?? Are you Shouto’s soulmate???? and worst of all, die in a ditch bitch you’re too ugly for him.

Your stomach churned.

You didn’t dare open your laptop or turn the television on, for fear of how far the speculation had spread, and what people were saying about you. You tried to ignore the murmur of the crowd amassing outside your apartment building, and opened a random book with shaky hands, trying to focus on something else.

You were not quite successful.

Your apartment building was old and thin-walled enough that you could never fully block out the drone of dozens of voices, the shutter click of cameras, and the loud, authoritative tones of someone ordering people back—likely Shinsou’s aforementioned partner, Real Steel. It all coalesced into an unsettling undertone that kept you on edge for hours.

It wasn’t until that evening, a hundred unread pages later, that conditions changed. The sounds of a muffled argument came through the wood of your front door, and you couldn’t help but peer out the peephole, to find Shinsou looming over your roommate Ami, clearly blocking the entry to your apartment.

“It’s my friggin’ house!” she was saying when you poked your head out.

At the sound of the door, Shinsou turned to eye you. “Stay right there. I need to put her under before she can come in, in case she’s using an appearance altering quirk.”

Your roommate did not look thrilled by this prospect. But Shinsou did not look like he was going anywhere.

Intrigued by whatever Shinsou’s quirk might be, you watched as your roommate gave up, letting him do what he wanted. He murmured a question, and your roommate’s eyes suddenly went vacant with her response.

“Drop your quirk,” Shinsou ordered her. You didn’t know what was supposed to happen–but when nothing did, he looked satisfied.

He gestured her inside, giving you a significant look over the top of her head. “Todoroki says don’t look at anything online.”

You nodded. “I–yeah, I uh–it doesn’t look kind out there. I guessed I shouldn’t…”

Shinsou watched you for a minute, violet eyes sliding over you in some kind of assessment. “Whatever shit they’re saying, disregard it. They just want a piece of Todoroki’s flat ass.”

You blinked, a shocked laugh spilling out of you. “I don’t–-it’s not flat!”

One of Shinsou’s eyebrows lifted, that smirk touching his mouth again, and you whirled around, yanking your roommate through the door with a strangled, “Anyway thanks!” You slammed it behind you before you could say anything else embarrassingly revealing of the stock you’d taken of Shouto’s…assets.

Your roommate gaped at you, immediately demanding the details of how you of all people had gotten caught up in the biggest romantic scandal in hero history. You summarized it as best you could, trying to ignore her slack-jawed look.

“But you’re so normal,” she said when you finished. “You’re just–-you.”

You hid a wince, but had to agree. The last couple of months had been a giddy blur, but you still were just some girl with an hourly wage, working in an animal shelter and living in a squashed little apartment with zero merit to your name.

“Yeah, it’s…It doesn’t feel real,” you said. “Maybe we’re dreaming this.” You thought back to the time you thought you’d hallucinated Shouto in the doorway of the shelter. “Maybe we’re all just experiencing some mass hallucination…”

Ami nodded seriously, like this was an option. She floated off to her room, where you heard her answer a call from another of her friends—“It’s true, you are never gonna believe what she told me!”—and you quickly retreated to your own room, trying not to think about the shock she’d exhibited, or any of the unsettling messages that had flashed past before you put down your own phone.

It made you rethink the events of earlier in the day, frowning as you went over lunch with Shouto’s mom, your wild shopping spree–events that felt light years away now. You could have even sworn that Shouto had been waiting for something as he left you outside your apartment–lingering, watching your face, standing so close like he’d been expecting you to lean up and—and—-

But no.

That was crazy. And Ami’s reaction, plus the reaction of thousands of other people online underlined that.

You’d let your mind run away with you just because Shouto had made you feel like someone. Someone special to him—but that was fucking unhinged. Delusional. Deranged.

As if drawn by your need to remind yourself who you were, you opened your phone again. Hundreds of texts from friends clogged your message app, and your twitter notifications numbered in the thousands.

Hey it’s Mari, one text from your coworker said. I’m covering your shifts for the next couple days, management is asking you not to come in or the crowds will agitate the animals.

Your heart sank. You loved the pets at the shelter, and they were possibly the only beings in your orbit who wouldn’t know or care about your newfound notoriety. You suddenly wanted nothing more than to snuggle into the patchy fur of shelter cat, run off your anxieties with the dogs on the track out back. You would settle for Princess giving you her smug little stink eye over Shouto’s shoulder, even.

And how were you ever supposed to achieve your dream of opening your own rescue if you were suddenly being denied shifts? You hoped they didn’t have to let you go over this—you didn’t want to dip into your tiny pile of hard-earned savings to cover your rent and food, didn’t want to backslide on months and months of progress all because people couldn’t be chill over a man who didn’t even like you like that.

As if to torture yourself further, you let yourself flick through your twitter notifications. Some bordered on kind, things like omg i’m soooo jealous of you and this girl’s first reaction to finding out she was shouto’s soulmate was to RUN AWAY?? queen of relatability but there were many more that were just as you had feared.

Guys relax, it's obviously not real, someone had tweeted. Look at Shouto and then look at her. Another had posted, it’s not even that he’s in a different league, they’re not even playing the same sport.

When a glance at the sidebar showed you that #shoulmatehoax was the highest trending topic in your area, your stomach twisted. You quickly clicked out of the app, retreating into your own room to hide under the covers.

Part of you blazed in rage that people were being so awful about you—you were just a normal fucking person! You never asked for any of this, you had tried your best to mind your own business, and you weren’t a supermodel by any means but that didn’t give people the right to be assholes!

But another part of you knew you’d gotten too big a head over Shouto and needed to be brought down. Spending his money, meeting his mother, thinking he was going to kiss you? You were playing a different sport altogether, and you needed to remember that.

You tossed and turned, rolling around under your blankets, feeling hot and cold and ashamed and embarrassed. No matter how much you tried to put it out of your mind, you couldn’t.

You lay awake for a long while, thoughts roiling, until eventually, when dawn had finally started to creep under the gaps in your curtains, you slipped into an uneasy sleep.

In the morning, you were awoken by your roommate pounding on your door, her voice high and strangled.

“Y/N!” she screeched. “Y/N you’re gonna wanna get out here right now!”

Her fist pounded with urgency, heavy staccato beats. She sounded panicked.

Your eyes shot open and you fell out of bed, clumsy with sleep. You tore the door open, heart in your throat, only to find Ami on the other side, flanked by a tall, handsome silhouette you knew only too well.

“Sh–Shouto!” you garbled out, fuzzy with shock and the clinging threads of slumber. “Why are you–? What are you–?”

He peered at you calmly over Ami’s head, eyes trailing slowly down your form. A white eyebrow went up. You realized with horror that you were still in your sleep clothes, an old tee shirt and the world’s tiniest pair of shorts that clung unflatteringly to the swell of your thigh. Your hair had to be a bird’s nest, your face puffy and pillow-creased.

And here Shouto was, perfect and put together, looking like he’d just stepped right out of the pages of like, a Ralph Lauren catalog. Damn him.

“You were not answering your phone,” he said. You watched, mortified, as his eyes dipped back down to your bare leg and pinned there, like he couldn’t help himself. Your face heated in shame.

He probably couldn’t believe the nerve of you to show yourself like this to him.

“Sorry, sorry,” you said, trying to angle yourself in front of Ami to hide, but he was tall enough that his eyes followed you right over the top of her head.

“Ami, please entertain Shouto for a minute while I, um, put clothes on,” you pleaded, then threw the door shut in both of their faces before either could respond.

You raced to your closet and frantically dug out the first sweater you saw, then tripped over to your dresser and unearthed your pants, bra, and panties. You yanked it all on at the speed of light, and then frantically did your hair, cursing as your fingers tangled in it. You ran into the bathroom and hurriedly washed your face, power washing your teeth with all the speed and force of a carwash.

You spilled out a few minutes later, to find Shouto looking out of place on your couch, shamelessly looking through the collection of things on your coffee table–Ami’s incense burner, a pile of your books, a well-watered succulent in a tiny pot, and a few sheets of what looked like one of Ami’s nursing assignments.

Ami pulled on her coat to head to work, looking almost relieved that she was about to be out of the same room as someone as hauntingly beautiful as Shouto.

“He’s real,” she hissed as you passed one another in the hall. “And he looks like that!”

And then she was out the door, Shinsou’s drawl greeting her as she stepped into the hall.

The door clicked shut, leaving you alone with Shouto. Your heartbeat spiked.

Shouto watched you for a long moment, those pretty, heterochromatic eyes sliding back down to your now-clothed legs as if to affirm you were properly attired now. You watched a tiny smile tease at the corner of his mouth as he eyed your slippers, before his eyes flicked back up to your face. Your skin went weirdly warm.

“Um, sorry I wasn’t dressed,” you said, cheeks heating. “I didn’t expect, um, company. Or to leave the house, really, for the next few days–-”

Shouto interrupted you by getting to his feet, and in two long strides he had reached you, pulling you close to him with an arm around your back. He was so tall and warm against you, and that faint cologne of his lingered at his pulsepoint. Your blood went molten in your veins, your brain suddenly blue screening.

“Shouto–?” you asked, muffled into his shoulder.

A large, calloused hand came up to cup the back of your head, pressing you more firmly into his shoulder. Almost automatically, your hands went around his back, fisting in the material of his coat. Every inch of him felt like relief against you, and you had to fight not to slump bonelessly into him, not to curl up and hide in him.

“You were not answering your phone,” Shouto said, finally, his voice a low murmur against the side of your head. “I had thought…” he trailed off, like he was unwilling to finish the thought.

The soft, concerned tone of his voice, and the way he was holding you too him made a weird, shivery sort of feeling well up inside of you. He had seen—he knew what some of the people had been saying about you online. You suddenly wanted to hide your face in his neck, something horrifyingly like tears prickling at your waterline.

Obviously he’d known, already, that you weren’t compatible in the way that soulmates usually were, as evidenced by the fact that he hadn’t made a move on you and was most probably seeing someone already. But hot shame twisted in your gut at the idea that he would have to be confronted with it all over again, for it to really be driven home that with the kind of soulmate he deserved, he’d been given you instead.

You blinked quickly, trying to fight the sudden wave of emotion back. How embarrassing.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, hoping you sounded normal. Really, you could handle a couple of assholes online. It’s not even like they were wrong, necessarily. “Really it’s fine.”

“It can be…overwhelming,” Shouto said, his mouth in your hair. He made no move to pull away from you, just stood there holding you, like it didn’t bother him at all. “You do not have to be fine.”

The care in his voice almost undid you. You clutched harder at his jacket, trying to breathe slowly.

“Shouto–”

“Y/N,” he said quietly. “You do not have to be fine. You did not ask for this.”

You quickly shoved your face into his shoulder as a pair of hot tears finally spilled over, embarrassment curling in your belly. It was just a couple of kind of rude tweets! Shouto was a pro hero and had been subjected to so much worse over the years–-especially given his relation to a notorious war criminal, and the still-widely-condemned former number one hero. It was horrifying that all it took was a couple of asshole tweets to drive you to this, especially when they weren’t even incorrect.

You struggled against the rest of your tears but they kept coming, slipping out and wetting the fabric at Shouto’s collar.

“The agency was able to get the book delayed, and Yoshizuki Ayumi’s next few interviews suspended. She has recanted her speculations in a tweet, but I do not anticipate that the news will be suppressed forever,” Shouto said.

His hand petted over your hair softly, and you wondered, half-crazed, if this is what Princess got to feel like all the time.

“It’s fine,” you said. “It’s fine.”

“There is…something else,” Shouto said. You were too embarrassed to turn and look at him inquisitively, so you made a questioning noise into his coat.

“I regret that…you will not be able to return to the shelter,” Shouto said. “It won’t be safe for you there.”

Your heartbeat stopped, hammering to a halt in your ribcage.

The shelter. Your job. Your dream—

If you couldn’t go back to the shelter, then you couldn’t go back to your job. Couldn’t make rent. Couldn’t put away funds for a rescue.

And if you couldn’t work at the shelter, where else could you go? Was it only that kind of job that was unsafe? Was any public-facing job unsafe? How were you supposed to work anywhere and not show your face—unless…you could get a job washing dishes in the back somewhere. Or maybe unloading trucks or something?

Your breath came fast and you strained in Shouto’s grip, trying to keep collected. You wouldn’t cry over this too–you could find something else. People lost jobs all the time…

“Oh, I—” you fumbled. “I. Yes, right. Um, I’ll look for—something else. You will have to advise me—”

You cut off, horrified when your voice began to creep up into something high and reedy with upset.

Shouto suddenly stepped back from you, and you had a wild moment of terror and disorientation, before he leaned back in, cupping your face in his hands. He tipped your chin up to him, looking grimly handsome and horribly, horribly regretful.

Your tears came harder and you stared at him wide-eyed, not knowing what to do or say.

“I am sorry, love,” he said. “I did not mean for this, when I came and found you.”

You swallowed, conscious of his fingers where the tips brushed your throat, then shook your head. “No, no. I’m so happy that you did. Of course I am—you’ve been so unbelievably kind. Shouto, don’t ever think that.”

Shouto’s mouth was a hard, serious line. “It’s where I met you properly, for the first time. I do not like to see you leave the shelter under these conditions.”

You wished you could stop crying, to be even a modicum of more reassuring. “It’s fine. People have to leave jobs all the time. I have a couple months of savings, and I’m sure like, washing dishes doesn’t need too many creds, or–you’ll have to tell me what else you think could be safe…”

Shouto’s brows knit, and his mouth twisted into a frown. “Washing dishes?” he echoed.

You watched his eyes trace down your face uncertainly. “That’s a bit dramatic. Obviously there’s other stuff. I just thought…out of the public eye…”

Like, unless you had developed a quirk in the last five minutes, there was no way that you could defend yourself against someone who came looking for Todoroki Shouto’s soulmate, regardless of the fact that you weren’t his romantic partner or anything.

“I had wanted to tell you some other way,” Shouto said, his thumbs brushing away stray tears. “But I suppose now would be best.”

You watched him curiously through watery eyes as he let go of your face, hand sliding into his pocket for his phone.

He pulled something up quickly, then turned his phone to face you. You blinked as a shop front came into view, a few lingering tears squeezing themselves out with the motion. It was a kind of charming, free-standing brick building, surrounded by a neat little parking lot. It looked to be a picture on some property portfolio–a map at the side of the page showed a red dot not far in location from Shouto’s apartment, sandwiched between his home and his agency.

It didn’t look like it was open, whatever it was, and you looked at Shouto doubtfully.

“Are they…hiring…?” you asked, mystified.

Shouto’s mouth twitched. “Unless you planned to rescue all the animals by yourself,” he said.

It took a minute to register what he’d said, but when you did, it felt like the floor had opened up underneath you. You took a dizzy step back.

“An animal rescue? My animal rescue?” You asked, thoughts reeling. There was no way. There was no way.

Shouto nodded seriously. “If you like the location. I’ve put an offer in, but if another location suits better, it is changeable. And you’ll need to tell me where you want things—it’s feasible to put a run in, where the parking lot is, they’ve said. And it will be taken apart to install the proper security measures, layer by layer, so it may take some time…”

He trailed off, peering at you somewhat anxiously, you thought, eyes widening when he noticed an embarrassingly fresh stream of tears spilling down your cheeks.

“Do you not like it?” he asked.

You grabbed his forearm, panicked. “No!” you shouted, wincing with your own volume. “No, I love it. Shouto—I—but you can’t—I don’t have the money to pay you back right now. I don’t even have the full funding plan yet, I haven’t—”

One of Shouto’s hands came up to take you by the chin again, thumb stroking just under your eye, smearing the tears there. You thought you’d never been touched so terribly gently.

“I should like to be your funding plan,” he said. “I do not want money from you. You can collect other donations, if you like. But I will fund you fully. And my mother has asked to be included—there is a significant family fortune that needs spending, she says.”

You didn’t know what to do with your face, or where to put your hands, or how to stop crying. You didn’t know anything, except that all you could do was throw your arms around Shouto again, and muffle a hoarse "Thank you," and a sudden sob into the collar of his jacket.

His arms came around you, clutching you to him tightly.

Wave after wave of emotion hit you–anxiety, confusion, happiness, anticipation. It was all a jumble, a wild tangle of things you could do nothing but stand there, holding Shouto like a lifeline.

He held you there for a long time—an embarrassingly long time, actually, while you cried out all your feelings from the last twenty-four hours. You liked that he didn’t prompt you, just stood there silently, tall and strong and warm against you, letting you figure yourself out.

When you were finally able to pull away, Shouto peered down at you, those heterochromatic eyes curious. He murmured something quiet, a query on your feelings.

You took slow stock of yourself, registering a slight caffeine headache and a bone-deep dryness, as though you were a sponge that had been wrung out. You thought you should probably feel other things, too, but those two sensations were the most overwhelming.

“I think…First I need water and also a coffee,” you told him. “I will have to figure out a repayment plan later, when I’m not a mess–”

Shouto opened his mouth but you put a hand over it, heart beating hard with how daring you were being, touching him this much.

“--We can talk about it later,” you said. “Right now, I’m thinking coffees for both of us. Does that…sound okay?”

Reluctantly, he nodded. “I am sorry to have woken you,” he said around your hand.

You glanced at the clock, eyebrows raising when you realized it had already passed lunch time. As if on cue, your stomach growled, and you felt Shouto’s mouth quirk against your hand. You quickly drew your palm away, your whole arm tingling with the feeling of his mouth. Your fingers had left little smudges of color at the side of his mouth, almost like you had kissed him, had left an imprint of your lipgloss on him…

“I had also thought we might cook together, if you like,” Shouto said, interrupting that embarrassing train of thought. You followed his gaze over to your door where a tote of what were clearly recently-purchased groceries lay to the side of your door. You spied leafy greens and a bag of rice crowning the top.

“There is a lunch recipe Fuyumi sent me that I would like to try,” he said.

Your heart warmed with the idea, and the knowledge that Shouto had definitely brought food as a means of distracting you from the things people were saying on twitter–to give you something else to do and to focus on. He was so unbearably good.

You could feel your heart ballooning with helpless affection for him as he watched you expectantly–as though there was ever any way you could say no to him.

“Lunch sounds amazing,” you told him. You padded over and scooped up the groceries, then led the way into your cramped little kitchen.

Shouto followed after, his face so carefully still, finally, that you could tell he was trying not to look too smug. You smiled, so full of emotion that you couldn’t even bring yourself to be self-conscious about the state of your kitchen or Shouto’s tear-soaked coat or the thousand other things you should probably be remembering.

And in that small moment, you thought things might actually, unexpectedly, turn out okay.

#todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x you #shoto todoroki x you

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heartsgettingwiser62 · 1 year

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Ok so I think I may be losing my mind over some plastic wrap lmao

But PLEASE look at this and tell me I'm not crazy and this is actually weird:

Karen I'm begging you to explain to me why the fuck do you have 2 plastic wrap packages from different brands UPSIDE DOWN in your kitchen cabinet. PLS.

Is it just me?? Is this completely normal and I'm losing my mind over nothing??? I mean probably but WHY ARE THEY THE ONLY THING THAT'S UPSIDE DOWN AND PLUS THEY'RE COMPLETELY LEGIBLE

So since I've spent the last 3 hours looking at fucking plastic wrap let me share some thoughts:

First of all, to structure this mess in some way, let's look at the dates. First, at the Reynolds Wrap invention date. Bc PLS LOOK AT THIS

Oh. Looks like it was created in 1947. Do you guys wanna know who was also born in 1947??

I. Uh. What the fuck. WHAT THE FUCK.

"It could be a coincidence" Dude I KNOW I'm just doing this bc I've spent hours researching about plastic wrap and I NEED to tell someone ok y'all are my therapists ksjdalkj

Now the Glad Wrap was founded in 1963, and some pages say that Kali was born in 1963, others in 1964, and others that in s2 she's 16/17 so there's no way she was born back then; so idk about this date.

Now let's go with the ads, starting with Glad Wrap bc it's by far the most interesting one.

I've seen multiple commercials but none of them seemed to have anything meaningful EXCEPT FOR THIS ONE WHICH IS MAKING ME ABSOLUTELY LOSE MY MIND:

youtube

Am I crazy. Do I seriously need to sleep. Or does that look an awful lot like Karen Wheeler??? Especially here in s4????

I mean, the hairstyle and the blond hair, but much more importantly, the outfit.

Like?????? I mean I get that it's 80's white wealthy woman fashion, fine, but that's a whole load of coincidences???

Now for the rest of the ad, the plastic wrap thingy that attacks the woman is pretty interesting, as well as the clock in the background for Vecna reasons. Regarding similarities with the Wheeler's kitchen, I could only catch due to the low quality the bowl with apples and the phone on the wall (you can't see it on the screenshot but there's a phone behind Mike). I couldn't really find anything about the strawberries, but if y'all know something pls tell me

As a bonus, the ad is from 1987, which as far as I know is when everyone guesses s5 is gonna take place in

Now there's no much to see in the Reynolds Wrap ads, except maybe this one:

youtube

(Ignore the yt bar lmao) Although not as much as the previous one, the woman's outfit in that frame does remind me of this Karen s4 look, the same look she has on that scene the damn plastic wrap came from.

Ik this is all probably meaningless, buuuut do you guys want more meaningless shit??

Let's go back to the Glad Wrap ad. The slogan for that specific ad is "Don't get mad. Get glad." Welp, Vecna's a fan of this last word bc out of 9 times it's said in s5, 4 are said by him.

Let's take a quick look at the most interesting time he says that word. We're in Vecna's monologue in chp 7, and in the same scene just some minutes before, he says this:

"I could not do that. I could not close off my mind and join in the madness. I could not pretend. And I realized, I didn't have to."

Let's remember the slogan: "Don't get mad. Get glad."

Then, a couple minutes later, in the same scene:

"And soon, others were born. You were born. And I am so glad you were, Eleven. So very glad."

Now literally two seconds before this last line, this shot was happening:

And. Um. Do you. Do you guys know what's used for tattoos. Um.

Plastic wrap???

Do y'all get why I said I've a hundred percent lost my mind sjdfisdjfil

Ok so. That was it. Anyways I couldn't find anything else important about the rest of items in the kitchen shelve. If y'all have a better explanation as to WHY TF are those plastic wrap packages upside down and perfectly legible, PLS TELL ME. This said, goodbye

#giving a kiss on the forehead to everyone who read this whole thing muac muac ily #dude i was making an actual interesting post till i noticed the fucking plastic wrap and now i can't even remember what i was doing lol #byler #<<<target audience #stranger things theory #stranger things #henry creel #vecna #martin brenner #stranger things analysis #stranger things set design #set design #mike wheeler #karen wheeler #henry creel theory #karen wheeler theory #001

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caffeinatedrogue · 1 year

Text

it all started with my headcanon of Vincent being good at pool and teaching Kerry, hence having to eject it from my brain in some form,

...then I got sentimental about lore BIG TIME so I did something unthinkable and I ....wrote :tm: !!! 100% forgetting that I am no native speaker and I can't write for shit so venture forth at your own risk (fluff, it's fluff, andthere's a funny pic at the end)

Curved over the green woolen surface, his brow furrowed in concentration, V. held his breath - then arm and cue moved in a smooth stroke. The white ball hit its target with a sharp ‘knock’, sending the 8-ball rolling straight into the pocket. Nice. He didn’t have the time to smile however, as a frustrated exclamation came from somewhere behind him.

“Ugh…goddamnit!” Perched upon his stool, Kerry smacked his thighs in a show of disappointment. “Looks like I’m gonna have to pay for yet another round. Fuckin’ awesome, really.”

Vincent, still hunched over the table, quickly turned in worry - only to see that the man was actually amused, a cheeky grin upon his face. Relieved but still trying his best not to look too chuffed about having landed the winning shot he straightened up and did a little stretch before fetching the glass he’d left on the table rail.

“Whev, you almost had me. For a second I thought I had really hurt your pride”. He gave Kerry a little wink and took a sip of whiskey. “Gotta say, you put up a fight this round”.

“Well, I’ve got a very good teacher…and he’s quite the looker, too.” Kerry hopped off his seat and walked up to him. “But seriously, how come you’re this fuckin’ good at it?’’

Vincent gestured at the other tables. “See for yourself. Take a look around and watch who else is playing.’’

Kerry craned his neck. He had not given the other customers much thought until that moment, but now he could see it - little groups of youngsters in dusty leathers and bomber jackets were gathered all around, chattering and having a pint - some of them bearing Aldecaldos patches.

“Riiiight. Nomads. Heh, makes sense. Guess you had many a night like this.”

Leaning against the wooden edge of the table, V slipped a cigarette between his lips and lit it.

“Yep”, he said between puffs of smoke. “This is pretty much the best you can find in terms of nightlife, if you’re not from the big cities. Booze is decent, people are nice save from the occasional fight, and you get to wind down away from camp after a hard day of work”.

He looked down into the glass as he spoke, swirling his whiskey. Kerry could see something - nostalgia, or something else? - suddenly cloud his eyes, lost in distances only V.’s mind could see. It only lasted a moment before he snapped out of it, quickly turning his gaze back on Ker.

“Anyway that’s the secret: hundreds of matches - half of those, I played drunk as a skunk.” he quipped with a little smile, wrapping his arms around Kerry’s waist. Then his voice turned soft. “Though for city folks this kind of thing must grow old very quickly, I guess. I hope you’re not…well, bored?” It was there that it truly hit Kerry - those nights were not only about leaving the City and all its weight behind for a few hours, looking for something different - letting their hair down at some roadside bar where nobody gave them a second look or cared about who was who. Him - he could simply drive around NC and have a tale to tell for every corner of it: crashing the car with Johnny, playing this or that gig, hell, even where his favorite record store in the 30s used to be. Meanwhile, severed from it, all Vincent had to show for his past were an old car and a bunch of sun-faded pictures on the wall near his bed. A night on a highway across the Badlands was as close as V. could get to showing him something of it, a semblance of his world and the places he’d loved, or what his life had been like: in short, who he was. And hoping Kerry would like it - would like him as he truly was, with his lack of frills and sophistication, one who found joy in the little things. A bittersweet act of vulnerability: those nights together - he’d be cherishing them even more now, Ker thought, pressing himself against V. He nuzzled his neck, kissing one of the roses inked on his skin. “Not a chance. ‘Sides, even an empty room could be my favorite place, if it had you in it. But now…” he looked up at V mischievously, playing with the bullet pendant on his neck. “...I was thinking you could give me a few more pointers, y’know. Not quite sure my grip is quite right yet… and my uh… posture…”. Kerry stepped backwards, tugging flirtatiously at the neck of V's shirt while he did so. “Gotta get good, so you can stop missing easy shots to make me feel better.”.

Vincent’s eyes widened. “I don’t –” “Yes, you do. And it’s goddamn sweet, you gonk.”

His gaze never leaving Vincent’s, he retrieved the cue stick he’d abandoned against the stool, then slowly made his way back to the table and curved over it right next to V, playful eyes looking up to him from over his shoulder, his smirk an invitation.

“So, whatcha waiting for?”

The merc put down his glass. A moment later he was behind him, and Kerry welcomed the feeling of V’s chest pressed against his back, of his hand on his waist pulling him back. Nothing in Night City, hell nothing in the world could ever come close to the way he made him feel just standing next to him: transformed, new, fearless, alive with feelings he had no names or words for yet. He shivered: V’s breath caressed his neck as he whispered in his ear.

“Farther from the table. Find your footing, you gotta distribute your weight. And… bend down lower, sunshine.”

if you made it to here ty T_T and have a bonus pic that shows another reason why Kerry enjoys pool so much (sorry but the inherent homoeroticism of it compelled me ok)

#kerry eurodyne #kerry x v #kerry x masc v #cyberpunk 2077 #art tag #cringe but free my psychologist is gonna be so proud of me for doing stuff I can't do and just yeeting it out #oc: v for vincent

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sinsandsweetness · 8 months

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Girl I have a weird fantasy about Daryl being a trucker before the world ended, like he’s older and picks me up on the side of the road after I’ve left home and tells me if he’s gonna take me where I want I go, I’ve gotta give him somthing to make it worth it.

Then giving him sloppy road-head and getting fucked in the cab till I’m dumb

Absolutely love your writing babe 😘

I actually rlly love this. especially since I’ve dated a truck driver who looks like young Norman and will literally sleep the whole time in the cab when he goes on jobs…

I imagine you sitting in the passenger seat, cross legged and snacking on some licorice from a gas station. You’re almost 6 hours into the drive. Still another two nights until you’re in the state you actually want to be in. Nice and far from all the bullshit you’re running away from.

Daryl keeps glancing over at you reading your book, leaned up against the window. Paying special attention to how short your denim cutoffs are and how tight your white tanktop is. Leaving almost nothing to the imagination. The thought dawns on him that in two hours, when the sun has set and both of your eyelids are getting all heavy, he’ll have to pull over at a rest stop. And when he saw you with your duffel bag and your bright red boots, sticking your thumb out as you walked along the shoulder of the highway, he didn’t think about the fact that there’s only one bed in the cab. One, tiny, little mattress, and two of you. You’re way too far in the middle of nowhere to find a motel either. No service. No trace of civilization for at least a couple hundred miles.

Wow. You must be stupid or something. To get in a truck with a stranger. Hell, he could have been some kind of creep. Have you seen any horror movie ever?

He looks back over at you during his internal questioning. Gosh you’re pretty. Effortlessly stunning. Hair a little wild and undone. No makeup on that he can tell at least, but he’s never really been good at noticing that stuff anyway. You’ve got layers of mixed metal jewelry. Necklaces and rings and earrings. All glimmering in the golden hour sun. You kicked your boots off hours ago. Blue polish all chipped off nearly all of your toes. Truthfullt, you’re kind of a mess. A pretty one though.

“What?” You ask him, your honeyed voice brings his brain back to earth.

“Oh- uh… nothin’,” he looks back at the road. Where he should be looking anyway. “Just, it’s gonna be dark soon. Won’t be able to read.” He keeps darting his gaze over at you while he talks.

“That’s ok. I’m sure I’ll find something else to entertain myself with.”

“You should try and sleep. Don’t think we’ll pass a motel until tomorrow night.”

“Oh that’s okay, I’ll just sleep when you do.”

He was hoping you wouldn’t. He was hoping he could avoid the awkwardness of the sleeping situation altogether.

“Yeah, I mean if you want. There’s only one bed so I just thought-“

“What, you don’t wanna share?” You’re giving him a look that he can’t decipher. Are you… flirting with him? You toss your book into your bag and unbuckle your seatbelt.

“Uh- what are you- what are you doin’?” He asks as you climb into the back.

“Well since you’re kickin’ me to the floor I guess I’ll try and catch some z’s before you pull over.” He’s glancing back every few seconds. Trying to keep his attention on the road, but a little too intrigued by you peeling your shorts off to succeed in doing it.

“I’m not- I wouldn’t make you sleep on the floor, I just didn’t- I don’t want to -“ fuck. He didn’t want you to feel like you had to sleep with him. Like you had to share the dingy little sleeper cab that can barely fit his own broad shoulders, let alone another person. An incredibly attractive and insanely good smelling girl. One that’s bending over to fix the sheets and baring her lacy hot pink thong in the process. His eyes widen and get all shifty. Should he look? Should he pretend he doesn’t see?

“Don’t want to what? Sleep with me?” You scoff as you sit back on the bed thing your hair up into a messy blob at the top of your head with a hair tie.

“No I-”

“Don’t worry, I know what you mean. But I really don’t mind. In fact, I probably owe you anyway.”

“O-owe me? I already told you I’m going your way anyhow.” He says, reminding you of his refusal to take any cash.

“I know, but you’ve been so nice and sweet for picking me up in the first place. Wanna make it up to you.” You’re voice is low and sultry. And your words go straight to the tent in his jeans, the one that’s been half hard and ignored since he first invited you into the truck. He glances back at your half naked frame, relaxing into the sleeper cab mattress. Seeing your tanned legs and pretty panties. Wild hair and a playful, up to absolutely no good look in your eyes.

He wants to focus on the road. He does. But his mind is racing with all the ways you could make it up to him. Since you’re offering that is. And he really doesn’t know how much longer he can pretend he doesn’t want to pull over and plow you til the sun comes up. Especially with the way you’re looking at him, hand trailing down to tickle at the waistband of your underwear, biting your lip and flipping through your own filthy fantasies about the handsome, young trucker who’s been kind enough to help you out.

He catches your gaze as he glances back once more and the lustful look in his baby blues sends a jolt straight between your legs. You smile and lick your lips, wanting to be extra clear of your intentions,

“I’m ready whenever you are, pretty boy.”

#daryl dixon x reader #Daryl x you #Daryl x reader #daryl x y/n #preapocalypse daryl #daryl daydream #daryl imagine #daryl Drabble #reader insert

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ultralightpoe · 1 year

Text

Hurt Feelings - Tangerine

Authors Note: How dare I never watch bullet train before?! TELL ME TO WATCH THESE THINGS

Word Count: 1234

Warnings: Pregnancy. Douche Tangerine

Enjoy!

He knew long before he reached the door to your shared apartments what he would find, and yet when he saw the lack of decoration and lack of your presence his heart still stopped beating in his chest and his ribs hurt.

His brother didn’t seem to notice the lack of your items, rushing to where you normally stashed his thomas shows and turning the telly on before getting comfortable on the couch. Tangerine ignored him, rushing to the back hallway and slamming the door to your bedroom open. Empty.

The bed was made, his nightstand had his watch collection and his favorite picture of the both of you, but your nightstand was bare. The closet only had his suits, his shoes, his toothbrush, everything you touched was gone.

You had said as much before he left. Your exact wording was if you leave now then I disappear.

He replayed them over and over, cringing at the way he slammed the door behind him and left anyway.

You had been irritated all week, he knew this, though he could not figure out why. Normally when you got into these moods you would admit to what was pissing you off and or they would pass within an hour or so. But you didn’t seem to want to talk about why you were pulling away.

So he pushed the conversation, only he was an idiot who was never able to take a gentle approach.

“What the fuck has been wrong with you lately?” Translation; I am worried about you.

“Really? That’s how you want to start this conversation?” You snap, dropping the towel you had been folding as he stares at you dumbly from his spot on the bed.

“How should I start the conversation then? Since you seem real right with ignoring me.” He snaps back, irked.

“I have not been ignoring you. I’ve been busy.”

“You’ve said all but two. Fucking. Words to me since I have been back.”

“What should that matter? You’ll be gone in no time anyways! Off to do something else! Leaving me behind while you're gone for god knows how long!” You scream, hands shaking wildly as he rolls his eyes.

“What? You wanna come on the trips with us, love? Slow us down so we all get shot?” This had been an argument before. You getting upset about the amount of time Tan is gone is nothing new.

“Whatever.” You snap.

“No! Not whatever! You seem to have a problem here so how the fuck do I fix it?! What will it take to get the stick out of your ass?!” He yells, standing up and moving to grab the laundry basket before you can escape.

“Take a break.” You answer, no hesitation. “Don’t accept the next mission and just stay here for a bit. I never see you any-”

“How the fuck would we pay bills?!” “You know that we have enough and I have a serious matter that I need to talk to you about.”

He tried calling you, hundreds of times, but you had blocked him. Of course you had.

Storming into the living room he snaps a finger at Lemon, wiping his face aggressively, “Let me use your phone.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. You’ll break it.”

“For fucks sake Lemon. Give me the bloody phone.” He snaps, snatching it from his hand and heading into the kitchen to dial your contact. It rings, of course it does, and he waits patiently.

“Hey it’s Y/n, sorry I missed ya! I’ll give you a call back when I can!” Your voice rings through and Tangerine exhales at the sound of it, some of the tension leaving his body.

“Bloody hell Y/n, Come home. This is fucking ridiculous.” He snaps, whipping off his tie as Lemon turns up the tv. “And stop ignoring my calls.”

“Let me guess. You never get attention and you’re lonely and blah blah blah. Fuck off with that Y/n.”

“Tan. I’m pregnant.” You sob. He stops short. His heart stops, his face falls, every muscle in his body freezes as he hears this. Panic and dread fill him.

“No.”

“No?” You repeat, wiping the tears from your cheek aggressively.

“You are on protection.”

“I am.”

“Then you are lying.” Your face falls, and something in his chest cracks at the look. “I don’t know what you want me to do here.”

“I want to know if I have a partner in this.” You whisper, and he debates pulling you into his embrace. Holding you tight and whispering that he will never let anything happen to you.

He goes to step to you but his job's ringtone fills the room and you close your eyes. Part of him wants to ignore it, but if he ignores this one then he’ll start ignoring more.

So he picks up the call, watching you roll your eyes. “Tangerine……yeah, I’ll be right there.”

You slap his shoulder and storm to the living room where Lemon is reading a thomas book and you snap to him. “Lemon. Tell him to stay.”

“Lemon. Get ready. We have to go.” Tan snaps, ignoring the glare you send him.

A couple hours pass and he’s about to lose it, pulling his phone to track you.

He had already blown your phone up with Lemons phone, until your voicemail was full and no longer accepting calls. But he was still dialing, the phone hot in his hand as he opens the laptop to track where you were.

He expects it to give him the voice message again but his heart leaps when you pick up on the third ring. “I was hoping you’d give up.”

“Does that sound like something I would do, Love?” He smiles, just happy to hear your voice.

“You gave up pretty easily on our last conversation.” You snipe and his chest constricts.

“Come home.”

“Fuck you.”

“Please. Let’s just discuss this properly. No yelling.” You beg, grabbing onto his elbow as he finishes packing the bag. “Tan, please.”

“Deal with it.” He snaps, not looking at you as he fixes his collar and snatches his arm away.

“D-deal with it?” Your breath catches, he can hear it, but he can’t look at you. Something was hurting and he was breaking under the pressure.

“Take care of it. You know what I mean.” Then he is leaving, opening the front door as you chase after him.

“IF YOU LEAVE NOW THEN I DISAPPEAR FOR GOOD!”

Bile rose in his throat as he slammed the door shut behind him.

“We can take care of this.”

“Oh? You mean you’ll drag me to the nearest abortion clinic?” You laugh bitterly, the sound of a train behind you. “I’m gone. Forget this.”

“Where are you?” He growls, grabbing his jacket. He didn’t have to ask because he already knew you wouldn’t answer, not that it mattered he already had tracked you down.

“Leave me alone.”

“Don’t hang-” Fuck. You already did. Fine, if you didn’t come home he would go and drag you home.

You were not allowed to walk around pregnant with his child and no protection. “Lemon. Stay here I have to go get Y/n.”

“I hope it’s a boy.” Lemon blurts, smiling a bit. “He can be a dick just like you.”

“Sour.” Tan smiles, heading to the door. “I am hoping it’s a girl.”

#tangerine imagine #tangerine angst #tangerine smut #tangerine #tangerine bullet train #tangerine bullet train angst #tangerine bullet train imagine #tangerine x reader #tangerine bullet train x reader #bullet train #bullet train imagine #bullet train angst #bullet train tangerine

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luveline · 7 months

Note

hi queen 😙

could you please do one where the BAU are staying in another state for a case so they have to stay in a hotel and for some reason hotch has to come see reader in the morning or before bed or something so he knocks on the door of her room and she opens and she’s just standing there with like her hair in two braids and like matching pink pyjamas and hotch just has a little laugh because he’s never seen that side of her before?? 💕💕

this would be like season 1 or 2 hotch :D

cw reader has hair that can be put into two braids

He texts you first but you don't answer. Hotch isn't happy to encroach on your space so early but he can't remember what you said last night about the killer's motivations and he needs to know, desperately, in case this missing piece of the puzzle can stop another young man from being murdered.

"L/N?" he asks, knocking on the door quickly. "Y/N, are you awake?"

There's a definite sleeping groan. Hotch winces at the sound but what else can he do? You'll have to wake up in an hour anyway.

"Y/N? I'm sorry to wake you, but I need to ask you about Cory, last night's victim? You said it seemed more like an arsonist than a murderer, what did you mean by–"

The door swings open. "...that." Hotch stares at you.

You have your hair braided away from your face, strands rocked free and frizzy. More amusing is the baby pink pyjamas you're wearing; adorable little slips of fabric, pants that stop mid-calf and a camisole with soft lace at the chest. Hotch immediately looks back to your face as he realises his once over, but he can't hold back a laugh. A small chuckle, harmless.

"Are you laughing at me?" you ask tiredly, voice croaky but threaded with amusement. "You woke me up, okay? This is your fault. Did you bring me coffee, at least?"

Hotch puts his empty hands up in defeat.

"Come in, then, before someone else sees me."

Hotch follows you inside. He doesn't feel any pressure or awkwardness, but he needs to make sure you aren't either, and so he takes a cross-armed position against the wall. You run your hand down a braid and pull out the elastic, absentminded as you shake out your hair.

"I said it was more like arson because of the mess. Arsons like to ruin things. And I just don't see how it could be solely pleasure based after such a massacre," —you move to the second braid and repeat the process— "the adrenaline runs out eventually, but the blood was– it was everywhere. It would've taken effort. There are photos on my phone if you want to see."

You gibe him your phone, open to photographs you took last night. Hotch clicks through them in disgust. Like you said, it takes a lot of effort to make a crime scene look like this.

"We could be looking for someone with an impulse control disorder," Horch guesses. "Our pool of suspects would completely change. We've been looking for people who have untoward desires centred around teenage boys–"

"But if we're searching for someone who can't control their impulses we could easily be looking at a teenage boy. He'd have reason to be with his victims that wouldn't cause concern."

Hotch finds it very difficult to take you seriously in your pinks. He laughs again, and you know exactly what it is he's laughing at, waving him away as you bend down by your suitcase under the desk. "Go sharpen up, Hotchner. And get me a coffee, please." You glance at him from over your shoulder. "I'd like to see you in your pyjamas."

"I'm sure you would, agent."

Hotch thinks more than he should about you in your thin pyjamas, the way they hugged your thighs and the naked lengths of your arms, your ankles, he's ridiculous, but it's stuff he's not used to seeing. He's usually so focused.

He brings you a coffee and an apology croissant, which you eat in pleased silence beside him, fully dressed, hair tamed. He can't not see you as you were that morning, eyes puffy with tiredness but a hundred times the professional he'd been.

"I can feel you looking at me," you murmur. "Laugh again and I'm telling Gideon."

"Ah, and he'd reprimand me."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" you ask, almost monotone as you drink your coffee. "Do you have the case file for Patrick Gorden? I wanna compare the blood splatter on the walls."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

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genshinluvr · 1 year

Text

The Copycat

Pairings: Various Genshin Men x Isekai'd!Reader

Summary: You have a classmate who ends up being a close acquaintance of yours (you wouldn't really consider them as a friend). You two seem to get along just fine until you find out that they're trying to be just like you.

Note: Not sure how I feel about this story in particular. I wanted this story to be something, but it didn't turn out how I originally planned for it to be. Therefore, the original plan might be another story on its own. It's somewhat of a similar concept but, at the same time, different. I have a convention to prepare for in less than five hours, and here I am 💀 Anyway, next week, I might have a new random AU for the Isekai'd!reader series come out soon! :> Please keep in mind that I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: No warning specifically. Other than the reader wanting to fight the person toward the end (they don't, it's implied). I guess fainting would count?

Word Count: 9.8k

You’re in House of Daena, studying for your literature class while trying your best not to fall asleep in the library. It’s only seven in the morning, and you have decided to go to the library early morning before your biology class. You have made a grave mistake by studying in a place that is so quiet that you can hear a pin drop. Your eyelids are heavy, and you keep yawning as time goes by.

You rub the tears pooling in your eyes and grumble to yourself. You shake your head, patting your cheeks to keep yourself awake. You blink down at the textbook laid out in front of you and stare at the words that are jumbled up in your vision. Propping your head up in the palm of your hands, you stare at your literature textbook blankly.

“What am I supposed to be studying again?” You mutter to yourself, massaging your throbbing temples with an exhausted sigh.

Someone slams their textbooks and bookbag onto the table in front of you, startling you. You look up and see a girl with medium-length dusty blonde hair, thick-rimmed black-gold glasses, and her Akademiya uniform disheveled. She sits down across from you and gives you a smile.

“You’re supposed to be studying for Mrs. Hooshang’s literature course,” the dusty blonde girl says, pulling her notebook and pencil out from her backpack.

You blink at the girl in front of you. “I’m sorry, who are you? Mrs. Hooshang’s class has about two hundred students. I don’t think I can remember everyone’s names from the top of my head,” you said.

The girl smiles at you and tucks her hair behind her ears. “My name’s Mina. I sit a row behind you and Roxanna,” said Mina.

You give her a tired smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Mina. I apologize for not knowing your name; I assume you know my name?” You ask, organizing your things on the table to give Mina some space to put her stuff on the table.

Mina nods her head. “That’s right! I mainly know you because you’re quite famous in the Akademiya and among the student body.”

“I’m famous in the Akademiya? That’s news to me,” you muttered.

You continue to study for your literature class, occasionally yawning in between your studies. While you’re studying for your literature class, Mina is doing her homework and strikes up a conversation with you from time to time. You close your textbook and push it to the side, rubbing your head with a shaky sigh.

Mina looks at you worriedly. “Are you okay, [Y/N]?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I woke up really early today to come here to study. I ended up skipping out on breakfast, and now I’m starting to regret it,” you said.

“Are you feeling hungry or thirsty? We can take a break from studying and go to the cafeteria for you to get something to eat before your class starts,” Mina suggests.

You shake your head. “I don’t feel hungry. I’m feeling nauseous,” you reply, resting your head on the table and swallowing the lump in your throat.

You hate feeling nauseous; other than the feeling of wanting to throw up, feeling sick to your stomach is the second thing you hate the most. You’re starting to notice that your arms feel heavy and your eyes are threatening to shut. You’re so tired, but you’re also feeling queasy.

Mina gets up from her seat and hurries over to your seat. “We should take you to the infirmary if that’s the case. We wouldn’t want you to get worse,” Mina says, kneeling beside you.

You nod and slowly get up from your seat with the help of Mina. Mina quickly packs both of your things before ushering you to the Akademiya’s infirmary while carrying your and her backpack. While on your way to the Akademiya’s infirmary, Mina accidentally drops your and her backpack on your way. Both you and Mina walk past your two boyfriends, who were just walking out of the office they were in. Al Haitham and Kaveh pause in their steps when they see you and Mina stumbling to the Akademiya infirmary, you slumping down in Mina’s arms while she carries you haphazardly.

“Should we go and see what’s going on?” Kaveh asks Al Haitham, watching you and Mina stumble out of the Akademiya doors.

Al Haitham nods his head. “Let’s go,” Al Haitham says.

Kaveh and Al Haitham run after you and Mina, hoping that nothing had happened to you while you were in House of Daena, studying for your literature class. Everything to you feels like a sudden blur. One minute you’re in the library; the next, you open your eyes and find yourself in the Akademiya’s infirmary room while your classmate is pacing back and forth. Mina’s head turns in your direction when you groan and cover your eyes with your arms.

Mina rushes over to where you lay and gently pushes you down on the bed when you try to sit up. “You should lay down a little longer. You fainted on our way to the infirmary,” Mina says.

You’re about to open your mouth to say something when the door bursts open. Mina screeches and jumps back, looking over at the door with wide eyes. Al Haitham and Kaveh are panting and looking around the infirmary worriedly.

“The Scribe?” Mina whispers when she and Al Haitham make eye contact.

Kaveh rolls his eyes and holds his hand up. “And Kaveh. What am I? Chopped liver?”

Behind Al Haitham and Kaveh was a commotion coming from the main door of the infirmary. You look at the door and see the other men piling into the infirmary room, pushing against each other while grumbling.

“Ow! Watch it!” Xiao scowls, glaring at Thoma, who accidentally stepped on the Yaksha’s foot while trying to push through the crowd of men.

Thoma gives Xiao an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Xiao. I didn’t mean to step on your foot, buddy,” Thoma says.

“What are you guys doing here?” You ask, clearing your scratchy throat.

You attempt to sit on the infirmary bed, only for Mina to push you back down and give you a look your mother would usually give you when she catches you sneaking snacks into your bedroom while she’s on the phone with your father. Once everyone is able to enter the infirmary room without stepping on each other’s toes, Baizhu walks over to you and presses his hand on your forehead.

“You don’t have a fever,” Baizhu says, his eyes scanning you from head to toe.

Venti sits on the edge of the infirmary bed and lightly squeezes your calf. “The Akademiya infirmary gave us a call, saying it’s urgent and how you collapsed on your way here,” Venti explains, giving you a sad smile.

“How come you didn’t inform us that you’re sick? Al Haitham could have informed the school and your professors about it and let you stay home for a few days,” Tighnari sighs.

Mina stares at Tighnari’s ears with wide eyes, her hand slowly reaching for Tighnari’s ears. Tighanari arrows his eyes at Mina and slaps her hand away before it can reach his ears. You shake your head and rub your temples. Mina barely met the men, and she’s already giving them a bad first impression, which is unfortunate, especially if she’s going to be making an appearance in your life every now and then. Tighnari walks around Mina and stands close to the infirmary bed, assessing you from head to toe with Baizhu and Albedo by his side.

“But I’m not sick! I feel fine, other than feeling really tired,” you said.

Childe and Diluc trade looks with each other before turning to look at you. You do look tired; there are noticeable bags under your eyes, your skin tone is lackluster, and your eyes are bloodshot from the lack of sleep.

“How much sleep have you been getting since you started attending the Akademiya?” Diluc asks.

You press your lips into a thin line. When was the last time you had a proper sleep schedule? You would pull all-nighters just to study and complete your assignments for certain classes. The longest sleep you would get would be around six hours, but it’s not consistent.

You hesitate for a moment. “Uh, about six hours? But I haven’t been sleeping much ever since,” you reply.

Mina sighs in defeat and hunches forward. “[Y/N], you need to sleep longer than that. Adults need long nights of sleep compared to children and teens,” Mina says.

Albedo shakes his head at Mina’s comment. “That’s completely false. Children and teens require more sleep than adults. An adult requires about seven to ten hours of sleep, whereas children and teenagers need more than that,” Albedo says.

Mina rolls her eyes at Albedo and crosses her arms over her chest with a loud ‘hmph!’ and points her nose up in the air. “My statement still stands. [Y/N] needs to sleep longer than six hours,” Mina says.

Itto points at Mina. “Onikabuto booboo bear, who’s this lady?” Itto asks, giving Mina a strange look while her nose continues to point toward the air.

You give Itto a weak smile and toss the thin blanket off your legs. “Everyone, this is Mina! She’s my classmate and the one that helped me get to the Akademiya’s infirmary before I could pass out in House of Daena,” you said.

You stretch your legs and slowly stand up. Aether walks over to you and hands you a cup of water. You give him a thankful smile and take a sip. Mina gives you a proud smile and turns to the men around her.

“If it weren’t for me, [Y/N] would have fainted in the library. I expect a thank you from everyone in the infirmary,” Mina says, propping her hands on her hips while tapping her left foot on the tile floors.

“Uh, thank you for doing the bare minimum?” Aether asks, narrowing his eyes at the dusty-blonde girl.

Mina gives Aether a small glare before turning to look at you. “Who are those men? They don’t look related to each other, nor do you look related to any of them,” Mina huffs, giving the twenty-five men the side eye.

“They’re—”

Childe cuts you off.

“We’re their boyfriends. That’s right, all twenty-five of us are dating [Y/N]. We’re not dating each other; we’re only interested in [Y/N] and [Y/N] only,” Childe says, strutting over to you with his head held high and a big smirk on his face.

Mina looks at you with wide eyes, her jaws slacked. “You’re dating twenty-five men at once!? How does that even work!?” Mina asks, running her hand through her hair.

You sigh and shrug your shoulders. Quite frankly, you’re not even sure yourself. Some men are more possessive than others, and you’re surprised that the relationship is working out just fine without someone losing an arm or a leg. Childe wraps his arms around your shoulders and rests his chin on top of your head, stroking your hair with his right hand. You close your eyes and press your forehead on his neck, breathing in his cologne.

“We manage to make it work,” Kaeya says nonchalantly.

“So, has the doctor informed you of what is going on, or did they not check up on you yet?” Ayato asks.

You shrug your shoulders. “I woke up a minute before Al Haitham, and Kaveh burst through the doors, so I don’t think the doctor has checked up on me yet,” you reply.

Scaramouche grumbles and stalks over to you and Childe, pulling the tall ginger-haired Harbinger away from you. Scaramouche has you sit back down on the bed and shakes his head, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“Then we might as well wait for the doctors at the Akademiya check up on [Y/N] before we can take them home,” Scaramouche says.

You blink at Scaramouche and do a double take. “Wait, what? Take me home already? I barely studied for Mrs. Hooshang’s literature class!” You exclaim.

“While we understand that your grades are important, you need to put your health over your studies,” Zhongli says, stroking your hair.

You sigh and lean against Zhongli, pressing your head against Zhongli’s abdomen. “It’s barely nine in the morning, and I’m already getting checked out of school before my classes start,” you mutter, closing your eyes.

“I’m sure your professors will understand. After all, you don’t want to faint in class now, do you?” Kazuha asks, sitting down beside you.

You peek at Kazuha from the corner of your eyes and slowly pull from Zhongli. “That’s true. It would be humiliating if I fainted during lectures,” you murmur.

The Akademiya doctor steps into your temporary room and stops in his tracks when he sees the number of people in the room with you. He sighs and shakes his head, looking down at the clipboard in his hand.

“I’m assuming all of you are the patient’s visitors?” The doctor raises his eyebrows at everyone in the room.

Dainsleif nods and crosses his arms over his chest. “That is correct,” Dainsleif answers.

The doctor mutters under his breath before weaving through the crowd of people to get to where you’re sitting. The doctor asked you the usual questions, checked your vitals, and did other things while you weren’t mentally present. About twenty minutes have passed, and the doctor has informed you and everyone in the room that you’re not sick and that you’re lacking sleep. And because you didn’t get enough sleep, it caused you to faint on your way to the Akademiya’s infirmary, and you’re lucky to have Mina to be the one to assist you to the infirmary.

Gorou sighs in relief. “It’s a good thing that you’re not sick, angel! I’m glad you’re healthy,” Gorou says, wrapping his arms around your body and nuzzling his face into your neck, his tail wrapping around your waist.

“Eh, they’re kind of healthy. I’m pretty sure that skipping out on your sleep isn’t healthy,” Heizou interjects, shrugging his shoulders.

“So, do we take them home now, or are we going to continue to let them stay in school for the day?” Cyno asks, looking over at you.

Pantalone chuckles. “That depends on how many classes they have today,” Pantalone says, turning to look at you.

You blink at Pantalone and search on your person for your schedule. You sigh after realizing that you put your class schedule in your backpack. You fall back on the bed and close your eyes.

“My class schedule is in my backpack,” you muttered.

Mina’s eyes widen. “Oh no, I think I dropped it somewhere in the Akademiya while I was taking you to the infirmary,” Mina says, grabbing the roots of her hair and lightly pulling at it while cursing under her breath.

Pierro rolls his eyes. “No need to worry or panic. We were able to retrieve it when we first arrived at the Akademiya,” Pierro says, holding up the two backpacks in one hand.

You sigh in relief. “You’re a lifesaver, Pierro. I have textbooks that cost three hundred mora, and I cannot afford to lose them,” you said, getting up from the bed and walking to Pierro to retrieve your backpack.

Mina stares at Pierro and looks over at you; you can see the look of disgust visible on her face. “You’re dating a man that is older than my father?” Mina asks, her face scrunching up. “Other than the questionable age gap between you and [Y/N], thank you for retrieving our backpacks, sir,” Mina mutters, grabbing her backpack from Pierro’s grasp.

You dig through your backpack and pull out your schedule. “Today is Wednesday, and I have three classes, but they’re spread out. I have one in the morning, one in the afternoon, and the last class is in the early evening,” you said, looking up at the men in front of you.

“With what has happened today and the number of classes you have, I believe that it's best for you to skip class for today for your health. You need to rest and get some sleep,” Capitano says.

You give Capitano a look of disbelief. “But if I skip out on my class today, I’ll be behind in my classes!” You sputter, looking over at the others for help.

“I understand that you don’t like falling behind in class, but you can skip out for one day. After all, you have us, and we can help you with your class in case you fall behind,” Dottore says.

Mina gives you a small smile. “If you let me look at your schedule, I can drop by after your professor’s lectures and collect any assignments for you. Or I can ask your classmates for a copy of their notes for you,” Mina proposes.

You look at Mina with wide eyes and look at the others in the room. “I don’t know, Mina. I don’t want you to waste your time and do this for me. After all, Al Haitham and Kaveh can always drop by my classes and gather the assignments for me instead,” you said.

Mina shakes her head. “No, I insist. Plus, they have a tough position in the Akademiya that puts a lot of responsibilities on them. Please, let me help you,” Mina pleads.

You sigh for the umpteenth time and nod your head reluctantly. Mina smiles at you and walks over to you when you hold your schedule out in her direction. Mina looks down at your schedule and skims through the words on the paper.

“Alright, I will give you your schedule by the end of the day! Can you give me your address, by the way? I need to drop your assignments off to you, and I can’t do that if I don’t know your address,” Mina says.

Al Haitham holds his hand up and shakes his head. “That won’t be needed. Once you have collected the assignments and notes for [Y/N], Kaveh and I will take it from there and give it to [Y/N] after we have received it,” Al Haitham says.

Mina sighs in defeat and nods her head, reluctantly agreeing to Al Haitham’s plan. The men end up taking you back to the abode to rest. Thoma carries your backpack while Cyno is carrying you on his back. Even though Cyno didn’t need to hold you, Cyno continued to insist on giving you a piggyback ride so you wouldn’t end up fainting like earlier.

Once you all arrive back to the abode, minus Al Haitham and Kaveh, you’re sent straight to your room to change out of your Akademiya uniform and are instructed to stay in bed while one of the men will bring food up to your bedroom. You take a quick shower, change into your pajamas and sit on your bed. Once you have sat down on your bed, a wave of exhaustion hits you like a sumpter beast.

You plop down on your bed and throw your blanket over your head. You snuggle into your pillows and close your eyes, feeling yourself slowly drift off to sleep. Before sleep consumes you, your bedroom door opens, and you hear footsteps approaching your bed. You grumble and toss the blanket off your head, and turn to see the men with food trays in their hands.

“We’ll be joining you while you eat in your bedroom to keep you company if you don’t mind,” Thoma says, placing a tray of food on your lap and brushing your damp hair away from your forehead.

Seeing that your hair is still wet from your shower, Ayato gives you a disapproving look. “[Y/N], what did we say about not drying our hair after taking a shower?” Ayato asks, placing his food tray on your desk and walking over to you.

You purse your lips. “That if we don’t dry our hair, we’ll get a headache and get sick,” you mutter like a child being scolded by their parents.

“I’ll dry their hair,” Diluc offers, walking over to the bathroom to grab the hair dryer.

You sigh and pick up your food, taking a bite out of it. “I don’t need to be babied, you guys. I’m an Akademiya scholar, dammit! I am an adult who is working toward a degree!” You said, grabbing a paper napkin and tossing it on your bed lightly.

“Hush now and eat your food,” Tighnari says, patting your head lightly.

You gave in and let Diluc blow-dry your hair while Ayato brushed your hair. You weren’t too fond of blow drying your hair, mainly because it takes up a lot of time, and you didn’t want to wait. You prefer air-drying your hair because you’re not exposing your hair to heat, even though you can dry your hair with the cold option. Either way, you think that using the hair dryer is too much of a hassle and decide to let your hair air dry instead.

“How are you feeling right now?” Aether asks, sitting beside you after Diluc and Ayato finish drying your hair.

You shrug your shoulders. “I’m still tired, but other than that, I feel okay,” you reply, reaching for the paper napkin you threw and wiping your lips. “So, what do you guys think of Mina?” You ask suddenly, looking up from your food and watching for their reactions to your question.

“She’s an interesting one. She did spew some misinformation that Albedo had to correct her on,” Heizou says, munching on his sashimi platter.

Albedo crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t know what made her think adults need more sleep than children and teenagers, but she’s wrong. The only thing she is correct on is how you need more than six hours of sleep each night,” Albedo says.

“How long have you and Mina known each other?” Tighnari asks.

You laugh sheepishly and rub the back of your neck. “We have class together, but I didn’t even know she existed until today. Quite frankly, I didn’t even know that we were in the same class until she told me in the library,” you reply.

“So, she just randomly approached you while you were studying,” Xiao states, raising an eyebrow at you.

You nod. “That is correct,” you reply.

You and the men continue to eat until everyone is finished eating. Once you’re done eating, Childe takes your food tray and goes downstairs, with the others following after him. Baizhu stayed behind to check up on you while you got situated in your bed, lying down, pulling your blanket up to your chin, and snuggling into your pillows.

“Make sure to get as much rest as you can. We wouldn’t want you to collapse and fall ill because you’re not getting enough sleep,” Baizhu says, pressing his hand against your forehead again.

“I’ll try my best to sleep in longer,” you reply, letting out a yawn.

Baizhu smiles and presses a kiss on your head before walking out of your bedroom and closing the door behind him. After you have fallen asleep, you don’t know how long you have been sleeping; it feels like you have been asleep for a few hours. What woke you up from your slumber was hearing your bedroom door open and someone walking into your room. You can never sleep when someone is in the same room as you, especially if they’re awake. You crack your eyes open and look around your dark bedroom, only to see Al Haitham and Kaveh putting your assignments (you’re assuming) on your desk.

“Dammit, you two woke [Y/N] up,” Scaramouche whispers from the entrance of your bedroom.

You sit up and rub your eyes. “What time is it?” You ask.

“It’s three in the afternoon. You’ve been asleep for a few hours now,” Cyno answers, peeking into your bedroom.

You mumble incoherently and plop down on your bed, snuggling into your blanket. “I’ll be up in a few hours to do my homework. I’ll thank Mina when I see her tomorrow,” you murmur into your blanket.

“You’re not going to be doing your homework for today. Again, you need to rest for the entire day and let your body relax. It’s okay to take a break from school work for one day,” Childe interjects, peeking into your room.

You bury your face into your pillow, sighing into your pillow. “Alright, alright. I’ll take a break for today and do my assignments tomorrow. But just to let you all know, you’re going to need to help me catch up on my homework,” you said, waving your hand around blindly.

“We’re fine with that as long as you’re getting the rest you need,” Venti says, trotting into your bedroom to plant a kiss on your forehead.

After Venti kissed your forehead, the other men followed behind Venti to give you a kiss on the cheek, forehead, head, and chin. While they’re giving you kisses on your face, you give their hands a light squeeze. As much as you want to kiss them goodnight (?), you didn’t want to risk anything if you were actually sick, even if the Akademiya doctor and Baizhu informed you that you weren’t ill. You don’t want any of the men to get sick, whether you’re feeling under the weather or not. The last person to leave your bedroom was Kazuha; he ran his fingers through your hair and kissed your cheek.

“Get plenty of rest, okay?” Kazuha murmurs, stroking your cheek.

You nod. “I will, Kazuha.” You reach up and grab his hand, gently squeezing his hand before releasing Kazuha’s hand.

Kazuha gets up and walks over to the door, turning your bedroom lights off and shutting the door behind him.

Ever since the incident of you collapsing due to lack of sleep, Mina has been at your side at all times at the Akademiya. The only time she’s not by your side is when you two have different classes. You wouldn’t really call her a friend, mainly because you two only hang out during school hours and wouldn’t speak to each other outside of the Akademiya. You weren’t complaining at all; it’s normal in universities. People make acquaintances at the school they attend, talk and hang out with those people during school hours, and wouldn’t speak to one another outside of school.

You notice that ever since you and Mina have been hanging out with each other more during school hours, Mina has been adopting your habits and behaviors, which is somewhat normal since friends tend to mimic one another. Lovers would also mimic each other’s behavior and routine. But this one, you can’t put your finger on it.

“Hey, Mina! Wanna go to the Grand Bazaar with Roxanna and me?” Farah asks, approaching you and Mina with Roxanna walking next to her.

Mina looks at Roxanna and Farah with wide eyes. She then looks over at you; you shrug your shoulders in response.

“Don’t look at me! They’re the ones inviting you to go to the Grand Bazaar with them!” You said, clutching your textbooks against your chest. “Plus, I think you should go! It’ll be fun!” You lightly nudge Mina’s side.

Mina shrugs her shoulders and looks at Roxanna and Farah with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, ladies. As much as I would love to go to the Grand Bazaar with both of you, I’m going to have to pass on this one. I have so many things to study, and I also saw this amazing opportunity that I could not pass up on! Does next time sound okay for you two?” Mina asks, biting on her bottom lip as she looks at Roxanna and Farah nervously.

Roxanna smiles and nods her head. “Yeah, that’s fine with us! We can go to the Grand Bazaar together next time!” Roxanna says.

Mina gives Roxanna and Farah a small smile and waves at them as they walk away. Mina turns to you and sighs, hunching forward and rubbing her temples. “I have so much studying to do for my botany class,” Mina says.

You look at Mina, surprised. “Oh! You’re taking botany classes? I thought you were part of the Illuminationism?” You ask.

Mina runs her fingers through her dusty-blonde hair. “I was, but then I switched over to biology because it seems easier compared to Illuminationism. Plus, Azar is associated with the Rtawahist. I don’t want to be associated with the Grand Sage,” Mina huffs.

You nod. “That is true… ever since the Grand Sage was exposed for his schemes, I don’t think anyone wants to be associated with him. However, I’m not sure how people view the Rtawahist. I’m sure people won’t care if you’re part of the Rtawahist,” you murmur.

“I know, but still. Plus, I saw how much you enjoy being a biology major, so I wanted to see what the hype is all about!” Mina says.

“You could’ve taken some biology courses as your elective, but since you want to make it your major, I don’t see why not,” You said. “Now, I’ll leave you to your studies. I have some things to tend to at my place.”

Mina looks at you with wide eyes and grabs your biceps to prevent you from leaving. “What? You’re not going to go to House of Daena to study?” Mina asks.

“Not really. I have completed my studies already this morning,” You answer.

“But I didn’t see you there when I went to House of Daena myself!” Mina exclaims.

You give Mina a strange look. “I didn’t go to House of Daena to study, Mina. I decided to study at my house today since I sort of woke up later than usual,” you shrug your shoulders.

You look down at your bicep and then at Mina, waiting for her to let go of your bicep. Mina reluctantly lets go of your arm and gives you a fake smile. You give her a small smile, bidding her goodbye, before walking off.

“Have you guys noticed something strange about Mina?” You ask one day at the dinner table, biting into your zhongyuan.

“She’s always been strange! Her being strange is nothing new to us,” Itto says casually as he takes a big bite out of his mixed yakisoba.

“He’s not wrong there,” Dainslief mutters, wiping his mouth with the napkin.

“We don’t really see her as often as you do, so can you perhaps explain to us how Mina has been acting strange?” Gorou asks, slurping up his noodles.

You then go into the details of how strange Mina has been acting for the past few days. Maybe she has been this way, but you can’t help but notice how Mina would watch you like a hawk and would want to be around you more often. While you see her as a fellow classmate and Akademiya buddy, you can’t help but get a strange feeling from Mina. You can’t put your finger on the specific thing, but you know you’re not going crazy. Perhaps you are, since you still need to fix your sleep schedule.

“She switched her major to biology, and she has a sudden interest in studying? I don’t find those strange at all, considering people do change their majors when they find another passion. Is there anything else that she did that you find strange?” Kaeya asks.

“She rejected Roxanna and Farah’s invite to go to the Grand Bazaar just to study in House of Daena. Mina never misses out on going to the Grand Bazaar, and it’s strange that she turned down that invitation,” you said, chewing on your zhongyuan.

Zhongli hums and strokes his chin. “Perhaps there’s an exam coming up for her? Though the sudden major changes during the first two weeks of a new quarter are strange and a drastic decision to make,” Zhongli says.

“I mean, Mina questioned me why I wasn’t going to be studying in the library today, and she suddenly grabbed my bicep to prevent me from leaving,” you shrug your shoulders.

“She sounds weird and a little bit too eager to have you as a friend or a study partner,” Pantalone says, twirling his noodle around his fork.

You shake your head and grab another zhongyuan. “Maybe she’s been stressed out with her studies that she needed me to be there as a support of some kind. I understand if she needs a study partner, but she could’ve informed me about it the day before or something like that,” you mutter.

“Maybe you’re all too quick to judge the girl. After all, [Y/N] only hangs out with Mina during school hours. They don’t spend enough time together for [Y/N] to find what’s off and what’s not off about Mina,” Dottore says, taking a bite out of his steak.

Capitano snorts. “That won’t stop us from finding her behavior strange,” Capitano mutters.

Your “friendship” with Mina continues to become strange the more you watch her closely. Whenever you mentioned Al Haitham getting you a new Akademiya uniform that has custom embroidery on it, Mina would get a new Akademiya uniform with similar embroidery on it. You decided not to make a big deal out of it and brush it off as a coincidence.

A few days later, you have decided to get your hair trimmed. You think your hair is getting a bit too long, so you go to a hair salon in Inazuma to get a trim with the men accompanying you to keep you company. When you showed up to the Akademiya with your hair trimmed, Mina suddenly got a trim. Not only did Mina cut her hair, but she also dyed her hair to a hair color that is similar to yours and styled it in a way like how you would style your hair.

“What do you think?” Mina asks, twirling her hair around her fingers.

You give her a fake smile. “It looks cute! What made you go this route for your hair? It’s a bit of a drastic change,” you said, examining her appearance closely.

Mina looks almost eerily similar to you, but she doesn’t look like you, thankfully. The hair length, the hair color, the sudden change of uniform with the same embroidery as yours. It was all too similar. This cannot be a coincidence at this point.

Mina shrugs her shoulders. “I have a few inspirations here and there for a new look and style,” Mina says. “I think this style suits me well.”

You chuckle and shake your head. “Well, I’m curious about your inspirations,” you said.

“[Y/N],” you hear Al Haitham call your name.

You and Mina turn your heads. “Yes?” You and Mina answer in unison.

What the fuck? Your head snaps in Mina’s direction, looking at her incredulously. “Did you just answer to my name?” You ask.

Mina looks at you like a fish out of water, her mouth agape as she tries to answer your question. Al Haitham and Kaveh slowly approach you and Mina, his eyebrows raised. You cross your arms over your chest, waiting for Mina’s response.

“This is getting weird,” Kaveh interjects, looking between you and your copycat.

Mina sputters and scratches the back of her neck— a habit you would do whenever you’re nervous or unsure of the situation. Aside from your looks, did Mina adopt your nervous habits as hers as well? And maybe your name?

“I didn’t know there were two [Y/N]s,” you hear Tighnari say sarcastically.

You poke the inside of your cheek with your tongue. “Yeah, I didn’t know I had a twin either, Tighnari,” you deadpan, staring at Mina blankly.

“Listen, I blanked out, and I wasn’t fully paying attention. [Y/N] and Mina kind of rhyme with each other, hence why I answered without thinking!” Mina says.

Cyno chuckles and purses his lips. “I don’t know, Mina. I’m not a rhyme expert or anything, but something tells me that [Y/N] and Mina do not rhyme with each other at all. Perhaps we can ask your literature professor about it, or maybe a poetry professor,” Cyno shrugs his shoulders.

You sigh and take your beret off, ruffling your hair. “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, Mina. If you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting to attend with Al Haitham, Kaveh, Cyno, and Tighnari,” you said.

Before you can walk off with the four men, Mina grabs your wrist. You stop in your tracks and turn to look at her. Al Haitham, Tighnari, Kaveh, and Cyno stop to look, their eyebrows raised. They all look impatient, but they also look interested in what is going to unfold. Mina visibly gulps and lets go of your wrist.

“I was wondering if you’re going to be studying in House of Daena today because I need assistance with my studies,” Mina says, rubbing the fabric of her Akademiya uniform between her thumb and index finger.

“It depends on how long this meeting is going to go,” you said.

You see Mina’s eyes light up with interest. “Oh? What’s this meeting about?” Mina asks.

You blink at Mina and look over at the four men standing behind you. You’re not entirely sure if you should tell Mina about your upcoming project for the Akademiya or not. Your project involves extensive research inside and outside of the Akademiya; Al Haitham, Tighnari, Kaveh, and Cyno are also part of this research.

“It’s about my grades and how I’m doing in the Akademiya. Since I’ve been here for a short time, I want to find a way to graduate from the Akademiya sooner rather than later,” you lie.

Mina gasps and looks at you with wide eyes. “What?! But you can’t do that!” Mina exclaims, startling you and the four men behind you.

“And why is that?” You ask slowly.

“Because!” Mina sputters. She takes a deep breath and clears her throat, adjusting her Akademiya uniform and her beret. “If you graduate early, you won’t do well in the real world. Plus, you’re going to be leaving me behind!” Mina frowns.

The four men behind you look over at each other, their eyebrows furrowing with confusion after hearing Mina’s strange explanation. You look at Mina for a second and scratch the back of your head. You’re not entirely sure what year Mina is in at the Akademiya, and you’re unsure whether Mina is aware that you’re close to graduating or not.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to imply in your first claim, but you don’t need to worry about me and my future outside of the Akademiya. Plus, I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but I’m a third-year Akademiya student,” you said.

“Third year?!” Mina screeches, her eyes the size of dinner plates.

You nod.

“How are you a third year at the Akademiya when you’re a recent student?! How is that possible?” Mina asks.

You shrug your shoulders. “I had to complete a lot of exams for my placement. While I have no prior education in Teyvat, I do have some knowledge,” you said.

Mina stares at you blankly. “What are you saying?”

There’s no way you’re going to reveal to Mina that you’re an outlander like Aether and Lumine. While they exist in the world of Genshin, you do not exist in this world at all. You magically appeared in their world and had to adapt to your new life somehow.

“I was really dumb, and now I am not dumb because these men,” you gesture to Al Haitham, Kaveh, Cyno, and Tighnari behind you, “are the reason why I am where I’m at in the Akademiya. They guided me through many things and they are my mentors. They taught me academic discipline and taught me how to do well in the Akademiya,” you lie.

You winced inwardly at your awful lie. It’s better than admitting that you’re not from their universe; who knows what Mina would do with that information? But other than that, you wish you could have come up with something better than what you just said to Mina. Without having to look behind you, you can tell the four men are also cringing at your awful lie. Mina slowly nods her head and presses her lips into a thin line, not saying anything. You can’t tell if Mina bought your lie or not.

Mina looks at you quizzically. “What do you mean by that? You’re not dumb. You may lack the education, but you’re not dumb,” Mina says. She grabs you by your shoulders and shakes you lightly.

You feel your eye twitch, and you give her a fake smile. You grab her wrists and take a step back from Mina. You clear your throat and turn to look at the four men, who have been patiently waiting for you to finish the conversation with Mina.

“Let’s go now, shall we?” You breathed.

Kaveh, Cyno, Al Haitham, and Tighnari nod their heads before walking off with you following after them. You didn’t think much of what happened later that day. After the meeting with Al Haitham, Kaveh, Cyno, and Tighnari, you collapsed on the couch at the abode, face down. Your beret falls off your head and lands on the ground beside you.

“Today is exhausting. I hope next week will be more eventful and not exhausting,” you groan into the cushions.

“Eventful? How eventful do you want it to be?” Aether asks, plopping down beside you on the couch.

You raise your head and see Aether looking at you with a cute smile. You let your head fall on the cushion and mumble something to yourself. You’re so tired, but you need to change out of your Akademiya uniform. But at the same time, you’re also not in the mood to get up and change into your pajamas. After the long meeting, you don’t want to do anything at all but sleep. Someone pokes you on your head. You look up and see Aether peering down at you.

“To answer your question, I’m not sure. I don’t want it to be a long meeting like today; it’s an exhausting day, especially after what happened with Mina,” you reply.

Aether pouts and pulls you up into his arms, cuddling with you while you lay there and accept his hugs and cuddles. You close your eyes and throw your arms around his slim waist, nuzzling your head against his chest. Aether chuckles and scratches the back of your head, making you hum with contentment.

“Oh, dear. What happened with Mina?” Thoma asks.

“When Al Haitham said my name, Mina answered to my name also, but she came up with the excuse that [Y/N] and Mina rhyme,” you huff, burying your face into Aether’s chest.

You feel Aether jolt beneath you at your response. You look up to see Aether furrowing his eyebrows while brushing his messy blond hair away from his face. You lay your head against his chest and listen to his heart beating against his chest.

“Not only that happened, but the four of them also had to witness Mina’s strange behavior. The strangest reaction I got from her was me talking about graduating early. She tried to discourage me from doing so even though I almost meet the requirements of graduating early,” you said, tracing small patterns on Aether’s stomach.

Xiao scoffs and rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest with a deep frown on his face. “What kind of person discourages their friends from achieving their goals?” Xiao mutters.

“You’d be surprised by the type of people that exists, Xiao,” Itto says, plopping down on the couch where you and Aether are sitting and lying down behind you, sandwiching you between him and Aether. Itto grabs you by your waist and pulls you over to him, laying you on top of him while he massages your scalp with his long nails. You hum in delight and burrow your face into Itto’s neck while Aether glares at Itto, getting off the couch while muttering under his breath.

“I have a bad feeling about Mina. If she reacted this way and is mimicking everything [Y/N] has and does, then there’s a chance she might take it further,” Ayato mutters, shaking his head.

Venti looks at Ayato warily. “What do you mean by that?” Venti asks.

“Let’s not talk about Mina right now. Just thinking about her and the things she’s doing to be like me makes me feel very unsettled,” you shiver. You roll off of Itto and stretch your arms in the air with a yawn. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take a shower and change into my pajamas. Maybe I’ll take a nap or something! It’s been a long day, and I can use a nap,” you said, glancing around to search for the clock to see what time it was.

“We’ll wake you up when it’s almost time for dinner,” Baizhu says, ruffling your hair as you walk by them.

You nod and walk up the stairs to your bedroom. You took a shower, changed into your pajamas, and collapsed on your bed. You were too lazy to dry your hair, and quite frankly, you’re somewhat prepared for the scolding of a lifetime from the men for not drying your hair mainly because you’re too tired to think about the consequences— which there is none other than them scolding you about it.

The first thing you wake up to is, “[Y/N]! Did you not dry your hair again!? Your pillow case is wet!” Diluc scolds you.

You crack your eyes open and look over where Diluc’s voice is coming from. You lift your head and slowly sit up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. You turn to look at your pillow and see that your pillowcase is wet from your hair. You reach for your hair and touch it; it’s still damp, maybe a little bit drier than it was before you went to take a nap.

“We’re scolding them the minute they wake up from their nap?” Kaeya asks, smirking at Diluc from the doorway.

You slowly get out of your bed and walk over to your dresser and grab your brush. “I was too tired to dry my hair before taking a nap. Can you blame me?” You mutter, brushing your wet hair with the brush. You close your eyes and lean against the dresser, resting your chin on the top of the dresser, and yawn.

“How tired are you?” Scaramouche asks.

You let out another yawn. “Really tired, and it’s annoying,” you mumble. “I think I’m even more tired than I was after I fainted while going to the Akademiya’s infirmary a while ago.”

“We’ll have Baizhu and Dottore check up on you after dinner. How does that sound?” Heizou asks, peeking his head into your bedroom.

You nod your head. “Fine by me,” you mutter. You open your eyes and place the brush back on the dresser, and slowly walk over to where the men are standing. “I’m assuming dinner is ready. I can smell the food,” you said, rubbing your tired eyes with your fist.

“And you are correct! Now, let’s go downstairs and eat!” Gorou says, grabbing your wrist and pulling you along with him.

“Hold on for a second. Before any of you can eat dinner, [Y/N] needs to dry their hair,” Dainsleif says, stopping in front of you and Gorou.

You and Gorou nearly walk into Dainsleif’s chest; Gorou stops abruptly, causing you to walk into his back. You groan and turn around to go back to your bedroom to blow dry your hair. So much for coming downstairs on time for dinner. Now here you are, walking to the bathroom to turn on the hair dryer to dry your damp hair. Maybe after dinner, you’ll change your pillowcase— if there are any pillowcases available until you wash and dry the wet pillowcase.

A few days later, you and the men strut into the Akademiya. Today is the day when you’re holding a grand presentation in front of the higher-ups in the Akademiya since the presentation is part of your big research project with Al Haitham, Tighnari, Cyno, and Kaveh. You’re walking to the auditorium where the presentation is being held; you’re holding a box that is stacked on top of each other while the men walk beside you and behind you.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to hold that for you?” Zhongli sighs.

You nod your head. “I’m sure, Zhongli! It’s not like I’m going to drop it or anything,” you said, peeking from behind the box to make sure you were not walking into someone.

“The boxes are obscuring your vision, dove. At least let us take some of the boxes so you’d be able to see your path,” Kazuha says softly.

You stop in your tracks and nod. “Alright, since you all insisted. Grab some of the boxes,” you said, turning to the men.

Kazuha, Zhongli, and Albedo grab the three boxes stacked on top of the one you’re holding onto. Before you can say anything, Childe takes the box out of your hand and pats your head with a smile on his face.

“I know you wanted to carry this box, but I want to be a good boyfriend and take this box out of your hands. You don’t need to carry anything heavy as long as we’re around,” Childe proudly says.

You sigh in defeat and comply. You all continue walking to the auditorium to prepare for your big presentation in front of the Akademiya. You’re not much of a public speaker, but with Kaveh, Cyno, Al Haitham, and Tighnari assisting you in your presentation, you think it should go smoothly. Or, at least, you hope it does.

“Remember, if you lose your train of thought during the presentation, you needn’t worry. I’m sure Al Haitham, Tighnari, Cyno, and Kaveh can continue that part of the presentation,” Albedo says.

“I hope everything goes smoothly and nothing ends up going down south,” you murmur.

You look down at the clipboard in your hands and go through your to-do list to ensure you didn’t leave anything out before the presentation. While you’re wearing formal wear, you’re wearing it beneath your Akademiya uniform. It’s a big presentation for your ongoing research project. Therefore, you need to look presentable for the stage. You flip through the clipboard and go over the notes with the four men involved in your research project.

You all approach the auditorium; you push through the large wooden doors and walk down to the stage of the auditorium. You notice Mina standing on the stage, talking to one of the Akademiya professors. It looks like she was arguing with them, almost. You and the men trade looks with each other and slowly walk up the stage.

“You are not the presenter, Mina. I find it disrespectful of you to pull this kind of stunt!” The Akademiya professor hisses, glaring daggers at the girl in front of him.

“But Professor Rahal—”

“I apologize for interrupting you two, but what is going on?” You speak up.

Mina freezes in her spot. Professor Rahal gives Mina a look, crossing his arms over his chest. You hear Mina take a shaky breath and slowly turn to face you. Your eyes widen, and the clipboard in your hands falls and clatters loudly on the stage floor.

“Mina? Why do you have my face?” You whisper, your hands trembling in front of you.

Dottore narrows his eyes at Mina. “How did you achieve such a thing?” Dottore mutters.

“You weren’t kidding when you said that Mina is trying to be you,” Pantalone says, glaring at the girl in front of him.

“She really takes the word copycat to another level. Not only did she want to be like you, but she also wanted to be you. Literally,” Itto says, looking at Mina, appalled.

You let out a fake laugh and clenched your hands into fists. “Listen, I have an important presentation starting in about,” you look over at the clock, “fifteen minutes. I do not have the time to deal with your shenanigans, Mina,” you stated.

“Care to explain why you want to look like [Y/N]? It’s weird to have someone you once considered a friend trying to take your life and identity,” Diluc spats, glaring at Mina.

You shake your head and turn to the men. “Can we get her out of here? I don’t have the time or the patience to deal with someone wanting to be me,” you rub your temples with a frustrated sigh.

“How did you manage to steal [Y/N]’s face and make it your own? Not only is it creepy, but it’s strange for you to want to be [Y/N],” Albedo says, frowning at Mina.

Mina laughs softly and brushes her hair off her shoulders. It’s almost like she’s proud of what she has done. Seeing her laugh off Albedo’s question and brushing her hair from her shoulders smugly makes you want to stomp over to her and rip your face off of her face. Does she not have any shame for wanting to be you? It’s weird and creepy. Some people will find it flattering because, “oh, they’re a fan of mine. Therefore, they want to be me by mimicking everything I do and mimic my appearance!” kind of deal. But it’s weird and disturbing.

“It’s pretty easy, actually. When you know alchemists who can easily transform your appearance, you can do anything you want. But in my case, be anyone I want to be,” Mina says nonchalantly.

“I’m going to fight her,” you deadpan.

“[Y/N], don’t. You have a presentation in ten minutes,” Aether says, shaking his head.

You shake your head. “I’m going to fight Mina whether you all like it or not. Identity theft is not a joke, Jim!” You exclaim.

You take your beret off, hand it to the closest person near you, and take your Akademiya uniform off.

Cyno leans to Al Haitham. “Who’s Jim?”

Al Haitham shrugs his shoulders. “Don’t ask me. I’m just as clueless as you are,” Al Haitham sighs.

Childe places his hand on your shoulders and shakes his head. “As much as I find it sexy that you want to pummel someone to the ground, I don’t want you to get expelled from the Akademiya and ruin your future because of little miss copycat,” Childe says, putting the Akademiya uniform back on you along with the beret on your head.

You let out a sharp exhale and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Then what am I going to do with Mina? She has my face and is doing everything to be me,” you glowered, glaring over at Mina, who feigns innocence.

“What you do is start and continue with the presentation, and I will take her to the Grand Sage. She not only tries to impersonate another Akademiya student, but she also tried to falsify documents under your name,” Professor Rahal states.

He grabs Mina by her biceps and starts to drag her off the stage while she tries to get out of his grasp, cursing and screaming at the top of her lungs about how she’s being treated unfairly. You let out a shaky sigh and pressed your forehead against Al Haitham’s chest, trying to calm your racing mind.

“After the presentation, I’m going to search for Mina, and I’m going to beat her ass behind the Akademiya building for trying to impersonate me,” You mutter.

“Hey, we’re not stopping you. The only reason why we stopped you a moment ago was that an Akademiya worker was present, and we do not want you to get in trouble before your important presentation,” Tighnari says, walking up to you and Al Haitham.

You slowly sink to the ground and hug your legs to your chest. Even though Mina is facing repercussions for trying to impersonate you and copying everything you do, you still can’t shake the uncomfortable feeling off you. At first, you thought Mina intended to be your friend at the Akademiya, but you were wrong. She watched your every move, studied you closely, and got close to you just so she could complete her agenda of impersonating you.

“What’s that one thing that the people in your world say again?” Scaramouche asks, stroking his chin.

“What? Someone that is obsessed with them and keeps tabs on the person they’re obsessed with?” Ayato guesses.

Scaramouche nods his head.

“Fan behavior,” Heizou pipes up.

“Personally, I wouldn’t call that fan behavior. It’s weird and unsettling for Mina to go to an alchemist to steal [Y/N]’s face,” Kaveh huffs, crossing his arms over his chest with a glare.

“Looks like people are starting to show up to the presentation,” Thoma murmurs, turning his head to the entrance of the auditorium, watching scholars slowly trickling into the auditorium.

You stand up and dust your Akademiya uniform off, adjusting the beret on your head. “Let’s get this over with, so I can beat Mina’s ass after,” you grumble.

Venti walks over to you and places his hand on your shoulders. “Focus on your presentation. Do not let Mina occupy your thoughts while you’re presenting your research. She’s not worth your time right now. This is your project, and you need to focus. If you don’t, then Mina will win,” Venti says.

“You got this, [Y/N]. We know you do!” Gorou says, giving you an encouraging smile.

“Do well on this presentation for yourself, not as a gotcha moment to rub it in Mina’s face. You can rub it in her face after, but this presentation is for you and only you,” Baizhu says, stroking your cheek with a gentle smile on his face.

You give Baizhu a weak smile and nod. The men walk off the stage and sit in the front row while you, Al Haitham, Tighnari, Kaveh, and Cyno remain on stage. You pick the clipboard off the ground and flip through it one last time before turning to the others and signaling to let them know you’re ready to start the presentation.

Your presentation is about replicating and rebuilding the ruins. While it’s not your specific area of expertise, it is part of a project you’re assisting Kaveh in. You’re hoping that the presentation goes well and that you won’t have a single thought about Mina while presenting. After all, you are going to have a little chat with her after the presentation if she’s not kicked out of the Akademiya yet for an attempt of impersonation.

Note: Now that this week's fanfic has been posted, I am now off to bed! ... After I post it on AO3 as well :'> Anyway, I'm still not entirely sure how I feel about this story?? I've been releasing questionable fics lately and I need to get my head in the game 😭 First week of school has been a pain; I got sick, and I was at school for almost thirteen hours on Wednesday, and my throat is killing me. But I am okay and somehow alive. Anyway, the next parts are copy and pasted from my previous post. For those who want to be on my new taglist, here is the link to the taglist [Genshinluvr Updated Taglist Form]! Please make sure that you allow people to mention you/tag you in posts, or else I won't be able to tag you in any future fanfics! Anyway, for those who are new here or are returning readers, I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Taglist for my Isekai'd!Reader one-shot series and my overall taglist: @alhaitham-scribe, @xyji, @kazuhasmuse, @chirikoheina, @yoru-trash, @kaoyamamegami, @kwelibeeery, @yumakj, @deartoru, @luminarymoonlight, @toobytub, @ins4nebish, @bokuto-kinnie, @honeybedo, @exhaustedcommunist, @jadedist, @mompt2, @living-my-best-life5, @chalksdreams, @rinswriting, @thelost-in-time, @mxn14, @ventisweetheart, @unwantedsleep, @kattythesimp, @hispasian-otaku, @Orah-s, @juuuuuj101010, @nxns3nse, @sickly-falling, @alteeeeyang, @wind1y, @wh0-ta0, @samarill (If your name has been crossed out, it means that your account did not show up when I try to tag your account. Please make sure to allow people to mention you and tag you in posts and make sure the spelling, symbols, and numbers are correct)

Read more of my works on my Masterlist | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

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