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kiwanopie · 1 year

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Strawberry Jam

Your best friend has a sweet tooth.

cw: college!bokuto, oral(f!receving), dubcon, manhandling if you squint. 1.3k

“Ah shit!” Bokuto frowns. “I dropped my pencil.”

You absently hum at the sound of his voice from the ledge of your laptop. “Hm-?”

The sound of a skidding chair barely disrupts your line of focus from where it’s locked on your midterm - but the sound of his head knocking a bit against the underside of the table does pull a little chuckle from you. You glance at your keyboard through a few dull taps on your mousepad, but at the very least you’re considerate enough to mumble a quiet ‘You okay?’

Bokuto makes a huffy little whining sound that you opt to ignore in favor of letting your best friend crawl about the carpet like a mouse. Patting his palms against the plush nylon of your bedroom floor as he searches for his pencil, and you’re really no help when you make less than an effort to move your legs as he knocks against them.

The blue light turns the darkening room behind you a washed navy, whatever he just knocked his back against just unplugged the desk light. “You can just borrow one of mine y’know.”

“But this one’s special! It has my name engraved on it and everything!”

“Why would you-“ You spam the backspace bar for a loud couple clicks. “Why would you buy something like that if you know it’s gonna get shaved away anyway?”

“Because it’s cool… And I’ll know if someone steals it!”

Bokuto roots for the little punctures on the outlet through a few messy jabs of his fingers. “Your room eats up all my stuff.”

The fact that you can physically hear him pouting is enough to make you wanna audibly scoff. Especially when his little nest across the hall has already swallowed up a pair of your headphones, a few mismatched socks, and a volume of that manga you’ve been collecting since last spring. And anyways, it’s totally his fault. He’s the one who keeps treating your room like a second bedroom. You can’t even sift through your hamper without finding some of your clothes mixed up with his.

But instead of making that point, you pull a little piece of skin off your bottom lip that tastes metallic when you tuck it under your tongue, switching tabs to double check your sources and mumble a little sarcastically under your breath. “Sorry ‘bout my room eating your stuff.”

The way the room bursts into a warm haze barely phases you anymore than the hollow tap of thin wood clinking just before your feet. If Bokuto’s gasp should mean anything, a number two pencil gets to live to see another day.

“Find it?”

“I found it!”

Bokuto snorts at your halfhearted ‘Hoorah.” as he turns on his knees to crawl out from under the table. Blithely grunting his way through the cramped little space, but stopping on the heel of his palm when he notices something.

“Oh, hey!”

“Hmm?”

He ducks his head for a better view of your skirt. “What’s up with these undies?”

“Hm? Oh.” You lift your back a little, even still your eyes are locked on the screen. “You got a problem with Strawberry Shortcake?”

“No, I like them! They’re cute.”

You blow a tickled breath out through your nose. You should kick him for being a perv and peeking up your skirt. But really you’re just thankful he didn’t tease you for being childish after you just ragged on his special pencil.

Your elbow digs into the desk with a squeak as you rest your jaw in your palm, your voice is an absent drone. “Thanks, they’re strawberry flavored.”

The shift key clicks as you start a new paragraph.

And then your knees are colliding with the table. “Wha- They’re not actually strawberry flavored!”

The way you startledly flinch is hardly enough to deter Bokuto’s hot mouth from the front side of your panties, but the way he hums - runs a thorough lick through your clothed slit and pulls away, makes it hard for you not to outwardly shutter. “They’re not? No way, I totally taste it.”

“Bokut-“ You lay your hand against his scalp when he leans in to dig his nose in. “Don’t just start doing something like that out of nowhere!”

Wow, he’s really slobbering all over those poor things isn’t he? “Y’want me to stop?”

“N-…No, but-”

He digs his tongue in with a fervor.

It’s a few tempered licks before he’s finally reaching forward to tug your panties to the side, molten tongue massaging attentively over your clit as the way he’s all but mushing his head into your soaked cunt inclines you to scoot into your seat. - Although the distance is short lived. You’re helpless to stop him when he uses his weight to push the chair back enough to lift his head freely, and you're all but yanked onto your back as he secures your legs over his shoulders, lifting on his knees to eat you out from a better angle.

The position is a little awkward but the sensation is incredible. This guy is drinking you up like it’s all he knows how to do. The angle opens you up from top to bottom, his tongue doesn’t leave a spot untouched. You’d almost be embarrassed with all the noise you’re making, but his drunken moans are a contest to yours.

“Ko, you’re-“ Oh god, your poor chair. “You’re… making such a mess…!”

He makes a gluttonned sound of indignation. “S’your fault. ‘Pussy tastes so good…”

You whine. That’s your best friend talking to you like that. You don’t even know where this came from. One minute he’s a bumbling teddy bear, rooting around your carpet for his stupid novelty pencil, the next he’s-

“You’re g’nna cum in my mouth?” He noses your clit. “Gonna let me drink your cum? Yeah?”

You claw at the arms locked over your thighs. “Koutarou! K-Ko! Fuck… Oh my god…”

“You taste so fucking sweet. What kind of friend holds out on another when they know they’ve got the-“ The way he spits on your messy cunt makes your pretty eyes roll. “Most perfectest pussy in the whole wide world?”

That’s not a word. But you get the sentiment. Especially when he punctuates it by circling his middle finger around your tight little hole and eases it in with his tongue pressed against your clit. Deep guttural groan that reverberates throughout your entire body at the way your cunt suckles on his finger, gushing for him so eagerly that you start to drip down his arm. Your pretty pussy seems intent on making him fall in love with it. Love struck even when he slides another finger in. And it’s all he can do not go mad when you start to drunkenly hump into his face.

“Oh god, Ko! Fuck me! Fuck me!”

Bokuto moans as your legs lock behind his shoulders, you’re so fucking hot he could die. “Mhm! Mhm!”

He’s rocking into you so thoroughly with his fingers that the chair starts to creek. The way the veins in his arm deliciously pop is enough to send you over the edge. “Ohhhh fuck! Cumming! m’ cumming!”

Bokuto sloshes his tongue over your clit as you spasm around his fingers. Wet noises double in volume as he continues to fuck into you, even when your leg kicks up from the amount of overstimulation. He just barely gives when you start to push his head away.

“Sorry, sorry!” Bokuto raises his head. “You’re just too fucking good.”

He helps you shimmy your sodden panties down your legs as you tiredly upright yourself in your seat, kissing your knee for good measure. “Hey, we’re still friends right?”

You nod. Though your throbbing clit says otherwise. “Yeah, you’re still my buddy.”

“Yay!” And you could almost giggle at how happy-go-lucky he can still look with your cum all over his face.

He holds your soaked underwear in his hand and they squish a little in his palm. “Can I keep these?”

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#‘you’re best friend has a sweet tooth’ im so smart #hq smut #bokuto smut #college!bokuto #bokuto koutaro x reader #bokuto x reader #hq bokuto #bokuto imagines #bokuto x you #msby bokuto #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#hq x reader #haikyuu!! smut #hq oneshot #haikyuu oneshot

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riaki · 3 months

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sick days ! gojo x reader ‧˚ - take a soda break…!

the rain outside your window is incessant.

it slides down the foggy glass panes in small rivulets that merge together and break apart, like the people outside on different paths of life. a sea of umbrellas moves like liquid in the streets below; a school of fish in a rainy city, under those fluorescent neons that shine like vibrant coral in the puddles of rain on the concrete.

there’s beauty even in the humid showers of tokyo, reflected in the broken lights and flickering signs; those food stalls full of warm life and fancy clothing stores that you always go in just to not buy anything, and best of all— the vending machines that dot the map.

watching raindrops race was one of your favorite hobbies as a kid. even now, you find yourself absentmindedly tracking the movements; the erratic nature of the blurry droplets as they slide down the glass makes you wonder if there’s hidden ridges on the panels that guide those watery paths.

your train of thought is rudely interrupted by another bout of coughing; that dry, itching feeling in your throat that you just can’t get rid of. drinking water to quell the cough has the same effect as telling your study buddy to stay focused for longer than five minutes. gojo is playing something on his phone again; a rhythm game, by the way he curses under his breath every time his fingers stutter and miss a beat.

you cover your mouth with your elbow, trying to expel the ghost dust that makes your breath hitch every time you try to speak, and he glances up at you, shifting in his seat. his lanky legs are cramped beneath the desktop; his frame doesn’t fit in your room. he has to duck when he enters, lest he hit his head like the first time he came over. like you, he has his head resting in his elbows. unlike you, he isn't ill with a fever so hot it burns cold and the stuffiness in your voice, and he also isn't studying.

"you sure you still wanna be reviewing? this exam doesn't really matter, y'know." gojo remarks, peering up at you from his arm pillow. "you should probably take a break, ’cus you look like shit."

he grins cheekily, pushing a pile of his papers and notes to the edge of the desk, where eraser shavings and broken bits of lead from when he couldn't solve a math problem are crammed. there's scratches and ink stains on the desk, a reminder of how you'd accidentally scribbled past the page’s edge in a sickness induced delirium. it’ll leave permanent marks; at this point you’re convinced you’re writing yourself a secret letter to the future. have you confessed to gojo yet? that’s what it’ll say. right now, it just says something unintelligible.

hopefully you’re still literate in the future, but you’re half-convinced you’re getting dumber every moment you spend caged in with this dunce of a genius.

you lean back in your chair, pulling your knee up to your chest. your pencil falls to the desk with a faint clack, soft yellow lamplight washing your faces warm as gojo scoots closer and peers over your shoulder at your progress. he has a pandora’s box of knowledge in that blue-tinted brain of his; he just refuses to apply it. it’s cocky, spoiled ego in the finest. you should hate him for it.

he snickers. "you're dumb."

"you missed forty-three notes." you countered, shooting him a glare as you point at the disappointed looking character next to a review of the stats from the song he was playing on his phone. gojo grimaces, pulling back like a sad little dog, floppy white hair covering his eyes.

"i was playing with my thumbs."

you ignore him, leaning against the wooden desk before hiding your face in your elbows again and letting out a long sigh. your hot breath curls up in the confines of your body, making you recoil slightly; uncomfortably. heat is the last thing you need with the fever you’re pretty sure you’re running.

"i hate being sick. and i hate studying. can we please give up?" you complained, glancing up at him out of the corner of your eye. your hair obscures your vision, so you can only see a faint glint of amusement in his azure irises as he studies you for a moment before scooting his chair back and standing up. without another word, he leaves the room.

wow. okay.

a moment of silence passes as you sit there, lamenting over your runny nose and the way you sound like you're about to cough a lung up every time you breathe, until you hear the soft sounds of his feet padding on the floorboards coupled with what you presume is ice clinking against glass, signaling his return. you lift your head, blinking blearily. each time you breathe in through your nose, your nostrils burn like dry ice pressed against your skin, only adding to your misery. the dreary weather outside isn't helping much, either.

the cold glass leaves a dark stain on the table, an uneven circle of condensation that soothes the aching in your fingers when your sick skin makes contact. gojo pops the can open, and you watch as he picks the glass up, tilting it to the side to pour the soda in.

“why are you holding it like that?” you asked curiously, a small yawn escaping your lips as you lean against the table. he glances down at you, a cheeky, tiny smile gracing his lips. the sound of bubbles fizzling and popping fills the cozy, cramped room; that cool, sweet liquid seems like the only thing that’ll cure your nasty cough.

“pouring it like this prevents the bubbles from escaping. you like it fizzy, don’t you?” he grins.

condensation clings to his fingers like morning dew upon flower petals as he sets the glass down. you watch the ice cubes bobble about in the soda, clinking against the cup like a mini wind chime. you’re sore from sitting in the same place with terrible posture for three hours, and there’s an ache between your fingers from gripping your pencil tight while you write.

you take a sip from the glass, letting out a contented sigh as the refreshing liquid drains down your scratchy throat. it’s not lemon honey tea for a cold, but it certainly helps. next to you, gojo takes his seat again, grabbing the throw blanket on your bed and tossing it over his legs before he grabs his pencil again. he’s using one of those short pencils, shaved down to a stub from months of use. you always offer him a mechanical pencil, but he refuses.

you sit there, waiting for him to get back to work before you realize he’s staring at you, legs crossed beneath the fuzzy blanket.

you frowned, shifting to face him as you lean against the desk. “what?”

“you’ll take care of me if i get sick too, right?” he tilts his head, like a curious bird.

“why would you get sick?”

you’re too relate to react when he makes a mad grab for your glass of soda, holding it out of your reach. a few droplets spill out and spatter onto your notebook, forcing a sigh from your lips.

“gojo…” you groaned, rubbing your temple with your fingers and praying for strength.

he just smirks, taking a lengthy sip. you watch his adam’s apple bob as a bit of condensation builds on his chin and trickles down his throat.

“you know what? i dont feel like studying either.” he announces, setting the glass back down on the wooden table with a loud thunk.

“so? what do you wanna do?” you huffed petulantly.

“download project sekai, and we can do a co-op live.”

“…you’re kidding.”

#billet-doux #satoru gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru #gojo x you #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #satoru x reader #gojo fluff #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen

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amsgrey · 11 months

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Need Help?

kaz brekker x reader

synopsis: Kaz helps you get ready for a job, lost in the moment he forgets his anxiety and stays present.

warnings: other than bad writing? not much.

authors note: I have had terrible writer's block lately, so here is this terrible story that has been in my drafts for weeks. I will be doing my best to fix it but man it is not easy.

Kaz woke you early one morning, knocking sharply on the door. He knocked once, waiting for any sounds behind the door before he struck again.

You sleepily opened the door, ready to tell Jesper to get lost. Realizing it was your boss, not the sharpshooter, you stuttered over your words.

"I need you and Nina for a job."

You followed his instructions, waking up Nina and forcing her to join you on the job to Little Ravka.

Before you had left the slat Kaz had ordered the two of you to not get sidetracked, with no stops on the way to Little Ravka and no detours on the way back. Nina had quietly mumbled about Kaz being no fun and you knew then you would spend the time steering her away from food vendors.

Walking down the Ravkan market had been the hardest. Nina had told you about this place, but seeing it for the first time was nothing like hearing about it. Like Os Kervo's markets, Nina had told you. She had explained the time she spent there in-depth, the afternoons walking through the markets with her friends.

Nina let out a tiny gasp, snatching your hand and dragging you along behind as she approached a stall. You could see what she was fixated on, a pastry dusted in sugar.

Nina ignored your protests, ordering two of the desserts and paying the vendor quickly. The girl handed one to you, nodding for you to try it.

“Why are you so obsessed with these?” You asked as you walked back through Ketterdam.

“Because they’re brilliant,” Nina said like it was the most obvious answer.

You laughed, watching her brush icing sugar off her nose.

“They are good,” You agreed, “I see why you love them so much.”

Nina beamed, “And Brekker said stops weren’t worth it.”

Kaz would not be happy. You knew when the two of you strolled into the slat the boy would see the crumbs - no matter how many times you would brush down your clothes - and chastise you about the detour.

At some point halfway through the Zelvar district, you decided you didn’t much care. Kaz was sour about many things, he would act annoyed for a while and then see how you grinned in defiance and let it go. Besides, you all knew this errand was hardly one of high stakes.

You were surprised to walk into the slat and see Kaz not at all surprised at your lateness. He took one look at the two grinning crows and rolled his eyes.

“Enjoy yourself?”

“Yup,” Nina replied, planting herself in the chair next to Matthias.

You sat on Kaz's right, looking over the map of the Financial district Kaz was scrutinizing.

“Why do you need a tailor?” You asked, thinking about the message you and Nina left at the cafe in Little Ravka.

Kaz spared you a glance, taking in the furrow of your brow as you studied the map.

"For the job," Was Kaz's blunt reply.

“What did Nina convince you to stop for?”

You turned to Wylan, "I would have stopped too."

Nina’s face broke into a grin, “No one can resist sweets.”

“What is it like?” Wylan continued.

“It’s pastry,” Kaz replied, fixing Wylan with a glower.

You laughed, “It’s not just pastry, Brekker.”

Nina launched into an explanation while you looked back over the map. You brushed off some of Wylans pencil shavings from when he completed it.

“What are you thinking?” You asked Kaz, trying to see what he was scrutinizing.

Kaz looked from the map to you, muttering about his plans.

You and Kaz didn’t realize that the conversation had lulled around them, the other crows watching the two sit close together hunched over the map and scribbling notes.

Inej tapped Jesper's shoulder, no one had realized the wraith had even appeared, “Scheming face.”

Jesper laughed, breaking You and Kaz from your concentration, “Definitely scheming faces.”

You pouted, “I don’t scheme.”

Kaz corralled everyone into his office later in the evening of that day. He let everyone know the building that was on the map was holding a Gala that night, and there was a target you needed to reach.

As always, Kaz's plans had layers and twists that he didn't reveal to everyone. Trying to follow along with what he wanted everyone to do was sometimes impossible, so you were glad he explained it slowly for everyone.

"Whose going as a guest?" Jesper asked, having been already assigned fake driver duty.

"Matthias and Y/N," Kaz replied.

You started to protest, but Kaz didn't listen.

"You will be posing as Mr and Mrs Mjelde. You two look like them."

You and Matthias looked at each other, wearing matching frowns. You hadn't worked with Matthias before, but you trusted Kaz enough to have faith in his plan. Kaz explained how you both could pass as the Frejdan-Kerch couple, mostly because of the resemblance you had to the couple. When you had asked why Nina couldn't be Mrs Mjelde, Kaz waved it off with "I need her somewhere else".

After Kaz had given everyone their assignments and explained the target, you remembered the job he had sent you and Nina earlier that day.

"So why do we need a tailor?" You asked.

"Mrs Mjelde has shorter hair than you," Kaz replied, "I thought you would rather tailor yourself to look different than cutting your hair."

Your chest constricted, Kaz had put extra care into making you feel comfortable on this job.

"Well too bad there aren't any available Tailors in Ketterdam," Nina sighed, already hearing from her fellow Grisha that the only slightly knowledgable tailor had left the city a week ago.

Kaz frowned, trying to come up with an alternative plan.

"I can just cut my hair," You said.

"You love your hair," Jesper replied.

You shrugged, "No harm in a change every now and again."

Everyone seemed slightly surprised, but no one said anything to challenge you. Kaz ordered everyone to prepare for the job, Jesper and Nina had to slip away to get the disguises for the night, leaving the rest of you to prepare in the Slat.

You had borrowed the scissors Kaz used to cut his hair, the same ones you used not two weeks ago to cut his hair. You sat in front of your mirror, it was perched haphazardly on your small dresser. You stared at your reflection, trying to work up the courage to cut your own hair.

"Need help?"

You could see Kaz in the reflection, standing in the doorway like you had not long ago. You felt suddenly self-conscious, breaking eye contact and running your fingers through your hair to try distract yourself.

Kaz stepped into your room, closing the door behind him. Your tiny room felt cramped with only you in it, now it felt claustrophobic. Kaz leant his cane against your bedframe, coming to stand behind you. You felt unease build in your chest, unable to say a word. You felt at ease in Kaz's room, lazing on his bed or bothering him while he worked. But now that he was in your room, it felt strangely more intimate.

Kaz slipped his hands out of his gloves, placing them in front of you on the dresser. He held his hand to you, waiting for you to give him the scissors.

"We don't have all evening," Kaz said, rather bluntly.

You laughed, a stupid smile greeting Kaz in the mirror. You didn't much mind Kaz's bluntness, in fact, you had grown to love it. Once you learnt he never meant any harm - to you most specifically - you grew to appreciate how he cared little about sugarcoating anything. At times he was cruel, but never with you.

You let Kaz take the scissors from you, he turned them over in his hands. Once. Twice. You watched him in the mirror, as he finally decided on his action. He ran his fingers through your hair like you had done to him. His fingernails raked along your scalp, pulling fly-away strands from your face. He began to work on your hair, combing it away from your face with his fingers then cutting it slowly, methodically.

You were both silent as he worked, you could only watch in awe as he took such care. His brows were furrowed, much like they always were. But his eyes weren't piercing or angry, they were gentle and kind. He was so concentrated on what he was doing that his mask fell. It was the first time since that night in his room that you saw Kaz Reitveld again.

When Kaz was almost done, you finally shifted your gaze from Kaz behind you to your hair. Jesper was right, you did love your hair and you had been reluctant to change it. It felt a little easier knowing it was Kaz who was cutting your hair, Kaz who was helping you change.

Kaz stayed close when he was done, running his fingers through your hair again. His fingers ran through your hair, then rested on the bare skin of your neck. It was like you were both stuck in a trance. Making eye contact through the mirror. Kaz was taking deep breaths, not removing his hands from your skin.

You looked away, "I should go see Nina."

Kaz nodded, watching you stand up from your chair and brush down your clothes. He took a small step back, entranced by the way your hair now perfectly framed your face.

You looked up to see his staring, a faint smirk on his face.

"See something you like, Brekker?"

Kaz chuckled, "Maybe."

He took another step forward, reaching up and tugging on a strand of your hair. You smiled, offering your thanks for his help.

Kaz nodded, silent while he looked over your face. You could feel his breath over your cheek. From this close, you could see the flecks in his irises. You glanced from his eyes to his lips, the silent question hanging between you. You both knew that Kaz wouldn't be the first to instigate a kiss; you had been close before but never as close as that night in his room.

Kaz felt like he couldn't breathe, watching you look at him with so much faith, so much devotion. He hadn't seen anyone look at him like that since Jordie died. In The Barrel, it wasn't like people were willing to get close to him, not that he ever let them. Kaz trusted you, too, as a crow and someone he could love. He had a hard time showing that, in fact, he never showed it.

You ignored the doubts running through your head, leaning forward and pressing your lips to Kaz's. You pulled away quickly like a child having their first kiss. The last thing you wanted to do was overwhelm the man before you.

Kaz snaked his fingers into your hair, pulling you closer and kissing you again.

You were struck by how sweet Kaz tasted, like Hopjes. He cupped your cheek gently, pulling away hesitantly. He smirked, enjoying being close to you without the debilitating panic that usually forced him away.

"Y/N!' Nina knocked on the door, "Saint's sake, have you finished yet?"

Kaz pulled away, both of you snapping out of the trance and fumbling around the other. You had to slip past Kaz to get to the door, trying to ignore how close the two of you were. You threw the door open to see Nina, standing impatiently with the dress for the job tossed over her arm. Nina could no doubt see Kaz standing behind you in your room, his face no doubt flushed as it always was when the two of you were caught close by another crow.

With everything finally in place, you forced yourself down the stairs to greet the crows. The ridiculous shoes you had to wear made climbing down the stairs harder than you liked, you had to rely heavily on the ballestraid so you wouldn't fall down.

At the bottom of the stairs, Matthias was scowling at Jesper and Wylan, who were making fun of his formal attire. He looked as miserable as you, constantly adjusting the collar of his shirt and blazer to try get comfortable.

"Hey gorgeous," Jesper greeted, throwing his arm over your shoulders and pulling you into a side hug.

You jabbed your finger into his ribs, getting him off you. "Don't call me that when I'm dressed like an idiot."

Jesper rolled his eyes, "That was rude."

Kaz finally joined you all, leaving his office and pausing a few paces away from you all. You could see how he took in what you were wearing, the subtle makeup covering your eyes and the fake jewels resting on your collarbones. You tried not to flush when you noticed his gaze linger on the buttons of your bodice.

Nina was staring at you, giving you a knowing look. You waved her off, pulling your cloak around your dress.

"Everyone knows the plan?" Kaz asked.

There was a chorus of yes'.

"Then let's get to it."

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deanbrainrotwritings · 11 months

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— NIGHTS IN WHITE SATIN

SUMMARY : trying to study, but yoongi's insatiable.

PAIRINGS : min yoongi x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : non

WARNINGS/TAGS : nsfw(18+), smut, cockwarming, swearing

WORD COUNT : 2.5k

A/N : I wrote this while going on a family road trip. no regrets, only my sister knew what I was writings. title is from the moody blues' song, but this is a song I dedicate to dean winchester. wait, this is a bts story... anyway, it's the first time I'm posting and I hope y'all enjoy it X

“Come on, Y/N,” Yoongi whined with a pout. He watched her work out a physics problem on relativity, eraser shavings sprinkled along the sheet of paper in the notebook she was using to write down her equations and work before typing in the answer on the laptop. “Homework is not that important,” he grumbled, sitting next to her on the couch, he watched her roll her eyes with a little smirk on his lips.

“Namjoon doesn’t agree,” she argued, and it was his turn to roll his eyes, “besides, I told you I was only gonna do two problems,” she typed in the answer and then turned to look at him at last. He immediately leaned in to kiss her, hoping to make her forget her homework, his gentle fingers holding her jaw, their soft lips meeting in a tender kiss.

He smiled against her mouth when her breath hitched and she melted into him immediately. The taste of her rose lip tint made his mouth water and his heart leaped in his chest with delight. His mind became foggy and peaceful until she bit his lip and shoved him back a little.

“Hey!” He whined, sucking on his bottom lip to soothe the non-existent pain. She ignored him while chewing on her cheek, amusement tugging at her tinted lips and she started working on the second problem.

He stared at her for a few moments, his eyes narrowing at her, watching a blush wash over her cute face. He didn’t care if she was about to be done, he was impatient and wanted her attention now. So without a care in the world, he pressed himself against her, began rutting his hips against her side and leaned forward so he could pant into her hair by her ear.

“Yoongi,” she whispered, her fingers tightening around the pencil in her hand. Her nipples hardened beneath her tank top and her pussy released arousal.

“Finish the fucking problem,” he growled, his hand sliding under the silky beige top, touching her warm skin underneath until he was cupping her breast and gently rolling her nipple between his fingers.

“I… I can’t…” she murmured, her face heating up even more when she felt his cock harden underneath the thin material of his black sweats.

“No?” He mocked, then stopped moving. She let out a shaky breath, her plump lips parted and her doe-eyes wide. Yoongi was sure she could beat Jungkook right now, but he ignored the thought, took the pencil and notebook away from her to throw it carelessly on the coffee table where her laptop was. “I thought you said it was important,” he accused with a grin.

“Shut up,” she became flustered, looking away from him and crossing her arms over her chest, hiding her hard nipples from his hungry eyes. He smiled smugly, staring at the side of her beautiful face, wrapped his fingers around her ankle, his eyes sparking with love at the sight of the duck-print ankle-socks that covered her feet.

“Don’t talk to me like that, I’m older than you,” he warned playfully, stretching her leg out . Warmth bloomed in his chest, especially seeing her become stubborn with her jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed. She didn’t fight him when he spread her legs with his hips, but she kept insubmissive eye-contact with him despite her clit beginning to pulse with desire.

“I’m not even Korean,” she told him, gasping when he started to rub himself against her clothed cunt shamelessly.

“Respecting those older than you applies to most cultures, I’m pretty sure you fall in that category.” He licked his lips, stared at her pink mouth and her soft, little tongue when it poked out slightly to wet her somewhat dry lips. “Is that what your mother taught you, hmm? To be rude and disrespectful to someone older than you?”

“You’re not that old, Yoongi,” she argued breathlessly, her hands landing on his hips, fisting his loose t-shirt the more he continued to grind against her. She bent her knees, lifting her hips to match his rhythm and let her head fall back against the arm of the couch with her eyes shut.

“I’m still older than you, you brat,” he hissed through his teeth, leaning down to kiss her stubbornness away. His tongue swiped across the seam of her lips, feeling no resistance from her when he pushed his tongue past her lips, her tongue welcoming his as it entered her warm mouth.

He held himself up with his hand by her hip, his other hand sliding up the back of her knee, making her squirm as his fingers brushed against the secret ticklish spot there. His slim fingers dug into the flesh of her thigh, little moans of pleasure falling into each other’s mouths.

A tinge of whiskey lingered on Yoongi's tongue and despite hating alcohol herself, she was addicted to the way it tasted in his mouth. The memory of him making her try whiskey for the first time made her stomach flip with happiness. When he served her a glass to show her his favourite while Jimin drank some champagne, watching with a knowing grin as Y/N sipped a little. She coughed up the strong alcohol with distaste on her face and couldn’t finish the rest.

Yoongi was surprised with her reaction, a tender smile on his handsome face. Meanwhile, he easily downed the rest of her whiskey. He should’ve known since then that alcohol simply wasn’t for her, but he liked sharing drinks with her, spending time with her more than anything. Before they got together, it was his way of being close to her, drinking from her cup at every failed attempt, not realising that she agreed to drinking just to be close to him, too.

He pulled away from the kiss for air, his warm breath puffing over her wet lips. He smiled down at her, his hips becoming still despite how desperate he was. He stood up on his knees to pull his grey shirt over his head, watching her eyes shine up at him lovingly, entranced as he sat back to lower his sweats and his boxers.

“Take your clothes off, Y/N,” he told her, wrapping his hand around his cock, a smirk replacing the smile he had on his face. She swallowed, her eyes moving down to his dick as she silently removed her tank top, exposing her bare chest to him as he thumbed the slit of his cock to spread the precum that dribbled out in small beads.

“You’re so pretty,” she murmured, sliding her shorts and underwear down her legs. She immediately brought her fingers to her pussy, circling her entrance to gather the arousal his kiss and the friction of his hips caused her to release. She slid her fingers up to her clit, teasingly rubbing circles all while he bit his lip and watched.

“So are you, more than any flower or any star in the sky,” he murmured earnestly, making her falter in touching herself, suddenly shy. His words made her blush once again, her eyebrows raising in surprise. He gave her a cute smile, embarrassed that he’d said something so cheesy to her and he stopped stroking himself as well, swallowing nervously upon becoming flustered himself.

“I need you,” she whispered, reaching out for his waist, she pulled him towards her, ignoring his comment so he’d stop being nervous. Her eyes were so soft and warm, he could sink and drown in her tender irises, letting her dilated pupils drag him into the depths of her passionate soul.

He grabbed her hips, lifting them slightly, sliding his cock through her wet folds before lining himself up with her entrance. He admired her face when his cockhead pressed against her warmth, captivated by her eyes and her lips. His heart skipped a few beats, his breath getting tangled up in his chest as he gently pushed into her pussy, engulfed in her heat little by little until he was fully inside her.

He leaned forward again, pushing his hips against hers, their warm bodies pressed together. He leaned over her to drop an affectionate kiss on her head, right where her adorable bangs began and let her bring him down to her lips. His sleek, dark hair tickled her cheeks, but she didn’t mind. He’d let it grow out and he loved the way she tugged at it every time she rolled her hips up against his and arched her back so her breasts were squeezed against his chest.

He hummed softly against her mouth, thrusting into her lazily, smirking against her mouth. She brought her leg over the back of the couch, spreading herself out some more for him like a good little slut. He didn’t say that thought out loud. He could feel her slick coat his dick, it excited him and he knew she felt his cock throbbing inside her the longer he kept the pace slow and sensual.

“Yoongi,” she whined against his mouth. He pulled away, biting his lip teasingly. He sat back on his legs to watch himself move in and out of her and started using his thumb to rub random shapes on her clit that made her squirm in pleasure. “Hurry, I’m hungry,” she chuckled playfully, pouting adorably at him as she pinched her sensitive nipples.

“For my dick?” He teased, swivelling his hips until she was nearly being pushed up the couch. She pressed her hips against his, circling them to stop herself from moving up the couch further. He hissed softly when she squeezed her velvety walls around him, then she glared at him because she knew what he was doing. She slapped his hand away from her clit and she started to rub quick circles to get herself off and be done with it.

“You’re so annoying.” He didn’t acknowledge her words and started to thrust into her again, faster, playing along as she sought a quick orgasm. He watched her carefully, the way she threw her head back and detached her sharp canine teeth from digging into her bottom lip to let out a sweet little moan.

He lowered his lips down to her breasts, pressing his forehead against her cleavage to he suck the skin around her nipples before lapping at the erect buds. Her warmth clenched around his cock and he brought his free-hand to her other breast, kneading the flesh in his large hand, then deliciously pinching her nipple.

She gasped, arching into him even more, as if offering herself entirely to him while her fingers tangled in his soft hair, tugging gently. He sucked harshly at her nipple in gratitude. His hot mouth trailed up to her collarbones and he smirked when her walls clamped down on him again, a groan slipping past his swollen lips. He reached for her wrist to stop her from orgasming, not quite finished with teasing her.

“Yoongi,” she whined again, and he nearly let her have what she wanted.

“Fuck, you turn me on so much,” he moaned into her neck, his tongue licking at a little lovebite he was sure would bruise her soft skin. She squirmed beneath him, her fingers tightening their grip on his hair as he continued to fuck her. The sound of his voice, how wrecked and raspy his words came out made her moan softly in response, her pussy pulsing around his throbbing dick.

“Yoongi, let me cum,” she gasped, overwhelmed with the sensations he was making her feel; from the way his warm mouth felt on her neck, his deft fingers pinching her nipple, his cock sliding in and out of her, hot and throbbing, brushing against the sweet spot in her walls as he intertwined their fingers.

“Are you begging?” He asked breathlessly, a smirk tugging at his lips knowing he was frustrating her. This time, the tug at his hair was painful, so he bit her jawline in retaliation before smashing their lips together in a heated kiss. He wrapped his arm around her waist, fucking into her mercilessly, nearly orgasming when she let out one of the loudest moans he’d ever heard her make.

She loosened her grip on his soft locks, her fingers tightening between his fingers, still held by his hand against the couch. She squealed his name, her body trembling as she finally orgasmed, a breathless little laugh slipping past her kiss-swollen lips and he smiled at the sound. His name quietly fell from her lips over and over and he pulled out of her, leaving a trail of his hot cum along her folds and pelvis.

He panted above her, gazing at the lazy, blissed out smile on her lips that he knew was also plastered over his own face. He pushed his semi-hard cock into her again, thrusting languidly and nuzzled into her neck.

“I love you,” he murmured, slowly stopping when his cock softened inside her.

“I love you, too.” She played with his hair for a few moments, let him place his whole weight on her as he pressed his cheek against her shoulder with his eyes closed. They both let themselves bask in the afterglow of their orgasm, his cock safe inside her pussy still.

“I need to finish my homework,” she mumbled tiredly, gently pushing his shoulders, careful of the one that he had surgery on. He said it was fine, that it didn’t always hurt, but she always felt her entire body squirm at the thought of him feeling even a slight burn of pain from it.

“My cum is all over your skin and you wanna do homework?” He mumbled against her shoulder with a smile, not budging from his spot above her.

“I wanna eat some food, too.” He had to see her face as she said that. He lifted himself up and gazed at her lovingly, met with an innocent smile from her. He laughed adorably, sitting up and watching himself slip out of her while biting his lips at the sight of his cum on her skin. “I’m gonna take a quick shower… Yoongles,” she teased, reaching for her underwear, she slipped them on so the soft cotton would catch his cum and stop it from staining the couch.

“Can I come?” He wondered, admiring her half-naked body, the gentle curve of her waist to her hips, the exquisite sculpture of her back when she picked her clothes up from the floor.

“One, you already came,” she deadpanned, standing in front of him, admiring the way he stood there completely naked waiting for her response. He rolled his eyes and playfully landed a smack to her ass. She yelped at the slight sting and let him wrap his arms around her waist, meeting his lips for a kiss. “Two, can you please cook for me today?” She kissed him again and gave him puppy-dog eyes.

“Whatever,” he mumbled against her lips, letting her go. He gently pushed her away from him and she chuckled, looking over her shoulder at him with a mischievous smile. He immediately recognized the look in her eyes, excitedly gathered his clothes off the couch and floor, making their way to where the bathroom was.

main masterlist

min yoongi masterlist

do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform

#min yoongi #min yoongi x reader #bts #bts smut #yoongi #min yoongi smut #7.1

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sauriansolutions · 2 months

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FloRid Thoughts...

Riddle has a favorite seat in every class: front row, closest to the teacher. Everyone knows and respects that's Riddle's Spot. No one dares to try to take it from him or mess with it in any way.

Well, except...

One day, Floyd starts leaving stuff on Riddle's desk. Not chewed gum or pencil shavings, or anything like that. Also not folded notes or small, wrapped boxes. Just bafflingly random things.

"Floyd, did you just put a rock on my desk?"

"Yup!"

"... Why?"

"It's for you Goldfishie!"

"What am I supposed to do with a rock?"

"Ehh, whatever you want~"

This starts happening almost every day. One day, it's a spiky seed pod from a sweetgum tree that he found on the ground. Another day, it's two juniper berries picked from a bush outside the classroom. Then, a worn rubber eraser, with pencil marks that look like a frowny face.

By this point in his school life, Riddle has decided the best way to deal with Floyd's antics is to ignore them. He accepts each new item with an eyeroll and some form of, "Wow. I've always wanted a pencil that's been sharpened all the way down to the eraser. Thanks so much, Floyd."

"You're welcome lil Goldfish!" Floyd inevitably beams in response, as he goes skipping away to his actual class, or more likely, to goof off somewhere.

Riddle has no idea what to do with these "gifts." He really should throw them out, he thinks. After all, they're just junk. Just some weird prank Floyd has decided to play on him.

Instead, for some reason, Riddle keeps them. He puts them in a shoebox under his bed, where he doesn't have to look at them. (Except when he takes the box out every day to add a new item.) Where he doesn't have to think about them. (Except on nights when he can't sleep, and finds himself wondering.)

Riddle is a top student, but even he can't take every elective class. Which is too bad, because if he'd taken Cultural Studies of the Deep, he'd have known that symbolic gift-giving is a common way of expressing interest in a prospective mate, in many regions of the coral sea.

Maybe it is better that he doesn't know. Because, much as Floyd may love certain traits of his, Riddle might not appreciate the tiny pencil denoting his short status. Or the fact that the eraser looks just like his face when he's mad (it's even pink!)

But he might appreciate the realization that the rock (also pink), is shaped like a rose. That the juniper berries are the exact same blue-gray shade of his eyes, and the sweetgum ball looks like a small, spiky hedgehog.

What Riddle thinks remains to be seen. It probably won't be long before he starts putting the pieces of the puzzle together.

#twisted wonderland #floyd leech #riddle rosehearts #floyd x riddle #sauri drabbles #writing this gave me a toothache #the fancy proper lad and the sea gremlin just give me so many warm fuzzies #also there's something I love about cultural misunderstandings?#I am probably explaining this poorly

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fullofbees · 10 months

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Let All That You Do Be Done In Love (Simeon x F!Reader x Solomon)

You find out that the rules regarding angels' activities are a lot more lax than you initially thought.

Read on AO3

CW: Smut, Oral Sex (M receiving; M and F receiving), Masturbation, Vaginal Sex, Creampie eating, clothed sex

Word Count: 4,725

It was no use. There is no way you’re going to be able to remember which ingredients go into which potions by exam time. You’re going to make a fool of yourself in front of the class when your potion blows up in your face.

Papers, books, pencil shavings, and various note-taking apparatuses are strewn about the round mahogany table before you. Despite the two hours you’ve been studying, you were no better off than when you began. Dramatically sighing, you fall back against Solomon’s plush red couch, hoping the cushions swallow you whole.

Simeon chuckles from where he is seated to your right, “Penny for your thoughts, Little Lamb?”

Pouting, you dejectedly cross your arms over your chest, “I just don’t understand! How are you guys able to memorize this stuff?”

Solomon is perched in a matching red loveseat further to the right of you and Simeon. He shuts his own textbook, shaking his head with a small smile, “It gets easier the more you practice.”

“Easy for the who-knows-how-old sorcerer to say. I wouldn’t even know where to begin to practice. I don’t even have any magical abilities…” You lament.

Simeon is next to shut his textbook, “Why don’t we take a break? Returning with fresh eyes might help.”

You nod, bringing your legs up so that you can sit crisscross. Curse Levi for luring you into a gaming marathon. Lucifer is going to kill you if you fail this test.

Never one to care about awkward silence, Solomon says, “It’s nice to have you visit us here in Purgatory Hall. We hardly get to see you outside of classes,”

“I’m sorry. Ever since Lilith was revealed to be my ancestor, it’s like the brothers are around every corner. I think the only time I’ve been alone is when I’m in the bathroom.” You joke, though the humor doesn’t reach your eyes.

Simeon’s soft gloved hand squeezes your shoulder, “It’s okay to want privacy. We all need to be alone from time to time.”

“I never expected I would become so involved in demon life, you know? I’ve yet to learn anything about you and Luke or the Celestial Realm.”

“Are you saying you don’t want to know about me?” Solomon asks with mock hurt in his voice, hand splayed against his chest as if wounded.

You giggle, “Oh, finally gonna tell me your secrets, huh?”

Solomon chuckles before throwing a wink your way, “Nice try.”

“If you want to know about the Celestial Realm,” Simeon says, turning to face you completely, “Go ahead and ask. You have my full attention.”

“Oh, uh…” You tap your chin in thought, “I guess, what rules exist for angels? Do angels make pacts; can they be summoned?”

“Angels are forbidden from interfering in the lives of humans unless our Father explicitly tells us to. He did give humans free will after all, and if our presence is known, it disrupts the choice you are given. He wants you to willfully follow him,” Simeon explains, “So no, we do not make pacts, although we can be summoned, but it takes powerful magic to do so.”

You nod along, “So someone like Solomon?”

The sorcerer interjects, “Believe me, I’ve tried, but Michael refuses to answer my calls.”

“To be fair, last time he let you visit, half of his army fell sick from your cooking,” Simeon counters.

Solomon shrugs, “It tasted fine to me.”

Ignoring the queasiness in your stomach at the thought of Solomon’s cooking, you return your attention to Simeon. “Is there a hierarchy to angels? I know Lucifer was pretty important.”

“There is but not in the way most humans think of hierarchies. Angels are sorted based on how closely they work with Father. The “higher” angels, like Mammon was as a Throne, work closely with Father while “lower” angels like myself and Luke work closer to Earth and Humanity. However, we are all of equal status, though some angels are granted more power to help keep order.”

“Really?? Mammon in charge?! I love the guy but he’s not the most responsible person.” Your mind pictures the demon decked in white, a stern pout on his face as he tries to boss the other angels around. It makes you laugh.

Joining your laughter, Solomon remarks, “Knowing how air-headed he can be, it was probably for the better that he was kept away from humans. Who knows what trouble he would have caused.”

Sliding off your left shoe, you then playfully chuck it at the sorcerer, “Hey! Only I can make fun of him!”

Solomon merely catches your shoe and sticks his tongue out at you. You do the same.

“Children, please,” Simeone sighs, though you can see the twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

Ever since coming to RAD, Simeon has been uprooted from the destiny he was created for. He has told you a few stories about his work; going incognito in the Human world to train Luke in the ways of salvation, guiding “lost lambs” back to their paths, and creating a ripple effect of harmony.

Now he attends class in a world not meant for celestial beings, studying alongside his former brothers. You asked him if the Devildom changed them. Yes, he said, but their foundations had remained the same.

Here at RAD, there are only two humans here for him to guide. Solomon needs relatively little guidance, though with the strange aura emanating from the man, Simeon does not mind keeping his distance. Then there’s you, sweet and naive, only knowing of angels and demons once you were thrust into their world.

You wonder if that’s why he always jumps at the chance to help you when you seem stressed. Humans in need is his domain. Does it feel natural, comfortable even, to help you?

Shaking your head from your thoughts, you press on with your questions.

“All of you refer to the same ‘Father’. I know the brothers aren’t blood-related, but instead created at the same time. Does that make them your brothers too? Actually, would all angels be considered siblings?”

Simeon’s face lights up with a delighted smile, “That’s a great way of thinking about it! The specifics are a bit more complicated. I’m not saying you aren’t smart, but since the Celestial Realm exists outside of the same reality as your world, it might be difficult to explain concepts that don’t exist in your reality.”

“If you’re all related then I guess you couldn’t date each other.”

Solomon snorts into his hand as Simeon flusters out, “Pardon??”

“I mean, what do you do for relationships, or are those forbidden for angels?” You ask, side-eyeing Solomon from your seat.

“W-Well, uhm,” Simeon scratches nervously at the back of his neck, “Some of my fellow angels have mentioned having relations with humans when they visit their world?”

Tilting your head in confusion, you ask, “Isn’t that what got Lilith in trouble though? Falling in love with a human?”

Simeon squirms in his seat, face heating up, wondering how– if– he should explain further.

With an exuberant chuckle, Solomon beats him to it. “He means the angels fuck.”

Your eyes go wide as you wildly scramble toward Simeon. “WAIT! YOU GUYS ARE ALLOWED TO FU-”

One hand holds the back of your head while the other covers your mouth. “It’s not that simple, and please don’t yell,” Simeon grumbles, flashing Solomon a murderous look.

You pry the hand from your mouth. “What’s not simple about fucking?” You ask with a teasing lilt.

Simeon wants to run, to retreat into his bedroom before this goes further. He can’t entertain this line of questioning. Not when you’re leaning towards him in a uniform skirt that’s riding up your thighs. Not when he can feel the warmth of your breath. Not with Solomon here. Instead, Simeon falls silent.

The poor angel, however, is not subtle.

You had noticed all session how his eyes would drift over your form, quickly glancing away when his gaze would land on your thighs. Once, his eyes flitted from your thighs back up to your face, only to see you looking back. His face flushed as he quickly forced himself back into his work, admonishing himself for getting caught.

Simeon looks identical to then, blush spreading across his nose and cheeks. His eyes are glued to the floor, hands pressed into fists in his lap. He doesn’t see the look you and Solomon share, a silent agreement, and a plan being instantly formed.

Solomon stands from his seat, moving to sit next to the angel, which forces you both to scoot to accommodate him. He stretches his arm over the back of the couch, partially leaning in over Simeon’s lap as if he needs to share an urgent secret with you. Mirroring him, you lean in to meet him halfway, noses almost bumping. Simeon is trapped underneath you two, pressed into the couch’s cushioned back.

“Do you know the dos and don'ts of divinity?” The sorcerer whispers, eyes flitting down to where your shirt is unbuttoned.

“No,” you whisper back, “I’m only human, after all.”

The comment elicits a soft chuckle from Solomon. “An angel's divine purpose is to love and guide humanity, right?”

You nod, though you can’t follow his line of thinking, unsure of how it will lead you to what you both want.

“Let’s simplify it, then. An angel’s divine purpose is to love. As long as their actions are guided by love, then it isn’t sinful.”

Simeon squirms underneath you before sitting up abruptly, requiring you and Solomon to part. He clears his throat. “Yes, well, there you have your answer. Angels can have sex with humans as long as they love them, and as long as they control themselves by never interfering with that human’s defined path.”

“Have you ever had a human you loved like that, Simeon?” You ask, placing your hand on his upper thigh.

“Yes…” He shivers under your touch, “I mean, no. Well, yes. Yes and no.”

With his arm still slung on the couch, you watch out of the corner of your eyes as Solomon nestles into the angel’s side. When Simeon reacts and tries to lean away, he ends up pressing his body even closer to yours. Your fingers now dance along his thigh, slipping higher along the inside seam of his pants.

He is no stranger to the advances of humans. Many have tried to seduce them to their beds and he would decline without a second thought.

But he couldn’t help it here; he found you and Solomon to be a particularly endearing set of human beings. Thousands of years old with magical skill that was trained and fortified over those centuries; Solomon represented the physical and mental prowess of humanity. On the opposite end of the spectrum, there was you. No magic, yet with an abundance of love and dedication that enchanted the strongest of demons; you represented the spiritual and emotional depths of human beings. Though never having met before RAD, you both easily contrasted and complemented the other, creating the most complete picture of humanity Simeon had ever seen.

How was he not supposed to love you?

He feels like a thousand suns burning all at once. Is this what love is supposed to feel like? An all-consuming inferno that scorches his thoughts to ash, all while the heat warms his bones and alights his soul? He loves humanity, but the feeling flowing into him from both of you is infinitely more sacred.

Your hand slides to his crotch, and Simeon spreads his legs wider without a second thought, releasing eons of pent-up energy into a single groan. Solomon begins to pepper feather-light kisses to the angel’s neck as you palm his hardening cock through the fabric.

Simeon’s head lolls back against the couch, giving Solomon ample room to bite and lick at his adam’s apple. He feels you nudging his cheek with your nose, and when he adjusts to look at you, you swiftly capture his lips. Soft moans escape you both, only parting for quick draws of air before hungrily meeting again.

He gasps when you slip your hand under the waistband of his pants, warm skin encircling his engorged cock. You pull away from his lips with a giggle.

“Do you always go commando?”

Parting his lips to speak, Simeon’s words die in his throat, replaced by a guttural cry. Solomon looks up at you with his own mischievous grin, his fingers pinching one of the angel’s nipples.

“Sorry, I always see them straining against his shirt, I couldn’t help myself,” Solomon says.

You laugh. “I don’t blame you! You should feel his cock next; he’s so fucking hard,” you say, squeezing his shaft for emphasis.

Sparks fly up Simeon’s spine, hips rising slightly off the couch to chase your touch.

“Please…” He whimpers.

Solomon’s and your attention snap to the angel, worried that you’ve gone too far.

Simeon huffs, “Please don’t tease, I’m not– I’m not used to–”

You gently shush him before pressing a kiss to his cheekbone, “We’re going to make you feel so good, okay? Can we do that for you?”

Sliding off the couch, Solomon kneels on the ground between Simeon’s parted legs. Your hand retreats from the angel’s cock, now pulling his shirt halfway up his chest to expose his abdomen. Solomon makes quick work of undoing the clasps of Simeon’s pants but waits for his confirmation before attempting to remove them.

“Yes,” He licks his lips, “I want it so bad.”

Grabbing the waistband, Solomon pulls Simeon’s pants down just far enough that his cock springs free. The sorcerer begins to stroke the angel’s shaft languidly, watching with delight as droplets of precum begin leaking out the tip.

Simeon groans into his shoulder, biting his lip with hopes that the pain will keep his remaining restraint under his control. But your hand is trailing up his abdomen and to his chest, delivering a teasing flick to his nipple, before reaching his neck. Gently grasping the angel’s jaw, you force him to look down at Solomon.

“Keep your eyes on him for me, okay? Let Solomon see what he does to you,” you whisper.

The hot timbre of your voice pressed to his ear sends shivers down Simeon’s spine.

Solomon’s thumb sweeps over the angel’s cockhead, causing Simeon’s hips to buck into his touch. An amused smile adorns the sorcerer’s face as he watches Simeon writhe beneath him. Each glide of his fist over the angel’s silken shaft elicits a luxuriant moan, growing in volume and desperation as the climax grows nearer.

The hand once holding Simeon’s jaw now brushes Solomon’s bangs back, your fingers repeatedly combing through his hair to keep the strands off of his face. He looks incredibly attractive like this, like a windswept adventurer ready to take on his next challenger. You make a mental note to tell him later on.

“I’m guessing you have a suggestion?” He teases.

“Something like that…” you say.

Tracing your fingers along the planes of Solomon’s face, you admire the simple beauty of the sorcerer. Pristine skin like virginal porcelain that, despite his true age, still gives way under your touch as your fingers skim across his left cheek. They trail down his nose, noting how its slenderness adds to his deceivingly dainty appearance. Finally, they fall to his svelte lips, always upturned with a knowing smile, but now parted as he waits for an answer with bated breath.

Still, you end up glancing back at his half-lidded eyes. For it has always been his eyes that intrigued you; a premonitory slate blue reminiscent of gray clouds melting into the seawater below as a storm brews beyond the shore. They beckon you like siren to sailor. Will you willingly sink into his depths?

Your thumb brushes along his lower lip as you finally grant him an answer to his question, “I want to see Simeon fuck your pretty little mouth.”

Solomon’s mouth falls agape with a silent gasp, and you resist the urge to slide your thumb along his tongue. After all, he will be much more of a tantalizing vision when he’s gagging on Simeon’s cock.

Solomon shakes his head with a smile before looking up at you through his lashes. “You can be quite the minx when it suits you.”

A weak and breathy laugh escapes Simeon, “You’re just now noticing?”

You scoff playfully, your fist coming to rest on your hip, “I don’t know what either of you are talking about.”

The two men snicker briefly, laughter dying down as they reorient themselves in the moment.

Taking hold of Simeon’s hand, you guide it to thread into Solomon’s hair, securing his grasp. The angel surprises you when he begins to caress Solomon fondly, fingers combing his hair back and gently scratching his scalp. The scene makes your heart flutter, beyond elated that you get to share this experience with them.

Solomon begins with a teasing kiss to the tip of Simeon’s cock, tongue teasingly swiping over the searing flesh for a first taste. Simeon’s hand reflexively grips tighter on Solomon’s hair, a muffled whine resonating in the space.

The ember of your arousal begins to light as you watch Solomon slowly drag his tongue from base to tip. The sorcerer never breaks eye contact with you as he generously allows Simeon’s heavy cock to rest against his cheek, smearing the combined fluid of his saliva and the angel’s arousal on his skin. Simeon’s whines elevate to groans as the sorcerer takes the whole of his tip into his mouth, obscenely sucking on it before releasing it with a wet pop.

Your hand slowly glides up the exposed skin of your thigh, piling the fabric of your skirt up until your panties are exposed to the warm air. You tease yourself, fingers dipping between your legs with the faintest of touches before disappearing, only to repeat the process. With each new dive, you increase the pressure behind your hand, dragging the soft material of your panties along your clit.

Solomon brings Simeon’s tip into his mouth again, though he now allows his jaw to go slack, sliding further down the angel’s shaft. His hand continues to work what is not in his mouth, and you can feel yourself getting lost as you watch the rhythmic slide of Simeon’s skin between Solomon’s pale fingers.

The pleasure overwhelms Simeon, hips jutting upward at the same time his pressure on the sorcerer’s head increases. Solomon gags, and you fully expect him to pull back, but the sorcerer remains composed, inhaling through his nose.

“F-Fuck, ‘m sorry…” Simeon pants.

When it looks as if Solomon may retreat to reassure the angel, you lean forward and place your hand atop of Simeon’s, forcing the sorcerer to continue his descent. Solomon moans under you, the vibrations sending another shockwave up Simeon’s spine.

You look back at Simeon, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep him in line, you just enjoy yourself.”

Simeon quietly nods. You don’t really care for quiet.

“Doesn’t he look beautiful like this? Worshipping you?” You taunt.

Something beyond physical pleasure sparks in Simeon’s body. He’s spent his entire life in reverence to others; to Father, to Michael, to humanity. It never occurred to him that someone might want to gratify him to the same extent. The idea felt salacious, teetering on the edge of blasphemy, but the river of piousness below tempts him. He has only lived to serve, so why must adulation feel so good?

“Y-Yes– gAH–” Simeon whimpers as Solomon bottoms out around his cock.

Returning to your spot cozied up against Simeon’s side, you hand withdraws from Solomon’s scalp. You finally grant yourself some relief, fingers pushing past the hem of your underwear to greet your soaked lips. Gathering slick on your fingertips, you circle your swelling clit, releasing a pleased sigh.

Solomon begins to bob his head along Simeon’s shaft, a melody of moans and lasciviously wet slurps rumbling from his throat. No matter the tears gathering in the corner of his eyes, the spit drooling down his chin, nor the soreness in his jaw makes him falter. Simeon’s cock pulses deliciously on his tongue and he will not stop until he can kiss the angel’s seed into your hot mouth.

Simeon’s whimpers grow restless, tired from keeping his tensing thighs and stuttering hips under control. His euphoria is reaching its peak, the pleasure overwhelming as Solomon fondles his balls until their tightening in his grip. The sorcerer hollows his cheeks around the angel's throbbing cock, causing Simeon’s spine to arch as his head falls back against the couch.

“Please, I’m going to– going to– mmmph!” Simeon’s warning is cut short as you shove your drenched fingers into his mouth. His tongue eagerly lathes against your skin, the taste of you finally pushing him over the edge.

Having sensed how close Simeon was, Solomon had pulled off of his cock. Lowering himself closer to the ground, Solomon hurriedly strokes Simeon through his orgasm, the angel’s cum dripping and pooling onto the sorcerer’s waiting tongue.

Simeon’s body collapses bonelessly against the couch, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. You remove your fingers from his mouth before kissing his sweaty temple.

While lovingly gazing at the angel’s blissed-out expression, Solomon’s hand roughly grabs your face and turns your attention to him. Before you can react, the sorcerer has lips on yours, forcing his tongue into your mouth. You groan as you taste the tangy flavor of Simeon’s seed being shared with you.

Solomon is jittery with pent-up lust as you return his kisses. His hands begin to fumble with his belt, ripping the leather from the loops harsh enough to tear one of them clean off. He reluctantly parts from you, sliding his pants down until his own aching cock springs free. Papers fall off and crumple on the coffee table as he sits on it.

You don’t waste time, removing your panties and tossing them off to the side. Solomon grabs your wrist, tugging you towards him as his other hand fists his cock. Happily you nestle onto his lap, back against his chest as he guides his tip into you. You’re so worked up that he sheathes inside you without resistance, each inch lighting your nerves on fire as he fills you.

Solomon releases a shuddering sigh, trying to stifle the twitch of his hips. His hands move to cup your breasts as he buries his nose into the crux of your shoulder and neck. He doesn’t want to move immediately, instead savoring the way your warmth engulfs him so completely. You reach behind you to thread your fingers in his hair, a subtle inquiry.

“I’m okay,” he whispers against your skin, “It’s just been a while since I’ve held another like this.”

You smile though he can’t see it, understanding the disorienting loneliness that comes with being surrounded by supernatural beings. Though Solomon carries his own immense power, it was something he fought to have; a struggle that those born magic could never fully empathize with.

Lying your head back against his shoulder, you softly reassure him, “You can hold me anytime you need.”

He turns his head to kiss your cheek, “Can I fuck you anytime as well?”

Solomon always had an uncanny way of bouncing back after a moment of vulnerability, one that normally concerns you, but you elect to ignore it for the time being. You’ll talk to him about his feelings during a time his cock isn’t splitting you in half.

“Ooh! You should sneak into the House of Lamentation! Won’t the thrill of being caught be exciting?”

The sorcerer laughs before gently spanking the outside of your thigh, “Minx.”

“Making plans without me?” Simeon asks, steadying himself as he scoots to the edge of the couch cushion. Having tucked his cock back into his pants, the angel removes his gloves, setting them off to the side.

“We’d be caught in an instant Simeon, you’re very vocal,” you tease.

The angel stutters, the heat crawling its way back onto his skin.

You giggle, nudging his leg with your foot, “Never said I didn’t like it.”

Simeon clears his throat, hands taking hold of your knees and spreading your legs wider. “Let’s see how well you do then, hmm?”

You go to answer but a quick thrust of Solomon’s hips turns your words into a whine, which both men chuckle at.

Solomon sets a steady, yet unhurried, pace, his hips leisurely rolling into you as Simeon refuses to let your thighs clench together. The angel’s eyes are focused on where Solomon’s cock slides in and out of your sopping core. Your breathless whimpers, Solomon’s raspy groans, and the wet slap of his cock sinking into you create a symphony in the room.

One of Simeon’s hands slides up your thigh and to your core. Hesitantly, the angel presses his thumb against your clit, experimentally circling the bundle of nerves.

“Fuck, yes– right there!” You gasp, thighs tensing as you clench around Solomon. The sorcerer mutters his own string of curses in a language you can’t identify, hips faltering at the feeling of your walls milking his cock.

Simeon watches as slick weeps from your sex, throat becoming parched as he remembers the taste of you on your fingers. The angel slips down to his knees despite the tight space between the couch and the coffee table. He centers himself between your spread legs, the other hand remaining on your knee now gripping your hip.

Lips replace thumb as Simeon greedily sucks on your clit, moaning at the taste on his tongue once again. You keen at the sensations of his warm mouth venerating your body, free hand falling to grasp at his hair and keep him close to you. His tongue descends through your folds, teasing the underside of Solomon’s shaft in the process.

It becomes too much for the sorcerer. He angles your bodies slightly forward as the feeling of his climax overwhelms him, hands still desperately holding you to him. Heated ropes of his seed fill your cunt, Solomon choking out a sob as he gives you everything he has.

Cum starts to spill past where you two remain joined, dribbling down Solomon’s balls. Simeon dutifully begins to clean up the spend with kitten licks to the sorcerer’s sensitive flesh, causing Solomon to hiss in pleasure.

Simeon then carefully removes Solomon’s softening cock from you. His mouth returns to your cunt, tongue sinking into your entrance to lap at the sorcerer’s seed.

Another overwhelming shudder racks through your body, “S-Simeon! Do– N’T stooop!”

Though exhausted and fucked out, one of Solomon’s hands drops from your breast to tiredly play with your clit.

Unintelligible cries pour from your lips as the pressure builds inside you. Simeon mercilessly fucks your cunt with his tongue, staring up at you with awe as you shake above him. You desperately chase your peak, grinding your hips against the angel’s lips.

Your peripheral vision fades into stars as your orgasm finally rips through you, heart pounding in your ears. Simeon eagerly downs the combined essence that flows from you, noisily slurping at your cunt.

After a few moments, you have to push the angel’s mouth away from you when you feel the coil begin to tighten again. You don’t think your poor pussy could handle another round.

You crumple against Solomon, quietly panting while your consciousness slowly returns to you. All of three of you take the time to simply bask in the moment, comfortable in the afterglow of your affection.

The moment doesn’t last as Asmodeus bursts through the door to Solomon’s room, “Hey, hon! You weren’t answering your texts, so Lucifer sent me to–”

Asmo’s eyes scan over the scene. Even though you’re all mostly clothed and facing away from him, you know there is no way the Avatar of Lust wouldn’t be able to tell what just occurred. The room smells of sex, your discarded panties are in plain view, and Simeon has yet to wipe the wetness from his chin.

The demon scoffs loudly, folding his arms over his chest as he stomps his foot to the ground.

“No fair!! How could you not invite me!?”

#fullofbeeswrites #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me #obey me shall we date #simeon x reader #solomon x reader #obey me simeon x reader #obey me solomon x reader #obey me solomon smut #obey me simeon smut

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nothingbettertodotoday · 1 year

Text

Xavier Thorpe x reader (y/n)

No pronouns mentioned (i think) - just mention of the female dorms but this can be ignored?

Warnings; none :) might be spoilers later but not in this part!!

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Word Count: 1150

Author notes: this takes place the year before wednesday arrives, i've only written the first part and have no idea on the direction just yet so any ideas are welcome in messages!! This is also the first fic i have ever actually posted - let me know what you think :D

______________________________________________________________

The rain had just started, you could see specs across your window as it slowly covered the entire pane, the moonlight shone through, creating patterns of light throughout your room, you were sitting at your desk, doodling across your homework. Your favourite class was definitely botanical science with Miss Thornhill, but at the end of the day homework was still homework.

You flicked your pen back and forth, glancing around your room, looking for any distraction. Unfortunately your roommate had to leave the academy earlier in the semester, leaving you alone. You usually loved having the room to yourself, but some nights it really did feel lonely, you could hear every creak from the footsteps above, laughs from the corridor and rooms next door, it was maddening.

You decided enough was enough, you were bored and needed to do something stimulating. Thankfully, your species allowed you to keep entertained fairly easily - you were a poltergeist.

You died at a young age, but your bloodline had worked closely with witches, a spell allowed your parents to bring you back to life, but not quite as they imagined.

Your powers allowed you to do things many couldn't, you could pass through things such as walls, levitate, turn invisible (which you called ‘cloaking’), and you had a certain way with pyrotechnics. Your parents believed when you were brought back that you changed, your mood, attitude, whole personality even, mischief (which poltergeists are known for) seemed to overtake your new life. It was difficult at times - even the outcasts viewed you as weird. An outcast in a school of outcasts. You had a handful of friends here and there, but no one made you feel really safe and included.

You left your homework and pushed away from your desk. Nevermore had a curfew of students in their dorms by 10pm on weekdays, but it wasn't rare for students to break this rule. You cloaked yourself and passed through your door, your nails dragged across each door of Ophelia Hall as you left the building. You loved that you could torment people and they would never know it was you.

You had already explored most of the academy, so this time you decided to explore the woods. You followed a stream leading you deep into the woods, listening to the sound of flowing water, the further you went into the woods the creepier it got. The once light drizzle was now getting significantly heavier, owls were hooting, while the wind whistled and then suddenly a snap. A branch. Something or someone was behind you. You turned quickly but to your surprise, no one was there. As you turned you noticed a shed through a clearing, there was a dimly lit light glowing from inside. You walked towards, curious as to what could be going on.

You appeared outside the shed, you noticed an open padlock and chain hung around one of the door handles. You could hear loud music playing inside. Someone was definitely in there. You made sure your cloak was on and passed through the door, once inside you noticed drawings, paintings, artwork dotted everywhere, the walls were plastered, each desk had a sketchbook and some sort of material to be used, even the floor was littered with crumpled up paper and pencil shavings.

You looked towards the end of the shed, where the light was focused, you could see someone sitting on a stool, encased in their drawing, they were oblivious to you in the shed, being invisible did help. You looked around slowly at the artwork, you decided to flip through one of the sketchbooks closest to you, gently moving the pages so as to not alert the individual with you. One of the drawings caught your interest, an ink drawing of a statue, not just any statue, the Edger Allen Poe statue, you knew where this one on campus, the interesting thing about the drawing was that in the background there was an array of books, almost like a library behind the statue, but you knew this wasn't the case, you had scoured most the academy.

You decided to tear the page out, forgetting you weren't alone. The individual spoke out. “Who's there?”, they asked. You dropped the page and turned, you could now see the individual's face, it was Xavier. You and Xavier had a few classes together, mutual friends, but not much of a conversation ever existed between the two of you.

“I said who’s there?” Xavier asked aloud again.

You remembered you were still cloaked, you decided it would be more fun to mess with him instead of reveal yourself. You walk towards him, making your footsteps heavy so they bang on the floor with each step, you drag your hands across the desks, pulling drawings across the floor, you do your best ghost impression and let out a long ghostly moan, you even let out a few giggles on the way. Xavier looks scared, shocked, confused. You move closer to him, levitating slightly so you are face to face, all within a moment you uncloak yourself and let out the smallest “boo”, Xavier shouts and falls back into the easel behind him.

You drop to the group and apologise, all while laughing so much it hurts.

“Not cool, Y/N”, “What are you even doing here?” Xavier asks.

You offer out your hand to help him up, Xavier rolls his eyes and takes your hand.

“Maybe I should ask you the same question, you know it's past your curfew Xavier.” You say back to him. Xavier scoffed.

“Tell me then, what even are you?” he asked.

“What am I? Can you not guess, I think that would be much more fun.” you replied.

“You're a pain in the ass for one thing.”

You looked up at Xavier, his eyes seemed glossy, like he had been crying, not that you would say a word to him about it. You glanced at the drawing behind him, walking towards it, you brushed your hand across the canvas, it was a vase of dead flowers. How morbid you thought. Xavier pulled his hand over the drawing, bringing one of the dead flowers out of the canvas, he gave it to you.

“I'm a poltergeist by the way”, you said trying to diffuse the situation, not many people responded well when you told them, which is why it was a secret you usually kept to yourself.

“That's cool,” Xavier responded.

You and Xavier didn't need to say much to each other, he invited you to hang out in his art shed, which you happily accepted given your love for drawing. You spent the evening sharing glances, drawing, and giggling. For some reason you felt like you could trust Xavier, he was open and honest which was rare for students here. Everyone always seemed to have some sort of mystery about them.

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weenwrites · 6 months

Note

Hey hey Ween! I wanted to ask about you writing something for bots reaction to a human who is new to the team and trying to get too make friends and make conversation with the bots? But they have poor memory and stiff/rough social skills so they may fidget when speaking and too remember their names they have a paper that they carry around w/ all the bots names written in said bots corresponding color scheme (doesn't have to be this I just thought it would be a cool idea 😊). Also tries to offer help in any numbers of ways. Uhh I don't really have any particular bots in mind besides Wheeljack and while I do enjoy scenarios I'm just as cool with headcannons if that ends up working for you and/or inspiring you more🤝🫂. Feel free to add any other bots if ya want👌! (Also it's still Friday where I am as I send this in I don't want ya to think I'm ignoring your post.)

"What was your name, again?"

Summary - How are you supposed to remember all these weird names? Characters - Wheeljack Content - Crack, Gen Category - Scenarios Trigger Warnings - None

✎ A/N: Sorry it took a LONG while! And also what I meant back then was that the request had to be sent in when it was Friday where I was. I can't remember whether you sent it in while it was still Friday my time or not, but eh I'll do it anyway. And I'm sorry if it's a bit short, but I didn't really want to specify anything in the end to try and be more 'immersive'.

[ Please do not repost, plagiarize, or use my writing for AI! Translating my work with proper credit is acceptable, but please ask first! ]

"Don't forget Bulkhead and Bumblebee!"

"Yes, yes... I've got them down," Y/N mumbles.

They don't bat an eye at the shadow that looms over their shoulder and onto the table, because it's far more important to concentrate on remembering all the names that Miko had mentioned to them. Their colored pencil in their hand glided across the paper with ease, of course occasionally stopping to switch colors.

"Hatche—wait no, it's Ratchet... And... Who was the other one you said, Miko?" Y/N asked, looking up from their paper, "The uh... The one that started with—oh! Wait! Uh, Spokelean!"

"Smokescreen." She corrected with a giggle, placing particular emphasis on the 'screen' part to his name, "So you're done with writing down all their names?"

"Yeah, just about..." They mumbled, brushing some eraser shavings aside and reaching over for their pencil to correct their mistakes.

But they felt nothing but empty space where the correct colored pencil used to lay, and after a quick look around, they had found the escapee-pencil laying underneath the table. With a sigh, they had stooped down onto all fours and scooched underneath the table, reaching out to fetch it when all of a sudden, the heavy thumping of metal footsteps shook the ground.

With a startled yelp, they shot up and the back of their head met the underside of the hard, wooden table. Through gritted teeth and a set frown, they retrieved the pencil and slowly stood back upright, rubbing the back of their head as they looked up to see who had walked in, but they were met with an unfamiliar face.

A white bot sporting red and green streaks on his chest, and a pair of gray... For lack of a better word, finials, on the sides of his head, and a large crest on top. Aside from the fact his paint-job bore a striking resemblance to the flag of Italy, another notable feature of his was the pair of twin swords sheathed on his back.

"Wait... Who's that, again?" Y/N's face scrunched into confusion as they further scrutinized him.

"Oh, hey Wheeljack!" Miko hollered.

And at the girl's beck and call, the bot shoots her a grin upon sight, and he closes the distance between them in mere seconds.

"Hey kid!" He pauses and shoots Y/N a glance, "oh, and who's this?"

"Oh uh, my name's Y/N, and you must beeee..." Their voice tapers off for what almost feels like eternity, and they scramble their mind for a clue—any clue as to what his name was. Miko had literally mentioned his name mere seconds ago, yet now of all times, their brain decided to blank. "Uhh... Your name was..."

"Wheeljack." He finishes.

"Ye-yeah! Wheeljack! Wheeljack. How are you? It's nice to meet you."

"Never better, Bulk and I just got back from patrol."

"Ooh! Did you find anything while you were out?" Miko grinned.

"If by 'anything' you mean 'decepticons', then 'fraid not. We thought we picked up one of the cons' energon mines so we tracked it down."

Miko sprung forward on the couch, "Was it a trap?"

"Nah, it was just an old crater, the cons had sucked it dry and left a long time ago."

Y/N frowns, "did anything good come of it at least?"

"Nothin that I can see, but it is what it is," he shrugs, "Anyway, you're the newcomer, eh?"

"Yes! That would be me."

For a hot second no one said a word. Wheeljack looked to them expectantly, thinking they'd run him through the whole story, not lead him straight to some rather awkward silence. And once Y/N caught the gist of the conversation, they simply pressed their lips shut even harder.

Would it be too awkward to continue now? No one's said anything for some time now, so maybe they shouldn't continue? But if they change the subject now, it might seem like they weren't really listening to him, so maybe they should—

"Soo, Y/N, why don't you tell Wheeljack about how you got here?" Miko spoke up—thankfully being the one to break the ice, "How you met the team and that kind of stuff."

"Right! Right, I should probably do that..." They chuckled, "alright so... it all started like this..."

#tfp imagines #tfp scenarios #tfp x reader #tfp wheeljack #wheeljack x reader #x reader #reader insert #self insert #weenwrites

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starpeace · 2 years

Text

you don’t need to feel sympathy for karn just bc he’s pathetic and incompetent. that’s just what fascists are like. banality of evil. he spends his life trying to pretend it’s more glorious than it is by ignoring his family and tailoring his uniform and pretending the empire is a worthy cause. in reality, he’s as disposable to that empire as pencil shavings, both his superiors and his subordinates think he’s cringe, and all he’s done is fail and get the people he supposedly cares about killed. that’s the POINT. he’ll never be a fraction as cool or important as literally any rebel. his name is even syril. what’s not clicking

#andor spoilers #syril karn #really enjoying him as a character. i hope theres a big finale confrontation and cassian doesnt even recognise him

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valmare · 10 months

Note

Since you said you don't get enough asks. This is me asking you if would pretty please write something for Chris, and I will forever cherish and hold it close to my heart. Thank you.🩵

Ok,nonny, since you asked so nicely---here's a Chris oneshot for you. Can't lie, this was super fun (though I am having a panic attack about Chris and how I've managed him) and I hope it hits the perfectly little Chris-shaped spot we both seem to have.

Girlfriend 101

“Good morrrrrning, Smith house!”

Hand fumbling along the wall in familiar patterns for the lightswitch, it’s a little after seven a.m. when you victoriously throw the switch to the dorm’s kitchenette. Immediately tossed into warm lighting, you stop short—morning shadows aren’t hiding the absolute mess of a kitchen area, anymore.

Blinking as your brow drops into an impressed wrinkle, your head angles to consider the stack of bowls, cups, and litter of silverware on the table. Arranged like toppling towers, there isn’t an inch of usable space. Opened cereal boxes, Pop Tart wrappers, a (hopefully) empty carton of milk with accompanying dribbles of milk all make up the chaos, and this is just the table.

Choosing to ignore the littering of notebook paper, pencils, wrappers, and varying amounts of other consumable trash about the floor of the kitchenette, your eyes flutter close. Exhaling a slow, calming breath, you turn on your heel from the area—college kids. Boys, particularly. Closer to pigs than actual people, these living conditions confirmed the sheer and utter lack of domestic skills most men lacked in the 80s.

“Not even going there,” you mumble, eyes floating to consider the tragic state of the overhead ceiling tiles, frowning at the faded, tattered, and half-taped centerfold of a Playboy blissfully grinning down at the floor. Her eyes nearly bore a hole through your middle.

Mood dampened, your shoulders slump as your grip tightens around the coffee carrier, nails practically biting into the cardboard as you haul out of the kitchen, rounding the corner to the corridor—students are awake, mostly milling about in pajamas trying to jumpstart the morning, and there’s steam pouring into the hall from the bathroom.

The swirl of cologne, fusty shampoos and shaving cream is nearly toxic as you breeze by the half-cocked door, triggering a few glances as you flick a curl out of your face. One of the guys, you don’t recognize him at all, peeks out of the door, mouth slack-jaw as you check over your shoulder, feeling his gaze. Half-clothed in a towel, another guy joins him, as if neither of them can believe you’ve manifested in the hallway.

Winking at them, the corner of your mouth ticks up in a smile. “Remember to exchange that cee-oh-two for oxygen, fellas!” Reaching to wiggle your fingers in a wave over your shoulder, your nose playfully scrunches when you see their brows drop, confused.

Seeing they haven’t caught on, you add, “breathe, boys—just breathe! Y’know, in, out,” with a giggle, “by the way, you’ll catch flies with an open mouth!”

You encourage them with a fan of your hand in and out, chuckling when together, their brows nearly skyrocket off of their faces. Moving from conversational distance, you count the doors on the left of the hall, knowing from memory which one you actually care about—it’s the only door that hangs perpetually half-open, plastered with a cacophony of randomly wild, eccentric decor—and, it’s the only one with the numbers rearranged for intentional confusion.

Swinging to a halt in front of it, you stop short. It’s shut tight, today. Your head angles curiously—weird. This door, in your year of coming to this door, has rarely ever been closed. If ever. Nerves lighting up like a Christmas tree beneath your skin, heat jumps into your gut like a predator—you stretch your toes in your boots, rocking up onto them and then back to your heels. White-knuckling the coffee carrier, your eyes fall to the knob, where the Pacific Tech lanyard hangs preciously, like an omen.

Biting at the inside of your cheek, you weigh the options. Do you just waltz in, like always? Knock? All manner of etiquette that twenty-eight years of life has managed to teach you evaporates, burned away by the creep of anxiety wrapping anorexic fingers around your confidence. All at once, no less than a hundred different thoughts and emotions swirl through your brain—awake? Asleep? Hiding something? Something wrong? Sick? On the verge of breakthrough, or simply skulking?

Existential crisis is a weekly, sometimes daily, occurrence for Chris Knight, resident Pacific Tech boy genius—none of these are beyond reason for this guy.

Then, the worst idea yet flags you like a bad habit. Guts twisting into a searing knot as a knife lands between your ribs, all the moisture in your mouth evaporates at once. Tongue thick with the swell of panic creeping up your chest, you close your eyes, just imagining.

Maybe someone is in there. With Chris. Hidden away from the world, like you always are—someone enjoying his categorized and prized mess of a dorm room, the smell of his ridiculous t-shirts. Someone who probably doesn’t appreciate the fish that live in the water cooler, or the sketch of legs that match the Einstein portrait over the trash can. The two-inches of workspace left on the desk where he somehow manages to glean an education from.

Someone that, ultimately, isn’t you.

Trying not to put the cart before the horse, you fail. Miserably.

You’ve seen it before, with others. It’s happened before. Suddenly every skeleton of memory you’ve tried to bury breaks loose, twisting and weaving down your spine, cackling at you like the joke you’re suddenly, quickly, starting to feel like. Sucking in a little squeak of nervous breath, your body ratchets tight, every nerve and muscle suddenly burning and cold all at once as nervous sweat bubbles to life between your shoulders.

Suddenly, your long overlay feels like a woolen peacoat, stifling and all-too constricting when all you crave is to fly. Toes curling within seconds of detaching from your feet within your boots, you seem cemented to the floor. Your legs weigh like pillars of stone, bolted in place. Unmoving. Brain suddenly unable to communicate with the rest of your body, you wonder briefly if you’ve stopped breathing.

This dorm, this room, has been nearly your second home for a year. You spent more time here than you do your duplex in the Catalina Villas, the house empty and far too quiet compared to the vibrance that festers here Pacific Tech. This routine—bringing coffee and breakfast in the morning, making dinner in the evenings after work—has become your lifeline to a social calendar, to everything that has brought color to a world that is otherwise black and white.

Your college years had been routine, boring compared to the shenanigans of Chris Knight and his echelon of peers here. Soaring through a communications degree as a teacher’s pet and a diligent student, you hadn’t taken the time to make friends. Working part time had kept you out of the social events littered about your own campus, which wasn’t nearly half as glamorous as PT to begin with, but dominated your time. Responsibilities in the real world, coupled with homework of a double major and the pressure of professional expectations kept you effectively alone, exhausted, and mostly tethered to the library.

Graduation came and went, and reality came knocking six months later. Six years of working in and out of entry-level jobs had, finally, led you to Pasadena, and into your dream position—marketing at a firm in Santa Monica. Your team was brilliant, innovative, and fun in ways you didn’t think possible in the workplace, everything you’d only ever dreamed of from your stack of rhetoric texts in the library.

The marketing campus was forty minutes from home, thirty-six minutes from PT, and a lifetime from Chris, but somehow, you made it work. When you were exhausted and couldn’t even begin imaging battling the swathe of students at campus, Chris came to you in his father’s shitty little Toyota pickup, never failing to bring campus shenanigans with him. And when he refused to see the light of day or mummified himself in research to the point of concern, you broke him back into reality.

It was a delicious, amazing, all-together-too-perfect song and dance that together you’d perfected with your genius of a boyfriend. Granted, it wasn’t always perfect—dating someone nearly a decade younger than you came with some wrenches here and there. Chris, the dichotomy that he was, somehow managed to be both far more mature, and immature, than a guy his age—something he, most often than not, attributed to his brain.

Despite his flaws (and there were flaws) he kept up with you, and managed a relationship far and away better than most men in your age category. For all his ego and unhinged energy, he was actually quite a stable beau—he communicated. Well. He listened, volleyed for change. A lot of guys in the dorm had told you it wouldn’t last, that Chris was a flirt and the shameless campus whore, but he'd seemed invested from the jump. Scientifically curious. And, really, you’d listened to them—you’d pushed him off, quayed his advances. Tried to forget him, all-out ignored his phone calls. But, Knight was nothing if not determined and selfish—he was not battered. He was not bothered. If anything, his confidence was bolstered by your seeming lack of interest.

He wore you down, until you caved and offered a simply exhausted, all-out defeated, “Yes.”

Insisting on a place off-PT, you’d hunkered down at a small nowhere place outside on the patio. Chris was going to meet you there. Arriving early, you’d opted for somewhere outside, and not knowing exactly what you were doing, had ordered mint julep. Mostly for courage. He’d been two and a half minutes late and hadn’t even bothered going through the front door—seeing you on the patio, he’d vaulted over the steel-rung fence cordoning the outside dining area, and plunked into the seat across from you with a sparkling smile and that hair.

Two hours and you’d talked about everything. Anything. Chris was versed in just about everything, thanks to a photographic memory, and rallied nearly every topic you’d bothered to bring up. You talked about film. Literature. Art. Books—God, was he well read, even moreso than you, and you were a literary nerd. He wanted to discuss science, and you admitted to being probably stupider at science than a rock or a protozoa, which he found hilarious, but chatted about it anyway.

He was proud, he was goofy, he was gorgeous. He didn’t feel young or teenage. He didn’t make you feel like you were old or boring. Actually, he made you laugh. Smile in ways you only ever did with family and in your own element. Chris Knight reminded you of everything you’d ever imagined from a hero in a romance, be it Twain or Shakespeare or Danielle Steele, and you were a goner..

By the time he walked you to your car and the two of your parted ways, you were smitten.

Fast forward a year, standing in front of this door very suddenly and all-too closed door, and you can’t think of anything aside the moment he’d asked you if you wanted to go steady. At that same table at that same restaurant, you’d been casually meeting up with each other for three weeks when he’d asked to label the relationship. Out of nowhere, with no warning signs in typical Chris Knight fashion, he’d sprung it on you at the exact moment you’d opted for a chug of Coke.

Spluttering on the soda, your face had contorted with the “Excuse me, what?” right at the moment he’d started laughing at you. Coke dribbling down your chin, you’d reminded him that you were well his senior, what a committed relationship meant to not only you, but to others that would, inevitably, see them together.

“If I started giving a rat’s ass about what other people think about me now, well—I guess I don’t really know, y’know? Huh, that’s weird. Buuuut—I can’t see myself caring about other people now, anymore than I see myself caring about them tomorrow—ummm, ok. Well. Scratch that—I obviously care about you, about Mitch, Ick, people to some extent, but. The kind of people you’re talking about? Who gives a damn?” He’d paused for a moment, his face wrinkling up in confusion, “But just to be clear—this isn’t illegal, right?” His smile had widened, “No, that an illegal relationship isn’t without appeal, but, it would definitely have to be recalculated—contingencies, all that.”

You’d snorted. “Unless you’ve suddenly been able to alter the time-space continuum and jettisoned back to being a minor, it wouldn’t be illegal, no. Just—unconventional.”

“Okay, for the record, I’m impressed you know what the time space continuum is—I mean that in the best way, of course, because you’re brilliant—and thank you, by the way, but, unconventional? Heck yes. Have you met me? That’s practically my MO.”

He’d then stood up, leaned over the table, and offered you his hand to re-introduce himself as Chris Unconventional Knight.

And presto, you’d landed yourself a genius of a boyfriend.

Which, now standing in front of said boyfriend's door and sweating through the tank-top under your overlay, you’re not entirely certain if the term still applies. Or should apply. Swallowing a full breath, your chest puffs out just a little, and before you can even muster the thought of turning and marching back down the hall with your coffee, your fist is already rapping over the Life magazine cover, not once, but three damn times.

“Chris? Chris, it’s me—you here?”

Three counts of feet on the floor has you hitching your breath, and your heart gallops into your throat as the door pulls open—Mitch, hair mussed and sporting a matching pajama set, mirrors your look of confusion. A slight daze shadows his face, like he isn’t sure what planet he’s on much less where Chris could be, and upon sight of you, his lazy half smile welcomes you into the space as he pulls open the door, fully.

“Hi Mitch,” you slip into the room, turning to face him with a crooked smile. “Long night?”

Eyes sweeping about the room, all panic evaporates from your body—there’s nobody in here but Mitch and Chris, and potentially Lazlo, beneath your feet. The room is as vacant of third parties as a ghost town, and you’ve never felt more palpable relief as you do, right now.

Suddenly you feel moronic, and guilt sends a blossom of heat to your cheeks. You can feel the scarlet creeping up your neck to flare across your nose as you offer a sympathetic smile at Mitch—Chris could never. Despite his flirtatious reputation and the way girls seem to obtain magnetic properties when he’s in the room, Knight is a sweetheart. He’s kind and committed.

Your immaturity, lack of confidence in his loyalty and yourself, will betray this relationship long before Knight does. It’s a fear you’ve harbored since the beginning, but refuse to fully release. Subliminally you know it’s a drawback of being in other failed relationships, a defense metric. But Chris has given you no reason, no evidence to warrant this rubric, and it doesn’t seem likely that he will. It’s a statistical improbability, as Ick had confessed once—”He’s crazy about you, and in my experience, if Chris is crazy about something, he doesn't let it go. Like, ever.”

Mitch yawning snaps you out of your revelry.

“No longer than usual,” he lazily swats the door closed before nodding to the opposite end of the room, gesturing with a hand, “Chris is still asleep. He hasn’t moved for a couple of hours—there’s a possibility he could be dead,” this makes you snort as Mitch rubs at his eyes, padding back to his bed, “he was up all night working on calculations. Missed his first class, but—”

“---it’s Chris,” you say in unison, nodding once to Mitch. “Sorry for waking you, Mitch. I’ll be quick.”

“Mhm,” he nods, wrangling back into bed beneath the covers. He bids you goodnight, before pulling them up over his head. Smiling at him beneath his mound of blankets with a thin look of sympathy, you shake your head.

Poor Taylor. You know it has been not only a long night, but a hellish semester—Hathaway is nearly killing these two with his laser project. It has been a contentious subject for weeks, Chris could hardly talk about it without lighting up with a hot bloom of anger. And Mitch. Poor, sweet little Taylor—his first semester and he’d already run the gauntlet.

Turning on a heel to consider the opposite, far more cataclysmic side of the room, Knight has taken the exact same approach and cordoning off the outside world as Mitch has—a foot outside the swell of blankets is the only sign of life you notice, which makes you giggle a little. The mountain of sheets doesn’t move, but you can hear him lightly snoring.

Biting the corner of your bottom lip, you unshoulder your purse and drop it into his chair, which is burdened with clothes and books, and angle to rest the carrier of coffee on top of his stack of tattered notebooks chucked full with his doodles and mess of notes. Slipping your overlay off, you drape it over the back of the chair and smooth your hands over the front of your jeans, smiling crookedly at the solitary foot poking out of the blankets. Since you’ve known him, Chris is the most wild sleeper—the twin mattress can barely contain his fitful, listless self.

He sleeps maybe a few hours at a time, the guy has enough energy to probably power a small utopia, which is forever at odds with your never-enough, sleep solidly for twelve hours without feeling it, self. If it wasn’t for his wake up calls on Saturday and Sunday mornings, you’d likely spend all day in bed—and had, before he’d come into your life. Sleep was precious, just not to Chris Knight.

Approaching the bed, you drop to your knees beside the frame and carefully slip your fingers under the comforter and sheets, relishing in the sudden warmth within his cocoon of slumber. How he’s able to breathe you have no idea, but you gently lift the mess of bedding to peer inside the swathe of darkness his inner sanctum offers—his back is against the wall, hair messed, and he’s still wearing yesterday’s shirt.

Pulling back the blankets enough to expose his face, waking him seems cruel and unusual, selfish punishment after a night of slave labor for Jerry Hathaway. Instead, you gently trace your fingers through his divine hair. He sighs, deeply, moving just a little into the touch.

Standing, you softly adjust the blankets out of their ball over him, covering him appropriately. Turning to the coffee, you grab one of the countless nearby Sharpie markers about the space and write a note on one of the cups for him, and then for Mitch, before sticking the marker behind your ear.

Movement in the room just enough to rouse him a little, he sighs a little deeper, readjusting to lift his arm over his head. Any and all moisture vacates the back of your mouth—the corded muscle of his arm nearly rips out of the t-shirt’s sleeve, the veins in his arm all-too-nearly tantalizing. Chris has always been gorgeous, really, the man of your dreams—and that’s saying something, because he’s hardly a man yet, but just the thought of who he may mature into leaves you nearly breathless.

Swallowing the squeak of air that rises to join the flop in your gut, you bite the inside of your cheek nervously, fingers nearly burning with the itch to trace the vein that flows over his creamy skin just so. Curling your toes again, you should leave—Mitch and Chris need rest. You have to go to work. Jerry is unrelenting, and tonight will likely be another long night in the lab.

Deciding to bring them dinner, you crookedly smile at Chris’ snoozing form. Brushing a curl that’s rebelling against the clip you’ve thrown your hair into, you move back to the bed to lean over him, hand fisted into the mattress beside his shoulder. Other hand braced against the wall to angle over him, you lower to brush your mouth over his top lip, then the tip of his nose, in what’s a ghost of a good morning, soft kiss.

“Dream well, Knight,” your fingers move to brush at the hair wisping over his forehead, “I’ll see ya later, baby.” Satisfied that he hasn’t moved, that there are no signs of waking life, you stand and huff out a dramatic sigh, rubbing the back of your neck.

He’s beautiful, and ties you up in knots that are not all that unpleasant. You can feel the flush on your cheeks deepening, the room suddenly all too warm and stuffy despite the open window over his desk.

About to turn and collect your things, you gasp when the warm strength of his hand wraps around your wrist, tightly and out of nowhere.

Jumping in surprise, your brow falls into a wrinkle when you glance at his hand wrapped around your wrist. Eyes tracking to him seamlessly, he’s propped up on an elbow, smiling crookedly at you in just that Chris Knight way, like he’s read your mind and like’s what it says. Eyes sparkling with all the lustful intentions a man can muster, he smirks at you, chin lifting just a little in that superior way.

“Going somewhere?”

Blinking at him, you tug at your hand. He doesn’t release you. “You scared me!” You hiss at him, less-than-seriously, again tugging at him for release. He doesn’t. “And yes, I’ll have you know—I have to work. You forget it’s Thursday morning or something?” Checking the watch on your wrist, “You missed your statistics class.”

“No, but that doesn’t explain why you’re here, in my room, teasing me like something out of Sleeping Beauty. You gave me the kiss of life and now I want another. I’m selfish like that.” His hand slips into yours, forcing your fingers apart to lace his with them. Winking at you, his smile broadens.

Unable and unwilling to readily explain the flush on your face or the sweat growing between your shoulders at the look he’s giving you, you try to take a step back from the bed as he bats away the blankets. Legs swinging over the side of the bed, his fingers through yours tighten a little, him tugging you forward a step.

Knees brushing against his, he stares up at you for a second, holding your eyes until his gaze sweeps over you, full form. His look changes into one of boyish wonder as his head tilts to the side, and he leans back a little, like he’s trying to take in the full picture of you standing there in jeans and a tank top at seven a.m.

“You make it sound like I never bring you coffee in the morning, Knight,” you roll your eyes—you know this game. You know what he’s insinuating. And, you’re not inclined to give him what he wants, not after the scare his closed door had put you through—though that’s more your fault than his. Either way, you won’t lose this battle of wit or will.

Though if you’re honest, Chris has you beat—in both categories.

He chortles a little, “Well, no, but you’re—” he grabs your wrist and over-kills the tilt of his head to check the time on your Casio, “---officially fifteen minutes earlier than you usually are. Which leads me to believe you intended to spend time with me this morning, smart girl. Now—I want my next kiss.”

Your brows shoot up in amusement, and you try to curb the smile pulling at the corner of your lips at the wag of his brows. “You’ve given this a lot of thought for two point five seconds you’ve been alive,”

“Thinking is kinda my thing, if you remember—and, by the way, stop deflecting, that’s really rude of you—-and don’t you even say something about running off to work. You and I both know your office doesn’t expect you until eight thirty, which is a ridiculous start time anyway, day’s half over by then, so I refuse any and all of your attempts to leave this very spot until I get my damn kiss.”

Mid-montage his hand has released yours and both of his have instead moved to your waist, holding you in place as you stare down at him, brow lifted as your head angles to the side to consider his ramblings. He’s nonplussed whatsoever, smiling up at you with his messy hair and t-shirt that’s probably ready to stand up and cry it's so filthy, but you really can’t be bothered to notice—-he’s beautiful, in ways only guys who don’t care can be. He’s shining. Like he hasn’t been up all night slaving, like he isn’t at the mercy of Jerry Hathaway and that frickin’ laser.

Out of nowhere his brows suddenly lift pointedly. “Please?”

You can’t help the belt of laughter, which has you simultaneously shaking and clapping a hand over your mouth, eyes wide as you throw a look over your shoulder to consider Mitch’s little mountain of blankets. Turning away from Chris in an effort to really check on Mitch, Chris is laughing with you.

Right as you’re about to cross the room to investigate Mitch, Chris’ arms snake around your middle and he drags you into bed, prompting a sharp, surprised squeal from you as you hit the mattress beside him with a huff. Desperately trying not to laugh and feeling every bit of the embarrassment flushing out your cheeks, you attempt to twist out his arms for the side of the bed.

“Oh my god, Chris—stop, we’re gonna wake up Mitch—-”

“What better sound is there to wake to but that of a gorgeous girl in bed with a guy as amazing as me?” He teases low over your ear, putting every amount of effort into keeping you in bed as you’re putting in to get out of it, “Taylor will be fine, honeygirl—he could use some cultural exposure from the outside world. And his material on Girlfriend 101 is poorly lacking, anyway—come on, relax. Shhh!” He snorts, shoulders shaking with the effort to control his laughter, “Smile, it looks amazing on you, babe—there it is! Yes! I win.”

His hand moves to clamp over your lips, which are upturned in the brightest smile you think you can manage, his laughter matching yours as he angles up onto an elbow, leaning to stare down at you twisted against the sheets. Your stomach is swirling in every right way imaginable, the room nearly spinning as his bright eyes track yours, easily, like he can read every thought.

All at once his soul opens to you, like it always does in these perfect moments, and you can really see Chris—really see him, in ways he doesn’t allow anyone else. He’s suddenly not just Pacific Tech’s genius senior, or Jerry Hathaway’s brain, or Mitch’s mentor and friend. He is very quickly all that and so much more, on deeper levels. You can see who he is becoming.

What life will grant him, what awaits him beyond the confines of academia—what life actually holds.

It’s thrilling. Exciting. This moment is perfect, he’s perfect and beautiful and everything—-

Relaxing against the mattress, you sink into the feel of him pressed against you, into his familiar scent and the lingering warmth of his bed. All too quickly the world is alive in living color, your nerves acutely aware of every inch of him. Heart rabbiting against your ribcage, breathing becomes a little more difficult when his eyes map the features and lines of your face, finally holding a beat at your lips.

He brushes his lips against yours, softly. Swallowing a breath, your fingers brush over the wrinkled sheets of the mattress, haplessly searching for any kind of grounding as your head spins in every direction, tasting him as he kisses you hard, with purpose, like no one ever has. Where on earth the boy has learned to kiss so masterfully is mind bending, and you can’t help the little groan that escapes you when his fingers skip over the goosebumps on your arm, to your hand.

The clip in the back of your head hurts, and you turn your head just a fraction to begin fumbling for it in your curls, but have little success. Bothered by the distraction but unwilling to break your kiss, he brushes your hand away to work at it himself, expertly moving to straddle you at the hips. Plucking the clip from your hair, you smile against his mouth when he clips it repeatedly between his fingers teasingly.

You can feel the effort he puts into wagging his brows. Distracted from his initial effort of pulling at your bottom lip, you snag the clip from his fingers and throw it across the room, where it hits the adjoining wall and bounces to the floor. His snort is amused, but he hasn’t stopped kissing you—instead, his one free hand moves to pull your hair over your shoulder, the other skimming along the curve of your hip, investigatively.

“Better?” He grins, grunting when your knuckles skip along his abs beneath the t-shirt, “I like your hair better this way.”

You snort, amused by the thought, “What, dirty and a mess? Haven’t washed it in three days,” you enunciate between kissing him and pulling at his lip pleasurably, “Gross, but, you’re welcome I guess?”

“You’re very beautiful—now shhh. I like that. A lot. Don’t stop,” his hand comes around between the two of you to take yours, replacing your fingertips against the carve of his abs again. Brushing the warm, sensitive skin above his boxers, you squeak when his rough fingers brush aside the straps of your tank and bra, “I’m beyond glad you stopped to say good morning.”

Your chuckle is short, “Me too,” as he reaches behind him for the mountain of blankets, pulling them up over the two of you. Giggling when he shifts to lay back beside you, you roll onto your side as his arm comes to drape over your hip, fingers lazily dancing over the front of your jeans.

Pressing a kiss to your shoulder, his other arm extends for you to lay your head against as he pulls you closer, his familiar warmth enveloping you in the dark of your makeshift blanket fort. Suddenly he’s the only thing grounded in this small universe of the two of you, the only thing you can smell and taste and feel, and you allow yourself to sink against him, and farther into the mattress.

Brushing aside your hair to kiss the back of your neck, he whines that you should call into work and spend the day with him, instead, in bed. Moaning at the idea of nothing short of what could be a magnificent day, you angle to face him, reaching to run your fingers through his hair.

“Can’t, I have to prepare that team for the Chicago pitch,” his pout is juvenile, but genuine, “but it’s almost the weekend. You can stay at my place, set up one of your idea fortresses and work from the dining room, if you want—if Jerry can spare you.”

He makes a face and rolls his eyes, “Jerry will just have to spare me, even if it kills him. Mitch has this in the bag.” Grabbing the front of his shirt, you pull him down for a hard kiss again, which he breaks with a loud, satisfied smack, “You’re the best girlfriend ever to girlfriend, I think.”

You giggle. “Thanks, genius. But you know,” your eyes roll upward to consider the dark blanket above the two of you, “your boyfriend 101 skills are kinda lax, Knight. You should really bring up your grade point average. The curve is killing you–that last exam was rough,” you attempt to use your most studious voice, but it’s difficult, given the fact that the very idea has you snickering like a girlish idiot.

You can feel his grin as he lathes his tongue against the pulsepoint in your neck, “Really? Pretty sure I aced that last one,” he chimes back, perfectly on cue, “but, just in case—got any pointers? Care to mentor me in the finer points of oratorical skill?”

“Chris!”

“Oh come on, that’s funny!”

(whoops forgot) the Taglist: @startrekfangirl2233 @soulmates8 @chicomonks @angstytalesrx @dakotakazansky @books-are-escapes @sarahsmi13s @cassiemitchell @lovinglyeternal @bobby-r2d2-floyd @that-one-random-writer @horseshoegirl @lavenderbradshaw @bradleybeachbabe @roosters-girl @footprintsinthesxnd @chaoticassidy @roosterisdaddy36 @callsignharper @hisredheadedgoddess28 @genius2050 @ohgodnotagainn @moonchild-cupcake @aviatorobsessed

#real genius #real genius 1985 #chris knight x reader #chris knight #val kilmer #real genius imagines

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gravedigginbbydoll · 11 months

Text

pencil shavings and shared smiles {pt. 3}

Fem! Teacher Reader x Teacher! Eddie

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AN: Heyo! Sorry it took a bit! I work at a Uni and it’s been INSANE with the end of the semester. But it’s winding down now! Thank you for your patience!

WARNINGS AND CONTENT: Minors DNI!!!, Noncanon, Hawkins AU, Normal Hawkins, Rumors about Eddie, Eventual Smut, Very fluffy, Outcasts and Bullying, Mentions of Loneliness, Flirting, drinking, homophobia, homophobic slur, violence/fighting, mentions of overdose, drug usage, mentions of death, Fem!Reader, use of Y/N, older! Eddie, short-haired Eddie, 1995/1996 Hawkins, F! Reader has a dark past, angst.

Summary: Party time at Palace Arcade ends in a nasty fight and a shocking reveal. Who knew small towns had so much drama?

You stand before the Palace Arcade, staring at the neon lights and the crowd spilling from the building to outside. One 20-something-year-old is throwing up outside while her friend rubs her back. Another group of friends sits on the curb, passing a joint around while laughing. You feel a creeping sense of dread but decide to 'fake it til you make it'…or something like that.

Robin walks up beside you, sighing as she puts her hands in her back pockets. She looks at you, her head cocked sideways as she has a crooked smile.

"Sad, huh? I only come to these things to laugh at Harrington and get free booze."

You laugh, amused by Robin's clear love language made up of teasing and sarcasm. You look back towards the arcade, your legs shaky with the idea of being in a crowded room with people you barely know. Lo and behold, Steve confidently walks up to the door, holding a 12-pack in one hand. You inhale the familiar scent of tobacco, weed, vanilla, and cloves. You look to your right, Eddie beside you. There's a pack in his hand, and he moves it to his hand furthest from you so as not to bump you.

"It seems intimidating, but I swear it's pretty calm. I usually hate parties because everyone thinks I still deal. Still, usually, only the outcasts hang here," Eddie smiles softly, leaning down to have a more private conversation.

You furrow your brows, cocking your head as your thoughts swirl. You try to picture the animated and guarded man in the dangerous line of work, but your brain can only imagine a comedic parody of a mafia member. It doesn’t fit him. "You were a dealer?"

Eddie's smile falters a bit, and he looks small. He tries to look anywhere but your eyes. "Yeah, I was for a while." He looks at you, then clearing his throat, he grins again. This time it doesn't reach his eyes. "Let's head in, shall we?"

You nod, a pang in your heart as you wonder where the bright and smiling Eddie went. You look at Nancy, who is following behind and looking around cautiously. She seems to be the protective and mostly silent one of the group, clearly hanging back to make sure there's no trouble. But, of course, you knew that behavior well. You shake your head and move forward, ignoring the anxiety unfurling in your mind. This is Hawkins. You're safe.

You enter the door behind Robin, looking around. You see Steve excitedly run up and hug a young-looking, shorter man, his head full of unruly brown curls. Steve animatedly does a handshake with the mystery man and your smile. It warms your heart to see a guy you would think to be the jock and bully in high school be so sweet and almost nerdy. Steve throws an arm around the man, dragging him to your group, where Eddie immediately takes hold of him and ruffles his hair, causing the young man to groan and try to shove the much older and larger Eddie away.

"Eddie! Cut it out!" He screeches, weakly pushing against him.

Eddie laughs, a warmth filling you at the sound. He stops ruffling the mystery man's hair and turns him to you, an arm still around his shoulders. "This is Dustin. Dustin, meet my new coworker. She's teaching English."

Dustin scrunches his nose, an expression of disgust clear on his face. It seems that what he lacks in height, he makes up for in personality. "Good, that hallway has always needed someone not qualified as a fossil."

You laugh a bit, covering your mouth to hide your smile. "Thank you?"

Dustin waves you off, shrugging. "Not a compliment, more of a statement. Though I don't know if middle school kids will focus with such a young and hot-"

Eddie elbows Dustin, embarrassment evident across his face. "Henderson, manners, please!"

You fight your smile, shaking your head. It was amusing to see Eddie reprimand someone given his vibrant personality as well. You also feel some heat creep into your cheeks from the compliment. "It's fine. I appreciate it."

You're about to ask Eddie how he knows Dustin due to their age difference when a group of guys walk up, their smiles wide as they head over to Eddie. They’re all sporting a similar grungy and punk style to Eddie, and you immediately know they adore him.

"Dude! You're right on time! Chris just beat Zombie Raid!" A man with a giant grin and wavy brown hair moves toward Eddie, hugging him and slapping his back. Eddie returns the gesture and embraces the rest of the group; they all address him and smile, making little inside jokes you don't understand. Finally, Eddie sees one of his friends look at you and whistle, and he moves you gently forward, putting an arm around you.

"Gentlemen, meet my coworker. Y/N, this is Jeff, Gareth, and Chris. They were in my old band, Corroded Coffin. They're visiting home."

The men all smile and wave at you, and you feel a tingling sweep from the back of your neck to the tip of your toes . Images flash through your brain at the idea of Eddie, his tattoos, and silver jewelry on display, captivating a stage. Desire swirls in your belly, and you have to will yourself to be present. Maybe you'll use the imagery to help to 'relax' later.

"A band? What kind of music did you guys do? Metal?" You question, looking at Eddie.

Eddie flushes, scratching his chin while biting his lip. The action makes your thighs twitch. "Is it that obvious?" He practically whispers. He probably prided himself on an air of mystery, which was silly for someone so charismatic.

You shrug, smiling shyly. "The few times I've seen you, you've always worn Metallica, W.A.S.P, and Megadeth shirts. So I kind of put two and two together."

Eddie crosses his arms and cocks his head at you, his grin is mischievous, and his eyes twinkle. "You know W.A.S.P.? Are you a metalhead?"

You shake your head, feeling the heat travel up to the tips of your ears. You don't usually like to talk about the past, but you don't mind giving Eddie this little tidbit about you. "I was a goth and around the alternative scene...So I know a little bit about metal."

Eddie's grin is so vast you think his mouth will split open. But, instead, his eyes shine with mischief and disbelief. His friends gawk at you, almost in shock. "You were a goth. You've got to be kidding me. There's no way."

You scoff playfully and cross your arms, glaring at Eddie. "I'll have you know, Mr. Munson, I can do killer eyeliner, and I'm always down to listen to The Cure. I wasn't always a cute little teacher."

He laughs and shakes his head, looking towards his friends as he crosses his arms and points a thumb towards you. "Can you believe this smart mouth is gonna be teaching middle schoolers English?"

They laugh, and you feel warmth in your bones. You can tell Eddie is the leader of the whole group by the way they look at him for approval before they say something. He almost commands a room. Usually, that would be something to intimidate you, yet all you can feel is admiration.

Eddie's friend Jeff looks at you and smiles softly, shaking his head. "Someone's got to teach those middle schoolers how to act right. And it won't be you, Munson."

He feigns a look of hurt as he holds his heart and scoffs. "I am the picture of perfection, Jeff. Those dorks look up to me."

You're about to open your mouth to say something when you feel the atmosphere change. You see Eddie's friends' smiles dropping, all paling a bit. They all seem to glance towards Eddie discreetly, who is staring hard at the door. You've never seen him look so upset. You look towards the door seeing a tall blonde man standing in it. He's wearing a pale blue polo and jeans, looking like a stereotypical Country Club member. A small varsity jacket that fits him too tight clings to his torso. He's clearly not in high school but grasping onto to it. Behind him are a group of men wearing button-downs and nursing beers, all looking disgruntled by the party. The man walks into the room demanding attention with his air of superiority. You look at Steve, who's still with Dustin, and it seems a few other young adults near Dustin's age who all freeze in horror at the blonde's entrance.

Eddie's jaw is tight, and he almost seems to be grinding his teeth and anger.

You put a hand on his bicep gently, slightly shocking him and causing him to look down, his expression softening. He shakes his head and smiles softly, seemingly trying to shake off the anger.

"Sorry, it's no big deal. That guy was just a huge bully back in the day."

You nod, squeezing his hand slightly, trying to offer some reassurance. You were sure you knew the type. Powerful by birth, never being told no, always thinking they're right, pushing all their problems onto others with violence and forceful submission. It made you sick to your stomach.

You frown as you see the walking red flag head towards Robin. Robin is distracted with her back towards him, talking to a waifish girl with red curly hair and big blue eyes, almost resembling a young Molly Ringwall. The man laughs and taps Robin on the shoulder, who turns around, to look at him. Her face is hard to read, but you can tell she is worried, biting her lip, all the colors slowly draining from her face.

"So, Buckley, I didn't know they allowed f**gots into town now."

With that, the entire arcade seems to silence. You feel your heart drop to the floor. You knew small towns and big cities alike always had bigots, but never did you expect someone to blatantly throw around a slur so casually. You shake a bit, wondering what to do. But then you see Steve's expression twist with fury as he heads towards the man, glaring at him and shoving him roughly.

"Shut it, Carver."

"Oh, is King Harrington trying to defend the lesbo? That's so sweet. Do you think she will fall for you, Harrington, or will she leave you just like every other whore you've had?"

Steve's expression changes into disgust as he shoves Carver again, getting kicked in the back by one of his goons. He groans but tries to play it off, pushing Carver again before getting punched in the stomach by another groupie.

Eddie squeezes your hand but starts walking towards the scene, your stomach fluttering with nerves as you wonder what he’s up to. You can't help but feel the prickling anxiety on the edges of your consciousness. You know you're freezing up, but it's been years since you've seen a face-to-face fight. A fight that didn't involve you, anyway. Your body is on full alert mode and you know if you move a muscle you may just have a panic attack right then and there. Your chest is so tight you can hardly breathe.

"Carver, lay off. Go be a pathetic bully somewhere else."

Carver's expression changes from a sneer to something almost sinister and enraged as he walks towards Eddie.

"Don't speak to me, Monson. You deserve to rot in hell."

You feel your heart drop at those words, the evident vitriol and venom that he spat towards Eddie in his tone. Goosebumps are crawling up your body. What made this man hate Eddie so much?

Eddie's expression changes from anger to a slight softness, looking almost apologetic.

"Carver, listen. No one wants any trouble. Just leave, and we can pretend like this never happened."

"Oh, so you, like you pretended you didn't give Chrissy those drugs? Like you pretended you weren't some deadbeat in high school? Like you pretended that you didn't repeat senior year three times before finally getting it right? Face it, Munson, and tell yourself the truth. You deserve to be the one dead, not her."

Eddie's expression is so guarded and stoic, but you can see the slight cracks in the armor. The twitching of his brows, his lips being pursed, his hands flexing and tensing at his sides as he stands, his shoulders seeming to slump.

You see a tall, lanky man walk towards the front slightly, his black hair almost covering his brown eyes. He seems to earlier be standing over by Steve, who is now looking over at him and panicking and mouthing something seeming to resemble a getaway from there. Your eye catches on Nancy whose expression resembles that of horror and you can almost see the resemblance in the two, their long straight noses and cheekbones. Your stomach twists at the realization. They’re related.

"Look, Jason, we all know this was hard on you, but it's been years, man. Eddie didn't give her that stuff. Please leave the rest of us alone. We're just trying to have-"

It's only seconds before you hear the sickening crack and see the lanky boy lying on the floor as Dustin screams something and Nancy runs towards his crumpled body, panic evident across her face.

Eddie's expression changes from being hurt and guarded to pure fury. Then, finally, you see him reel back, and it seems like it's almost slow motion as he punches Carver across the face before getting tackled.

You can't see anything except flying fists, tumbling limbs, and blood. The fight may have lasted just a minute but time seems to move in slow motion as you feel your mouth dry and you heart thump in your ears. Luckily Jason's goons stayed away from Eddie. Still, the fight continues until Steve grabs Eddie's midsection and pulls him away from Jason, yelling something you can’t quite make out. Eddie stares hard at Jason, panting while he stands held by Steve. From what you can tell, Jason’s cheek is bruised, his lip is bleeding, and his eyes are narrowed as he glares at Eddie. Finally, one of Jason's friends grabs him by the shoulder, which he shrugs off violently and points at Eddie, his whole body radiating hatred.

"This isn't over, Munson. I won't rest until you are rotting."

Eddie is still being held by Steve, not fighting back but looking at Jason, his expression reading as stony, but you feel a tsunami of emotions, the anger and hurt radiating off of him in waves.

Jason leaves with his friends, and you stare at Eddie, still held by Steve. Nancy appears, having a wet washcloth and trying to wipe away a bit of blood on him as the rest of the crowd seems to slowly disperse out of the arcade, intimidated by the scene. Nancy tends to both Eddie, Steve, and the tall man sprawled out against the counter who you think may be her brother. Robin stands out of the way, her hands shaky, and she stares at the floor. She is frozen, but she clings Steve as he comes over, hugging her tightly despite his clearly aching spine and torso.

You stare at the scene, almost feeling like you are on the outside looking in. You didn't expect this much drama and such a small town. Yet, you can't help but question everything you've known this far about Hawkins.

That night Steve drives you and Robin home, offering to pick up your car from the bar later. You deny it and say you'll pick it up in the morning. You are silent most of the ride, knowing you're a stranger to the rest of them and not wanting to make anyone uncomfortable. You know you didn’t earn that trust for the private information or rumor that Jason said for all to hear that night. Robin seems shaken up and almost silent, which doesn't seem normal for her. As you enter your cold and lonely apartment, you may wonder if the secrets harbored here are challenging your own…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You are back at school a few days later, and it's time to start training. The morning begins with endless talk after talk from specialists and district members about ways to improve learning and what all the new educational boards think is most important for the rapidly developing young teens that will soon be entering the school. By lunchtime, your head is spinning, and you can't help but wish you could go home and nap. Instead, you decide to head to the library for lunch, knowing no one will be there since the librarian is on vacation before the year starts. You fit yourself into one of the tiny chairs, pulling out a book from your purse, taking your legs underneath you as you comb through the small snacks you brought for lunch.

You're completely immersed in the world of Bram Stoker's Dracula when you hear a few books clutter to the ground and the mumbles of “Shit,” coming from behind you.

You giggle and turn your head to the side, seeing the ever-familiar Eddie, who is scrambling to pick up a couple of books. His cheeks are flushed red as he looks up at you. You feel a pain in your heart as you see a scab on his lip and a yellowing bruise on his cheek. One of his eyes seems a bit puffier and darker than usual, and you can't help but remember the eventful night a few days ago.

"Sorry, sometimes I don't realize where all my limbs are before I start moving," Eddie jokes, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

You shake your head smiling. "Someone's going to need to put you in bubble wrap eventually."

He laughs softly, looking down at your slightly pathetic setup of a lunch, making you curse and wish that you seemed less immature sometimes.

“Of course, the English teacher is reading Dracula. How on brand," Eddie smiles softly, shaking his head at you. Your heart warms at the fact that he's still making jokes. You hope he knows that your connection isn’t severed by that ugly night.

"Don't knock the classics. Besides, I needed something to get my mind off that zombie-inducing training. I have noodles for brains now."

Eddie maneuvers himself slowly into a seated position. He sits cross-legged on the ground, looking up at you. He nervously twiddles with his rings. In a less serious circumstance you would have laughed about the way he made the furniture look even smaller in comparison, or maybe teased him about not fitting into the small chairs. Today is not that day.

"I guess I should probably tell you what that night was about, huh?"

You think to yourself, knowing that your curiosity would love to be fed a little bit but also knowing how difficult it is to let someone in sometimes. "You don't have to if you're not comfortable. I would like to know, though."

He looks at you appreciatively and nods, biting his lip. "Well, all you gotta know is that Jason Carver has always been a bully. Even when we were kids. It didn't help that his girlfriend came to me when I was dealing, either. He was furious at the idea of sweet Chrissy Cunningham talking to me. The freak. The thing was, I never sold to anyone if I was worried about their health, you know. So one day, she came to me and asked for something stronger, and I sort of blew her off because I knew she was having a hard time at home and didn't want something bad to happen to her due to carelessness. I offered to give her a little weed and let her come to my house and let some stuff off her chest. She stayed a while, talking about her mom and stress and some nightmares she’d been having, then left. I was taken in for questioning the next day.”

Eddie is shaking slightly, his voice soft and thick with emotion. You place a soft hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. He looks up at you, eyes glassy with unshed tears as he sniffs a bit, trying to blink away the blurry vision.

“Jason also bought from me despite what he claims. But he bought stronger stuff. So when she stole from him and my secret stash while I was in the bathroom, he thought I was the one who sold it to her. And I kick myself daily for allowing her to even get near the stuff. The cops thought me and Jason were both guilty, but couldn’t find any proof. Jason still had it pinned on me, and during my very last year, he made my life a living hell by doing anything he could to punish me. Any horrific thing, you name it, he did it. He still holds it against me. The whole town does. Thinks I peer pressured Chrissy into buying Special K and killed her. And I get it. She was an amazing girl and so kind. But I can’t change my mistakes."

You look at Eddie, a swirling feeling of sickness. You knew sometimes people had to fight to survive, and clearly, he just got the short end of the stick. You were surprised to hear so much compassion for the man who nearly gave him a broken nose, but his heart still seemed to harbor it. His guilt was overwhelming, as was his sorrow. You could tell he wanted to go back and fix his mistakes, right his wrongs. Even if it wasn’t his fault. You nod to Eddie, playing with the edges of your book, feeling the worn-out pages between your fingers.

"That's really intense. I'm sorry,” You offer weakly, kicking yourself for not being more eloquent with your words.

Eddie waves you off, shrugging. “It’s fine,” He mumbles softly, still fiddling with his rings in thought. The two of you sit in silence for a bit and you itch to ask him another question.

"How many years were you a senior?"

The question is plaguing you, and you must ask, even though it may seem inappropriate.

He smiles a crooked grin that seems unamused but slightly self-deprecating. "4 years. So my senior years were basically another whole high school experience."

You laugh a bit and shake your head smiling. You look at Eddie, your eyes soft with admiration, and you hope you can get him to understand what you see. It's clear that he's grown up through some hard times and gained some thick skin, but you can also see that Eddie is not sour or even a little rotten about all the curve balls that life has thrown at him. You have a tugging feeling in your gut that there's even more you don't know about, but you decide not to push it.

There's a comfortable silence between you as you read your book and eat. Eddie sits on the floor looking at you and occasionally snacking on what seems to be a bag of candy he pulled from his pocket. Then, finally, he offers you some, and you take it, reading out loud softly so he knows what's happening. He didn't ask you to, but something about it felt right.

After you finish the chapter, you close the book and turn towards him, holding out of hand for some more candy which he rolls his eyes at you exaggeratedly but gladly gives you some more. As you chew thoughtfully, his eyes seem to sparkle with the same mischief that pops up here and there around you. You can't help but be reminded of a childhood favorite book. Peter Pan. Eddie wasn't a child, nor was he a selfish fae child, Yet he had an lingering air of youth about him that just caused your skin to tingle and your stomach to flutter. "So… You and Bauhaus, huh? What's that about, Tish?”

taglist: @bebe07011 @nerdflash @aheadfullofsteverogers @kimmi-kat @corrodedcoffincumslut @kurdtbean

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betweendisorders · 7 months

Text

(trigger warnings in tags)

Basil is folding origami.

The edge of the bathroom counter crests over Aubrey's hair.

It flows past her, like stagnant filth. Like her house was flooded in it, up to her eye level, and then past her hair. Gentle pressure on all her fragile bones.

A fluorescent bulb burns. Ugly, artificial yellow.

She reaches up. One hand fumbles over the cold linoleum. Slick, icy cold water. Small hairs. Shaved stubble. A prickle, a sticking. Venus fly trap.

Her other arm hangs limply by her side, all undone.

She pulls herself up. Clambers over the side, with pained little noises. Has to crumple her body, fold herself against knives' edges. Turn herself inside out. Make herself unnatural.

There's a clatter against the floor, as a razor falls off. She ignores it.

It's a fortune teller. It's made of notebook paper, torn to be square. A little uneven, so some of the teller's teeth are larger and more jagged than others.

He has a quiet sort of expression. Focused. He makes art from notebook paper, and glances across at her.

They're in his driveway.

Nobody's home. Not anymore.

She sits down. The counter is as cold as it is filthy. She's careful not to knock their toothbrushes off. There are two. Aubrey isn't completely sure which one is hers.

She opens the cabinet, with her good hand. The mirror cabinet. Like a magic door, all secret and tucked away. Right where she never would've guessed, last birthday, when she cut herself slicing a cupcake in half. Sliced her skin open on Mom's broken promises last year, about next year, which became this year too quickly for her to keep up with.

Last birthday, when there was nobody to tell her where the med kit was.

But that was last birthday. Next year is here, and all the secrets of the world reveal themselves, when Aubrey's arm comes undone.

He looks embarrassed, when he notices she's watching him. "It's, um. It's a fortune teller." He laughs, a little, to himself. At himself. "It's silly, I know."

"Yeah," Aubrey says, shortly.

He smiles, briefly, across at her. A little pained. Looked back down, and stopped smiling. "Yeah," he agrees, playing with the fortune teller. Putting his fingers through the gaps. Shaping it properly.

And then, he started unfolding it. Ruffling through his pockets, to fetch a scratched, rattling, cheap plastic mechanical pencil.

He glanced at her. Anxious in the eyes. Unable to ignore her. "What, um... what fortunes do you think I should put?" he asked.

The mirror is stained.

Old spittle. Flecks of toothpaste. Smears of something grey and thick, semi-solid. Indistinct streaks. Smudges. Scratches. All those things that marked it as uncared.

Aubrey looks through the mirror.

On the other side, there's a her that isn't her. Her tearstains are permanent. Snot dribbles down from a quivering lip. Blood covers her shirt, dries against her chin.

The bathroom beyond is indistinct. The foggy, dirty glass that covered the shower - no bathtub beneath - glittered faintly. Horoscopic. The linoleum lapped against the smudges on its surface.

Aubrey looks to the other side, and sees a beach. Wishes she could be there, because her reflection isn't her.

"Don't ask me," Aubrey says, shortly. "I don't have a clue."

Basil looked down again. "Okay," he said, quietly. Willingly.

He's stark pale. As pale as he was drowning.

Fuck. "Fuck," she says as much. "Something good, I guess." She sneered, at the horizon beyond him. Glanced away. "God knows we've earned it."

Basil hesitated, for just a beat. Looked like he wasn't so sure.

His pencil scrawled against the paper.

I love you, Mom lies. The stench of blood thick in Aubrey's nose. Warmth, sickly, cradled carefully against her chest. Bundled and fumblingly uncaring. A dying sun, never to collapse into something bigger, or brighter, or supermassive. Just... going away.

I love you, Mom promises, and breaks it next year, when it comes too quickly.

(Anger needed an outlet. Mom wasn't here.)

Aubrey's arm was undone, and her reflection looked scared. Empty in the eyes, quivering lip.

Happy birthday, Mom didn't bother to lie.

"Happiness is just around the corner," Aubrey read aloud.

She looked across at him. Glared flatly. "Did you put this on all the flaps," she asked, though her tone was more like a statement of fact.

"Um... No?" He looked uncomfortable. Vaguely pained. She couldn't tell if it was confusion, or nerves. At being caught.

If he'd done it, at least.

She was sure he had.

She dropped the fortune teller onto the concrete. Let it splay out of her hand, and slip down. Tumble onward, and onward, and onward. Land hard. Bite off its own tongue, so the bark of the future wouldn't warn her.

"Life's bullshit," she said.

Basil hummed, vaguely. Looked away.

"...And then it ends," he said, quietly. Made a feeble attempt at a shaky, pained smile. "Might as well make the most of it?" he offered, like a consolation prize.

And Aubrey, for just a moment, thought of the beach. Where the ocean met the land. Where the unknown met home. Where she could wade into the water and still be safe, and the sun shone so brightly.

The fortune teller crinkled.

The sound made Aubrey's arm ache, dully.

(cross-posted to ao3)

#tw: implied/referenced abuse #tw: implied death #omori spoilers #omori basil #omori aubrey #omori fanfiction #tumblr fic #tw: injury #my writing

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starryeyedrockerbabe · 7 days

Text

♡Blurred Lines - Axl Rose

Trigger Warnings: Mention of domestic violence/parents fighting

I'm low-key thinking about turning this into a mini-series. No idea where this is gonna go but I guess we'll see. :)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Walking to class, she kept her head down as she tried to ignore the whispers echoing around her. She hugged her books to her chest, wanting the day to be over as she eventually ducked into the last classroom on the right and scittered over to her assigned seat in the last row from the back.

He watched her lower her eyes, as he set his textbook and his bag of weed in his locker. She interested him. Her wavy locks - an even brighter fiery orange than his - were pulled back with a pink ribbon. Her jeans were a cool denim blue with white flower prints and her white sweater hugged her figure scrumptiously at the same time the baggy sleeves covered her delicately manicured hands.

She opened her book to page 183 per her teacher's instructions, tapping her pencil on her leg as she waited for the lesson to start. She could feel his eyes on her - the greenish brown hues burning into the back of her neck. She kept her eyes on the words and pictures covering the textbook, pretending to ignore him.

The truth was, the fact that somebody (a guy, in particular) was interested in her excited her. Every time they caught each other's stares from across the class room or bumped into each other at lunch - which seemed to be more and more often - her heart would race and this stupid little grin would involuntarily appear on her lips.

He studied her vigorously, taking in every detail of her as she sat two seats ahead in the row to his right. The sun was shining right on her, highlighting the little streaks of natural blond in her red locks. Her pink ribbon was coming untied, and he fought the urge to ask if he could fix it. The way he felt about her confused him. He really only saw the girls at school as pussy, not people. But with her it was different, and he was having a very hard time accepting that.

She glanced up to see him standing by the door, staring at her intensely as he sharpened his pencil with the sharpener attached to the wall. The shavings fell into the trashcan like snow, and she chose to focus more on that than on the tall redhead staring at her with his greenish brown eyes.

Before she knew what was happening, the kid beside her was being bullied out of his seat and the redhead was getting settled in. He turned to her, staring at her so hard it made her shrink back into her sweater.

"Hi."

His voice was deep and velvety, and it made him just that much more handsome. She glanced at him, blushing as she saw just how he was looking at her. She felt like she was being scrutinized, but not necessarily in a bad way.

"Hi..."

"You got a name, pretty girl?"

The butterflies that were already flittering around her her tummy began to lose their minds. Her cheeks flushed a light shade of pink as she finally gathered the courage to hold eye contact with him.

"Y/n. You're Axl, right?"

He smirked, fidgeting with the silver band on his right middle finger.

"Guess I'm not so anonymous anymore, am I?" he countered, referring to his usual antics and trouble making.

Y/n shook her head, smiling softly.

***

Y/n gasped, tensing a bit as Axl snuck up behind her and silently slid an arm around her shoulders. Class had ended and the only things left in the school day were lunch and one more class period.

"What are you doing?" Y/n asked a little suspicsiously.

Axl's voice was smooth and nonchalant as he answered, staring ahead at the end of hall.

"Going to lunch."

"People are gonna think we're dating." Y/n whispered nervously.

"Is it such a bad thing if they do?" Axl countered, trying to hide the hope in his voice. He wasn't planning on necessarily asking y/n out, but he wanted to keep other guys away from her. He wanted her to be his.

"No..."

They walked to the lunch room at a slower pace, Axl keeping y/n hugged close to his side the whole way there. He let go of her to go through the lunch line, but was surprised to find that y/n hesitantly hugged his arm.

He glanced down at her, smiling gently when she looked up at him with her big eyes. Visibly nervous, she immediately moved her hands back to her sides and looked down at the floor, blushing.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

Axl shook his head, holding his arm back out to her.

"No, no it's okay. I don't mind at all."

Y/n didn't hesitate to hug his arm again, blushing as she looked around the cafeteria. Every girl in the room was staring jealously at them, and the boys were looking a mix of disappointed and impressed that the town's outcast rocker delinquent kid had gotten the little shy girl everybody secretly crushed on.

They got their food and found an empty table near the back, talking quietly as they ate. Of course, everybody continued to stare at the two teenagers with their heads together, giggling and quite obviously making fun of people. Well, Axl would make fun of people and y/n would just blush and try not to giggle since she felt bad about it.

The rest of the day followed with Axl walking y/n to her last class, and then somehow hunting her down in the stampede of students at dismissal and offering to walk her home. She smiled, happily obliging and linking her arm with the redhead's as he offered it.

They took their sweet time, neither really wanting their time together to end as they got to know each other more. It was quite the walk from school to y/n's house, and Axl was surprised that she walked to and from school every day.

Y/n eventually stopped in front of little stone cottagecore looking house with square hedges liking the walkway and an oaktree in the front yard with a tire swing.

Axl looked between y/n and the house, smiling as it suited her to live in a place like that.

"I guess I gotta leave now, huh?" Axl said, slightly bummed. Y/n giggled, smiling up at him.

"Yeah, but maybe mama will let you come over for dinner one night. Who knows what the future holds."

Axl shrugged, smiling as he thought about meeting y/n's mother and being able to spend time with y/n outside of school. Axl asked for y/n's phone number, surprised that she gave it to him so willingly.

"I'll see you tomorrow." he said with a wink. Y/n couldn't help but smile like a little kid as she watched him saunter down the sidewalk in his tight blue jeans and half unbuttoned flannel.

Her smile disappeared however, when he turned the corner toward the entrance of neighborhood she'd led him to and she went the opposite way.

She didn't live in the cute little cottage with the white picket fence. She lived in the last house at the dead end in the back of the neighborhood that was covered in grime, had over-grown grass that went to her knees, and screens over the windows that were ripped.

Yelling and fighting echoed from inside the house when she pulled her keys out to unlock the door, and she flinched as a plate crashed against the wall next to her head before she quicklu shut the door and scurried off to her room, praying Axl would call sooner or later so she could have some form of disctraction besides her homework.

#Axl Rose #Guns N Roses #Steven Adler #Duff McKagan #Slash #Izzy Stradlin #Axl Rose fluff

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