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mysecretlittlelibrary · 7 months

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Prettiest Sight

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: really just cockwarming technically, sort of exhibitionism/voyeurism, Bucky has a filthy mouth even in such a casual setting, honestly this isn't much compared to some of my others lol

Genre: fluff and smut

Summary: Steve wants to draw you and Bucky and you plan to let him

***

You stride into your room humming to yourself as you finish a text. When you enter, Steve and Bucky are lounging around, Steve at the desk, and Bucky on the couch watching TV.

"Oh hey guys. I didn't realize you'd be back already." You say.

"We just went on a coffee run." Steve reminds you, tapping your coffee cup with his pencil.

"Well yeah I know but sometimes that shop gets busy." You shrug.

"Where did you get off to princess?" Bucky asks.

"Just had some laundry I thought I'd take care of while you were out. I just sat up there til I could put them into the dryer so I didn't forget." You explain grabbing your coffee from the table and taking a sip.

"Oh okay."

"What ya doin Stevie?" You ask looking over his shoulder where he's hunched over at your desk.

"Just some sketching." He mutters.

"He's been at it most of the morning. Even at the coffee shop, he was doodling away while we were waiting." Bucky tells you.

"Really?" You hum. "Can I see some of them?" You ask.

"They aren't like- great or anything just, trying some things." Steve mutters handing you the sketchbook. You flip through the drawings with wide eyes. Some of them are simple, outlines and such some barely more than shadows, but other pages are much more detailed, vivid depictions of places and things and the occasional person.

"These are impressive Stevie. You shouldn't sell yourself short." You tell him sitting down in Bucky's lap.

"Are these just strangers?" Bucky asks peaking at one of the drawings with an arm wrapped around your waist.

"Yeah- I don't draw people a lot but every once in a while I'll try." Steve shrugs.

"Well you could always draw us if you want the practice." You say with a wink. You're pretty sure he'll never actually take you up on the offer but you're not joking.

"Wanna draw us like one of your French girls Stevie?" Bucky smirks resting his chin on your shoulder.

"Don't tease. I was being serious." You lightly smack Bucky's thigh in reprimand.

"Actually- I did have this one idea." Steve mutters his cheeks tinged pink slightly.

"Really?" Bucky blinks at him.

"You wanna draw us?" Even you're surprised.

"If you guys don't mind."

"Of course we don't. What's the idea?" You ask. Steve doesn't answer immediately, but the tint in his cheeks is spreading in the space left after your question.

"Oh shit he really does want to draw us like Jack's French girls." Bucky laughs.

"Stop it." You roll your eyes. "Is that it Steve?"

"Well kind of. Unfortunately, my recollection isn't great otherwise I would just draw it from memory but- it's just that you always look so beautiful when Buck or I am filling you I thought it'd be a nice moment to immortalize." Steve explains and the revelation sends a shiver down your spine and has your core clenching slightly.

"Oh." You breathe out.

"You- wanna draw us with her sitting on my dick?" Bucky asks and you almost squirm at his words, the imagery now vividly at the forefront of your mind.

"It's a real pretty sight." Steve says.

"I mean I know it is Steve I'm just- surprised. You've never been one for that kind of exhibitionistic interest." Bucky says.

"Whatever man." Steve rolls his eyes. "Y/n? What are you thinking?" He asks you hesitantly.

"I mean I'm not- against it. You just want me like in Bucky's lap?" You ask.

"Yeah pretty much."

"Well if Bucky's fine with it-"

"You'll never have to convince me to do something that involves you on my dick." Bucky shrugs.

"You are so vulgar." You roll your eyes.

"You had no problem with my vulgarity last night princess." Bucky kisses the back of your neck.

"Down boy." You joke. "Stevie you wanna give this idea of yours a try or what?"

"Now?" He blinks.

"Yeah why not? We're all here and you've got your sketchpad." You shrug. "Just tell us what to do and we can make it happen."

"O- okay, well you'll need to strip." Steve says.

"Risque." Bucky jokes as you climb off of his lap to tug off your shorts and t-shirt.

"You too Bucky." Steve says.

"Can do." Bucky winks at Steve shuffling down his jeans and pulling his shirt over his head.

"Actually- y/n put on one of our shirts that you've highjacked." Steve says.

"Hey you guys leave your clothes in here half the time." You protest but you grab one of Steve's shirts from your drawer anyway. You put it on and walk back over to Bucky on the couch.

"And the other half of the time you just go into our rooms and take things." Bucky says tapping your butt lightly. You stick your tongue out at him in response and he chuckles.

"Anyway, do you need a little warm-up y/n?" Steve asks.

"A warm-up?" You ask.

"Well yeah- you'll be sitting for a little bit, you both need to be somewhat comfortable." Steve says as if it's obvious.

"Oh." It's all you can come up with in response.

"Come here doll, let's get you ready hm, although- I'd bet you're already dripping for us like always." Bucky spins you to face him, a hand wrapping around your thigh, fingers settling incredibly close to your center. Close enough that if he stretched the digits he'd be touching, but where they are now it's just enough for you to be hyperaware of the closeness.

"Now's really not the best time for one of your games Bucky." Steve cautions.

"There's never a bad time for those." Bucky winks. Steve rolls his eyes which only makes Bucky's smirk widen as if he has every intention of riling you both up.

"This is supposed to be about me drawing you two babe, can't do that if you're just gonna make a mess of her til she's begging for both of us." Steve says and you almost want to abandon the drawing in favor of that when he says it.

"Alright I'll be nice." Bucky concedes tapping against your thigh lightly. The action instinctually has your legs spreading enough for him to slip two fingers between your slick folds. "Just like I thought, so wet before anyone even had to touch you. Always so ready for us." Bucky hums as he pumps his fingers in and out of you slowly, stretching you. You can't help the small whimpers and moans that fall from your lips at Bucky's ministrations with both men watching intently. A few minutes of playing your body like a custom instrument have you unsteady on your feet and that's when Bucky withdraws. "I'd say you're ready." He says sliding his fingers into his mouth to lick them clean and the action makes your walls clench. You take a deep breath before speaking again.

"Do you want me facing you Stevie? Or should I be facing Bucky for this?" You ask.

"Face me sweetheart." Steve says. You nod and climb onto Bucky's lap straddling him with your back to Bucky. You take Bucky in your hand and he hisses but he can't dwell on the sweet grip of your fingers because in the next moment, you're sinking down onto him, the molten heat of your core envelops him like the sweetest torture. You take your time settling on top of him, 'unintentionally' grinding further against his erection until his hands squeeze warningly against your hip. "Behave you two. I'm serious about drawing you." Steve warns.

"Of course baby." You smile innocently at him.

"Alright- Bucky get comfortable but your legs need to be spread so I can actually see where you're joined oh and slip your hand into her shirt, cup one of her boobs. And you can put your other hand on her thigh." Steve gives you a series of directions which Bucky follows quickly. "Y/n you can lean back against him." Steve adds and you settle against Bucky's chest, and his head rests on your shoulder. "Good girl. Now you guys can just sit there while I draw."

"Do we gotta be quiet and still or-" Bucky trails.

"I mean as long as you don't move too much it's fine, and you can definitely talk, at least until I'm drawing your faces but I'll let you know when I'm at that point." Steve's already started sketching, his eyes darting from you and Bucky to his sketchpad. Bucky swipes his thumb across the nipple of your breast that's in his hand and you gasp at the sudden stimulation.

"Bucky-" You warn.

"Sorry doll, you're just impossible to resist." He hums pressing a kiss to your neck that makes a shiver run down your spine.

"You're insufferable." You scoff at him.

"You say that but I can feel you squeezing me at my teasing." He says.

"Settle down Bucky." Steve warns him although you doubt Bucky will listen. If you're lucky he'll save the teasing for after the drawing is finished but chances are you'll end up doing way more than sitting on his dick within the hour. Bucky can be quite patient but when it comes to you neither of them is particularly good at managing their insatiability. You'll be seriously surprised if Steve manages to finish his drawing before one or both of them decides this time is better spent forcing orgasms from you.

***

#marvel #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky #bucky x reader #stucky x reader #stucky fanfic #stucky smut #stucky fluff #stucky #bucky barnes fluff #steve rogers fluff

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senmiyaazx · 8 days

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SOLIVAN X READER

“Wanna be your muse ...”

cw: none // not fully proofread

Scratch, scribble, scribble .....

Hm, that's not quite right.

Using the end of the pencil, you rubbed away at the paper— erasing the imperfections in your art.

You were completely distracted. Whatever your professor was saying, you didn't care. It's boring and you could probably just search it up the next time he gives you homework.

You yawned, looking down at your drawing. A blush crept to your cheeks as you realize you've been drawing him for the past few days.

Him— your partner and new friend, the guy whose existence you weren't even aware of until a few days ago, the one who went unnoticed by everyone and you despite him being in the same class as you. Solivan Brugmansia, or rather, Sol.

He's pretty darn cute. Despite his intimidating appearance — from the black clothing and that scary gaze he had — he was actually really sweet, and kind. At least to you.. and Hyugo. But he's softer towards you.

You've noticed the way he stared for longer than he should, lingering touches that shouldn't be there, his dark gaze whenever he sees you interacting with Crowe, or anyone else for that matter. He also seems to like you a lot. Perhaps too much, but you don't really mind. Not when he's been oh so generous to you.

You groaned. No, that doesn't look like him. Try again.

Right. After you became partners, you couldn't help but continue to draw him even if it was unrelated to the project you both worked on. At first, it was mere excuses — you told yourself 'It's just for practice'. It's totally not because he's so pretty you can't help but want to admire him! Sounds weird, doesn't it? That's why it's for practice.

Fuck it. He's so damn pretty.

But your memory sucked, and you need a reference. How though? It's not like you can just ask him for a selfie, that'd probably sound suspicious. Plus, you're in class right now, and you really want to finish this sketch.

You sucked in a breath. Surely one look will be enough. Just one quick look?

You purposefully dropped your eraser on the floor, pretending it was an accident. You took a moment before picking it up, and as you did, you subtly turned your head to where Sol was— though to your surprise, he was already looking at you. Your gaze locked with those vermillion eyes, your own ones widening slightly before you immediately sat back up with an embarrassed blush.

'Can't believe he was already looking..' You sighed. 'This is so embarrassing.'

At least you managed to get a look. You can already envision his image in your head. It wasn't long before you got back to sketching.

You finished after a while. A smile was brought to your face as you stared at your creation, proud.

You rested your head on the desk, using your arms as a cushion. You closed your eyes, feeling tired. Just a few more minutes until..

...

Someone was shaking you awake. When did you fall asleep?

You raised your head from your desk, blinking sleepily.

"Sol..?" You mumbled.

"Morning, sleepyhead. You fell asleep." Sol's voice rung in your ear like a melody. You never realized how soothing his voice sounded, despite the teasing tone it held. You thought about how nice it'd be to hear it every morning.

"Did you get enough sleep last night? You look really tired." His tone switched to a concerned one, more like a doting mother.

"Yeah, just forgot to have my morning coffee." You grinned sheepishly, grabbing your things. "Thanks for waking me up."

He only gave a hum before a shy expression took over his features, a hint of blush blossoming on his cheeks.

He seems to be holding something in his hands before giving it to you. Is that your test paper? No, wait, is that the sketch you made earlier?!

"A-ah! Sorry-" You quickly took the paper from him (albeit rather aggressively), immediately shoving it into your bag as hot shame washed over you.

He chuckled which only served to stir your embarrassment even further.

"It's fine." He sucked in a breath. "You're really cute." He mumbled.

"What did you say?" You perked up, still trying to calm your racing heart. Why were you so flustered anyway?

"Nothing," He smiled shyly. "You know, if you ever need... references, you could always ask me. I don't mind.. I'd do anything for you after all." He whispered that last part to himself. You didn't even care - or notice it, you were too embarrassed.

Your eyes widened. Wait, was he serious? He's being for real?

Nonetheless, you couldn't bring yourself to deny because you probably would've never had the courage to ask. "Right, aha, I'll definitely take you up on that offer, thanks, uh.. bye!" You rushed out of your seat, the paper nearly crumpling in your hands.

Sol watched as you bolted away. He's completely aware of the way his heart nearly jumped out of his chest. He couldn't help but grin. How could he not? You were thinking about him. That alone, is enough to make his heart flutter and yearn for more.

He smiled shakily, leaving the classroom after a while, thoughts filled with you as he walked through the hallways.

You're.. so cute. So damn cute.

———

a/n: this was supposed to come with three characters: sol, crowe and casper (date with death), but it's 4am and I'm not sure when im able to write for the other two since i have a busy schedule. i already have an idea though, just need to write it out :)

#solivan x reader #solivan brugmansia #solivan brugmansia x reader #the kid at the back sol #the kid at the back vn #the kid at the back fanfic #tkatb x reader #tkatb sol #tkatb vn #visual novel #male yandere

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ghouljams · 6 months

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(The Day After)Halloween on the Farm (Ghost's Version) Rating: T, there's vague nudity and mentioned sex Word Count: <1k Tags: This is all fluff folks, short and sweet, Ghost x f!OC/reader, very and I mean very minor descriptions of reader, reader has a scar Summary: You spent all night last night policing other people's fun, now you can spend time relaxing in Ghost's company. If he'd come back to bed, that is.

The sheets fall off of you, the sun streaming over your stomach and creeping towards your eyes as it rises. You wake up just enough to toss an arm over your eyes. It takes you a moment of drifting for the scratching of pencil on paper to reach you. It's the only noise in the silence of the room until you groan and go to grab your blanket.

"Don't move," Simon tells you quietly. You smile to yourself and let out a breath, sinking back into the bed.

"When did you get up?" You ask, settling in to listen to him draw. The soft drag of graphite is lulling, gentle and familiar. Simon is quiet for a long time as he works but you're patient, and you're not going anywhere.

"Hour ago," he says when his pencil stills, his fingers rub against the paper, "maybe."

You stretch a little, arch your back and twist your hips in the quiet. As long as he isn't sketching you can move, and you're quick to settle back into position. It's an attention you'll never get used to. The way you can feel his eyes drag over you, studying you with an open affection, makes you feel more beautiful than anyone ever has. He's not one to show off, but the few times you've seen his sketches they were amazing. His attention to detail is meticulous, every shadow shaping forms and adding softness, weight, to his sketches.

You wait for him to start sketching again. Each short scratch a new shadow that is rubbed soft by his fingers. You could almost doze like this. The soft light of the morning and the warmth of the house threaten to drag you back towards slumber. It's so warm in here, no wonder you barely notice the loss of your blankets. Simon must have turned up the heat after you fell asleep, easier than putting clothes on after sex you suppose. He stops sketching and you seize the opportunity.

"Can I see?" You chance the ask, he grunts and you hear the drag of his eraser.

"Sure." Your heart feels like it's going to burst. You move your arm from your eyes to check its OK to move and catch Simon staring at you. He really must have just woken up, his hair sticks in different directions, and he’s only wearing sweats. He's pulled one of the kitchen chairs to sit next to the bed, his shoulders hunched over his sketchbook. The pencil in his hands looks so small. He raises a brow, and that's good enough for you. He holds the book out to you as you push yourself up, and waits for you to take it from him.

When you do you have to stop from pressing your fingers against the paper, you can't trace the lines of graphite as desperately as you want to. You don't want to ruin his art, but you can't believe what you're seeing is really you. You're not insecure by any stretch of the word, but the way he draws you… "Am I really this pretty?" You breathe, eyes touching on the dip of your waist, the swell of your breasts, the soft part of your lips, the scar along your stomach so adoringly detailed.

Simon hums, and you glance at him. He’s staring at you, watching you inspect his work. His gaze is so open it almost makes you want to praise him. You think he’d like that.

“No,” He tugs the sketchbook free of your hands and starts scratching his pencil against the page, feathering the strokes along your sketched lashes, “You’re prettier in person, haven’t gotten it right yet.”

You lean forward against your knees with a smile and rest your head on your folded arms to watch Simon work. He’s so gruff, so practical with everything, it never fails to surprise you that his hobby is so delicate. Maybe that isn’t the right word, careful? Meticulous you could buy, but that makes too much sense with Simon. No, you like delicate. It speaks to the care, the consideration in his art. You’ve watched him draw his own hands, so meticulous to trace every vein and scar, and yet looking at the finished product it’s almost appreciative.

It’s definitely appreciative when he draws you. You know that much. You can see it. His eyes dart to look at you and back down to the paper, each line struck with purpose, each glance a calculation. And again you think that for all the technical parts, it’s loving. His sketchbooks are full of you, pieces of you litter every page, every inch. He’s packed full of you, just like you’re stuffed to the brim with him.

“I love you,” You tell him. He sucks in a breath, the same way he always does, almost disbelieving.

“Love you too,” He mutters, burying himself a little further in his work.

“We should fuck when you’re done,” You mumble, closing your eyes to enjoy the warm house, the warm affection in your chest. Simon’s sketchbook snaps shut almost as quickly as the words leave your mouth. You peek up at your husband to watch him strip his pants off, and reach to push you back down against the bed.

You move with his insistent hands, and stretch out against the bed again, letting his eyes roam over you with a different sort of appreciation. He pulls your legs up around his waist as you reach for him, tugging him down to kiss him. Simon meets your lips all too eagerly, and you let out a pleased hum as you finally receive a proper good morning.

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honey-words · 11 months

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spider boy — spider-man!midoriya izuku x reader

synopsis: you’ve talked to your neighbor a few times before and have waved at him on campus. But you’ve noticed he keeps really weird hours, sometimes hearing him go into his apartment at ungodly hours of the night. So when spider-man enters your apartment one night, it’s easy for you to connect the dots from there.

content warnings: mentions of blood/injuries, hints of angst, hurt/comfort

wc: 3.1k

author’s note: I believe in spider-man!deku supremacy :)

part 1 of the spider boy series

“Spider-man does it again! Only three blocks from the UA university campus, the masked hero—”

“You’re a spider-man fan?”

You jumped, almost dropping your phone and falling off of the bench in the process.

“Midoriya! You scared me.”

He laughed and you paused the video you were watching, a news clip from this morning. He settled down beside you on the bench, taking a sip of his iced coffee as he did.

“Yeah, I guess I am a fan,” you said. “Campus PD sucks and I think it’s funny a spider guy is more reliant than all of them put together.”

You both shared a laugh.

“I have to get to class,” Midoriya sighed, not making any movements to get up from the bench. “How’s Moony?”

“She’s great, thanks for asking,” you said, smiling back at him. Because Midoriya was the definition of a perfect neighbor. He had introduced himself when you first moved in and he saw the small cat carrier with a little black kitten, Moony, inside of it. From there it had been a pleasant acquaintanceship between the two of you.

“I’ll see you later, then,” he said, really standing up this time. “Bye!”

You waved goodbye as he left, then turned back to the video.

A thief had been running loose on campus for the last week, snatching cell phones and wallets from unsuspecting students on their way to class. Campus PD had found the thief this morning, literally on their doorstep with a sticky note that had a spider sketch stuck on his face.

A smaller feat of Spider-Man’s, but a good one nonetheless.

During your first lecture of the day you could see other people were watching the same video and reading the accompanying article. It was the first time Spider-Man had acted so close to campus, practically on the grounds of it considering where he had turned in the thief.

The person in front of you had a Reddit post pulled up, and you had to bite your cheek to refrain from laughing as you read the title. Spider boy or whatever is totally a UA student. Here’s my proof!!!!

Finding the professor’s lecture increasingly dry and dull, you decided to pull up the Reddit tab on your own laptop so you could read it, too.

By the time the lecture was over you had read the entire post (it was surprisingly long) and all of the comments underneath it, half-convinced of the theory yourself. It made some reasonable arguments—Spider-Man stuck to the surrounding city, usually went around at night, rarely seen throughout the day—keeping with the schedule of a college student. Sticking to the surrounding city pointed to the fact that he lived near campus. And the latest crime he’d solved was the cherry on top, because the alerts about it had gone out to all campus members since the incidents were contained to the campus.

The dull lecture came with dull readings, which you idly flipped through later that night. It was nearing 1 am, but sleep had not yet found you, and even the reading was not putting you to sleep.

You must’ve dozed off on your tiny kitchen table, Moony curled up on the chair next to you, because her surprised meow and the sound of a door closing close by woke you up a few hours later. Your phone lit up with an email notification (professors were truly unhinged with their work hours) and you were able to see the time without lifting your head up from the table. 4 am.

The door that had closed and woken you and Moony up had been Midoriya’s, you realized even in your half-asleep state. Occasionally the sound would wake you up, but you never minded it much and usually rolled over and fell back asleep.

This time you had to drag yourself over to your bed, and you could vaguely hear Midoriya moving around next door. What business he had this early in the morning you never knew. He seemed pretty normal, and you always assumed he was fond of late library study sessions. Even if it was not exactly exam season. But then again, he was a biochem major, you mused.

You fell asleep wondering about this and woke up five hours later to the sound of your blaring alarm. It snapped you awake, enough to hear a thud from next door. Did Midoriya fall out of bed?

The day passed as usual. You went to class, took half-hearted notes (it was hard to focus at this point in the semester—everyone was already burnt out) came home and ate dinner with Moony, and cuddled up on the couch together to do your readings.

This time you were ready to pass out outside of the warm embrace of your bed, so you’d done your nightly routine and brought over blankets to the couch, ready for sleep to come whenever it was ready.

The sound that woke you up this time was much louder. And Moony hissed.

She never hissed.

You froze from your curled-up position on the couch, eyes still heavy with sleep and senses scrambling to catch up with your brain and racing heart. The coffee table was right across from you, and by some miracle, you’d been sipping on a lemonade earlier—one in a glass bottle.

As swiftly as you could, you untangled yourself from the blankets and grabbed the lemonade bottle, wielding it in front of you like a sword.

It slipped from your grasp when you saw who was standing in front of you, next to your open window you always kept closed, scared Moony would climb out.

As if on reflex, as if he expected you to drop your weapon, Spider-Man shot a web just as it slipped from your fingers, catching it in his hands before you could even register you had dropped it.

Moony, who had been very annoyed at being woken up just a minute ago, was now rubbing her head on his shins affectionately.

“Moony,” you whispered. “Get away from him.”

“It’s okay!” Spider-Man said, mirroring your whisper. “I’m not here to hurt anyone.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Then why did you break into my apartment?” You looked around for your phone, or another potential weapon. Instead, your gaze found the small digital clock you kept on a shelf near the door, the bright green numbers clearing away the fogginess of sleep.

It was 4am.

You could not help the gasp that escaped you.

“Midoriya?”

The effect was instantaneous. Spider-Man’s entire body language changed, that much you could tell, even in the dark. He took a step away from you, back toward the window, shoulders tense.

“What?” he said. Trying hard to keep his voice steady, even deepening it a little. But you knew it was him.

“Did you think this was your apartment?” You were connecting the dots now. “This is why you always come back so late.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, inching towards the window. “I just got a little lost. Thought this place was empty.”

“You’re bleeding,” you said, pointing at the gash in his arm as though he had not noticed it himself. “Why’re you bleeding?”

Moony meowed, as though echoing your question. She was still close to him, and leaned forward to rub her head against his shin again.

This seemed to break him—his shoulders drooped and he let out a long exhale. He reached up and pulled the mask off, and you gasped again.

The left side of his face was covered in bruises, his eye starting to swell a bit. He looked like he was on the verge of tears, glancing down at Moony.

“Smart cat. She recognized me.” You winced and instinctively moved toward him when he tried to smile and grimaced at the action.

“Sit down, please,” you said, remembering to speak quietly. “You can’t die in my apartment. You can’t.”

“I won’t,” he said, letting you manhandle him into sitting on the couch. “Promise.”

“If you thought this was your apartment you’re definitely concussed,” you said, reaching up to move his curls aside, careful not to touch his face. The bruises covered his entire left side, also the side his arm was bleeding. “What happened to you?”

You snatched your hand away when he realized he was frozen, eyes to the side where your hand was.

“I got thrown into a wall,” he said, smiling again. A smaller grimace this time. “I’m really sorry.”

“You’re sorry for being thrown into a wall?” You shuffled to the kitchen to grab the tiny first aid kit you kept there. It was dusty and unused and consisted mainly of bandaids, something you started laughing at a little hysterically as you opened it on the couch, in between you and Midoriya. He’d leaned back onto the couch, breathing evened out. He was lying so still you thought he was sleeping, until he turned his head to see what you were laughing at.

“I only have bandaids,” you said, still laughing a little. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” he said. “Oh, I didn’t mean…” he started laughing. Quietly, then a little louder until you were both giggling and suppressing loud laughs.

“It’s okay,” he said, catching his breath again. “Can you help me get to my place? I’m used to patching myself up.”

It took five minutes, but eventually, you both managed to get out your front door, coaxing Moony to stay inside. Midoriya had one of his arms draped around your shoulder, keeping him upright. He had reassured you plenty of times as you both shuffled out the door that he was fine, he had been through worse. Which only made you feel worse.

His apartment was the exact same layout as yours, though a little messier, which he apologized for. There were notes all over his kitchen table, his couch was covered in blankets. You had a feeling he was prone to falling asleep all over his apartment like you did.

“Thank you,” he said once he had settled down on his couch. “I’m really sorry, again.”

“I know,” you said, sitting down beside him. You stared at the clock directly across from you, above his small TV. “I’m sorry for figuring out who you are.”

Another small laugh from him. “S’okay.” he shifted to look at you, and you mirrored him. It would have felt awkward being this close to someone you knew more in passing a day ago, but you felt as though this entire experience had automatically made the two of you friends. A trauma bond, of sorts. “You won’t tell anyone?”

You smiled back at him. “Promise.”

You didn’t remember getting back to your apartment, only that it took a lot of convincing on Midoriya’s part. The second you woke up (on your couch) you rushed to get out the door and knock on Midoriya’s until he opened, if anything to confirm you had not dreamed anything that had happened. But before you could get your slippers on, you saw a small note on the floor in front of the door.

Two spiders drawn holding hands, with “friends?” written underneath.

You slid it back under his door with your own addition — a drawing of a cat and “friends” written underneath his question.

——— * * * ———

“Trauma bond?”

“Yeah,” you said, shoving at his shoulder and ignoring his fake wince. “Am I wrong?”

“No,” he agreed, petting a meowing Moony in his lap. He was frowning down at her, and you had been around him long enough to know something was wrong.

It had been over a month since the break-in incident (which Midoriya was still apologizing for) and you had grown used to each other’s company. It had started off small—seeing him in the library during the day, studying quietly next to him. Stifling your laughter when he slid a spider doodle across the table to you.

After that, you noticed him around campus more often. You had always greeted him when he crossed your path, stopping to make small talk. But now you actually talked about things of substance. Setting up study sessions, inviting him over to play with Moony, exchanging recipes and even starting to cook at each other’s apartments.

“Is my pasta not good?” you said. Moony meowed, echoing your question from his lap.

“It could use some pepper,” he said, smiling teasingly at you. “No, it’s good. Just a rough night.”

“Wanna talk about it?” you said.

“S’okay,” he said. “We’re trauma bonded enough.” You felt a pang of guilt at the sadness in his tone.

“Midoriya—”

“Thank you for the pasta,” he said. “I can help with the dishes.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “You know we’re friends friends, right?”

He nodded. “I’m messing with you.”

“You little shit!” he laughed as you set your dishes down in the sink, shoving him slightly. He smiled slyly at you. He seemed like the perfect boy next door, but he was really a little shit. And he was the perfect boy next door.

“I haven’t heard you come back late in a while,” you said. He turned to look at you from his place at the sink, eyebrows raised.

“You wait up for me?”

“No!” you said indiginantly. “It just used to wake us up.”

“Really? I’m sorry.”

“S’okay,” you said. “But you have to wake me up if you’re hurt really bad, okay? Even if it’s just to sit with you.”

A small noise of acknowledgement from Midoriya.

“What was that?”

“Promise.”

Satisfied, you got up from your place at the table, letting him finish up the dishes. “Are you going out tonight?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Sorry in advance about the early morning wake up call.”

He still would not tell you where he went. But the news reports the next day served as the answers to your questions. A crime solved here, a criminal turned in there. The Spider-Man news page, ran by dedicated fans, was bookmarked on your computer and one of your most visited tabs. On nights when you couldn’t sleep and didn’t know where he was, you would refresh it every few minutes, waiting for an update.

Sometimes he would go during the day, and when you would get back from class he would be there on your couch with Moony, napping. You would sit on the opposite end and wait for him to wake up, then decide on what to make for lunch together. Not talking about the new bruise on his arm or the new cut on his leg. If he brought it up you knew it was okay to talk about it, but usually you both talked about normal topics. Avoiding the giant spider in the room.

“All done!” he said, falling down on the couch beside you. Reaching to pet Moony, who was cuddled up on your lap. Arm muscles flexing, hands softly running through Moony’s fur. It was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore how jacked he was. Especially when he was literally always stripping in your apartment, changing from his suit into his regular clothes. Letting you sneak glances at his back, his chest.

“Take a nap,” you blurted. “If you’re going to be out tonight. You need to rest.”

“I will,” he said, smiling up at you. “Don’t worry.”

“I’m not!” you said, huffing. “You better not visit me tonight. I expect you to kick ass and come back with no injuries.”

“‘Kay,” he said. “See you tomorrow?” You nodded and watched him dramatically sigh, throwing his head back on the couch before getting up and shuffling to the door.

The rest of your evening was spent anxiously trying to distract yourself. There was a nagging feeling in the back of your head, in the pit of your stomach. After finishing your homework and realizing it was hours before your usual bedtime, you cleaned your apartment. Reorganized, moved things around.

You decided to settle on the couch for the night. Better place to hear Midoriya come back.

The sound that jolted you awake a couple hours later was louder than usual, and it woke you up quicker. A quick glance at your clock let you know it was only 1am.

“Midoriya?” you said quietly, sitting up. “You okay?”

He was standing near your window, at almost the exact same spot as a month before, when he had first broken in.

“No,” he said. Voice hoarse and almost too quiet for you to hear.

You were up and leading him over to the couch in an instant. His mask was already off, clutched in between his fingers

“Are you hurt?” you said, patting down his arms and running your fingers over his face softly, scared to touch a bruise or aggravate a cut. A shake of his head.

You gently took the mask from him, setting it down on the coffee table with one hand, the other gripping his hands tightly. “Want to talk about it?”

He nodded, squeezing your hands back. “Later.”

“Okay,” you said, scooting closer to him on the couch so your shoulders pressed together. “I’m here, okay? It’s okay.”

You were ready when his shoulders started shaking and he slid into your hug, staining your shirt with his tears. You ran your hands through his hair, rubbing your fingers along the nape of his neck. Repeating the phrase over and over until it felt like you were trying to convince yourself of the same thing.

The bruises were on his side this time—no cuts deep enough to warrant him going back to his apartment to patch himself up. You helped him get his suit off slowly. The tears hadn’t stopped, and yours had started fifteen minutes after his. It hurt to see him like this and not know how to help. Knowing all you could do was help him get back to his apartment and keep his secret.

“Can I stay?” he said. He was holding the top half of his suit to his chest, hugging it.

“Yeah, course you can,” you said. “I’ll get you some clothes.”

Moony walked out of your room with an annoyed meow. She had been sleeping, but once she spotted Midoriya she happily sauntered over, already purring.

Once he had changed into the clothes his eyes started to droop, and you started convincing him to sleep in your room. He kept shaking his head, until he finally told you, “Don’t want to be alone.”

“Okay, I’ll stay with you,” you said. Slipped out so easily you had no time to realize you had said it until he nodded and you were walking into your room and settling under the covers, Midoriya turning to face you, lashes wet with tears.

“I’m not leaving,” you said, reaching to intertwine your fingers with his. “You’re okay. We’re okay.”

He blinked slowly at you, sleep making his eyes heavy. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

masterlist

#midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku x you #mha x reader #bnha x you #izuku midoriya x reader #izuku midoriya x you #deku x reader #midoriya izuku x oc #spiderman deku #bnha fanfiction #spiderdeku

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justporo · 2 months

Text

"Astarion?"

"Yes, my love?"

You were lazing away a summer's night. The sound of crickets chimed through the air and your wide open bedroom windows.

The city had practically been burning up the last couple of days - even the nights were unpleasantly warm and humid. And so the only thing you and your vampire had been doing was wasting the nights away in your huge bed with the silk sheets providing at least a bit of cool counterbalance. And of course the cold skin of your vampire served as a pleasant heatsink.

And Astarion had found it quite delightfully entertaining when he'd figured out how you would sigh blissfully when he pressed his cool hands to your body and he felt the heat of your skin under his fingers.

Right now you were, both of you, laying there all splayed and fully naked. The vampire on his back reading a small leather-bound collection of poetry. His legs were angled because your crossed ones lay beneath them as you lounged there on your stomach, drawing what you could see through the frame of the open window.

As you were busy with your art your mind had kept wandering - until a question had formed in your mind that you just had to voice.

"Why me?" you asked your lover, turning your head to look at him, your work momentarily forgotten.

Astarion lowered his book: "What?"

"Why did you pick me? Or fall for me?"

You felt anxiety creep up your spine as the words left your tongue.

Astarion stared at you in silence, taken aback by the surprising question. A wrinkle formed between his furrowed brows - deep in thought.

"That's kind of a loaded question, don't you think?"

Your heart dropped a little at that reaction and you turned back around and looked at your sketch. Hopefully he hadn't caught how your facial expression had dropped.

The bed shifted under his weight when Astarion put aside his book and climbed over to you.

You didn't dare to look at him. Thankfully a curtain of hair was still covering your face as the vampire came closer.

But you felt his presence as he leaned over you. His cool arms covering yours as his hands wandered down from your shoulders to your fingers, sending shivers down your exposed spine. And then you felt his smooth lips press a delicate kiss to your temple.

"My heart," he began so silently even the cricket sounds almost drowned them out. "There's no need to hide your face. And no need to be frightened," he whispered and with a single finger lifted the soft strands of your hair covering your face from sight.

Your eyes flitted to your lover's only shortly. But when you saw nothing but warmth in them you dared to take a longer peek.

"I fell for you, Tav, because even that first night, when I had fully other plans, you made me think how things could be different."

You opened your mouth to reply something but Astarion promptly shushed you.

"I might have not realised or appreciated it immediately but you showed me that it could be more, that I could be more."

His voice was starting to rise now as he continued his monologue. And you felt how your heartbeat started to quicken as you kept listening to his confession.

"And I figure most important was this, darling," Astarion continued and his red eyes were incredibly bright even in the low light of this summer night.

"Despite you barely knowing me, you were so eager to just give yourself to me. I was so used to offering up myself, others taking everything from me I was forced to offer up. But you didn't care for that. You wanted to be held, yes, but you were willing to give me everything of yourself for it."

Your eyes widened as you listened to Astarion opening up about this. You felt treacherous burning in your eyes, announcing tears that would probably follow shortly after. And as you stared into the crimson eyes of your vampire you saw all of your feelings mirrored in them.

Astarion leaned closer and made your body turn around. Softly pulling you around by your shoulders until you were on your back and your lover directly over you.

He pressed his lips to yours as he lowered his full weight of his body down onto you, your legs wrapping around him like it had become second nature for both of you. His hands gently wandered from your shoulders down your body, covering as much ground as possible while his tongue slipped into your mouth.

You moaned into his open mouth, arching your back until you felt your heated skin connect with his cooler body.

The corners of Astarion’s mouth curled up as you did that. You felt it as you were still kissing him and realised that you were proving his point.

Astarion broke the kiss, his face hovering directly over yours as your hands clung onto his back.

"How could I have refused such an offer?"

A/N: Quite some time ago I was tagged in a post by @lumienyx to answer why Astarion fell for my Tav and I had this on my mind for a long while. So here's my answer to that question.

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers #fanfiction #astarion x tav #baldur's gate iii #bg3 #baldurs gate #astarion x oc #astarion x you #drabble

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llunapastell-reads · 4 months

Text

ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ || ʙ.ᴄ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ :･ bang chan x afab reader ɢᴇɴʀᴇ :･ hurt/comfort | fluffy | smut ᴡ.ᴄ :･ 3.7k ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs :･ profanity | sexually explicit | unprotected piv

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ :･ Amidst the mess of an neglected office space, your boyfriend's forlorn piano evokes a wave of painful recognition. You wonder how much dust could collect on your shoulders before Chan realizes he's forgotten you too.

✧.* ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴠɪᴇᴡ ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀ ʟɪꜱᴛ & ᴅɪꜱᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪɴɢ

An abrupt thud sends a spurt of pain through the crown of your head. It startles you more than anything, breaking your concentration on the drudgery at hand—cleaning out a long-forgotten cabinet nestled in the alcove of your home office. Well, to call it your office isn’t entirely accurate. With all of your boyfriend’s music equipment overtaking the majority of the space, it feels more like a foreign than familiar territory now. You do have your own desk opposite Chan’s makeshift studio setup, right below the room’s largest window so you can draw in the natural lighting. But it’s been a long while since you last picked up a sketch pad.

Hell, it’s been a while since either of you had the time to do anything in this neglected corner of your apartment.

A mumble of curse words falls under your breath as you soothe where you’re sure a decent bump will form later. A small break feels befitting now that the hoard of art supplies is somewhat organized, and you should probably grab an ice pack for good measure. The task has been looming over your head for too long, which is why this rare lull in your afternoon was dedicated to tidying up the room that has been usurped by clutter and storage.

Work has left you drained of all your free time and willpower, and when you did muster up a speck of vigor, it was usually in the name of chores or other responsibilities. Chan was even worse, all his time being spent practicing as he and the guys geared up for another comeback. His life has always been dominated by his craft—the man wouldn’t have it any other way—but you couldn't help but take note of how your moments together had been reduced to fleeting exchanges between late-night studio sessions and pressing deadlines.

You blink away the thought and cast bleary eyes over your shoulder. The beams of light that flood in through slatted blinds appear almost tangible in the air, so much so that you’re tempted to try and grasp one in your hand. Instead, you trace their glowing pathways across the room, where molten colors of gold and clementine reflect off the keys of a piano on the opposing wall. Each ivory piece seemingly ignites in the setting sun’s radiance, and a deep sigh alleviates some of the wistful feelings that thrum in your chest at the sight; it was only a few years ago Chan had bought that secondhand piano from a local shop after months of contemplation.

He somehow always talked himself out of the commitment, too humble to seriously entertain the thought of spending money on himself, especially when there were always bills to pay. Your relationship was fresh then, and even though the secret of mutually bashful affection had only been confessed a few weeks earlier, you were bold and convinced him a bit assertively to think of it as a business expense. The purchase meant aid in refining his skills, to enhance his contributions to his team: the beloved group of friends who looked to him for leadership with nothing but an unwavering confidence that he never quite felt worthy of. That’s what persuaded him to spend the one-and-a-half paychecks it required—the idea of altruism. The recollection of crinkles that formed in the corner of his eyes from unabated joy seems just as vivid as the luminous piano you’re shuffling over to from across the carpet.

Kneeling before it, your body sinks to eye level with the weighted keys. Hesitant fingers hover just above them for a long moment, as if one touch will disturb the magic of its glow and transform it back to an abandoned piece of dusty equipment. You’re not sure what possesses you to purse your lips and blow instead, but it’s a marvel to watch the tiny dust particles suspended in the air become glitter in the sun. A tiny smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth the whole time you tend to the instrument with a delicate touch, taking time to wipe down each crevice and bend. It was pathetically sentimental, but the keys were left for last. It just felt disrespectful to invoke any sound without deliberate intent. Once satisfied, you sit properly on the bench and admire your work.

It tickles to consider the extent of abuse these well-worn keys have endured at the hand of its enthusiast owner. The piano was the very first thing he had unpacked when you moved into this apartment a couple of summers ago, your first place together. Almost instantly it felt like home, even with blank walls and no furniture, aside from numerous stacks of cardboard boxes. The only thing occupying the room was Chan with a pencil tucked behind his ear to notate every tweak made to the piece he was composing. Sometimes, you’d catch him grinning to himself once the right notes fell into place and the room would suddenly appear brighter. His presence transformed any space into a beautiful sanctuary.

Hands clutch your chest as if it will somehow quell the sharp pang of longing deep within. Have you been so busy and distracted you hadn’t noticed the depth of the void that had stealthily crept into your lives? No, it wasn’t obliviousness. You just didn’t want to hinder him, especially when he was dedicating himself so earnestly to the career he’s built, to the team that needs him. You lied to yourself, said it was fine that you couldn’t remember the last time you ate a proper meal together, or got lost in a late-night conversation that stretched into dawn. It’s only when your head falls against the sternum do you acknowledge the wetness collecting in your waterline. The relegated instrument before you breeds a deeply discomforting feeling of recognition in your stomach.

Maybe you should just stay here, see how much dust collects on your shoulders until he notices. It’s painful to consider if he’d notice at all.

A melody he penned resonates amongst your distraught clamor of thoughts. The recollection is fuzzy, like it’s being filtered through an old phone line. Your hand moves on autopilot until a subtle and delicate sound emerges from the slow press of a key, summoning a wave of calmness to fall over you. Like a hushed secret, the note seems to linger, its tone rich and full, as if time itself has slowed down by its enchantment. With another caress of a key, and then another, every nuanced vibration somehow finds its place in the tranquility of the room bathed in hazy light.

Your rendition wasn’t perfect, but it felt good to get lost in the memories that surface from the music. You picture those tufts of soft curls bobbing along to the rhythm, chiseled features set in fixated concentration before he lost himself in the song. Chan’s passion was palpable, but what mesmerized you most was the graceful arc of his hands that moved with a fluidity that spoke to years of diligent practice. Hands of a god, Jisung would say when you watched them in the studio sometimes.

Your heart does a somersault when your playing is accompanied by the distant sound of a lock unlatching, followed by subdued creaks of floorboards. A stifled chuckle approaches from the doorway and pulls you from the daydream. “Please, don’t stop,” Chan smiles once your eyes meet. “I love this song.”

The man is a vision; dampened strands of hair appear dark against the flush of his skin, a result of what must have been an intense dance practice. A display of dimples almost distracts you from noticing how his shirt clings to the broad expanse of his shoulders. The black fabric does nothing to conceal the swell of biceps when he folds his arms over his chest. As he steps past the threshold of the space, the contours of his profile suddenly shimmer in the light. There’s a hitch in your breath, and your cheeks must appear flush too, but for a totally different reason.

“I don’t remember how this part goes,” you admit and bashfully turn your attention back to the instrument. Your fingers falter as you hit all the wrong keys, pulling huffs of laughter from Chan at the dissonant sounds you’ve produced.

All your muscles tense once he closes the space between you. Tone arms wrap around your body so Chan can guide your hands to the right keys. His breath tickles the shell of your ear when he leans in over your shoulder, the rhythm calm and in complete contrast to the erratic thumping of your pulse.

“I’ll show you,” the low octave of his voice incites goosebumps.

With tender patience, Chan guides your overlapping hands through the first set of notes. He hums along to the melody, harmonizing with the song while your interlaced fingers explore their way across the keys. How you yearned for this, the feeling of his warmth enveloping you—it excited every atom of your being, elicited a kind of vibrating sensation under your skin. You lean back against him and nuzzle the crook of his neck. A deep inhale has you feeling dazed, the mixture of his musk and the scent of smoky vanilla like a potent drug.

“Y/N, you’re not paying attention,” your boyfriend coos.

Just one more inhale before you can respond. The corners of your mouth curl upward as you ask how he can tell.

“You’re making me do all the work,” he tsks with feigned disappointment.

“I’ll give you a reward for your efforts,” the plush of your bottom lip ghosts over the edge of his jaw, feeling the muscles clench beneath. An open-mouth kiss presses into the bone and you’re unable to resist swiping your tongue along his skin. It tingles when Chan’s muffled groan reverberates against you. It only encourages you to suckle at the spot you’ve claimed to relish in the salty taste.

You’re so focused on him, it doesn’t register that the music has ceased until you feel your hands guided to your chest. With your fingers still intertwined, Chan helps you knead at the flesh over your tank top. You exhale a satisfied sigh when he makes you cup your breast and squeeze. One hand fondles while the other creeps down the expanse of your torso, tantalizingly slow. You have to face forward and focus on the silhouette of your figures just to try and regulate your breathing.

“Do you know what my favorite instrument to play is?” His voice is velvet in your ear, his mouth hot on the expanse of your skin. A shiver is the only response you can manage.

Teeth nip at the junction where your shoulder and neck meet. There’s so much unabated hunger behind it, the pleasure of sudden pain pools in your gut. Chan gently pushes your thighs apart and forces your fingers to trail up the skin of your thigh. A high-pitched whine falls past your lips as your hands brush over where you need his touch the most. There’s no point in attempting to hide how much you want that sweet friction on you, and he knows it. Your boyfriend chuckles with your flesh still in between his teeth.

“It’s you, baby. You make the prettiest sounds,” his words get lost amongst the sound of your labored breaths. Hips reflexively buck forward to meet where hands hover over your clothed mound and you can feel the wetness through the cotton fabric, already so damp from just his teasing. Chan hums with satisfaction from your undoing, then rewards you with soothing licks to the indents left behind from his bite.

He’s all over you but not close enough. Only thoughts of wrapping your legs around his hips and feeling the weight of his tongue in your watering mouth flood your mind, washing away all traces of doubt and insecurity. He must be thinking the same because there isn’t a speck of resistance when you shift your body around and tackle him onto the carpet. The action is impatient, ravenous, and completely welcomed by your boyfriend if his bruising grip on your waist is any indication. Your eyelids slip shut with the connection of lips, finally slotted together after what felt like a stagnant eternity. One eager lick at the seam of your mouth is all the prompting you need to part your lips and allow him entrance. With each brush against your tongue, tiny spurts of electricity pulsate down to your core.

“Y/N… Miss you so much… It hurts,” Chan’s confession comes out like a pained moan in between sloppy kisses. Something lurches in your chest hearing the rasp in his voice. You pull away just enough to discern the furrow in his brow, the desperation behind his widened brown eyes. He felt it too, didn’t he? Amid the long and grueling hours of work, your boyfriend must have agonized in your absence, just as you did in his. This anguish etched across his features is all the sobering confirmation you need and much more than you can stomach.

Did he genuinely doubt that you missed him too? How utterly unfathomable is that! Yet, It’s not like you’ve done a stellar job expressing your feelings either. Fuck, you’re such a hypocrite, weren’t you just spiraling from the same exact thought? You curse yourself for ever questioning his adoration, and Chan must see the moment guilt flickers in your eyes because his expression turns fearful. How could you be so stupid as to entertain the idea that the most devoted person you know might waver? When he loved, he did so with the entirety of his being, never allowing himself to hold back. His passion was simply too profound to be restrained, especially when it came to the matter of you.

“I miss you too, Channie,” it takes more strength than expected to keep your voice from trembling. “More than I can even articulate.”

A long, hard kiss finds its place at the corner of his mouth. You hope the chaste action will convince Chan of the sincerity of your words. The softened gaze and release of a withheld breath trapped in his throat appear to be signs of success, but there are a few other methods you have in mind to truly prove your infatuation with him; lewd fantasies that flash behind your eyelids practically have you purring.

The back of your hand gently brushes down his face and you feel your eyes crease with adoration for the man underneath you. When your tongue dips back into his mouth, the maneuver is not as rushed as before-–it’s heavier, sensual, and much more calculated. You’re desperate to swallow every one of his whimpers, every response you can solicit with a grind of hips against your boyfriend’s hardened length. Chan threads the hair at the back of your head between his knuckles and pushes your mouths even closer together until he’s literally stealing your breath.

You disconnect to gasp for air in the crook of his neck. It feels like you’re floating, so lightheaded from it all that your brain lags to process the instant he flips you down onto the carpet. His features go uncharacteristically serious as he sits back on his heels in between your splayed thighs.

“I need you–right now,”

Chan’s hands reach for the hem of his shirt and time seems to tick by in slow motion. Fabric bunches in his grasp as he lifts it over his head to reveal the sculpted muscles of his torso. Your gulp is audible when he frees himself from the restraints of his joggers, the head of his cock is glazed with arousal which glistens in the setting sun. You can’t seem to shuffle out of shorts fast enough.

If only you could see the view from above, how drunk in bliss you must appear as Chan peppers wet kisses down your body, discarded clothing littering the floor surrounding your joint forms. Intrinsically, your fingers card through his hair, like the grip on the brunette strands could possibly help you hold on to the bits of composure that are left. His licks at your flesh are slow, messy, and reduce you to a blathering puddle. Whimpers have devolved into tortured whines at this point, but that’s just how he likes it—you can almost feel his crooked smile when he noses past your navel.

“You sound so fucking perfect,” Eyes nearly roll back into your skull in tandem with the flat swipe of his tongue up your entrance. But then Chan leans forward to hover above you again, and a part of you wants to mourn the loss of delicious pressure until his smug grin reminds you the best is yet to come. “And you taste so fucking perfect… I wanna feel how perfect you fit around me.” He teases your folds with the tip of his cock, eyes dancing over your features for signs of discomfort. Any other time you would find the consideration endearing, but you’re fed up with clenching around nothing.

“C’mon babe, show me how much you missed me,” The command comes out more like a hiss, and that revenant look on his face immediately darkens with lust. Your generous lover doesn’t show any hesitation when he sheaths himself in you, and the sudden fullness punches the air out of your lungs. Your brows pinch together from the stretch, but a wild smile grows on you; It's been so long since you had him like this that you feel insane with want. Nails drag up and down the muscles of his back, motivating a wavelike roll of his hips with every new mark that’s made. He’s exquisite with the plush of his lip tucked between his teeth, obviously impacted by the feel of rubbing against your walls.

Chan arches his back and drops his head down to watch himself disappear into you over and over. His cock feels impossibly deep once you angle your pelvis upwards to chase after his movements, and you know he can feel it hit that spongy spot that will have you seeing stars soon. It’s invigorating, this feeling of fucking yourself on his thickness, but it must overwhelm him because it’s all too soon that you’re forcefully pinned down at the waist and rendered immobile.

“So eager,” he chides with a smirk playing at his eyes. “Don’t you want me to last?”

You’ll blame the slip of this filthy admission on being shamefully cock drunk when you replay it in your head tomorrow. No time to be shy now. “I want you fuck me ‘til I black out full of your cum, Bang Chan.”

You can practically see the static whirl in his head until a switch flips. The carnal desire that remained locked away in the name of chivalry is finally unleashed, and exhilaration sets your body ablaze. He says nothing, just stares at you with blown-out pupils as a swift tug brings you flesh against him. The strength of his grip remains unyielding, even as he's buried in you to the hilt, and a silent prayer is made for there to be visible bruises left from where Chan’s fingers dig into your hips. He savors the snug sensation for a moment before rocking his body forward with a gratifying intensity. As each thrust jolts your body further up the floor, the rub of the carpet on your back burns but in the most delectable way. Ceaseless expletives and groans pour out of him with every squelch of your cunt, but in contrast with the pornographic sounds, something much more tender and romantic blooms in the center of your chest. Soon it’s clawing its way up your throat, pricking at your eyes until a cascade of tears dampens the hair around your ears.

“So in love… with you.. with you, with y-you,” your mantra is like fuel to the hot coil that threatens to snap in your stomach. It’s clear you won’t last much longer, but neither will Chan, judging by how fervent and unharmonious his ruts into you have become. As the haze in your vision dissipates, time becomes elusive, suspended between eternity and a fleeting moment all at once. The emerging image you find above finally propels you over the precipice; It’s your lover, his sweat-slicked skin, the keen edges of his beautiful face, illuminated in a light born between waning sunset and encroaching dusk that splinters your heart open. You’re certain this room exists outside of the laws of space and time. That’s how it feels, anyway.

“Clenching s-so tight, baby,” Chan pants onto your lips, trailing right behind you with his eyes sealed in a rapture of pleasure. A few more languid thrusts has him humming with blissful satisfaction.

Within the next minute or century, you coax his body on top of yours with idle caresses smoothed into his lower back. He obliges, resting his cheek between your breasts as he tries to steady his breath to a calmer rhythm. Fingers trace taut muscles before finding their way into the mess of curls at the back of his head, and Chan purrs at the gentle massage you give him, the sound reverberating down into your ribcage. He’s a toasty blanket on you, warmed by a radiant kind of love.

Your mind floats somewhere so giddy and cozy that it requires actual effort to rouse the muscles in your mouth to form words. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how I’ve been feeling lately. I missed you terribly, but didn’t want to guilt you into leaving work. I know that’s where you should be.”

The abrupt loss of heat against your skin jolts you back into reality once Chan raises on his elbows to pin you with a stare. “Where I should be, the only place I ever want to be–is with you. It’s where I’m the happiest. It’s where I belong, yeah?” His voice is firm but there is no actual hardness swimming in his brown eyes, only a will for his heartfelt look to convey the honesty in his words. The smile you return is a knowing one, one full of endearment and serenity.

“Now then,” Chan gruffs as he plops himself back down against you. “What do you want to do tonight?”

Delicate fingers weave through his hair once more as you rest your head on the carpet. Your gaze fixates to the ceiling above, where shadows and soft light sway together in a subtle dance. You can't think of anything you would rather do than this, with him.

ᴀ/ɴ :･ hehe haha been workin on this for a minute! please let me know if you enjoyed it. this fic is v much a self indulgent story born from the lyrics "there is nothin like doin nothin with you" from 'Nothing' by Bruno Major.

#skz smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #bang chan fanfic #stray kids fanfic #bang chan fluff #stray kids scenarios #bang chan imagines #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #lluna.p.writes #with you b.c

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fairsexynasty · 1 year

Text

∞ ₒ 🏆˚ ° 🏈 WHO’S FREER THAN ME?

+*:🐅:* joe burrow x fem!reader

summary: talk, talk, talk. it’s like men were conditioned to do only that. will they ever listen to you? questions plague your mind during a night out with joe. except, you’re not physically with him, quite unfortunately so.

warnings: SMUT. oral (fem receiving), squirting, fingering (fem receiving), daddy kink, dom/sub, subspace, mentions of spanking, dacryphilia mention, jealous!joe, asshat men

a/n: and she’s finally here! and she’s looking gorg <3

You figured that it was natural to get yourself caught up in tricky situations. The night before, you were adamant on the fact that parties were insipid and required an amount of fucks you personally couldn’t give. But damn it, Joe. It wasn’t on purpose, but his eyes practically begged you to accompany him to the stupid thing, and the last thing you wanted was Joe standing against a wall, drink in hand, disappointed you hadn’t tagged along. So after a period of begging (and kissing,) you reluctantly agreed to go to the party.

And it was terrible.

Never once in your life did you have to interact with such vapid, arrogant adults who had pools of beer and other mystery alcohols spilling down their shirts. It smelled like a gym and a bar at the same exact time, and the smell was so unrelenting, you excused yourself and headed upstairs.

Passing by multiple guys who had always been assholes to you out of attraction, made it to a secluded hallway, dim with dying overhead floral lights. At some point, Joe was pulled away by guys who animatedly conversed with him in what was probably their first-ever conversation with your boyfriend.

Footsteps padded along the stairs and you prayed it would be your boyfriend, for he at least had some decency to not stomp on some rando’s carpet. Unfortunately, you were met with— well, you didn’t know his name.

“Hey, didn’t expect to see you here!” He greeted you. The look you gave made him say his name, but frustratingly enough, you hadn’t heard him. You stared up at him through the rim of your cup, a white line appearing in your vision and cutting off his torso.

“I, uh, I don’t find myself at parties a lot. Out of my own volition.” Perhaps, if you were sardonic enough, he would leave you the fuck alone and you’d be able to hide out in the bathroom for the rest of the night. Nothing like sitting atop a polished granite slab, feeling the surface vibrate in pulses beneath you.

‘What’s-his-face’ gives a stupid chortle. He’s finding you amusing, which is literally the opposite of what you want from him. “Oh, so you’re a cool girl, aren’t you?”

No. No, no, no, not this gimmick.

Rule one of interacting with men you don’t like, is never to make them think you’re a cool girl, which is another word for “My own personal manic pixie dream girl.” Once they think that, you’re free game, no matter how hard you try to rope yourself back in. And now, ‘What’s-his-face’ has pulled the buoy cord out of the water, leaving you stranded with him for god knows how long.

He asks you about your favorite SNL sketches, how many Blur songs you can name, and whether or not you caught the Sunday football game. Your stomach shifts inside your body, his douchebag aura making you feel queasy, and now you’re yearning for your boyfriend who is most likely surrounded by other douchebags like the one in front of you. You should have handcuffed yourself to Joe. Should have tackled him down the stairs and knocked him out before he stepped foot outside your house. Maybe, you should have driven all the way to get ice cream instead and fuck him after.

But you didn’t, and now you have to pay the price.

“It’s really nice that you’re listening, typically girls start talking about other stuff when I’m talking, it’s really kind of you.” Ugh. No fucking way. Then, he placed a fucking hand on your arm. “Wanna get out of here?”

Before you can slap him in the face, Joe turns him around by his shoulder. “No, but I think you should, right buddy? I mean, look at her. She’s obviously not interested, and would rather shoot herself than talk to you.” You let out a laugh because there’s no one who understands you more than Joe does. “Don’t you?”

It strikes you as strange, it even incenses you. What the hell do you mean by that, Joe? You grab his hand and start pulling him with you, not bothering to bid goodbye to the other guy.

“I want to leave,” you start as the two of you trudge down the stairs. “Got it?”

Joe rolls his eyes but acquiesces to your request. He grabs his keys from his pocket and the two of you are out the door.

The car ride back to your apartment is silent. Dead silent. Once you arrive home, you make a dash for the door, choosing not to wait for Joe.

“Babe,” he calls out. He catches up and closes the door behind him. His hand runs over his face. “The hell was that?”

“You know I don’t like parties, I told you I didn’t want to go.”

“Yeah, initially, but then you eventually agreed, right?”

You groan in frustration. “I lied, Joe.”

“So why are you mad at me because you lied? If you wanted to leave, you could have told me, but you let that douche chat you up instead.” He walks toward you and holds your chin with his pointer and thumb.

“You know I didn’t like him,” you say in earnest and avoiding eye contact.

“Really? Because I can’t read your mind, baby. Tell me what you need.” The air grows thick with tension. Suddenly you feel hot, overcome with a warmth fueled by Joe radiating jealousy. You also feel a bit of pompousness in the mix, knowing Joe is feeding off of the fact you’re caught in a now precarious situation. His eyes seem as if they’re smirking at your own, his lids curving at the ends, irises as blue as sapphire. He’s teasing you, making you wait for him to quit the unrelenting gaze that was so stimulating.

You decide to take his thumb into your mouth, wrapping your pouted lips around the digit. Your throat began to meet with his thumb almost immediately and you moaned, wondering how his fingers would feel in you.

Head moving back and letting Joe’s thumb fall from your mouth, a string of saliva trailed to your lips, you immediately go dumb for him. “Need you to fuck me, daddy.” Glossy eyes bat three times at him. “Please?”

It’s almost shameful to you that you put yourself in this position every single time. It’s almost shameful how you go dumb as soon as your arousal gets sexual, as if all you’ve built yourself up to be washes away in the waves of fuck me now. But it does fill you with pride in the end, because you hold the key to Joe’s satisfaction, and you’re the only person who does him as well as you do.

“That’s my girl,” a low coo of pleasantry. He scoops you up in his arms and you let out a squeal of surprise. Joe walks to your bedroom, slipping your shoes off and dropping them on the floor along the way. He gently lays you on top of the sheets, holding your head as he leans in to kiss you.

Moaning into the kiss, your hands take the rein in his hair, fingers already carding through the blond. Joe tugs at your bottom lip, making you drop your jaw just a bit so he can explore inside your mouth.

You find it astonishing. To be concise, Joe’s pretty selfish— but it’s how he takes things for himself that renders you wanton. The way he bites on your skin and soothes it after. How his hands direct your body in any way of his choosing. When he holds your head up as you cum to make sure he can see the stars in your eyes.

Your legs spread immediately as Joe enters the space between them. He takes his time trailing hot kisses down your neck, then down your torso after removing your top and bra. His fingers dance upon your jean-clad thighs, tap-tap-tapping upwards to your button and zipper, then work in a quick fashion to rid you of your bottoms. You’re left in just your panties and they’re soaked with your wetness, turning a shade darker than the original where it covers your core.

Joe’s eyes glimmer with an unsatiable want to ruin you. His fingers trail over your core, and you let out a breathy whimper. God, you’re pathetic. “You got really worked up didn’t you, pretty girl? How long were you waiting for me to come to save you?”

You let out a playful scoff and roll your eyes. “I don’t need to be saved, Joey. I just know you missed me so much.” Pulling him closer by his belt loops, you bite his bottom lip and pull ever-so-slightly. “Don’t tease me, daddy. Makes me upset.”

The soft sound of your purrs full of pure raunch flips a switch in Joe. Instead of wanting to fuck you dumb, slap your ass until the skin was hot to the touch, kiss the tears that never stopped running down your cheeks, the man decided he wanted you to scream for more. More, more, more. God, he could just hear it in his mind. Blessed cries of pleasure, letting his baby take whatever she wanted from him like the princess she was, that’s all he needed now.

He pounced at your neck in an attempt to distract you from what he was about to do— rip your panties apart in one swift motion, with little to no effort at all. He lowly chuckles against your pulse point, sending a shiver down your spine. As he kisses and marks his territory, his hands travel to your core and start truly exploring the wetness that coats you. His two fingers slip inside as easily as ever, and he’s grateful to realize it’s because you’ve decided he’s all you ever wanted.

“That’s my girl. So ready for daddy, aren’t you?” You nod softly and pull him into a deep kiss.

The tightness is a comfort and Joe curves his fingers to pull a moan out of you that bounces off the walls of your room. With every flick of the wrist, he feels your cunt pulse around his fingers, sucking him back in deeper each time.

His mouth leaves your neck and goes straight for your pussy, instantly latching onto your clit and sucking, hard. You let out a scream, as your mind tries to wrap around how it’s possible he makes you feel even better each time. “Fuck, s’good daddy, so good…”

Joe’s tongue parts your folds and joins his fingers in motion. The heat travels all along your body as you drip onto him. He eats you out like a man starved, licking and thrusting his tongue all over, catching every last drop of what you give to him.

The coil in your abdomen tightens and your thighs clench and shake around Joe’s head. Your hands snake down his hair and pull hard, taking rein in the blond. Your back arches over and over as you grind into his mouth, chasing your release.

After you start practically fucking yourself onto his fingers, Joe comes up and takes one good look at you. Your eyes have rolled into the back of your head, your skin sheen with sweat, and your body just looks outright divine.

“Gonna cum for daddy, honey?”

“‘M so close, gonna cum, daddy-“ You cut yourself off with a moan. He knows you’re so incredibly close that you’ve lost the ability to hold onto necessary cognition, so he gives you a couple of slaps to your clit, and soon enough you’re gushing all over his fingers. “Oh, fuck!”

“There you go, good fucking girl,” he groans, failing to cease rubbing at your clit. He wants all of the mess that you so happily give to him. Once you’ve finished cumming and the aftershock contractions start, he finally controls himself. He dips his head back down to clean you up with his tongue, and you choke out tiny squeals.

Then, he’s done being selfish for the time being. He meets you face to face again. Your eyes lull back and forth from clear vision to a blur of Joe above you. “Come back to me, baby,” he whispers as you slowly regain consciousness. He caresses your cheek, pressing small kisses from your forehead into your hairline.

He smiles when he feels your arms wrap around him, your hold as present as your mind. “Thank you, Joey,” you whisper back. Your hands feel fabric clinging to his back, and you suddenly realize he never even got undressed. “What’s with the clothes?”

Joe smiles down at you. “A very wise woman told me that men need to listen to women in conversation. This is my special way of conversing with you, I guess.”

“Did you make a mess in your pants, Joe?”

“Not answering that.”

#joe burrow x reader #joe burrow smut #fairsexynasty

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devildomwriter · 1 year

Text

Diavolo Absentmindedly Doodles You

It was another morning in the Devildom. Clear dark skies, brilliantly glowing stars, covering the shadowy Devildom in their light as the birds crowed loudly.

Diavolo was alone at his desk with his piles of paperwork as always. Between every few completed papers he’d let his mind wander to other things.

What was Lucifer doing? Did Simeon and Luke manage to avoid Solomon’s cooking last night? And how were ‘they’—The intriguing human he’d brought to the Devildom as an exchange student.

He wasn’t sure how or when but they’d begun taking up most of his thoughts.

Diavolo sighed and looked back to his paperwork, trying not to get lost in his thoughts once more.

He signed his name at the bottom of another paper and set it aside for Lucifer to add his signature to later.

His ears perked up as he heard a faint knock on his door.

Barbatos opened the door carefully as he strode in with Diavolo’s late-morning tea and snack.

“Blood Orange tea and complimentary Orange macaroons, my lord.” Barbatos announced as he placed the tray in front of Diavolo.

Diavolo smiled eagerly and began to fiddle with the pen between his fingers, clicking the pen mindlessly as he tried one of the macaroons.

“Mmm,” he beamed with his mouth full and nodded his approval. “These are amazing Barbatos, how do you always make them so much better than the time before?”

“With practice my lord. I’m glad it’s to your liking.”

Barbatos bowed but Diavolo noticed a small smile flash across Barbatos’s face.

“What amuses you?” Diavolo asked curiously.

“Oh nothing, my lord…it’s just a wonderful sketch of ___ you’ve done, very in their likeness.”

Diavolo looked puzzled, confused until he realized he’d mistakenly and sloppily drawn MC on the bottom of one of the contracts he had yet to sign.

“Oh,” he exclaimed, turning red as he attempted to correct it through magic.

Barbatos chuckled at Diavolo’s flushed expression, shuffling papers and making sure he hadn’t drawn on any others.

“Perhaps I’ll call ___ over this evening, maybe that will help the young master focus?”

Diavolo cleared his throat and set the papers aside, neatly stacked once more.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea.”

“Good. Now why don’t I make another copy of that document you drew on.”

“I—…yes, please. Thank you, Barbatos.”

“Hehe. Of course young master.”

Barbatos left the room and Diavolo looked down at the sheet of paper with his new doodle. It was rather cute if he did say so himself, maybe he’d show you when you came over this evening.

How was he supposed to focus now? He was far too excited to see your lovely face again; maybe drawing it a few more times would help?

#obey me shall we date #obey me fluff #obey me drabble #obey me diavolo #obey me diavolo x reader

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yuri-is-online · 1 year

Text

Shades of You (Jade Leech x Reader)

a/n: They/Them pronouns used, Yu is a crafty bitch in more ways than one, references/spoilers (kind of) for Jade's birthday boy card. Events are implied to take place over winter break, but the events of ch. 4 aren't mentioned

warnings: typical Jade behavior, established flirtationship, mutual pining, mutual mild thirst

Jade was rather fond of simple looking things. The more understated an object the more challenging it is to create, and the more curious its purpose. The journal was just one of many such objects Jade owned, its sleek gray cover certainly fit with the overall aesthetic of the other things he owned. A neatly woven cord made of purple and periwinkle thread wrapped around the book keeping it closed, and if you looked especially closely at the lower right hand corner you would see a set of initials, J.L., nestled neatly next to a date. It was clearly meant to match the aesthetics of his dormitory, not that you actually needed to examine or speculate to know any of this. You had been the one who made it.

“I’m surprised you’re actually using this.” you say, trying your best to hide the embarrassment as you innocently pick up the journal from its place on Jade’s desk.

“Oh? Who said I was?” Jade playfully teases as he gently, but firmly grasps your wrist to prevent you from actually opening the book. Not that you intended to, you weren’t stupid, but seeing him be so defensive over it did make you a bit curious.

“You.” his smile gets wider and his grip on your wrist firmer. He forcefully pulls your hand and the journal into his chest, moving his larger one to cover yours as he purposefully deepens his voice.

“Careful prefect, you never know what sort of things lurk in the depths of Octavinelle.” You laugh to cover how flustered he’s making you and quickly pull yourself (and your hand) back to your homework.

“Dude your birthday was a week ago, just how much dirt have you crammed into that thing already?” Jade just gives you a toothy smile as he tucks his gift just out of your reach on his side of the desk and you huff. And if you spend the rest of the night sneaking glances at him under the guise of making a swipe at the journal, well you keep that to yourself.

~~~~

There hadn’t actually been anything in the journal when Jade decided to play keep away with you. He hadn’t decided on what he wanted to use it for yet, an unfamiliar sensation but not unwelcome. Jade had never really understood what his human classmates had meant about not wanting to “ruin” a particularly nice or unique looking set of stationary, but he certainly did now. As much as he liked it when things did not go to plan, Jade had very little patience for his own imperfections. He knew it was foolish to expect himself to make flawless field sketches when he had only just started, but he couldn’t bring himself to deface the little journal with his practice, even if that’s exactly why you had made the journal for him. Which was precisely the problem; you had made him a gift, and while he wasn’t naive enough to think you meant anything… specific by it, he still felt deeply flattered. Handmade gifts are especially treasured by merfolk, meant to serve as a way to display one's talents and finer points when pursuing a mate. Not that he thinks he’s being courted, Vil had also given him a handmade gift and you had given some socks you’d made to Floyd, something that made him a lot more jealous than he wanted to admit. Still, you had seemed very… flattered by the thought of him actually using the journal. Maybe just as flattered as he was to receive it, and just like that he finally lands on something he does find acceptable to practice drawing in the journal.

~~~~

“‘M sorry in advance for not talking much.” you focus extra hard on not dropping the ghost camera while double checking your photography equipment. “I’m excited about the hike, promise, Grim just was talking in his sleep last night and it kept me up.”

“I’m simply pleased you could join me on such short notice, prefect.” You shrug your pack up onto your back and nod, but Jade does not move to set out immediately, he just stares down at you. Odd, you know he’s not exactly a morning person but he can at least function properly if he needs to. Before you can ask what’s wrong he reaches for one of your straps, pausing just before he actually touches it.

“May I?” You nod, wide awake now but not trusting your voice. Part of you wonders vaguely if he knows the effect he has on you, if he’s doing this on purpose, or if this all just a coincidence and there really is a problem with how you set up your pack. You know what he’d say if you asked him, his eyes are practically sparkling with mischief silently daring you to ask. Well too bad, you are not going to take the bait. Yet. The day’s still early and you agreed to spend practically all of it with him so you’re sure he’ll make another pass at… whatever this is again at some point. He pats your shoulder before he withdraws, beckoning you to follow him into the mountains. If he notices any sign of fluster as you chase after his touch it doesn’t show on his face.

Jade had invited you to check out the Mountain Lover’s Club on multiple occasions. He invited pretty much everyone who showed mild interest in it, something that just made people even more suspicious of him than they already were. Sure, Jade was widely considered to be the less scary twin, but he was still a Leech, and, perhaps more importantly, still the Vice-Warden of Octavinelle. Taking him at face value was, to be blunt, stupid. Something you liked to think you werent, but you know this habit of joining Jade on his hikes doesn’t help your case. There were a hundred little places you spotted on your way up to this new location alone that he could ditch your body in the woods and make a very convincing case for why it was definitely an accident. But you couldn’t see a reason for him to do that, and if there was one thing you were very confident that you knew for a fact about Jade, it was that he never did anything that wouldn’t benefit him or his dorm in some way.

That and you really did like hiking. The woods aren’t going to ask you why you’re here, they just exist secure in their own beauty. If you have to pal around with one of the sketchiest guys on campus to find some peace and serenity then no one should be allowed to judge you for it.

“Ah here we are.” the two of you stop in front of a truly massive rock formation, you’re pretty sure it would even tower over Malleus, that forms a sort of natural shelter at the center of a steep valley. It’s breathtaking, your hands immediately move to the ghost camera for an overlooking shot; Jade watches, patiently waiting for you to finish before helping you down.

“Do you mind if I sketch a bit before foraging?’’ You barely register his question, already fishing around for the best lighting.

“Hm? Oh no, take your time.” Jade heaves himself up onto the top of the rocks and you definitely do not pause to admire the way his jacket rides up just enough to show you his toned stomach. No no, the only thing you’re pausing to peep at is a familiar little gray book. “Oh so you are using your gift to doodle,” you laugh “here I thought you were collecting blackmail.”

“Only on you.” Jade responds with a conspiratorial grin that would send anyone else running for the hills. It really is such a shame you’re already there.

“Really rude of you to not invite me out here sooner.” you make a point to exaggerate your pout and get the amused reaction you were looking for. “It’s going to start snowing soon, and where will I be then? Trapped inside Ramshackle devoid of weird plants to photograph.”

“You are more than welcome to come visit Monstro Lounge if you feel so deprived.”

“No thanks, I have enough pictures of Floyd to fill two albums.” you snort and Jade pauses his sketching for a brief moment.

“All the more reason to visit.” Any amusement from earlier is gone and you try to avoid breaking into a cold sweat; his voice is pure ice. “I’m sure you’ll find something to expand your portfolio.”

“W-what about you then?” you nervously laugh. “I mean it’s got to suck to start making sketches and not being able to go out in the field anymore.”

“It does,” he’s back to being pointlessly dramatic for his own amusement thank god, “I was hoping to get in some more practice and produce something passable.”

“I’m sure they look fine.” and while you do genuinely mean that you can’t help but roll your eyes. “If you’re really that concerned you can always download some pictures from my magicam to use as references.”

“Oh? Are you sure that’s an offer you want to make, prefect?”

“Not when you word it like that, but I won’t take it back.” Jade laughs, out loud this time, and you again remind yourself that despite what other people might say you are a perfectly reasonable and intelligent person even though you aren’t currently sprinting for safety.

~~~~

Despite your teasing complaints, Jade did manage to find a way to get you both back into the woods a few more times before the snows properly set in. And against your better judgment you do find yourself hanging around the Lounge more, you tell Ace and Deuce it’s just to take pictures of the aquariums but you know Ace at least doesn’t believe you. Deuce just likes seeing the pictures of the fish.

“You’re right those two really do look like they’re up to something.” he mutters and you nod vigorously.

“Sketchy bastards, look how fat they are. I bet they’re hoarding food.”

The gray journal keeps making appearances too, and you know you should just be grateful that he’s this fond of your gift but it’s starting to get weird. Almost like he is trying to bait you into asking what he’s drawing in there. Like now while you’re showing Deuce the fat bass in the Octavinelle tank, you feel his gaze on you but it’s gone by the time you get around to looking up at him he’s back to focusing on the notebook in front of him and you sigh. “I really never should have made him that book.”

“Nah giving it to him was fine.” snorts Ace. “Hanging around him was the mistake. Seriously, what do you think he’s looking at?”

“Deuce and I?” really what else could he be looking at, if looks could kill you would be six feet under Ace’s disappointment right now.

“Well you’re half right I guess.” he says, shaking his head. “Just- try not to be too stupid while we’re gone right?”

“Yeah that’s not gonna happen.” Grim snorts. “My henchman’s taste in men is as bad as Deuce’s grades.” You and Ace both start sputtering for different reasons, while at a table across the cafeteria Azul looks at Jade with an equal level of disappointment.

“Just what are you smiling about?”

“Oh nothing in particular.”

~~~~

Azul doesn’t exactly keep the lounge open over winter, but the dormitory’s student lounge is still in working order and much comfier than Ramshackle's dusty couches. You had intended to spend the first few days of winter break being boring and forcing Grim to do his homework, but the little rat was having absolutely none of that and had, surprisingly, formed an uneasy alliance with Floyd. The second you looked away from your little buddy he’d dashed to seven knew where. You weren’t actually as familiar with the depths of Octavinelle as certain friends of yours assumed you were. Jade had offered you assistance in locating your charge, but he wasn’t exactly being helpful. On purpose you assumed.

“If you are that determined to do away with your schoolwork you can always stay here with me.” His smiles are always sardonic, but this one has a special sort of edge to it that screams he has something planned. “No need to go chasing rats.” For you or his twin, you wonder with a nervous laugh as you fiddle with your backpack.

“It’s not really me I’m worried about. Grim always puts things off till the last minute and as his dorm prefect I really should be trying to teach him some responsibility-”

“I’m sure he’s learning a lot about making responsible choices from Floyd.” The look you give Jade is less than enthused, and the sniffle he responds with is less than real but it distracts you just enough that you don’t realize he’s been steering you towards his and Floyd’s shared bedroom. “Please prefect, it hurts to see you so distressed, I feel like a failure of a host. Why not take a brief break, I’ll make us some tea.”

“How very generous of Mr. Leech.” you say in complete monotone. “I’m so grateful.”

“I prefer benevolent.” he says miraculously cured of all distress as he opens the door to his room and waves you inside. He saunters off and you carefully make your way over to Jade’s side of the room, dodging Floyd’s dirty laundry and trash not wanting to be accused of “stealing” a three month old chip wrapper and charged “compensation.” The pale blue light of the magical ocean casts a dreamy glow over the room, but you wouldn’t call it cozy, especially since this is the first time you’ve been allowed anywhere in Octavinelle alone. That answers your question from earlier you guess, Jade was messing with you today. And then that’s when you see it, sitting on the exact same side of the desk it had been around a month ago just after you gave it to him Back when you accused him of collecting blackmail.

It’s bait. It has to be bait, there’s no way Jade would ever leave the journal out for you to look at unless he was wanting you to see it. Probably so he can snatch it out of your hands just as you get a glance of something scandalous so he can gaslight you into thinking you were the worse person. Why exactly did you like this guy again? Maybe Grim was right and you really were hopeless. You stare at it. Glare at it.

And snatch it up without another second 's hesitation. You made the damn thing, if it were a child you would be entitled to partial custody right? And just as you are cursing at yourself for that atrocious analogy your thought process stops dead in your tracks when you see what’s inside.

The pages were covered in sketches of you. Taking photos of the rocks, waiting tables at the lounge, numerous studies of your face at all angles with all manner of expressions. You recognize some of the poses he’s placed you in as pictures you’d posted to magicam, there’s even one where you know you’d been cuddling Grim but Jade’s neglected to keep him in the picture. There are scribbled notes next to sketches, silly things really just serve to bury you deeper into your embarrassment. A note on your favorite color, a movie you posted about hating, lists of teas and comments you made about their taste, the good ones highlighted and the bad crossed out, hikes he wanted to take you on and on the most recent page-

“Oh? Now what have we here?” Jade’s arm loops around your waist, hand gently tipping up your head to look at him. “We’ve been over this little prefect, you need to be careful. Dangerous things lurk in the depths of Octavinelle.”

“Yeah I’m looking at him.” you huff, there really is no hiding your embarrassment so you resign to relaxing into his arms, and you can see him puffing up with pride at your attention. His hand moves to gently cup your cheek and you press a small kiss to his palm. “You really suck you know that right? I could charge you for stuff like this.”

“And what is your asking rate, little shrimp?” he whispers into your ear. “I do seem to recall you giving me verbal permission, but I seem to have neglected to get that in writing. How careless of me.”

“You could start by actually kissing me.” And he laughs, actually fully laughs, breathless and filled with a genuine delight that warms your whole body to the tip of your toes.

“Well now, if you insist.” he presses his first kiss to your head before he gently, slowly, turns you to face him. “I do hope you’re prepared to collect my debt in full.”

#twisted wonderland x reader #jade leech x reader #jade leech #twst x reader #jade leech x yuu #jade leech x mc #jade leech x y/n

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bosbas · 1 month

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Chapter 2: I didn't have it in myself to go with grace

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy!fem!reader WC: 2.0k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, negative self-talk (Colin bby🥺🤏), a small part of the dialogue is in French

Summary: It took precisely two days in England for you to utterly despise Colin Bridgerton. It took him approximately twelve hours after that to hate you right back. But he doesn't care that you're the only person in the ton who doesn't like him. You're set to marry someone else anyway, right?

April 16, 1816 – And of course, one cannot forget to mention Lady Y/N Montclair, who looked like a vision in her emerald dress at the Danbury Ball last night. Her presence seemed to cast a spell over the gentlemen in attendance, and they were practically lining up to engage her in conversation. It was a sight to behold, watching them swoon over her. However, one can hardly blame them, given how effortlessly graceful she was. It appears Lady Montclair will have more than enough gentlemen to choose from this season…

Eloise scoffed and rolled her eyes, the newest Whistledown in hand as she sat on a couch in the tearoom. “My word, if she hadn’t been in Tuscany last season I would think Lady Montclair herself was Lady Whistledown! She’s only been here two days and she’s already been mentioned more than most of the ton.”

Benedict chuckled from his seat across the room, shooting a look at a disgruntled-looking Colin who was trying very hard to make it seem like he wasn’t listening to Eloise reading Whistledown’s account of the ball.

“I’d wager that Colin is Whistledown, actually. I’m convinced after today’s column,” Benedict said teasingly, taking a bite out of an apple as he analyzed the sketch in front of him.

“First of all, I don’t even write like Whistledown, which you would know if you read the letters I sent while I was in Greece,” Colin shot back, irritated. “And second, even if I were, I certainly would not have spent two full pages talking about Lady Montclair. I’m sure I have no idea why Whistledown thought she warranted such a large portion of the column today.”

The words felt bitter and unpleasant in his mouth, and he regretted them instantly. He knew he sounded petulant, but he couldn’t help his defensive tone after last night. Eloise, catching onto Colin’s tone, cocked her head toward Benedict and raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“She didn’t want to dance with him,” explained Benedict, sounding highly amused about what was one of the more embarrassing things to happen to Colin.

Eloise burst out laughing. “No! A woman who didn’t want to dance with Colin? Something must be incredibly wrong in the world! How could she have said no to London’s golden boy? And on his first day back! Shall we call for a medic?”

Colin felt the blood rushing to his face and his cheeks warming, not particularly pleased to have to deal with his sister's teasing today. He knew he was being ridiculous, that much was clear. You were only one person who hadn’t wanted to dance with him. But you had just looked so beautiful, and the way your eyes had lit up when you laughed with your brother was so enchanting, that he fashioned himself half in love with you already.

It was slightly gut-wrenching to know you didn't feel the same way. He must have done something, Colin reasoned. No one had ever not liked Colin simply because of who he was, and he was more than a little concerned that you seemed to be the first.

Eloise had been joking, of course, when she called Colin London’s golden boy. But it wasn’t as much of a joke as he would have liked. Anthony was a viscount, and Benedict was a successful artist with a painting in the national gallery, but what did he have to offer? He was just aimlessly traveling the world, documenting his travels in a journal no one would ever read. His own family didn’t even read his letters, for Christ’s sake. He was a third son with no talents, and the only thing he could do was lean into his charm and good nature and hope that people liked him anyway. And he had been relatively successful thus far. Except for with you, it seemed.

Noting Colin’s uncharacteristic grim mood, Eloise briefly panicked, wondering if she had gone too far. With a far softer tone, she added, “Maybe her dance card was full, Colin. It doesn’t mean she didn’t want to dance.”

But Colin shook his head, placing his chin on his hand. “I highly doubt it.”

He knew better than to assume the best. He was remarkably skilled at reading people, but even without that, it had not been difficult to tell that you were full of contempt. For him or someone else, he couldn’t be completely sure, but the way you had been laughing and smiling with everyone except for him was a particularly useful hint.

Before he could dwell further, Violet entered the tearoom. “We’ll be going to Hyde Park to promenade today, darlings.” It was far easier to coerce her children into doing her bidding when she didn’t give them a choice.

Ignoring their grumbling, she left the room, calling out over her shoulder, “Be ready in one hour!”

---

Colin had barely been at the park five minutes before he spotted you, and he drew in a sharp breath. God, it was infuriating. You were wearing a cream-colored dress, chatting pleasantly with your mother, and he wanted to scream. Of course, you looked completely breathtaking. It was exactly what he needed when he was already nervous about approaching you.

During the carriage ride, he had decided to try to speak to you again. To be your friend, at the very least. Perhaps you did not want him as a suitor, but the thought of someone in the ton actively disliking him was nauseating.

So, he steeled himself, staring longingly at you. Now was as good a time as any because, for some miraculous reason, there seemed to be no men hounding you at the moment. You had separated yourself from your family slightly, silently observing who he could only assume was one of your older sisters and her husband.

He made his way over to you, hands fidgeting behind his back nervously. Swallowing down his fear, he cleared his throat as he approached you, a soft smile on his face.

“Lady Montclair, it’s lovely to see you here today. I believe we may have gotten off on the wrong foot at the ball last night, and I wanted to offer an apology.” Your face was completely blank, not giving anything away, and Colin found himself a tad more nervous than he was when he first walked up to you. “Perhaps we could promenade?” he finished weakly.

An apology? What on earth was Colin Bridgerton on about? There was no way he’d seen you in the hallway, right?

“An apology, Mr. Bridgerton? Whatever for?” you asked carefully, not giving anything away.

Colin cleared his throat awkwardly. He wasn’t quite sure himself, to be honest. “Well, I’m afraid I might have offended you by asking to dance so suddenly. It might have been a bit brash to ask for a dance without a proper introduction first.”

You almost sagged in relief. Your reputation was safe. Though now you seemed irrationally angry, despising Colin for no apparent reason. However, it wasn’t in your nature to make nice with someone who viewed women simply as breeding stock.

Curtly, you responded, “I can assure you, Mr. Bridgerton, that that did not offend me. Had we been properly introduced, my answer would have been the same.”

“Oh,” he said softly.

You stared at him blankly, with no hint of warmth in your gaze. Sensing your hostility, he promptly turned away from you, returning to his family. Anger burned in his chest. What the hell was your problem with him? He’d barely spoken two words to you, and you had acted like he had offended your entire bloodline.

When his anger subsided, Colin had a sobering thought. For the first time in his charmed life, someone simply did not care for him. And the worst part? He hadn’t even caused it. Colin, who prided himself on his charm and wit, found himself in the position of being disliked without cause.

He suddenly felt very inadequate. It was a foreign feeling, and it settled quite uncomfortably in his chest. If you were determined to hate him, so be it. But to hate him without reason? That, Colin could not agree to.

If you insisted on casting him as the villain in your narrative, then he would play the role with ease. If you wanted a reason to dislike him, then a reason you would have.

You stared after Colin, eyes narrowed. His ability to act like a complete gentleman would have been impressive if it wasn’t so disturbing.

“Ma grande,” your mother called, coming to your side (My dear). “Did I just see you being rude to Colin Bridgerton? He left fairly quickly,” she scolded gently.

“Non, maman. Ne t'inquiète pas,” you assured (No, Mom. Don’t worry). Upon seeing her unimpressed look, you switched to English. “It was just a misunderstanding.”

“Well, you don’t seem to like him very much,” she observed.

You let out a nervous laugh, waving her comment away. “I don’t know him well enough to dislike him, maman!”

You needed something to distract her from this line of questioning. Your mother knew you well enough to tell when you were lying, and she would be positively furious if she uncovered the real reason why you despised Mr. Bridgerton.

Fortunately, a distraction arrived by the name of Lord Arthur Barlow.

“Lord Barlow,” your mother called out excitedly. “Allow me the pleasure of introducing my daughter, Y/N Montclair.”

“Lady Montclair,” he smiled warmly, stretching his hand out to you. “A name as lovely as its bearer, I daresay.”

“Lord Barlow,” you answered shyly, placing your hand in his. You felt your cheeks heating up as he kissed the back of your hand, and you were taken aback. This entirely charming man had disarmed you completely in a matter of seconds.

"Lord Barlow, the Duke of Monmouth," your mother announced with a flourish, her eyes bright with approval at the budding acquaintance. "Shall we take a turn about the park? I would be delighted to chaperone."

Subtlety was not her specialty. Or perhaps not her priority. Though you couldn’t really be upset with her, given how good-looking the Duke was. He nodded graciously at your mother and placed your hand at the crook of his elbow, smiling down at you as you began to stroll.

You were so enthralled you barely registered him speaking. “I hear you’ve got a knack for languages, Lady Montclair,” he remarked, prompting your attention.

“Yes, your Grace. I speak five languages, and read Sanskrit,” you answered dutifully. Such accomplishments were no small feat in the circles of the ton, and you knew it put you at an advantage in the marriage mart.

“Most impressive, indeed,” he answered, his gaze thoughtful. “My brother’s wife is from Prussia, and I’m sure she would love a chance to speak in her native tongue.”

The Duke's boldness caught you off guard, the suggestion of speaking with his sister-in-law a surprising turn. "Oh," you murmured, slightly taken aback by his directness.

“And what else do you like to do?” asked Lord Barlow, smoothly transitioning the conversation.

A well-prepared response rolled off your tongue, a practiced smile gracing your lips. “I am well-versed in needlepoint, and enjoy playing the pianoforte,” you smiled. It was what was expected of a young woman of your stature, after all.

Lord Barlow nodded appreciatively, seemingly satisfied with your answer. “And how do you find England? I’m certain you’re missing the Tuscan sun,” he said, pushing the conversation to lighter topics.

The Duke's engaging manner, paired with the approval of your mother, had utterly charmed you. Engaged by his charisma and easy conversation, you found yourself giggling during your conversation, utterly captivated.

Unbeknownst to you, Colin Bridgerton observed

from afar, his gaze sharp with a mixture of irritation and something deeper brewing beneath the surface. Each laugh, each shared glance between you and the Duke, stoked the flames of his simmering displeasure.

—

previous part || next part || buy me a ko-fi!

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anyca786 · 10 days

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Mikealson Siblings taking care of Pregnant!reader

The afternoon sun streamed through the arched windows of the Mikaelson compound, casting dappled shadows across the plush sofa where you sat. Your hand rested on your swollen belly, tracing the faint outline of a tiny foot that seemed determined to imprint itself on your skin. A sigh escaped your lips, laced with a curious mix of exhaustion and awe. Being pregnant with Klaus Mikaelson's child was an experience unlike any other.

"Penny for your thoughts, love?"

Elijah, your best friend's voice came from behind you, startling you slightly. He knelt down, his gentle eyes crinkling at the corners as he placed a cool hand on your cheek.

"Sore feet?" he asked, his gaze flickering down to your ankles where you idly rubbed them.

As if summoned, Elijah began to gently massage your feet, his touch a soothing balm against the constant ache. "The joys of motherhood," he chuckled softly. "Even before the little one arrives."

"You should see Rebekah skipping around like a mother hen," you said with a laugh.

Ever since the news, Rebekah had taken it upon herself to become your personal nutritionist. Bowls of fresh fruit seemed to magically appear by your side, and gentle reminders to stay hydrated were delivered with an endearing bossiness.

Suddenly, the library door slammed open, and Kol burst in, brandishing a book. He skidded to a halt when he saw you. "Apologies, darling," he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes vanishing instantly as he took in your weary expression. "Didn't mean to startle you. Are you alright?"

You couldn't help but melt under his sudden concern. The Mikaelson siblings, notorious for their chaotic lives, were turning into a symphony of attentiveness for you. "Just a little tired, Kol," you assured him, a smile returning to your face. His brow furrowed slightly, then smoothed over as he noticed a stray strand of hair clinging to your cheek. With a gesture so tender it surprised even him, he brushed it away.

A deep, booming voice resonated through the room, "Elijah, have you located the witch Davina spoke of?"

Klaus stalked into the library, his scowl fading the moment he spotted you. As he drew closer, his voice softened to a near murmur. "Have you eaten anything yet, love?"

You fought back a giggle. "Yes, Klaus, just some fruit Rebekah insisted upon."

He hovered for a moment, his gaze flitting across your face. "Did you rest well last night?"

You nodded, touched by the worry etched on his usually stoic face. Klaus wasn't known for his displays of affection, but ever since you carried his child, a tenderness he couldn't quite mask lingered in his blue eyes. He cleared his throat, the familiar Klaus returning momentarily.

"Excellent. We don't need any unnecessary fatigue while dealing with this archaic prophecy."

He turned to face Elijah, resuming their previous conversation. However, his words were punctuated by occasional glances your way, each one a silent confirmation of his concern.

The next few weeks were a blur of doctor's appointments, cravings for bizarre combinations of food, and endless debates about the nursery.

Elijah, the undisputed planner, had already sketched out several designs, each more elaborate than the last. Rebekah, however, preferred a more minimalist approach, arguing for practicality over aesthetics. Kol, surprisingly, became the voice of reason, mediating their arguments with witty commentary and unexpected insights.

Klaus, though typically absent from these discussions, always managed to appear moments before a decision was made. His vetoes, delivered with a gruffness that belied his softening heart, were invariably accepted. The nursery, a haven of soft hues and elegant simplicity, was a testament to his unspoken desire to create a safe haven for his child.

One rainy afternoon, you found yourself curled up on the chaise lounge in Rebekah's room, a book clutched limply in your hand. Fatigue weighed heavily on your eyelids, threatening to pull you under. You drowsily watched rain lash against the window, feeling a wave of contentment wash over you.

The sound of the door creaking open startled you awake. Rebekah entered, a concerned frown creasing her brow. "You shouldn't be reading in such dim light, love," she chided gently, setting a steaming cup on the side table. "And here I thought Klaus told you to take a nap."

"He did," you mumbled, reaching for the cup. The warm aroma of chamomile filled your senses, instantly calming you further.

"He's just worried sick," Rebekah said, settling beside you on the chaise lounge. "We all are."

This was so random 💀

#klaus mikealson x reader #elijah mikealson x reader #kol mikealson x reader #the originals #rebekah mikaelson

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otdiaftg · 4 months

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The King's Men - Chapter Four

Day: Wednesday, January 10th Time: 1:15 AM EST

That lethargic peace lasted up until Neil left the shower and found Kevin sitting on a bench in the changing room. The stern look on his face said he wasn't waiting out of courtesy. "Did you fix it?" Kevin asked. "Fix what?" Neil asked. "Don't act like an imbecile. If you are here, I expect you to be here," he said, emphasis on the last word. "The second your problems with Andrew interfere with our game they become our problems. Do you want us to win or don't you?" "Don't lecture me like I don't know what's at stake." "You told me to focus on the team," Kevin said. "That's what I am doing: ensuring you don't jeopardize its success." "I wasn't jeopardizing anything. I was two minutes late because I asked Andrew to come practice with us." "You were five, and don't ask him again. We do not need him there as a favor to us. He has to come of his own free will or it doesn't mean anything." Kevin got up and motioned sharply for Neil to follow. "We're leaving."

Art used with permission by Vika . Thank you @dshr-art!

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byeoltoyuki · 26 days

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✧memories of us ✧ We meet again

↳ Pairing: Jisung x Reader

❧ Genre : romance / smut /fluff / 1st love to strangers to lovers

❧ Summary: Sometimes memories are just that. Memories.

A series of drabbles about you and Jisung, about your love and your heartbreak and a second chance.

❧ A/N: Likes and reblogs are appreciated ♥

Because you asked me @rylea08 :)

Masterlist / previous /

It was another of those sunny days. You sat at your favourite spot at Soyeon’s cafe. The sun was gently caressing your skin while you were drawing in your sketchbook with music in your ears and a cup of cappuccino. Just what you needed. You hummed happily; your muse the inspiration had finally visited you last night and ever since you couldn’t stop yourself from drawing.

For the past few days you tried not to think about the BBQ party, about Jisung. You managed, not easily, to keep it to yourself. You weren’t ready to tell Yunji that you had seen both Minho and Jisung - she wouldn’t be pleased. Changbin, on the other hand, you bet he already knew but didn’t confront you about it and for that you were grateful.

You didn’t know what to think of the encounter with Jisung. You couldn’t deny that a part of you, and sadly a rather big one, was delighted to see him again and see what kind of man he became. But another part of you was worried. Those feelings you had buried deep inside you since the night you left him at the restaurant, were begging to show up. Not ideal.

“What are you doing?”

Your whole body tensed at the sound of his voice. Did you somehow summoned Jisung just by thinking about him?

You blinked, confused as he took seat across from you, smiling sheepishly.

“Hi.”

“What are you doing here?” You blurted, forgetting all about your manners. You were just so stunned to see him here. You had spent hours in this café without ever seeing him. So why now?

“Grabbing a coffee of course!” And yet he had none with him. To that you cocked a brow and waited for him to confess the real reason. Jisung sighed in defeat. “Fine. I bribed Soyeon. She refused to give me your phone number but she told me I could catch you here.”

His confession left you even more confused and yet at the same time your heart clenched painfully, longing for something that would never happen again. Maybe.

“You bribed Soyeon?” You repeated, unsure you heard it right.

Jisung propped his chin on his hand, his smile turned into a mischievous grin. “Yep. She likes you a lot. Not that I’m surprised. She threatened to kick my ass if I ever do something to you.”

Your heart swelled with love for your friend. You hadn’t told her your story with Jisung but she still understood and worried for you. “I’ll let her hold you while I’ll do the beating.”

Jisung burst into laughter, imagining the scene. “Please, have mercy on me. I’m just a man.”

A handsome one, you wanted to add but refrained.

“So, now that we established that, what are you doing?” He tried to have a peek but you hid it from him. “Oh come on!”

Jisung, whenever he wanted something, always knew what to do to make you give in, today was no exception. The moment he did his best puppy eyes, you came to realization that no matter how many years passed, you still couldn’t deny him anything. And it sucked.

You shook your head, disappointed with yourself for being so weak as you pushed the sketchbook towards him. “I usually come here when I need a good coffee and to draw. Something about this place helps me.”

Jisung looked through your sketchbook with a little frown that showed how serious he got. He took his time, observing the different kind of sketches until he reached the last page. You hadn’t finished it but he could recognize Soyeon’s garden and the different shapes of people.

He glanced from the sketchbook to have a good look at you. “When did you get so good?”

“A lot of practicing I’d say.” You smiled. You tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, feeling a little embarrassed. You liked your drawings and you knew others did too, you didn’t become an artist just because it was a hobby. But something about showing it to Jisung made you feel shy. “Remember my roommate Hyunjin?”

“Yeah. I” Jisung cleared his throat, “saw his work recently. He’s really good.”

You didn’t think Jisung would be interested in art but apparently there were still things you didn’t know about him. This thought made your lips quirk. “Yeah. He is. He helped me a lot and pushed me to switch majors.”

Jisung gasped loudly. “You did? When?”

“Shortly after we broke up.” You admitted, wincing at the memory.

Ending things with Jisung had left you broken and miserable. And yet, it was also this pain and sadness that fuelled your inspiration. You poured all your feelings into your work and it paid. Hyunjin, knowing your reluctance to show your work, stole it to show it around. the day he told you his teacher wanted to meet you, was the day you finally broke down and cried. The poor man didn’t know what to do to calm you down; he lent you his shoulder until there was no more tears left.

“Hyunjin showed my work to his teacher and then made me meet him.” There was so much fondness in your voice at the memory. “I was angry at first but he still convinced me to go. Best decision I had ever made.”

“I’m glad you had someone like Hyunjin by your side.” Jisung admitted. He didn’t have the chance to meet the man that often but from the little he had seen, he knew that Hyunjin was a good friend to you, who pushed you to achieve your dreams. “Any chance I get to see more of your work?”

You hesitated. There was something you, indeed, wanted him to see but you weren’t sure he would like it. You stared at Jisung for a moment, not averting your eyes when he looked back.

“Come to my exhibition.”

#stray kids #han jisung #stray kids fic #stray kids x reader #han jisung x reader #han #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fluff

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bluxb3rry · 27 days

Text

❝𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐭!❞↳෴੭˚ ༘♡·˚₊˚ˑ༄ؘ 💜

Hwang Hyunjin x male reader! Howdy Hehe, im back because its night and im eepy. Soooo, this was gonna be 100% Fluff...um nope, its angst, because my playlist decided that...yeh It's already the second one of falling apart love one shot with Hyunjin? Damn, i need to make more happy things with this man Anyway see ya

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱───────

You were perfect in his eyes

The most handsome man in the world, universe even.

Hyunjin loved seeing you smile, laugh, talk and cry because of a random scene in a movie. He loved the way your eyes shine when the sun hits in the perfect moment. He loved the way you always touched his hair in a slow and soft way when you both were cuddling.

His arms hugging your waist and your hands in his hair and back. Looking like lost pieces in a weird puzzle, loving the company in a moment of silence and love.

His kisses would touch your skin, making you feel like little butterflies are resting in your skin, he would make a path to your lips, the feeling of love being obvious in every single kiss of his.

Hyujin loved hearing you talk, the random moments when he could be more than two hours with you, he would spend it listening to you. In a cafe, in the arcade or just in his house, he would listen to you. Hearing the most random story you could remember or maybe that one show that you loved watching. Did it end? Did you just start it? or maybe you just got bored of it?. Maybe you would talk about a new podcast you were listening, or about this book you started to read. He will take note of the name of it and maybe take a look, and maybe the conversation would be more long with his opinion in it.

Hyunjin loved hugging you in the late nights when he came back after practice, he was tired and the only thought in his mind was sleep till it was another year. But, that can wait, he needed to feel your warm, and smell that sweet perfume of yours. Or maybe, you already are sleeping, your phone in hand and the bed having a lonely and cold spot waiting for him. He would hug you, kiss you and sleep knowing that you are in his arms once again.

Hyunjin loved going out with you, maybe scared for all the crazy fans, knowing about his realtionship with a man, but after seeing you talking to him with a big smile in your face, he stopped caring after some time.

Hyunjin loved painting you, he did it intentionally at first, a little sketch in his notebook. He just realised after one of his teamates point it out, laughing at his red face. Then he just liked painting you, taking his time, rembering every single feature about you. That little mole you didn't like, your hair in the morning and you face all puffy. He would get distracted when painting your lips, thinking about kissing you just to feel the details a bit more.

Hyunjin loved you, thats why he hated when you both had a discussion. He was to tired, but it wasn't a excuse for telling you those mean things. He would always try and talk with you more calmly after, it worked most of the time, other times he would sleep on the cold couch, missing the warm your arms would give him.

Then in the morning, he would see you again, in the kitchen making breakfast. He didn't say anything because you didn't, he felt he had to be in silence.

He hated that day, the day you talked...your voice was as beautiful as always, your puffy face was still cute in his eyes, your lips as distracting as always, your eyes shining like always. But something new happened.

"i think...i don't love you anymore"

Your words hurt, for the first time.

He tried to talk about it, saying sorry for the words he had said before. But the truth is, your hugs started to be more short, your kisses had started to feel less long, the conversations shorter, the time was shorter and you stopped feeling love.

But Hyunjin stil loved you like the last person in earth

"...i think, i won't be able to love anyone like i loved you"

He said, remembering the lovely portraits in his studio, your face being his main muse

"i know...maybe i won't be able to do that either"

You looked at him, tears in your eyes, slowly falling in your cheeks.

"but im scared to hurt you...i don't want to hurt you Hyunjin"

But oh you were already killing him in one million different ways.

"if you say that...is because you already love someone else"

"i don't know! im confused...im scared, i really don't want to leave you"

"But?"

....

"But...someone showed me love too...and im starting to accept it...."

"...i love you"

"im sorry..."

He bited his lip, trying not to cry, not now. Even if his heart broke, evein if the glass is in the floor hurting him, he wanted to walk and feel to blood just to heart it one more time.

"i love you"

You looked at him, and just hugged him

"I love you too....is just not the same anymore"

Hyunjin loved hearing you laugh, he loved talking to you, he loved you. But, he loved you being happy, and if thats with another man, then so be it. He looked at you one last time, and left.

He won't love someone else like he loved you.

Because you were his universe, but he was just another planet.

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱───────

#skz #male reader #stray kids #stray kids x male reader #skz fanfic #skz x male reader #x male reader #kpop x male reader #skz hyunjin #hyunjin x male reader #Hyunjin #gay #mxm

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