#just bc it's in a much more serious conversation with the world and bc it's the end! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

prettyboykatsuki · 7 months

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VIOLET | RAZOR. (GENSHIN)

✾ tags ; afab + gn!reader, aged-up characters, virginity loss/first times, established relationship, mutual virginity loss, nipple play, fingering, oral (f!recieving), creampies (reader is using a contraceptive), reader is mentioned to be an orphan / run away , 18+

✾ wc ; 6.1k (went to edit and went 700 words over the wc. pain)

✾ a/n ; i'm losing my mind btw. razor my only triple crowned character my most greatly beloved my angel my sweet. also i added the aged up tag mostly bc its the genshin fandom but. if u dont like that dont read. ez peazy.

also trust and believe the voice im picturing in this is his jpn dub. this is important

✾ synopsis ; you resolve yourself after many long years of abstinence, you're going to ask razor about sex the minute he comes home.

Razor is human.

On a technical level, this information isn’t news to you. He looks human. His physical makeup is human. He needs to eat and sleep like humans do. Focusing on the technicals alone, Razor is very, very human.

It doesn’t change that he was raised by wolves, though. And you don’t want it too. You think it’d be a shame if he started to assimilate too much into human society just because he felt like he had too. You know how he feels about it. And that Boreas is the closest he’s ever had to a father figure, thus making his claim about Razor's humanity a rather devastating blow. He feels inhuman all while knowing he is. You think once upon a time, he really did wish to be a wolf.

You’ve known Razor since you were a teenager. You’d ended up in Wolvendom after your exploration of Teyvat led you to its outskirts. You’d bonded over your similarities. Two orphans with no real place where they fit in completely and complete odd-ball personalities - Razor was an easy friend for you to make. Even when you eventually decided to settle into Mondstat - you’d made a point to visit Razor regularly and spend time with him in the forest.

You made an odd pair of course, but you didn’t mind. If no one else understood you in the world - you know Razor always would. He’d listen patiently about all of your adventures and sit quietly as you decided to pester him by braiding his hair or teaching him new words. Loyal, obedient, sweet.

You never formally had the boyfriend conversation in the time you’d spent together. One day, however, Razor took you to meet Boreas out of the blue as well as the leader of his pack. You figured maybe it was something he did with his close friends. It only occurred to you that maybe this was a more serious meeting when Razor promptly gestured towards you and introduced you as his mate.

Razor, predictably, was very confused about your minor freak out. You tried not to let it show during your little chit-chat, but afterwards you’d shaken him by the shoulders and interrogated him about his word choice. This of course didn’t register in his mind at all. According to Razor, you’d been his mate since long ago. He’d been courting you since the moment you met in the way wolves are known too. You’re an adventurer, well-versed in certain animal behaviors for the sake of survival, including wolves.

And looking back on your interactions he was right, Razor had been courting you from the start. The news made you flush, and you went back into Razors camp and thoroughly educated him on human courting rituals.

(“Why matter?” Razor asks, head laid in your lap while he looks up at you from inside the tent “Not important.”

“Why would it not be important?”

He turns towards you, head facing your stomach as one arm lazily wraps around your waist. He yawns sleepily, seemingly not worried about a thing.

“You are mate. Mate last until death.” He explains, casually - like he’d always believed he’d spend every minute of his life with you. Like that was the only natural outcome for you both and that he’d never consider anything else. You want to explain, it’s different for humans. Humans don’t usually mate that way, you should say. But the words die out in your mouth as he clings closer to you “Sorry for..not asking.. properly. What are we…as humans?”

You look down at where he lays, thumb brushing over his cheek.

“Lovers or life partners. They’re closest to the word mate, in definition.”

“Lovers easier,” He grumbles, eyebrows tightening at the complex words in your sentence “You want to be lovers with Razor?”

You laugh. Light and bubbly and warm as you lean forward and try to mask the tears welling up in the corners of your eyes.

“Yes. We’re lovers from now on. And mates. And lupical, right?”

Razor sighs contentedly into your midriff.

“And lupical.”)

According to Razor, you had been mates from the minute you met. According to your human timeline, you have been dating since you were both around 17. It’s been a long time since then and nothing in your relationship has changed.

You’re an adult now and you work with the city of Mondstat studying wildlife populations. You live in the city in a cottage, and Razor lives with you - though he spends most of his day outside. He does the domestic labor while you whittle away at papers and projects. Because of your job, you still spend a fair bit of time together in the wild. He has plenty of insight about the wildlife in Wolvendom and is keen enough on changes to give significant contribution to your study. His work as your partner is unofficial, but everyone acknowledges that you come together in a set. Where you go, Razor follows.

You’re happy with your life. With your relationship to your wolf-boy boyfriend, with the career you’ve carved out of scratch and the life you’ve built. You left your orphanage young and spent a long time on the run. You’re incredibly thankful for all of what you have and you could never think of what more to ask for.

This is especially true for you and Razor. You’ve never had any real major obstacles in your relationship. Part of this comes from the wolven habit of mating for life. Concepts like pride are foreign to Razor. He says sorry even when he doesn’t completely understand and he has no concept of betraying your loyalty. Most things you can teach, he learns very quickly. But there are also some things no one ever teaches you to navigate. Some boundaries you can’t be sure you’re allowed to cross.

You’re a blossoming, healthy person in their twenties and so is Razor. He’s scarred and athletic in the outdoorsy way and he’s a little more rugged now that you’ve both grown. He’s hit a growth spurt and he’s taller than you and every time you see his arm flex carrying in an entire boar to butcher in your yard - you start getting so hot under the collar you feel like you’re going to explode.

The problem is: you want to have sex and you want to have it badly. You want it so bad it’s starting to make you feel like you’re a deviant. Like you’re some kind of harlot masquerading as an archon-fearing civilian.

But it’s so hard to bring up and you don’t know how you’re ever going too.

You’re very good at asking for what you want usually. It comes with the territory. And thanks to your boyfriend's cluelessness about human social convention, asking for things isn’t embarrassing. Concepts like shame are learned through a lifetime of socialization that he lacks and while you could sit and try to teach him - you don’t think he would care either way. He listens if you tell him he shouldn’t do something, but that’s because you’re his mate and his lupical.

What other people think is none of his concern. He cares about his Lupical. So if Lisa or Bennet or Klee tell him something, he might take it into consideration. But they, like you, love the parts of Razor that make him how he is and his complete innocence in some ways is part of that.

You know you could very well ask Razor for sex. You’ve spent a lot of time together and you’ve learned many things about him. It’s not like there’s nothing there at all. Like his every other trait, Razor normally relies on instinct to guide him. You’ve learned through kisses and dry-humping that he can get hard at least. You’ll probably never know the details of his arousal, and the only you’ll ever find out is by having sex with him.

You don’t know what else he knows. What Lisa has told him of the birds and the bees.

You have tried to ask Lisa inadvertently, but she enjoys making fun of you too much to give you any straightforward answers. And in her own maternal way, she thinks it’d be better for your relationship if you go ahead and ask yourself.

She’s right about that, but it’s also not very easy. You know Razor would never judge you. He doesn’t even have the capacity to do so. But while Razor knows nothing of shame, you certainly do.

It’s your problem to get over. You know that. You rationalize that your fantasies are healthy and normal for someone your age. But there is something terribly humiliating about trying to express the extent of your desire apart from just having it. Is it fair to teach Razor about desire? Does he know of it already and the both of you just suffer in silence?

Razor is a man. A grown man, and tougher than most men you know. He’s seen more than almost anyone else as part of living in the woods. You know he’s not some innocent fairy. But you can’t get over the feeling like you’re corrupting his sweet preciousness somehow.

(This has its own charm, but that’s not relevant. Or maybe it is. Maybe there’s guilt for that too but it’s not something you can unpack)

You’re reaching your upper limit on patience. Your hand can only do the job so long (though the import of sex toys from Fontaine do help) nothing can truly replace what you want. And what you want is Razor.

So, you’ve made your choice. When Razor comes home from…what he’s doing today - you’re going to ask him to have sex.

You’ve finished all of your work, did as many chores as you can, and now you’re waiting in your bedroom trying to read a book.

You haven’t even read past the first page, actually. But you’re trying. It’s hard to do anything meaningful when your brain keeps pivoting back to what's going to happen when your boyfriend returns home.

You’re nervous and fidgeting, rubbing your socked feet together and running over the laundry list of talking points you’ve concocted trying to make this happen. You shaved but not bare because you know he definitely wouldn’t like it, but you’re clean. You aren’t sure if he’s going to like that either and he’s expressed that he likes when you smell natural. But it soothed your anxiety to shower so he’ll have to leave with it.

You have no idea how this could go. You don’t even know how to prepare for the worst, because you don’t know what the worst is. But you reassure yourself with the fact Razor loves you and leave it at that.

You hear the door open and take a deep breath.

There’s heavy footsteps that get louder and louder. Razor cracks the door open politely, peeking his head into your shared room. He makes a face, the softest little smile you’ve ever seen - before letting himself in and shutting the door behind him. He’s quick to undress himself - jacket and scarf abandoned along with his boots. Leaving him in green pants and a bandage around his chest and arsm.

“Hi,” He says simply, coming down over to where you’re laid. He chooses to sit on the floor, folding his arms on the bed as he looks at you patiently “Missed you,”

“Hey there,” Your heart is pounding just looking at him. He’s unreasonably handsome. Had he grown up in normal conditions, you think he would’ve been a very popular loner type. “How was your family?”

“Good,” He says shortly, eyes warm and light “New pup. First time seeing since I was little. Very small and cute.”

“I’m glad. Bet it’s nice not to be the youngest anymore.”

“Come next time,” He says genuinely “They miss you.”

Your heart is so full you think it might burst. It temporarily soothes your anxiety.

“Of course I will.”

Razors eyes examine you for a minute. Your heart is still racing. Of course he notices it. He knows much more about you than you’ll ever know about yourself. His brow creases in concern.

“What’s wrong?”

You look at him apologetically, immediately warmed by how worried he is. You give him a small smile.

“I’m okay. Just a little nervous. Wanted to ask you about something.”

“Okay. I listen. No need to..be nervous.”

Right. He’s right about that. You sit up and Razor remains where he is. He’s seated comfortably on the floor, on his knees - between your thighs. He’s a sight for sore eyes, terribly rugged and scarred with nothing but honesty settled in his gaze. Carmine and beautiful. You fold your hands in your lap and before you can worry too much, Razor grabs one in his hand.

He kisses your knuckles so gently, leaning his face into your palm.

“It’s okay.”

You figure it’s best to be straight to the point.

“Uhm. Razor. Do you…know what sex is?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s—wait what? Did you just say yes?”

He nods again. “Miss Lisa taught me.”

That witch. You take a deep breath. It’s now or never.

“And uhm, what did she tell you about it?” You ask tentatively.

“Like mating but for humans. Best to do with mate. Good to be careful or else pups will come too soon.”

You stare at him, jaw slack.

“Right. And what else?”

He racks his brain right in front of you.

“Uhm. Can be for…feel good. Should go slow. Lots of things different from wolf.”

“...Do you know how it happens? The specifics?”

Razor goes a soft pink. Razor blushes.

“Yes.”

You have no idea what to feel. Not the faintest clue in the world. This is the first time in your entire relationship either of you have been in an awkward situation. You’re partially relieved it’s not completely foreign, partially feeling hot between the legs because you’re not corrupting anything. You make a face of uncertainty.

“Oh. Uhm. Do you—have you ever.. I mean—have you ever wanted to have sex with me then? I-is that something you’d…want to do?”

Razor almost looks perplexed by this question. He nods, then follows up.

“Yes. A lot.”

You nearly choke on your spit.

“A lot?”

“Yes. But.. Miss Lisa said to wait. Until mate asks.”

You’re going to have a serious discussion with that damned woman later. You take a shaky breath, looking at him carefully. This is going to break you in a way you don’t know if you’ll recover from. But you’re fine, you’ve made it this far. And you don’t want to back down when you haven’t gotten to the finish line. The final blow.

You’re not completely sure where you go from here honestly. Your brain was fully expecting to go on a long rant about sexual intercourse. Now that that’s out of the window, you’re at a loss. You decide, internally, that going straight forward is the best thing you could do for now.

“Then… would you want to have sex with me?”

His eyes widen then he pauses, looking worried.

“Well…yes. But, worried. Not sure…how.”

“Well, uhm. Normally it starts with kissing and t-touching and things like that. You can just do what feels right. Uhm.. and I’ll tell you… what I like. A-and what feels good.” You offer, trying not to show just how nervous you are even suggesting “But uhm… I also… think about it. A lot. With you.”

His eyes light up, and you can practically see the change in him. You’ve never let yourself get close enough to look but when you see him now that you know, it’s obvious. He’s looked at you like this before.

Like he wants you.

“Razor,” You say, bracing yourself for impact “Come up here.”

He’s quick to his feet. You lay back down and Razor lays himself ontop of you, hovering gently. He smells like forest, the rich warm scent of dirt and sunlight mixed with sweat that you’ve grown fond of. Looking down at you, he presses his forehead against yours with his eyes fluttered closed.

“Mate,” His breath is warm like he’s been chewing mint leaves and sweet flowers. He does it sometimes before coming home “Love you,”

“I love you too, Razor. You don’t,” You swallow thickly, suddenly aware of your proximity “Don’t hold back okay? You won’t break me.”

“Want to..” He thinks slowly, brain clearly struggling to come up with the right word “Cherish. Want to cherish mate. Cherish you.”

You give him a breathy laugh as he leans in close to you.

“Did Miss Lisa teach you that?”

“Yes,” He replies, pressing his cheek to yours and rubbing himself against you innocently “Cherish you a lot.”

“I cherish you a lot too,” You offer and he smiles. You feel your heart thump as you look up at him less innocently “Let’s kiss first, okay”

He doesn’t reply. This much is familiar. Though this was something you had to teach him at first, you would go as far as saying Razor kisses better than you. He’s better than you in these ways most of the time. He knows how to read your body language down to the most irrelevant details, attuned to your physicality in a way that could only be inhuman. The first time he noticed a change in your cycle after starting some herbal contraceptives, you were turned on as much as you were afraid.

His mouth is hot and overwhelming, plush as he kisses you passionately. He’s quick to open your mouth up with his tongue. Razor likes to taste. It’s natural for him to slip his tongue past your lips and lick at yours. You think if anyone else did it you’d be turned off. But with him hovering you over you, desperate as he pulls and nips at your lower lip - it’s stimulating. It makes you wet before you can think about it too hard. Your hands curl themselves around his neck, tangling at the thick roots of his gray hair.

He moans when you tug, and your eyes nearly pop out of your sockets. You do it again, a little harder and the same broken sound leaves his lips in the middle of kiss. You swallow the noise before pulling away, looking at his face. His face is perfectly rosy, lips swollen from where you’ve been kissing them.

“Did you,” You look at him erratically, eyes going over every part of his face “Did that feel good?”

He nods, dumbfounded.

“Felt good but,” He shakes his head in disbelief “Don’t know why.”

You giggle, delighted with the outcome.

“No it’s good, that’s normal.” You say trying not to babble “It’s like your body’s weak point.”

“Not weak.”

“It’s not a bad thing. I have some too. Like my neck.”

You can see the gears turning in his head. He tucks his chin against your shoulder and before you can speak to ask him about it, he’s pressing his lips against the skin of your neck. He doesn’t stop at a kiss, though. He proceeds to lick the small patch of tender flesh, before sinking his teeth into it.

You moan. You moan sharp, almost like a gasp of pain. He opens his mouth to ask if you’re okay but when he sees you he stops. He blinks, then gives you a look you’ve never seen.

His voice is almost chipped - richer and more hoarse as his fingers go over what can only be bite marks.

“Feels good?” He says, then adds more urgently “Where else?”

You’ve made him discover something. You’re sure of that. He looks awfully determined about it, too.

You sigh shakily, grabbing his hands. Even though you’re trembling mercilessly, you want this. You want him. You let his hand squeeze around the swell of your tits - your nipples peeking through the thin fabric of your shirt. With your eyes locked on his, you brush your nipples.

“H-here,” You admit watching his eyes go dark. Animalistic. “Uhm. W-with your mouth, you c-can suck on them.”

He’s quiet.

“Like pup?”

You laugh.

“A little bit like that, I guess. But it’s different.”

He makes a small, approving noise with his mouth, once again thinking hard about something before he continues down his path. He leaves open kisses all over your skin, hands reaching to undress you. You help him, peeling your shirt over your head and tossing it somewhere. His eyes are shut closed, in bliss as he licks and bites down your neck with no real grace. His tongue is wet and rough all over you.

You can tell you’re being primed for something animal. Like being tenderized, worked apart in a way that makes you melt into something soft. Something that can be broken without teeth, that can be swallowed in one go. It’s not a romantic kiss as much as it’s a hungry graze, a gnawing lust. He’s not being so reserved anymore, and that means sinking his teeth as far into you as he can go, not enough to break the skin. Razor would never break you. But he might ruin you, might melt you down from your very center until he can tear you apart.

You thought it’d hurt, and it does - but in a good way. There’s some sick sense of relief in how achy your whole body is. You’re burning up because Razor wants you like he’s starving. An emptiness claws at you, makes the back of your gums ache. Makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand nearly straight as you sink deeper in. You want to be full of him and you want him to get so full off of you.

Razor doesn’t stop his tirade even when he gets down to your chest. Instead his mouth closes around your tit, hard incisors sinking into the supple skin but only slightly gentler than before. His canines feel sharper than yours. They must be.

“O-oh,” You can feel your voice shake as you hold onto the back of his head. He touches the other one with his free hand, squeezing and massaging the skin. He rubs your nipples experimentally in the same way you did a moment ago. “Razor, hngh,”

A noise is pulled from the back of his throat, a growl - so hard and heavy that it reverberates into your skin. You can feel it spread through your whole body, your core tightening up. Your skin is prickly. A solar flare shooting through your spine.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so aroused. You can hardly breathe around the weight of it sitting in your chest.

“Your scent..change.” Razor says through a breath, a thick layer of saliva where his mouth once was “Hot. So hot.”

You nearly whimper.

“ It’s because I’m wet…Aroused.”

“Wet?”

“It means I want to be touched. I want you to touch me down there.”

A beat of silence.

“Want me..to mate with you.” He sits up onto his knees, staring at you. Your legs are around his waist loosely. He presses a hand to your clothed sex. You jolt at the contact. “Want me to fill you, here?”

He puts his hand on your hip, on your stomach - before tucking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts.

“Want to see. What’s wet, I want to see.”

You lift your legs slightly, pulling your shorts off as you're bent at the knee. It’s embarrassing being bare naked in front of Razor, though you’ve seen him in the same state plenty. He’s quick to grab your knee and force your legs apart wide. He’s got that same focused stare, tongue poked out as he brushes the coarse hairs on your mound with his knuckle. You squirm under the feeling.

“Pretty,” He says first, then follows with “It’s…very warm. Hot but doesn’t hurt”

Razor explores with his hands. He runs his finger along your slit, before using his thumbs to spread you apart. He nudges your clit. At first you wonder if it's an accident, but when he does it again - rubs a pointed circle on the aching bundle of nerves you realize he’s being intentional.

“Here, right?” Razor says slowly and gauges your reaction “Feels good for you…here. Helps.”

You want to ask who taught him such a thing but you already know the answer. You nod helpless, feeling the way his thumb goes back and forth. He tries it in different ways, watches whatever way makes your breath hitch the most.

“Here makes you… jump. Like bunny rabbit. Like prey”

The word prey almost takes you out. You can’t make your words out very eloquently anymore. “It’s uhm sensitive.”

He knows the word. You’ve taught him it. He looks at your bare cunt all awestruck, gloved hand resting on your sex as he continues to toy with your clit. You squirm and shake, even trying to pull away. Razor manages to grab you, keeps you pinned with your legs spread, using his own body to keep you like that.

“Razor,” You moan, grabbing at his wrist “Razor.”

“Mm. It’s soft. So soft.”

“I want to see yours.”

It takes him a second to register your words, but he’s not ashamed in the slightest when he does. He takes off his gloves right before. You’ve felt it, briefly, the weight and heft of his cock through clothes but you’ve never actually seen it. You gasp as he pulls it out, tucking his pants down under his balls. He’s hairy - thick dark gray hairs nested at the base. His cock has a pretty curve up, tip ruddy and bright. It’s drooling, dribbling pre-cum and heavy. He wraps his free hand around the base and strokes it instinctively. It’s a good length, but it’s thick. Thicker than you could’ve ever conjured up in your own mind.

You reach for it between your bodies, your hands trembling as you touch it. Razor lets out another throaty growl. Your hand doesn’t fit around it completely. The back of your throat tightens up.

“You’re—it’s big. I can’t—not at once. I h-have to open myself up a little bit.”

Razor tilts his head to one side and you shake yours in reply.

“I need to uhm,” You gesture vaguely “Make it more..wet and stretch myself out. So you fit i-inside.”

“Want to help. Teach me.”

“...Teach you?”

“Easier if I..learn now. When we do it again later. Teach me..how to touch you.”

The words sound sweet coming out of his mouth, honeyed and loving. An obedient and eager pupil, Razor has always been that hasn’t he? And he always listens the best he can, tries his hardest. You suppose that this instance is no different. You suck in a breath and spread your legs a little more.

“Watch,”

Razor watches. He watches as you dip your fingers into your mouth and coat them with saliva. Watches as you snake a hand in between your legs and dip your middle finger down low into your cunt - with a trembling sigh at the sudden intrusion. He watches intimately as you pump them in and out, rhythmic and noisy. The sound of your own wet heat rings in your ears as you spread yourself in earnest.

Half-way through, Razor puts a hand on your thigh. He pushes your own hand away, and waits for you to open your eyes. He stares at you, long and hard.

“I want to eat you. Want to lick,” His hand cups your bare pussy “Here. Make you wet. Open you by myself. Want to eat.”

You’re speechless. Profoundly turned on by the sentiment, so much so you can’t make out your own voice.

“Uhm,” You close your hands into a fist, tucking your chin. “You can do whatever you like, Razor.”

He assesses the statement and you watch him take it in. He ends up on his stomach, lying between your thighs. You’re fascinated by his assurance in himself. He takes the right position between your legs. You spread out to give him easier access and he gives you a silent look of thanks. His breath is warm as it fans your cunt.

Before you get a chance to breathe, Razor sticks his tongue and licks. It’s animalistic with no real finesse at all. He makes up for it with enthusiasm and some conclusions he’s drawn with your assistance. He sucks on your clit nearly feverish, takes it into his mouth like he did your tits minutes prior. It’s drooly and sticky and nasty in a way that makes you ashamed. You’re more ashamed because you like it, you love it really. Spit is running down, dripping down to your ass. It’s a loud slurp - a shameless, nasty hunger in how he licks up your arousal with his mouth and drenches your pussy with spit.

His groans reverberate into you. He likes what he’s doing. The sound and touch and taste - Razor overwhelms you with all of it. There’s a tangible intensity wrapping up around you, keeping you trapped in the wolf's den.

You don’t teach him to use his fingers. He seems to have figured it out. The pad of his middle finger draws the spit pooling along your seam before pushing itself into your tight hole. You gasp at how invasive it is at first. Razors fingers are thick and scarred and you can feel the ridges of your raised skin from healed injured when he fucks you open with them.

It feels good. Being wanted. Being consumed voraciously and openly without any care for shame. Razor is the embodiment of raw desire and all of it- every ounce of it is being used to devour you. The descendant of wolves, the son of the forest - laid between your thighs and eating like something delicious left at an abandoned altar.

Even clumsy, you’re turned on beyond reason. Arousal leaves you shakily pawing at him to slow down. Your voice is reduced to nothing but small whines and mewls - pleas to slow down that fall on deaf ears.

“Razor,” Your voice is clipped “Razor, please - it’s enough. Just.”

When he snaps out of his haze, his chin is soaked with arousal and spit. He wipes it with the back of his hand, looking at you.

“Tastes good. You taste nice.” He praises, heaving and out of breath.

Your stomach flares up with new found lust, hands covering your face.

“Archons, just. Come here.”

Razor climbs up on top of you again. You cup his face and kiss him hard, tasting yourself on him.

“You’re so unfair. But I can’t get angry because you’re not even doing it on purpose.”

“Sorry,”

You shake your head, kissing the corner of his mouth. Trembling with need.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. I want you inside. Want you to fill me in here, so bad, Razor.”

His eyes widen. Your desperation must reach him this time, because he nods. innocently. You’re thankful beyond words you’re on contraceptives. At this point, you think trying to use a condom would break you down.

“You just have to put it inside. But please go slowly, okay?”

“Go slowly…won’t hurt you.”

Razor sits up on his knees again, drawing your waist down towards him. Before he pushes into you, he lays his cock against your sex - pushing it between messy folds. His expression morphs, his jaw tensing as the head of his cock swells and throbs against your aching clit. It slides and slips so messily, pussy clinging to his hard length. You guide his cock towards your entrance while he leans forward over you. His palms are rough as they grab your hips, hands settling up under your knees.

You can feel his cock as he rolls his hips slowly. Your nails dig into his back, indenting the skin as you cry out. It’s thick, intrusive as he pushes into your tight little hole. Even after opening you up, there’s an ache inside as the head stretches your pussy open. The raw drag of skin on skin as Razor pushes inside of you. You can feel him with every movement, your legs wrapped around his waist tight.

Razor has always had a limited vocabulary. He likes to speak in short sentences since it’s what he does best. His speech now is a lot more developed, but he still finds it troublesome.

It stuns you when Razor's grip tightens and he swears under his breath - a single word, long and drawn out as his cock pushes into you deeply.

“Fuck,”

“R-razor?”

“Feels good…feels so good. Want…move. Please.”

“You can move, just let me hold onto you okay?”

Razor tucks his head against your neck before he fucks you. In one smooth motion, he pulls himself out completely before shoving himself back in. It’s as gentle as he can go, but you can practically feel him shaking above you. How his whole being urged him to fuck you llike an animal. The desperation rolls off of him in waves, his own hands gripping tighter as he slowly finds a rhythm to fuck you in. Clumsy thrust that turns into careful calculated ones as you urge him to go deeper.

“Deep,” Razor pants against your neck, his breath tickling your skin. His voice is a low growl as his hips snap up to meet the back of your thighs with each thrust. Your bed creaks each time he moves, the frame knocking against the wood “I’m deep inside you,”

“Razor,” You sneak a hand between your bodies, clumsily toying with your clit - pleasure ruining your every thought “Harder. Give it to me harder.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, Razor gives up on trying to hold himself back. He fucks you with nearly reckless abandon, an impressive amount of strength and weight behind each thrust. His dick pushes in and out of you hard and fast in the most unromantic way. You can feel it all the way up to your throat. It makes the back of legs and and your lower half feel tingly. Your head is blank, nothing but spotted white in your vision. You blink them open to look at Razors face.

He’s biting at his lower lip hard, focusing all of himself on his thrusts. He’s enduring it well. Your insides clench, a fluttery sensation starting to build up between your legs. You can feel it in your belly, the knot starting to untie.

Razor is starting to feel it too him.

“Inside so, ngh - hot. S-something coming, going to—”

“A little more. Gonna cum soon, Razor. Feels so good, you make me feel so good.”

Your mindless praise makes him whimper. A soft noise that echoes through you. You repeat it over and over, in a high voice like you’d praise a puppy. Razor takes it in beautifully, trying so hard not to succumb to his own desires. He restrains despite how hard and how fast and how deep he’s fucking you. You know it’s not easy.

“I’m gonna c-cum, Razor,” You say, at the very edge “Cum with me. It’s okay, you can let it out.”

You cum hard. Harder than you think you ever have in your life, then you’ve ever been able to manage by yourself. The sensation hits all at once, like falling through the sky, you can feel the clouds pushed away by the weight of you coming down through. Your insides tighten and tense one last time before everything releases at once, and waves of the aftershock leave your pussy fluttering. You’re washed with pure euphoria, crying out Razor’s name as you cum.

Razor is quick to follow you. Your own orgasm seems to drive him over the edge, and he cums deep inside. He muffles his cry by biting into your shoulder, groaning as hot seed spills into your cunt with a harsh stutter of hips. He fucks into your pussy, soft and messy before bottoming out and nearly collapsing on top of you.

It takes you a long minute to catch your breath well enough to speak.

You rub Razors back soothingly before you do. He lifts his head, eyes heavy as he looks at you.

“Wow,” He says, eyes wide and blown out. You can’t help but break out into a fight of laughter “Love you…”

“I love you too, Razor.”

“Wanna do it again,” Razor says, looking at you seriously “Can I?”

You feel a pulse of warmth through your whole body before nodding.

“Uhm. Yes. Just give me a break first, okay?”

#razor x reader #gensnhin impact x reader #razor smut #genshin impact smut #writing tag #posts this then disappears forever

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lovingseventeen · 1 year

Note

can you do svt crying in front of you for the first time? (established relationship) 🥺

svt crying in front of you for the first time ✧˖*°࿐

a/n: the occasional mild angst, some are less serious than others. also sorry this took a bit, sometmes it's so easy to write for all 13 of them but other times i feel like i'm stretching ideas thin.. so i wanted to try to make this as good as i could .. i hope you enjoyed!

seungcheol:

○ it was after an argument with the members

○ really, it was just something stupid that got blown out of proportion and everyone went home with a hot head. he didn’t say much when he got home to you and you could sense that something was off

○ you decided not to hover around him and just let him come to you and vent if he wanted to

○ up until he was on the couch and you saw him check his messages and angrily throw his phone. you flinched at the sound but you also softened when you saw him angrily wipe his eyes

○ “hey.. what’s wrong?” you asked softly, carefully placing a hand on his arm

○ he just sat down and you followed. soon after, he lays down to put his head in your lap, voice muffled by his hands covering his face. “just something stupid” he sighed

○ instinctively, you start running your fingers through his hair bc you know it soothes him. you don’t say much to him in these moments but you’re glad you can help him calm down when he’s so upset (10 mins later you realize he’s fallen asleep while you trace your fingers)

jeonghan:

○ it was after an argument between the two of you

○ words were thrown around and he was being far too nonchalant and somehow that made you even more irritated

○ " i don't even know about this anymore!" you spit out

○ you'd never looked at him like that either. it's like he unlocked this new level of disappointment and he wondered if he could come back from it

○ "is this it, then?" he said, voice still far too quiet for the emotions that were running rampant in the room

○ angry and hurt tears fell from his eyes but he wouldn't break eye contact with you

○ he didn't want this to end, and he really didn't want this image of you to be the lasting one in his mind if it did

○ you softened, looking away, "i don't want it to be"

○ a small wave of relief washed over him, he could still hold onto you. he walked over to you to gently hold your hand, one that was crossed over your chest

○ "i don't want it either." you let him pull you into him

○ "can we please restart this conversation? i'm sorry it got here" he whispers into your hair

○ you embrace him back "yeah, i'm sorry too"

joshua:

○ he's a bit of an empath

○ you were crying during a movie so in the end, so was he NYDSDHSJ

○ "darling.." he says softly, heart aching over the sight of tears running down your face

○ there wasn't much he could do but to let you cry it out and feel your emotions but he wasn't expecting himself to get so sad either

○ he just wraps an arm around you, running a soothing hand up and down your back

○ he tries to look back at the movie but every sniffle and hiccup from you makes him turn back to you

○ when you notice his eyes blotchy too, it almost makes you stop altogether

○ "you're crying too, josh?"

○ "can't really help it when you're crying, baby" he chuckles, as both of you dab each other's tear's away with your own sleeves

○ "we're being a little silly right now, huh?" you slightly laugh

○ he does his little signature eye crinkle with a little snort, "maybe we are"

jun:

○ it was when he sprained his ankle pretty badly dancing and he was told to take a rest for two weeks

○ inevitably, it felt like the world was turning without him and that he wouldn't be able to keep up when he returned

○ you caught him trying to watch over a dance practice and following along in your living room

○ all was alright up until he put too much weight on his injury and fell over, landing on his bum

○ "ah, shit" he cringed, getting up to drop himself on the couch

○ "aren't you supposed to be resting, hm?" you asked gently, sitting down next to him

○ he leaned forward, placing his head in his hands, "yeah" followed by a sniffle

○ "you know the rest will let you come back and dance even better, right?" you asked gently

○ " i know, but i just want to keep up"

○ "darling you'll be able to make it up easily, you're literally the best" you encouraged

○ "you're just saying that because i'm your boyfriend" he mumbled into his hands

○ "not just because of that" you assured, wrapping your arms around his middle, "but because you're just that amazing"

hoshi:

○ he didn’t want you to find out that he was an emotional drunk. but of course, this was also kind of inevitable

○ one of the boys had texted you asking if you could pick him up after they all had a bit to drink while filming

○ by the time you drove your car up to the hybe building entrance, hoshi was waiting with an arm slung around mingyu’s shoulders (mingyu had an arm around his waist). anyone passing by would think that they were dating

○ “thanks for coming by, y/n” mingyu says, half carrying hoshi into the passenger seat and buckling him in. “any time” you laughed

○ you drove for a little bit in silence as you assumed that hoshi fell asleep. but suddenly you heard your name called out in a small voice

○ “what is it bub?”

○ a deep inhale. “myungho said i wasn’t a tiger”

wonwoo:

○ he didn't cry often in general, so you never really saw it

○ both of you were surprised when it was when he first heard circles

○ "woozi sent this over to me and said it's what he's always wanted to say so i wonder what it is"

○ he places his phone down on the table as you both listen to it

○ you're watching him more than you're listening

○ wonwoo himself is caught off-guard when he finds himself trying to hold his face back from frowning

○ suddenly his breathing is a little heavier as he's trying to control this heavy lump in his throat

○ it's by the second chorus that the tears start falling and you only reach over to hold his hand

○ he can't stop the tears by now so all he can do is wipe them away with the end of his sweater

○ you both wait for the song to finish (you yourself had to hold back from watching your boyfriend cry) and just sit in silence a little after

○ "it was beautiful" you say

○ a chuckle. "yeah it really was"

woozi:

○ it happened rarely, but rarely doesn’t mean never

○ he couldn’t come up with new ideas for his music

○ you visited him at his studio, but little did you know it was his nth hour of replaying the same clips over and over to jog his brain

○ “i brought you something~~” you announced as you closed the door behind you

○ he was hunched over his laptop, barely acknowledging your presence

○ you knew this was unusual, so you made your way towards him, setting the food you brought down on a table

○ when you sat next to him, he turned his face away but you didn’t miss the deep and slightly broken inhale he took

○ immediately you’re filled with worry. “what’s wrong?” you ask, reaching to give his knee a squeeze

○ “i’m gonna ruin our next album i can’t come up with anything”

○ “hey,” you said softly, “hey, you know that’s not true”

○ he finally turned to you with a stray tear falling down. he didn’t say anything out of fear of just crying more

○ “how about this,” you offer, “have you taken a break?” he shakes his head.

○ “have you maybe asked some of the other guys for help?” yet another head shake.

○ “have you left this room in the last 48 hours- not including the bathroom!” you clarified, this finally made him laugh.

dokyeom:

○ it was during a movie (bless his heart)

○ it wasn’t even a particularly sad one, it was actually quite the opposite

○ something about a child reuniting with their parents after being lost for so long and it touched your heart too

○ though it surprised you to look at your boyfriend hurriedly wiping tears away from his eyes

○ maybe you fell in love with him a little more, “you okay?” you asked, pressing a kiss to his cheek

○ he sniffled but smiled nonetheless, “yeah, ‘m just happy they found each other again”

mingyu:

○ it was after a particularly grueling day of practice

○ his body couldn't seem to keep up with the complicated choreography and he was missing half of his marks

○ the other members were making jokes at his expense with no malice whatsoever, but little did they know they were hitting a little deeper that day

○ during one of their breaks he checked his phone

○ i'm in the area getting lunch, do you want me to drop off something? you texted

○ yes please, he replied, texting a simple order

○ when you arrived at the hybe building, he met you in one of the quieter spaces meant for employee lounging so he could talk to you for a few minutes, you did come all the way

○ "hi baby" he greeted, so so glad to see you

○ "hi gyu," you smiled, but something in your gut told you something was off, "you okay?"

○ for a moment you saw his smile falter, but he quickly tried to mask it again. "yeah i'm fine, the new dance is just kinda hard"

○ you didn't want to press too much further so you just reached up to cup his cheek, "i trust that you'll get it gyu, i really do"

○ he sees how genuinely you believe your words through your eyes and this is enough to make him smile but not enough to let him fully hold back a tear

○ you wipe it away and he leans into your touch

minghao:

○ you were partaking in a little tea ceremony with him

○ maybe there was something in the air that day, the weather was beautiful, warm, but not enough to make you sweat, a simple breeze passing through

○ he snuck a peak at you sitting across from him while you were meditating

○ he was hit with a sudden sense of fulfillment

○ there you were, putting your utmost focus into something he cared about and he just felt so happy

○ your face looked so relaxed as the gentle sunshine made your skin look like it was glowing

○ since the two of you think alike, you snuck a peek at him too and caught him wiping a tear away

○ "are you okay, hao?"

○ "just happy" he smiled

seungkwan:

○ it was after one of their tours and seungkwan had been away for 3 months

○ you had started dating a month before the tour even started so he was concerned that he was leaving you too soon

○ would you still like him when he came back? what if your met someone who you could be with more often?

○ so on his day back, his stomach was flipping in excitement and in anxiety. he missed you so much, but what if you realized you didn’t miss him?

○ while he unlocks your apartment, he takes a deep breath, preparing himself to accept whatever comes

○ when he opens the door he sees you (with a biggest smile on your face) with a small cake in your hands that says “welcome home my boo!”

○ there’s also some balloons decorating your living room and he just can’t believe you did all of this

○ “y/n” is all he can say, unsure of what he could to convey how much his heart was swelling

○ “welcome home, baby” you smiled, placing the cake down to make your way to him

○ his arms opened up to you like second nature, quick to wrap around your middle to pull you close to him

vernon:

○ dang it's really hard to come up with a scenario where vernon might cry

○ either it has to be a genuinely tragic moment or something kind of random (like him)

○ maybe he was trying to cook or something and rubbed a pepper in his eye because he forgot he held it with his bare hands

○ "babe i need help" you hear from the kitchen

○ there you see your precious boyfriend with his eyes squinted and a little red, not knowing what to do with his hands

○ "what happened?"

○ "rubbed the pepper into my eye.."

○ "ah" you nod, quickly wetting a paper towel to dab at his eyes that are watering

○ pls his hands are still out as he tries not to touch anything else so he looks a little silly

○ "you're trying not to laugh aren't you" he mutters, barely able to open his eyes

○ "no" you deadpan

○ "you can't be mean like this, y/n" he pouts and frowns. if you didn't have the context of the pepper you'd really think you hurt his feelings

○ (lowkey curse him for looking kinda good even if he's crying)

○ "uh huh, poor you" you scoff, making sure to wipe his hands too

dino:

○ cried because drunk you wouldn't get into the damn car (funny how karma hit him after doing the same exact thing to jeonghang)

○ "but i wanna party some more!" you whined, barely able to stand up by yourself

○ he's struggling to carry you as you randomly drop your weight

○ he doesn't know if the tears coming from his eyes are from laughing at your state or genuine frustration that this is so hard

○ the two of you end up plopping on the pavement next to your car as your legs have magically decided to stop working

○ "baby please, my love, my darling, the love of my life, get into the car" he practically begs

○ "but i barely got to drink!"

○ "but you've drank too much!" he half-argues, he finds himself almost losing it because why is he arguing with a drunk person?

○ "honey, please" he even goes to the extent of clasping his hands together, "let's go home"

○ suddenly drunk you decides to bargain

○ "will you buy me ice cream"

○ "baby i would buy a store's entire stock just for you to get into the car"

○ your drunken self softened at this, "you would?" by this, you're also tearing up

○ "okay chan, i'll get in the car"

○ he's thanking the heavens as he helps you up and eventually fastens your seatbelt.

○ but you do make up for things when you mumble what sounds like an 'i love you' before you proceed to pass out in the passenger seat

○ (he still stops by a convenience store to buy you ice cream even as you snooze)

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hopelessrromantix · 9 months

Note

Sending a less intense ask now that I know you didn't disappear. How about Miguel x male reader who's cannon event was losing his husband, his worlds Miguel. (Hurt/Comfort)

Or Miguel, who's afraid to hurt the reader bc his fangs/powers/strength/etc. So reader has to show him that they're stronger than they look. (Angst/Fluff, optional Smut)

Or Miguel and reader having a secret relationship, but it's hard to keep it that way when he's so desperate for your attention all of the time (Smut, cough semi-public cough)

These are just some ideas, but there's no pressure to answer any of them. Have a good day :)

Might write your other ideas too, ngl...

Slightly more angst whoops.... sorry?

The first time you met Miguel had been a very long time ago.

It was a glance at first. Just a random man visiting the doctor's area of your lab. Perfectly normal.

Then it was a conversation. Then a date. Then a proposal, and before long you were married and happy.

You were originally working on a biological project, which was the spider that made you the Spiderman of your world. And though Miguel was nervous, he was supportive nonetheless.

Unfortunately, like all your counterparts, your unavoidable canon had resulted in Miguel's death, something you never got over. No matter how long passed, your heart felt just as heavy thinking about your husband.

You'd tried just about everything to get him back, even if he wasn't the same.

Experiments, A.I., anything that came to mind. But it was never him.

Maybe it had destroyed you a bit.

Maybe you spent too long torturing yourself in your head, trying to cover any sense of loss with the humor so traditional of a spider.

And maybe, just maybe, you missed him more than you could handle.

It wasn't until you swung face first into an anomaly (literally, a wall had basically materialized in front of you) that your life changed again.

Before you could blink, a man in a dark suit had been tackled to the ground. He was forming stone walls around him, attempting to stand back up.

Judging by the large stature of the man behind him, that wasn't happening.

The suit drew your attention first. It looked weirdly like the one Miguel had helped you make years before. Not the same, but close.

Several other people were with him, each one with different but similar outfits.

"Uhhh should I be fighting you guys, or…?" You questioned, looking over the group. You were prepared for a fight, but they seemed too calm to be villains like those you usually fought.

The tall man looked over to you, nodding to a woman next to him, dressed in all red.

"No, but we owe you an explanation."

And they gave you one, explaining that you weren't really as unique as you thought, but in a much more fulfilling way. You were one of many, many universes out there.

They showed you HQ, a place full of slightly different variations of yourself.

And with that, you had one single question.

Is he out there somewhere too?

After that moment the tour was a blur. Your mind was too caught up in running over the ways to ask if you could find your husband. Even just seeing him from a distance. Anything would do.

"Hey, big guy?"

The man in front of you seemed unimpressed, even in the dim light of his workspace.

"What's the rule on going to see people in other universes? Like, you came to my world so shit wouldn't go sideways if I visited someone, would it?"

It wasn't the first time Miguel had been asked that, of course. They all lost someone, of course they'd ask to see them again. The only issue was breaking the fabric of reality. And the fact that Uncles, Aunts, and anyone else really was dead in most worlds.

"No you cannot see dead loved ones."

His mask faded away, a serious look on his face. "We all have canon events…"

He was talking. You knew he was talking.

But his eyes were so tired.

It had been a long time since you'd seen him, but he looked so much less… alive.

But you'd take any version of alive.

You couldn't hear anything he said. You were too busy studying every feature on his face, watching him carefully.

"Miguel?"

He paused. "We know each other on your Earth?"

"We don't on yours?" You asked with a twinge of sadness in your voice, wishing a parallel you could've been happy with him.

"Uh, yeah, hi, I was planning to step in a little sooner but, uh, whoops."

The flash of a woman floating in the air next to Miguel stopped you. Layla, as Spid- Miguel had introduced her earlier.

"Layla I'm in the mid-"

"Shockingly it's more important than whatever you're saying," she huffed. "In Y/n's world he joined the research team that eventually made the spider that bit him, in Miguel's world Y/n had joined a completely different company. You two didn't meet the same way in your worlds."

"Okay?" Miguel questioned, opening his mouth to continue complaining about Layla interrupting.

"Yeah, but on Y/n's Earth-"

"We're married. You… you saved the lives of a family and died in the process."

You could see his heart break for you. For most people, the shift in expression would be nothing. In fact, it was very well hidden. But you knew him.

And he knew loss more than most. And though he didn't know you, he knew what you felt.

Layla flashed away, leaving the two of you in the low light of Miguel's office.

"I'm sorry."

He was so much more broken than you remembered.

"I got to see you, that's all I wanted." You smiled, looking over his features with a sense of calm you hadn't felt since Miguel's death.

"Would you wanna take another walk? Maybe I could show you around my world." You suggested. You'd be happy just seeing him, you really would. But you'd be even happier spending time with him.

"You understand that-"

"It's not like you'd have to go back to my world forever. And I would've stayed alone there anyway, I doubt I would be wrecking some happy future life, Miguel."

His eyes narrowed. "But you-"

"You don't know me, it's okay. I'm not asking you to do anything. Hell even this is enough for me. Just talking to you, for any length of time"

"You aren't hearing m-"

"Losing you was the worst day of my life." He quieted a bit, letting you speak. "We all have canon events right? I'm sure you understand how much it hurt, then."

You took a breath. This was more overwhelming than you expected it to be, which was saying something.

"You don't know me, Miguel,.and technically I don't know you either. But we got along pretty well in my world? At least consider being my friend?" You asked, a hopeful look on your face as you stared at the much more tired version of your husband.

"Please, Miguel?"

He stared at you a minute, his eyes softer than they were a minute before. He glanced down at your hand before looking back up at your face.

"You should leave, Y/n."

Your hand dropped slowly as you tried not to let your heart break again.

And you listened.

#secret admirer #male reader #dom male reader #top male reader #x reader #miguel x male reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x male reader #miguel ohara x male reader #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 #atsv

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h0nkch0c0late · 7 months

Note

Omggggg Sam is the cutest thing ever!!! Could I request a cute little imagine of reader basically pampering Sam. Like doing his hair, some face masks and any night time routine 🤗🤗

Girl I have never done any of that stuff in my life so I'm gonna alter it a bit if that's okay :]

Pampered

Sam Riordan x Reader

SUMMARY: Sometimes your boyfriend just needs a little pampering. Too bad you don't know how the fuck to do it.

WARNINGS: none except for swearing, and mentions of vomit...don't ask.

---------------------------------------------------------

"Why don't we ever do shit like the cute couples in the movies?" Sam asks, the two of you cuddled up on your bed inside of your dorm, laptop open to some random rom com.

"Like pampering? Skin care routine shit? Hair shit?" You question, one hand playing with Sam's hair as the other lay lazily against his lap.

His head was laying on your shoulder, arms wrapped around your torso as he looked up at you with his puppy dog eyes, "Yeah. Why don't we?"

You quirk and eyebrow at him as you chuckle, "1. Because we aren't like the cute couples in the movies, and 2. I don't know how the fuck to pamper myself, let alone anyone else, and I barely have a skin care routine. I slap a bit of Nivea face cream on, and that's about it."

He shrugs, "true. I also don't trust you with any sort of product near my face. You might accidentally kill me with it."

"Not to mention we are the total opposite of a cute couple." You add with a smirk.

Sam scoffed, "oh, yeah. We're absolutely sickening."

"And not like the good kind of sickening either." You snicker.

He nods against your shoulder, "Yeah. It's more like the most vile, vomit-all-over-your-shoes inducing, weird kind of sickening." He explains in a feigned serious tone.

You begin to laugh at the stupidity of your conversation, Sam joining in and suddenly you both landed in a laughing fit.

Sam had landed on the floor, holding his stomach as he laughed, and somehow you had ended up beside him in the same position, both of you unable to breath from how much you had been laughing.

After a while, the two of you managed to calm down, laying on the floor beside each other in comfortable silence, the laptop still playing the rom com in the background.

As the two stared at the ceiling, pretending to make shapes with the bland pattern.

"...the least I could do is slather some slimy ass face cream on you." You say after a while.

"That sounds fucking amazing." He replied, the two of you turning your heads to look at each other, large grins plastered on both of your faces.

You chuckled as you flung yourself back onto your feet, helping Sam up and grabbing your face cream.

It wasn't the pampering that Sam had seen in the movies, but it was the second best thing.

No-scratch that- it was the first best thing, because his girlfriend was willing to do such a small action for him, but to him it meant so much.

After all, they weren't the world's most...conventional couple.

----------------------------------------------------------

I know it's not exactly what you asked for, Anon, but I felt that this way was more fitting for his character :))) and also bc I didn't feel like bullshitting my way through the fic LMAO.

#x reader #imagine #sam riordan #sam riordan x reader #gen v fanfiction #gen v #genV x reader

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blackpilljesus · 5 months

Text

I've not dated or had close relations with moids in years. I've been on the path to spending the rest of my days as a single childfree woman & committing to it as an osawoman. During this time here's what I've learnt, shorter version here:

This lifestyle is a privilege - being able to exist without having to directly depend on a moid romantically/sexually is a luxury. Know the privilege you have and how you can take full advantage of it and keep yourself set. We arent living this way solely bc we're smarter, we were just momentarily luckier. Most women are a political/natural disaster away from losing everything. Bear this in mind; along the way think of "what if" to best start preparing yourself.

Dont bother justifying your ways to people - Most wont and dont want to get it. Save your breath. By getting into back and forth arguments over not marrying moids & not having children you are digging a deeper hole for yourself by giving them more fodder to counter. They wont change their minds. End the conversation short & move on.

You cant save everybody - Ditch the saviour complex. We all get dealt bad hands in life; some worse than others. Other peoples lives arent your responsibility, there's only so much you can do because you've got your own issues too. Besides some are too far gone, you'll only end up drowning or being burned trying to save others especially if they dont want saving.

Recruitment is a waste of time - I often see extensive discourse around this topic w/ some women trying so hard to recruit others into this lifestyle or being separatists, wgtow, etc. All this does is waste time that can be spent on building instead. If some women dont get it oh well it's not the end of the world (although every woman does get it, they're just doing what they can t survive) it doesn't matter long term TO YOU because if you're serious you dont need other womens understanding/stamp of approval to build a network/resources for women; you can get started without them; heck some may join once they see the value like how so many women broke up with their partners after watching the barbie movie. Some women are more focused on recruitment than living the single childfree life they claim to be about and it consumes them - dont let recruitment consume you. Besides other women willingly engaging with moids buys you some time; those who know - know.

Most activism is a waste of time. Things only change when it benefits those in power but they will never relinquish their power entirely. It's great to put knowledge out there for others to learn but getting into discourse having to justify yourself & being swallowed by your activism will do more harm than good. Most activism is a stepping stone at most for the next chapter of your life. Learn to game the system instead of changing the system.

Focus on yourself. Everything as we know it is rooted in the system that has been perfected over the millenias. The problems of misogyny, racism, ableism, etc have existed before we were born and will exist after we die (part of why im not birthing into this mess). Trying to change it is a losing battle. This doesnt mean dont advocate or care about anything but look out for yourself first & be comfortable learning to existing between the cracks. It'll be quite the exercise tho as we've been socialised to prioritise others.

This is not a lifestyle one simply chooses it's something that chooses you. This isn't for everyone, those who know; know. If you require a lot of convincing or handholding then it isn't for you.

It gets lonely. Not because of not having a moidfriend; even when partnered with them many women still feel lonely. It's because most women are moid centric / obsessed and would want to be partnered with an xy someday or already are. Very few women truly commit to or understand this lifestyle irl tbh. Even my moots who are separatists or just single & childfree are halfway across the world. However that said, many women in the community can also be toxic; holding each other to high standards and there being constant bickering. You can befriend moid partnered women but be careful with them. We're surrounded by the system, existing out of core elements of it will come with a degree of isolation but on the bright side there's also peace if it all goes well.

Less is more. The less you say to others the less ammunition they have to hit you with. Bragging about this lifestyle to our predators will only make things harder because they've already got a huge upperhand. Too many of us moving in one go will bring unprecedented waves we're not ready to deal with. See 2, 3, and 4.

Ignorance is not bliss. Completely cutting off from xys including knowledge of their evil will make you unprepared should a threat strike. Not understanding moids nature is how some women think things are as easy as getting up and walking away without considering security & other factors then get suprised when moids strike. I'm not saying drown in true crime & xy evil but dont stray too far you lose touch of reality. Side note this is why women are gaslit about moids nature so that they dont have the chance to effectively prepare. Stay informed. I constantly learn from the women around me. Pay attention to xy motives & tactics. The power they hold, possible moves they may play etc. You wont be able to know/guess everything but stay in the loop nonetheless.

You will make mistakes be prepared to learn

It gets easier to control your attraction to moids overtime (if you're osa) as your focus is elsewhere as you realise there is a more fulfilling world out there beyond marriage & kids. Also life is just so much better. I know most women want the fairytale prince charming or an angel nigel but it's just not happening. Especially in a world like this. The freedom to be able to exist as a person & not a slave/punching bag for a rape ape is BLISS. You get so comfortable with it you wont wanna be with moids anyway especially when you see what other women go through. (Side note this is why women are pushed to being with moids as early as possible so this level of enlightenment is never reached & instead all women know + become accustomed to is suffering at the hands of moids).

As time passes and you mature into this lifestyle you can tell who's new and who's got skin in the game. I wont elaborate here as it'll digress and this note is long as is but those who know; know.

There's so much work to be done it'll last a lifetime. This lifestyle ain't easy. It strays from the norm so the typical guardrails that come with traditional options are out of the picture. The good news is that you can spend time crafting your own blueprint to follow or share with others who are willing. There's such little in terms of infrastructure & resources for single childfree women and yeah xys will likely try to destroy these things but at the same time if it can be done go for it and bear xy threat in mind we gotta start somewhere.

A purpose/guide is important. It's something that's going to guide your life through the ups and downs because it wont be a smooth ride but it'll be something that can make you in situations that break you. This isn't a "fuck you" to moids directly, it's about ourselves. Seeing this lifestyle as some type of "gotcha" against moids will only make things harder and lowkey misses the point of decentering them. I have my reasons for never getting married or having children that are solid (if you need inspiration checkout r/breakingmom on reddit). True comes from seeing something as bigger than yourself; find a purpose in this line of life to keep you going.

Invest in yourself. Personally, financially, etc. Pretty obvious but especially now that you're going to be more alone you need to be able to count on yourself more. With enough investment it can help other women too.

Invest in female network. No gyn is an island. Even though I'm not much of a social person the friends I have make my life better; they've been supportive but also honest. Also support female centric spaces online & offline; they're all that we have lest we be banished to the silo prison of the "nuclear family" or exploitative misogynistic communities.

Get comfortable disassociating/cutting people off. If you want to survive some things/people will simply just have to go.

You arent owed anything from other women, but you dont owe them anything either. The operating word here is owed, I aint saying women shouldn't help each other - I'm saying dont feel entitled. The feminist "girls support girls" schtick is bullshit. We're in a cold world full of ruthless oppression where everyone is just trying to survive however they can; in many cases it helps women survive when they turn on other women instead of on moids. Solidarity works because those who have solidarity politically speaking are people with power, it works in their interest to stand & work together as to keep + maintain their privileges in society so there wont be much female solidarity as in many cases it's not worth it to women long run. It aint right but that's how they perceive it so watch your back.

Everything is political. Always remember this. Many (privileged) people try to downplay politics & its effect but it runs our world which is why they want you blind to it. Pay attention.

There's merit to being around like-minded women even if it's just online. Like I said before it gets lonely. Very few women are willing to face & accept the truth about maIes. Being around like-minded women can be depressing sometimes as they drop blackpills bitter than you can initially handle but at least you dont feel so isolated/crazy.

#i will update this with a shorter version later #female separatism #female separatist #radical feminism #radical feminist #blackpill feminism #feminism #blackpill feminist #wineauntmovement #feminist #single life is the best life #single life #wine aunt #childfree

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teyums · 1 year

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can you write neteyam x reader you spend a night together at the tree of souls before he leaves with his family and he wants you come with him?🫶

“Come With Me.”

a/n: a little something bc it’s been a while <3 wc: 769

pairing: neteyam x fem! na’vi reader

warnings: none

News hadn’t been the only thing broken the day Neteyam confessed a fate you never thought he’d be bound to. Him and his family were to embark on a journey to a different clan, far away from home, and far away from you.

It felt as if the weight of the world had come crashing down in a matter of minutes, and the only thing able to keep you up on your feet that moment had been your strong grip on his forearms while you crumbled in his hold.

“What are you thinking about?”

Neteyam’s silky voice draws you out of your rumination, his gaze more than gentle when your head moves to look up at him.

“Nothing, ‘Teyam.” You hum, returning your cheek to its former position on his chest, pressed against the rhythmic thrum of his heart.

The two of you have been stuck to the other like glue for the past week, insistent on not wasting a single second of the time you have left together. And just like yesterday, and the day before that, you’re intwined in each other’s embrace, laid underneath the soft glow emitting from the tree of souls. A sacred place to your people, the same sacred place you both would have sealed the bond, deeming you mate’s for life, if the threat of impending war hadn’t completely destroyed your plans.

You inhale a longing breath as the length of his arm wraps around your frame to bring you closer, the rough pad of his thumb circling the round of your shoulder, and his voice rumbles in his chest as he speaks.

“You know I know you’re lying, right?”

A rugged sigh leaves your lips and you gently pull away from him, and his eyelids lift, eyes widening slightly at the unexpected movement. The familiar sting of tears bubbles against your waterline, and you drop your gaze to focus on the ticklish blades of grass below your bodies that have surprisingly become much more interesting than the conversation at hand.

Neteyam is quick to prop himself up on an elbow, his entire body shifting towards you as well as his attention. Your head flinches away after he delicately lifts your chin with his finger and a frown takes over his lips at your sudden detached state, as well as the sight of amber glossing over with moisture.

“My love, why are you crying?” He breathes out, his face shadowed with concern.

His thumb swipes a stray tear from your cheek before you can even realize it’s escaped, and your lip trembles as you try to form words. What you settle on has his shoulders drooping as well as his moods.

“Don’t ask stupid questions, Neteyam.” You murmur.

And he knows it was a stupid question. Him and the rest of the Sullys are set to leave in two days, first thing in the morning with a grueling flight ahead of them, and all you can think about is his safety. The fear that you may never get to see him again is overbearing, making itself known in your head with a haunting echo. And even louder is the fear that he’ll become betrothed to another, his memory of you long forgotten.

He pauses for a beat, and his eyes flit to where yours are locked on the ground, as if he too is thinking of what to say, before they raise to meet your face again.

“Come with me.”

Your head snaps up at that, and you stare at him incredulously, lips parting and eyes darting between his own as you search them. Surely he must be joking, but as that same determined look remains on his expression, you can’t help the way your jaw drops.

“Oh, you’re serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious.” The roll of his eyes is comical and he reaches to take your hands in his, pulling you up into a seated position with him. “Will you?”

“I-“ You’re at a loss for words, your lungs left breathless as your mind races over all the details regarding his invitation. He can almost see the apprehensive thoughts written on your face. “I don’t know, Neteyam. What about my Mom? She’d be heartbroken… And my Dad, oh gosh, there’s no way he’ll agree-“

His braids move with the action of him shaking his head, and a chuckle that wafts through your ears is enough to halt your rambling. “Just breathe, yawne. I know, it’s a lot. But you don’t have to say yes, the choice is entirely up to you. I just wanted you to know that you have one.” He assures you with a gentle stroke of your cheek and his heart flutters at the way you lean into his hand.

A soft hold circles around his wrist as you peer up at him, up into those warm eyes that never fail to convince you. But before you can say anything, before another doubt can manifest from your lips, he speaks again— a promise sincere enough to wither away your worries.

“I won’t be upset with you if you say no. But just know that wherever I go, my love for you will always follow.”

Likes + Comments + Reblogs are much appreciated! 💗

©teyums 2023

#neteyam x reader #avatar way of water #neteyam sully #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam fluff #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam avatar #neteyam fic #neteyam #avatar 2 #neteyam x you #avatar twow

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blainesebastian · 2 years

Text

co-stars

words: 2,475 ship: austin butler x reader summary: (request from @lovvelylivv) “hidden co-star relationship“ where austin and female reader are doing press tour 4 elvis and the interviewer is like low key flirting w her and austin is clearly jealous but he can’t do anything bc they’re not public yet. notes: masterlist posted here! warnings: none tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell

It just sort of happened, that’s what you tell your closest friends.

You’ve been in plenty of films before to know the drill—showing up, doing your job and doing it well, going through the motions of before and after a movie wraps, the interviews, the parties, the events, the awards. You know for the most part what to expect.

But what you didn’t expect was Austin.

Your agent comes to you with this great opportunity, to be in a film that’s not quite a biopic but something more than that, a story that needs to be told and shared about Elvis Presley. You’re not quite sure how you fit into this thing or even if you can carry out something that’s so important to this man’s legacy. But you’re a firm believer that everything happens for a reason, and so when you get the part from your audition, you know you’re not going to take anything for granted.

Working with Austin is just the icing on the cake. You knew of him from similar circles, but you didn’t understand how incredibly talented and dedicated he was until working with him firsthand. Not only that but he’s extremely humble, thoughtful, and sweet. Not only was running lines and scenes with him easy, but he also became a fast friend that you could talk to about the film, the industry and just general things you’d been going through.

You knew Austin had lost his mother when he was younger, he’s always been rather open about that with regards to his Elvis role, but you don’t quite have the words to be able to say how much he was there for you when your dad got sick. Right in the middle of filming too. So much of your world was spinning off it’s axis and Austin was the only person that made things slow down, still. Your father eventually got better, but it was an incredibly rocky few months and you don’t think you would have made it through without having someone to lean on.

So it’s only natural that a month or so after that, you two started seeing one another.

At first it was just kissing—electrically charged moments leftover from emotionally vulnerable states, the connection you two felt over shared experiences, shared pain. But it obviously blossomed into being something more than that because your feelings didn’t have anything to do with finding an escape.

Kissing turned into spending the night, which turned into dates, which turned into introducing friends and family—even though your father already knew Austin well from all the time he visited in the hospital. The relationship is serious, yet very private. Both of you know what it’s like to have your lives turned inside out by Hollywood, to constantly being under the microscope of the public eye and…you both want to focus on what’s important, which is right now Elvis and all the hard work you’ve put in over the years.

Your relationship is your business and yours alone, Austin agrees that there’s a time and place to go public. For now, it’s minimal PDA that doesn’t go beyond close friends and the real intimacies behind closed doors. Austin’s a gentleman naturally, so most of the time his mannerisms towards you are easily explained.

It makes sense, though it doesn’t mean it’s always easy.

You walk out of a small back room to an interview space, mostly a red-curtained area that has the ELVIS movie logo behind two tall chairs that you and Austin are going to sit in. You’re not mic’d yet, so small conversations are able to be had as everyone else runs around to get ready for the interview. You give Austin a small smile, his hand along your lower back as you walk to the chairs,

“You gotta help me climb onto these things.”

A soft laugh rumbles in his chest and well, these chairs are slightly awkward. They’re elevated from the ground but especially if you’ve got heels on? You kinda got to hold onto someone else as you hoist yourself up and get situated.

“What would you do without me?” He teases, holding onto your hand and helping you up. “You good?”

“I think,” You shimmy around to get comfortable, adjusting your blazer that you paired with black skinny jeans and black studded heels. Austin’s just got a simple black t-shirt on, pleather pants but…the man could wear grocery store paper and still look great.

“Don’t be fallin’ over in one of these things.” His hand lingers along your hip and brushes your arm as he moves to take the chair next to you and you try not to think about how easily he adjusts with his long legs. One is bent just slightly as his heel rests on a rung of the chair.

“Right, would hate for you to show up at my mom’s house tonight for dinner without me.” You grin, voice an octave lower just in case.

Austin smiles, licking his lips as he runs a hand through his hair, “Your mom loves me—she probably wouldn’t even think twice.”

You snort, shaking your head. Honestly…that’s a bit true. Guaranteed she probably made an extra special dessert or something for him since she knows he’s coming to dinner. You straighten your shoulders as the interviewer comes out behind the red curtain, sitting in the other chair. A slew of other people follow, putting mics on both you and Austin, makeup people padding a few spots on your faces and finally asking if you’d like water or anything else to drink.

The interviewer’s name is Max and he’s this really chill guy from Brooklyn who has his own YouTube channel and podcast and you’re able to talk with him a little bit before getting started, cameras being turned on and intros being swept out of the way. Max does a great job at ping-ponging the questions back and forth to you and Austin, which you really appreciate. Sometimes you’ve been in interviews where questions are mostly for Austin—and that’s totally okay with you, but half the time you’re not even asked a second question in a half hour or hour span of time.

Austin makes sure you’re always pulled into the conversation though too, somehow turning questions about him, his craft, or his experiences, to loop you right into responding. It constantly makes you want to lean over and kiss him on the cheek for being so thoughtful. Max balances the questions out without being prompted, which makes the interview far more interesting to be a part of.

“So, I just gotta pause and say, Y/N, you were incredible in the film,” Max says, “I mean, just as often as I was blown away by Austin, I was astounded with you as well.”

You smile, still not used to taking compliments but you’re always appreciative to hear them. Your cheeks flush a soft pink and you can feel rather than see Austin smiling too in your direction, that sort of proud awe look he’s reserved for you many times over.

“Thank you,” You curl your hair around your ear, “It’s definitely a marathon race kind of movie, twists and turns, all good things though, astounding experiences.”

“What was the most difficult part for you?” Max begins to ask but then touches the earpiece he’s wearing, “Oh wait—hold on. Seems like we’re getting feedback from your mic. Sorry about that,” He stands from the chair, “Gonna need to switch it out.”

“Oh,” You look down, beginning to unclip it from the blazer you’re wearing. Austin picks up his water during the small break, taking a sip as Max gets another mic and helps you switch it out. Your hands brush as you exchange mics but you’re having trouble pinning it back on the lapel of your blazer without it falling.

“Here—let me…” Max trails off, stepping into your personal space. You can see Austin out of the corner of your eye watching, but trying not to, the interaction. You’ve gotten pretty well at sussing out Austin’s body language in this time together, as he’s come to know yours, so it’s clear that he’s not thrilled with how close Max is standing to you.

Though maybe it wouldn’t have been half as bad if Max would have kept his mouth shut.

“Sorry we interrupted your questions,” His fingers loop the mic chord underneath your blazer a bit, “Mic must have short circuited from your beautiful voice.” And while that is definitely the cheesiest line you’ve ever heard to flirt with you, it’s harmless.

Austin, however, definitely rolls his eyes.

You smile lightly, not wanting to be rude when there’s still an interview to get through. “I’m sure that’s not the case—I didn’t have enough caffeine today so maybe it can pick up on me screeching a little.”

Max laughs, pulling back, “Trust me—you got the whole beautiful package goin’ on.”

Austin clears his throat, loud enough that it seems to get Max’s attention and reminds him about what they’re supposed to be doing. He smiles in your direction again and turns to go back to his chair. A soft smile tugs at the corners of your mouth at Austin’s displeasure and while Max has his back in your direction, you quickly rest your hand along your boyfriend’s thigh and squeeze comfortingly. Austin’s hand covers yours, a quick motion as he readjusts himself in his chair, both of you back to normal when Max sits down again.

The questions continue seamlessly, that same back and forth action to talk about specific scenes, musical numbers, costumes, the whole nine. Towards the end though, Max kind of hesitates before another question comes out,

“So, Y/N, I just want to ask—we know your dad got sick in the middle of filming and I was just wondering what kind of effect that had on you as an actress and how that might have impacted how things were handled on set.”

You pause for a few reasons—for one, it is astounding to you that interviewers, no matter how unassuming they may be, can just presume they can ask really intimate and personal questions right at the drop of a hat. Luckily this isn’t live, so they can stop filming if need be, but also the fact that you don’t want to act like some sort of diva that randomly leaves interviews just because you don’t like the question. Secondly, you can feel Austin bristle beside you even though he doesn’t say anything, his face remains neutral other than a muscle in his jaw clenching, and you can see the sharp line of his shoulders where he was relaxed before.

He does not like the personal direction the question is in either.

“Uhm, well—” You trail off for a moment, trying to figure out how best to respond to this. While the question seems alright on the surface, it’s worded incredibly obtuse in a bunch of ways. It’s obvious having a sick dad had an effect on you as an actress, why does that need to be addressed?

Austin, sensing your discomfort, moves his hand to touch your wrist, “Hey maybe move on from that question man, that’s her dad—there’s other things you can ask her.” He’s already a bit riled up from before, so there’s an air to his voice that he’s putting his foot down, this is not a conversation.

You can feel yourself let out a slow breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, unable to find the exact words to either respond to the question or tell Max you couldn’t talk about it. Obviously your story ended up good, your dad is fine, on the road to recovery and getting stronger every day. But that doesn’t mean what happened is easy to talk about, or anyone’s business either. It’s out there, clearly, because Max felt comfortable enough to ask about it…but you really appreciate Austin jumping in like that.

Max at least has the decency to look embarrassed, nodding his head, “Of course, my apologies—we’ll cut that.”

Austin’s thumb runs back and forth along your wrist as they continue to film, a few more questions finishing up the interview.

He doesn’t remove his hand.

Once the interview is over and you’re in the back of an SUV, pulling out into traffic, you can feel the full force of frustration coming off of Austin’s body in waves. He’s rarely the type of person to get angry or irritated for long stretches of time, but clearly Max has gotten underneath his skin. You let him have a few moments to himself, looking over some texts from your mom about dinner. Eventually you reach over and settle your hand on his, running your thumb along his knuckles.

“I’m okay,” You want to assure him that you’ve definitely been through worse lines of questioning in your career but you’re pretty sure that’s not going to help. “Max was just overeager—I think interviewers start worrying that they’re gonna end up askin’ the same type of questions everyone else is, so some of them overreach.”

“He did not know when to quit; not to mention the amount of flirtin’ he was doin’ while fixin’ your mic,” Austin’s voice has this twang to it when he sometimes talks too fast, when he’s wound up, leftover voice impressions from Elvis.

You smile just a little, can’t quite help it, “You know…I consider jealousy a base emotion but it’s actually kinda hot coming from you.”

Austin turns his head to look at you, his eyebrows drawing together as his visibly struggles with his next words. A laugh bubbles in your throat, slipping out of your lips and instead of saying anything, he moves to grab onto you, tugging you across the center seat and against his chest. You’d attempt to move if you really wanted to, but you don’t, grinning as you tilt your chin back to look up at him.

“No one’s jealous here.”

You purse your lips, reaching to cup his cheek. Running your thumb down along his lower lip, you reply, “No of course not—not at all.”

He presses a kiss to the pad of your thumb, settling back into his seat. He’s relaxed a bit since you first got into the SUV, the harsh line gone from his shoulders, his eyes a calm blue instead of a restless sea.

“Just protective.” He mumbles and your stomach flutters at the warm sentiment. “Next time I’m tellin’ interviewers like Max exactly what’s on my mind.”

You laugh lightly before kissing him, stealing as much time as you can alone. Knowing how polite Austin is, you understand that probably won’t be the case, but the words mean just as much anyways.

Thank you so much for the request! I hope you liked it :) thanks to everyone who read, if you’d like to be added to a general Austin x reader masterlist, please let me know!

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler drabble #austin butler fic #elvis 2022 #mccall writes things

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wordy-little-witch · 20 days

Text

Silly Buggy ideas, but Buggy have oversensitive observation Haki but also Buggy having a strange ability not unlike the voice of all things, specifically being able to hear the echoes of energy from others. He can hear, see and sense the dead, the dying, the things beyond this world.

It's both INCREDIBLE useful and fairly useless. Buggy is constantly getting a lot of Input, because echoes exist everywhere and he's semi desensitized to it all. Sometimes they give him useful info, like a heads up about am attack from behind or little reminders. Sometimes they just wanna cause Mischief and Buggy, being the only "fleshy" who can see them, is their target. He gives as good as he gets though.

He forgets sometimes that others can't detect the other's, so he'll overhear a recruit in a heated discussion with another about ghosts existing, will drop a serious "Oh yeah they're definitely real. There's a bunch here, too" and then leaves, never to explain or expand on that again, his underlings now SWEATING bc Chairman Buggy What Do You Mean-??

Add in that certain blades in One Piece are given specific titles and specifications because they meet certain criteria. Yoru is one of the highest ranked blades in existence. She is imbued with Mihawk's Haki, but she's also spirited and has a soul - one imbued into her by the death of other handlers/smiths. Mihawk, as her Current Wielder, is able to feel and hear her, but Buggy can see her. He's.... a little intimidated by her, all things considered, but he's also got some survival instincts AND sense, so he's always polite. Yoru actually quite likes him. He isn't sure if he likes being favored by the patchwork persona of a giant and deadly weapon.

Crocodile meanwhile can never understand why Buggy has such a fixation on cleaning his hook. It's clean enough, but he will admit that it does often feel better when he gets it back from the clown. He'll allow it.

Buggy just has full on conversations with dead people when he's alone, not bothering to hide it at all, and because of the close proximity his main crew has had with him for so long, they also begin to find themselves Noticing things. None of them really have the same innate ability as their captain, but Buggy's Haki has braided into theirs just enough to give them glimpses, usually of the more powerful beings present.

Crocodile and Mihawk only really notice it when they are both tired, stressed, worried over a feverish, unconscious jester, and between one look and the next there is suddenly a fourth man in the room. They both jolt upwards, defensive, protective, until the man turns enough to flash them a familiar grin, and they both gape.

Gol D Roger cackles soundlessly at their expressions before turning back to Buggy. His smile softens, his eyes fall lidded, and sweat slick curls are brushed back from a burning forehead with a tenderness most would think the King of Pirates incapable of. The pinch in Buggy's brow twitches, a soft whine of discontent rising hoarsely from his throat. He turns his head, a mumble of what may have been nonsense or may have been a horribly slurred attempt at "cap'n-".

There is no sound from Roger, at least not that the dark haired men could hear, but they see the man move his lips, see Buggy's head turn towards him, like a flower to the sun. They smell the sudden wave of sea salt and rum and laughter, a scent without compare. They can't do much else but watch as a dead man takes up vigil at the side of a man he had once called son.

Buggy's fever breaks early the next morning.

#buggy the clown #buggy headcanons #cross guild #cross guild polycule #one piece headcanons #ghost roger my beloved #roger is a dad and i will die on this hill

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astudyincontrasts · 1 year

Note

You gave us jealous viktor which is great

But what about

HIS S/O GETTING JEALOUS BC OTHER GIRLS ARE PAYING ATTENTION TO HIM

You got it, nonny. And just to kill two birds, we’re making this a continuation of drunk!Viktor for everyone asking for a second part.

Inspired by @arcanescribbles artwork featured above, full work here

Viktor x Fem!Reader NSFW - Part 1

You didn’t know what you should have expected after that drunken night together. It surely wasn’t this, though. Awkwardness had been anticipated, sure. Perhaps a touch of sweetly embarrassed self-consciousness around each other at what you’d done, at the fumbling, wordless admissions you’d both made about your attraction to each other.

Because what had happened sure hadn’t felt one-sided.

Now, though… now you weren’t so sure. The notion that perhaps Viktor had just been sloshed out of his wits and not actually interested in you had opened like a yawning, sickening little pit within. A sinkhole growing by the day as he avoided direct eye contact, made no effort at all to speak with you beyond the formality of cool greeting or farewell. Worse still, he never seemed to be in a room alone with you, or a room alone at all, preventing any attempt at quiet or private conversation about what had happened.

Truely, it was as if nothing indeed had happened at all. At least for him. Cool, collected, buried in his work, Viktor carried on his day to day blithely unaware of how you stood there, burning. A crackling, scorching human flame of unanswered questions growing more painfully hotter by the day. No, you were back to being another moving bit of the scenery in his world. Nameless, faceless drone among the other lab workers and teaching assistants.

Perhaps you should have taken his example, forgotten all about that night and went on with life as usual. It wasn’t as if he’d used you, after all, or led you on. And with how incredibly drunk you’d both been nothing serious had happened. Just a bit of heavy petting, just the feel of his skin on your skin, his large palms and long fingers greedy to cup each curve they could find, eager to squeeze and leave little light bruises behind that had just about faded to nothing a few days later. Just the taste of his mouth, the heat of his tongue, just…

Maybe that was it. Maybe the fact he’d had too much to drink to stay fully hard had him embarrassed. Or the fact he’d passed out sleepily on you the second he had you beneath him on the couch. Honestly, you’d slept together but that was it. Just sleep. Just a cuddled pile of half-clothed bodies dozing off the booze in a tangled heap of unsatiated sexual frustration.

Or perhaps it was that you’d left so ignominiously; waking well before him to untangle yourself, redress and sneak out without saying a word. At the time you’d blearily thought it was for the best. That this was saving the both of you an awkward, painfully hungover morning of shame and apology. Now you realized you’d instead tossed away your one opportunity to actually make sense of what had happened, together.

Had he been hurt, when he woke and you weren’t there? Or confused? Maybe he’d thought it hadn’t happened, that it had all been a boozy dream. Or maybe he’d misunderstood your leaving as tacit agreement to pretend like your drunken fumble had never occurred.

It was difficult to say which of any of these horrible theories you liked least; that he had never been interested in you, that he was embarrassed of what had happened or regretted it, or that he felt hurt by how you’d slipped away like a thief without a word. And no way to know since you couldn’t talk to him.

It was making you sick, the uncertainty.

Sicker still to watch how little it seemed to affect him. Going about his everyday, blissfully unaware of the weight of your gaze or the crumbling edge of the pit within you that kept shearing off beneath your feet as you suffered his presence in the world in silence. It made you bitterly angry, had you short and sharp with everyone around you, made you feel like a mess of a person while he, gleaming and perfect and calmly polished, sat above it all untouched.

The breaking point came that weekend. Almost two weeks to the day that your world had been unraveled by something as innocent as a little too much wine with dinner.

Progress Day. The first one since the founding of the HexTech labs, since the breakthrough Jayce and Viktor had made that promised to change the world. The first Progress Day since the council had approved HexTech for research and funded the project to design and build what would eventually become the first of the HexGates. The experiments in controlling and directing the gates were coming along, and everyone was giddy with anticipation of the first manned attempt at travel scheduled in the coming months.

Normally you loved the pageantry of the holiday. Loved the tents and brilliant inventions on display, the bustle and busyness of the open streets and multicolored, intricate tents. A feast for the eyes, the imagination, the mind and the senses, overwhelming and exhausting in all the best possible ways.

But instead of a riot of color, your world was a wash of stark grays lit only by the livid flash of angry red as you stood there, manning the HexTech displays and tables along with your fellow lab workers, watching the fawning adoration of the crowds that streamed into the tent to meet the two men of the hour who were touting a brave new world for Piltover.

Jayce was ever the natural; warm and delighted in the fawning attention, the undisputed and easy locus of the majority of the crowd. Viktor less so, more reserved, but still beneficent in his acceptance of the attention. He seemed to catch the overflow from those who couldn’t reach Jayce through the thick gathering that surrounded them both.

And you stood there and watched, as over and over and over again some young woman or another chatted him up. Fluttered eyelashes and smiled up at him, one after another, blushing prettily as he spoke earnestly, putting hands upon him in a vaguely inviting manner that had you want to vomit on your own feet. Stomach lurching every single time he returned a smile, or someone got a little laugh out of him.

So many strangers apparently perfectly deserving of his attention while you were spared not a crumb. Pretty Piltie debutants and eager university students alike, all lined up to take a greedy mouthful of what you’d already had a taste of.

Your limit came when one of them, her hand resting upon his shoulder, leaned up on tiptoe to whisper something into his ear and you watched that insufferably pretty mouth of his curl cockeyed into a smile at the edge just under that dark little beauty mark.

The prototype model you held in the clammy grasp of cold-sweat slicked hands slammed onto the table top, your fellow lab engineers jumping at the sudden violence of it and no doubt staring at your angry little outburst as you spun on a heel and marched off. Head throbbing with every livid heartbeat, the world a hot flame, you cut your way back to the silence of the labs through the crush of crowds and throngs of faceless revelers.

They could all burn. It could all burn.

The labs were mercifully empty. Quiet. Work, work would help, surely. The equations were a worthy opponent and the technical engineering a safe, logical haven where everything was neat, ordered, made perfect sense. Nevermind that you couldn’t possibly do an ounce of the delicate work with how badly your hands shook at the moment. Calm would come. It had to. First, to the stockroom to shed the fancy frippery of the university waistcoat and tie for the protection of one of the lab smocks and to get the equipment and ledgers you needed.

You were just tugging loose the intricate triple fold knot of the tie when you heard your name.

The question of your name, in that familiar voice. Accent too gentle with the syllables of it, too careful with the sound. Oh no. Janna, no. Please.

Viktor’s long, lean shape darkened the doorway of the small stockroom closet a moment later and you felt your mouth go dry even as burning wet prickled unwelcome along your lower lashes.

“Am I interrupting?”

“What are you doing here? You’ll be missed. Don’t want to disappoint all those adoring-”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Viktor’s even, unbothered tone cut off your hotly callous harshness.

“I’ve got work to do.” It was a thin excuse, and as brittle as your voice.

“Oh. I see.” He was so gently willing to let you have your facade that it almost stung more than if he’d pushed back, dismantled your flimsy excuse and left you unprotected and easily seen. A moment’s awkward silence fell like a sharp edged stone heavy between the pair of you as he turned, glanced toward the exit across the lab, and you felt sure he’d take the easy escape.

Instead he turned back, and one stilted step after another brought him into the closet with you.

How many days now, had you been silently screaming, begging that he just look your way, just pay you an ounce of attention, acknowledge you existed? And now, under the weight of both those amber eyes you fervently wished to disappear. Your turn not to be able to look at him, hands struggling with your tie in a way that only made the knot tighter.

“Is something the matter?”

“W-why would anything be the matter?” You asked thickly, dropping hands to your sides hard as you gave up strangling yourself with your tie and instead stared at the shelving in front of you as if it had done a personal injury to every member of your family and your dog as well. “You’d better hurry back. Wouldn’t want to-”

“Are you mad at me?” The quiet question stopped you cold. Viktor’s cane clicked once more upon the floor as he swayed a step closer, and then hung the thing from the edge of a shelf to reach forward and pull the knot of silk around your throat loose. Careful fingers teased the mess you’d made of it until you should have been able to breathe again, were it not for all the air in the room vanishing with his proximity.

So close you could feel the warmth of him. So close you could smell that clean soap-chalk-coffee scent that was so essentially him. Eyes closed tight, if only to stop the hot prickling threat of unbidden tears, brows knit hard together as you forced the hard thud heartbeat in your temples to cease, to let you think clearly godsdammit.

“I confess, I can’t remember everything that happened the other night. I’m afraid I might have done something I regret.” He continued, when you failed to answer.

There it was. That sickly sense of nausea returned in double at the thought you’d taken advantage of him, that you’d both been too intoxicated and he’d never wanted what you’d convinced yourself he’d instigated. That sucking void within beckoned dizzyingly. Fall. You deserved it.

The silk at your throat parted and you felt a tug on the back of your neck that confused you, had eyes opening to find Viktor’s hands with a grasp of either end of your tie, using the looped tether of it to drag you closer, inch by fractional inch until you had to turn the question of your gaze up to meet his.

His expression was tight, almost pained. Like he was struggling to sift through the right words, or couldn’t force them to come at all.

“Viktor-”

“I think… I fell asleep on you. During… well, before. Anything.” His attention had slipped from your eyes to your mouth as you stared at him in confused consternation, “Embarrassing, I’m sorry.”

Wait. He was sorry? That was his regret - falling asleep?

“Have you.” You had to stop yourself, swallow, fix a point of focus on the little mole just below his one eye to keep the world from dissolving around you before you continued, each word coming out clipped and heavy, “Have you been avoiding me?”

Golden flecked gaze lifted slowly from its fascination with your mouth to find your eyes again, and the silently strained discomfort of his expression said it all. Don’t make me be this brave again sober. The breath you sucked was sharp, prickled with the barbed thorns of sudden epiphany.

“When you weren’t there in the morning, I thought… Well. And ever since you’ve seemed angry.”

Stupid boy. Stupid, stupid, Janna how could the smartest man you knew also be the most profoundly stupid… Alright, not that you’d been so incredibly intelligent about all this yourself, but.

All that doubt, all that jealous anger and uncertainty came rushing forward in a searing burst as you shoved him back against the shelves, caught his mouth as you went tiptoe and stopped the both of you saying another foolish word. His initial grunt of shock thinned and warmed to a hungry little hum as that rough kiss deepened. As you caught his lower lip in the tug of teeth before seeking the invitation of the press of his tongue against your own. Hands found his tie and this time you mercifully did not make a mess of it as you got it loose, flung it away and yanked the buttons at his throat open until you could get to skin, skin yes Janna, the taste of his skin again under your mouth.

Above you Viktor sucked a sharp hiss of a breath between teeth as you buried your face in his throat; biting, suckling hard kisses, pouring every last drop of that fruitless jealousy into each taste of him. Leaving a messy clustered path of darkening red and faintly purpling bruises behind from beneath his ear down to the sweet cut of his collarbone as his hands found the shape of your head, fingers sinking into hair and fisting tightly each time you nipped sharply or licked ticklishly over the faint pulse just under the hinge of his sharp jaw.

Yours, and everyone would know it. Everyone would see.

Reeling back a fraction, you gulped air as fingertips stroked lightly over your handiwork, smiling thinly to yourself at the pretty little patterns of pink and plum you’d wrought on that long, pale column of his throat.

“What…?” He was mumbling, puzzled at your smug, dark little expression of satisfaction, clearly as confused as he had been a few moments earlier about the nature of your feelings for him.

“Now all of those girls will know. I don’t want a single one of them thinking they can… I don’t want anyone to…” Words failed you as the hot sting of watching all those pretty women flirt with him as you stood helplessly by came rushing back and eyes darted from the possessive little marks you’d left to catch his gaze. Found him looking lost and confused but madly wanting. Brilliant idiot.

“I’m sorry I left. I shouldn’t have left.” Everything felt like a heady, dizzy hurry. Two weeks worth of frustration and need pouring out and wiping away any sense of reason in the crushing wave.

You slid to your knees and had his pants open before he could even suck a breath to shape a noise of protest or encouragement. Desperate to show him how he didn’t need a single one of those other girls, to show him how much you’d wanted what had happened the other night and how badly you craved more.

Face pressed into the part of trousers, breath humid as your hands slid over his clothed groin, eyes turned upward in the heavy lidded need that he understand.

“Tell me to stop.” You mumbled, finding the weight and soft curve of his balls through the fabric of trousers, cupping them in a constricting, slow roll of one palm that made the lovely shape of his mouth drop open.

“Nno. No, don’t.” His order was strangled, softly cracked and urgent.

He hissed relief when you freed him at last, gave him respite from the ever tightening confines of clothing and wrapped both warm hands around the considerable girth of his cock. More than you’d anticipated, and the back of your throat burned just looking at it. Gently curved leftward, thickness of it run through with two branching rising veins like a deep blue lichtenburg under pale but flushing skin. The smooth bell curve head of him ruddy with an invitingly deepening rouge along slit and beneath the ridged rise of its edge.

He practically invited taste from look alone, had you all too eager to lick the sensitive head of his cock to a glossy wetness as your hands worked him, pumping slow, too slow if the way his hips rutted forward into their grasp had anything to say about it, yet he made no move to guide or halt you. One long fingered hand pressed to the flat of his own stomach, holding the front tails of his shirt up and back, offering a tantalizing view of the thin, darkly chestnut trail of hair that traced from just above his navel to the base of the cock in your grasp. The other hand still gripping your hair, throwing you right back to how he’d teased you that night. How he’d so perfectly summoned all those secret, dirty little fantasies of doing exactly this, exactly here, in this room.

An urgent, near angry little sound from him as you toyed tongue beneath the straining little sensitive line of frenulum beneath the head of his cock let you know the limits of teasing had been hit. And once more you turned eyes upward, only to feel him tighten his grip upon your hair, the strained, sweet tugging burn coursing over your scalp in a centering little delicious burn of faint pain.

The look on his face had your thighs clench against each other hard. Amber eyes gazing down from a face whose lovely angles made such a welcome seat for the bruised lust enthroned there. Softly dark and dangerous, ravenously wanting in that thinly veiled way that looked so wonderfully devious in place of his usually guileless expression.

The warm, wet heat of your tongue flattened out, let the weight of his head just rest there before you sucked the tormenting tenderness of a wet little kiss off skin made slick by both the oozing beads of his own cum and your licking ministrations.

“Do you want me?” The words mumbled against the hot of his flesh pressed against your wetted lips.

He nodded and you frowned, the slight corkscrew spiral stroke of your hands slowing. The genius finally caught the hint.

“Yes.” The answer was breathy, molasses thick and dark.

“Just me?”

“Janna, yes.” You watched the heavy line of his brows tug in at their center as his knuckles pressed urgency at the back of your head.

Lips parted as you pressed forward, holding his gaze unflinchingly as you let him into your mouth, watching his face, watching him come undone as he sank into the welcoming heat, until you had to let eyes drift shut as he nudged against the back of your throat. One stilted swallow followed the repressed little shudder of a gag before you exhaled and opened in a slow relaxation that let him slide in as deep as you could take.

He tasted good, faintly bitter and sweat salt, clean and saturated with the heady, masculine scent that was just purely him. So lost in the taste of him, in the feel of him filling your mouth, the weight of him against your tongue and lodged deep in your throat that you nearly missed the groaned, quiet noise he made above you a moment before the tug upon your hair insisted that you move.

Hands braced against lean thighs as you let him set the pace, let him use you, hollow cheeked and sucking hard, tongue a little curl around the sensitive heat of his head upon each withdraw. Let him fuck your mouth at a languid pace that belied the urgency of how his hand in your hair was beginning to shake ever so slightly and the tension of thighs beneath your hands trembled with each little, restrained buck of his hips against the back of your throat.

The heated, weighted ache that had settled between your own thighs had you squirming, struggling to keep the balance on knees burning against the unforgiving hard floor. If you could just drop one hand… slide it into the waistband of pants and-

“Viktor?”

Eyes flew open and a strangled little sound of shock and protest ripped from your throat as Viktor frantically yanked you off of himself with his grip of your hair, leaving tears welling reflexively at the sudden sharp burn of your scalp.

“Viktor?!”

Oh gods, oh fuck, oh no. Jayce’s familiar voice and footsteps were approaching the open door to the stockroom too quickly to do anything about. Viktor’s hands closed over your arms and heaved you upright, and in a second you were crushed full body against him, head tucked under his chin, face hidden from the door, the line of your body obscuring his state of arousal and undress.

“Vikto….ooooOH MY GODS. OH JANNA. Oh, I am. I am so sorry. Ha. Oh, oh I’m sorry. Hahaha uhh. Sorry.”

You didn’t need to see Jayce standing in the doorway to know exactly how he’d reeled backward at the shock of finding his decidedly monk like, workaholic, staid introvert of a partner clearly in the throes of an illicit little fun in the lab, of all places. Didn’t need to see him to guess at how he’d most likely slapped a hand over his own eyes, but was now more than likely also peering through the slats of two fingers at the disheveled pair of you. At Viktor’s rumpled and opened shirt and all the darkening marks you’d peppered across throat and collarbone making it impossible to mistake what he’d stumbled upon for anything other than the dalliance it so clearly was.

Viktor’s arm tightened around you as you shoved the hot, mortified flush of your face into the safety of the crook of his far shoulder, clinging to him for dear life.

“What. Did. You. Want.” He asked, strained tone clipped and teeth clenched audibly.

“There’s a… gods I’m sorry. It’s nothing. The uh papers wanted a picture of us all, and uhm we got an invite to the councilors’ cocktail reception tonight… I’m gonna, I’ll uhm, meet you out there.” Jayce’s voice trailed off as you could hear him back pedaling through the lab as he spoke until the slam of the outer door punctuated his departure.

The way the pair of you sagged against each other and groaned in unison might have been hilarious under any other circumstance. As it was, it did have you each smiling ruefully, regretfully at one another in flitting glances that were shockingly shy given what you’d been doing not a moment before.

His hands rose, cradled your head in a soothing touch as his mouth brushed your forehead, and for some reason that tenderness had you far more flustered than any of the filth that had just come before.

“Did I hurt you? I’m sorry.”

“N-no.” You offered up the white lie to save his concern, and accepted another soft kiss further up, against the tickle of your hairline before he released you.

It was clear, with how Viktor struggled himself back into his pants once you stepped back a touch, that going back to what you’d been doing was not on the menu. And regret flooded eagerly in to fill the indent where all that sweet want had sat so deliciously heavy within.

“Viktor…” You weren’t sure where to begin or where even that sentence would end as you stood there, tugging at the hem of your waistcoat.

He caught your face up instead, cupped cheeks in both hands and tilted you up into the hurried rush of a kiss before his forehead pressed to yours.

“Do you want to come to a party tonight with me, or would you rather stay home? …Also with me.” He added, quickly. Brilliant idiot.

“I…”

“Let me know. I have to go now.” He bent, grabbed his tie, and caught his cane up off the shelf he’d hooked it to. One last little stolen peck of a kiss burned warmly upon the apple of your cheek as he gifted you a slanting, reserved small smile on his way out the stockroom.

Left you to stand there, spinning while holding perfectly still, trying to sort out which way was up and what had just happened. All that energy so ill spent in the last two weeks suddenly gone, leaving you feeling drained, empty save for the warm fluttering of confused excitement about how wrong you’d been. The glut of emotions was overwhelming, had you covering your face with both hands to exhale a silent scream.

No, it hadn’t been a mistake. Drunk and messy, yes, but not a mistake. Oh oh gods, the marks you’d left on him! The way you’d both been caught red-handed…

No, no you had to get yourself together. Get out of here, go outside, get lost in the crowd and ride out the confused elation and embarrassment and excitement surrounded by the distracting noise and crush of strangers. No sooner had you hurriedly straightened yourself out and caught your breath, no sooner had you stepped out of the closet then you’d nearly walked face first into Viktor.

One more taste of his mouth in the rush of yet another hurried kiss as he caught your chin between thumb and the crook of forefinger.

“Please say you don’t want to go to that party.” He begged breathlessly, crooked smile broad and eyes bright, as shocked, you shook your head in agreement.

“Good. My place tonight?”

“Ye-yes ok.”

Sweet little thrill, to watch those fox-slanted golden eyes narrow in delight before he released you and hurried off, in so much as that gait let him hurry, only to stop by the doors and cast one more little hooking smile over a shoulder before he disappeared.

#viktor drabble #viktor x reader #viktor arcane #arcane fic #viktor fic #happy sinday ya'll #part three you say? don't mind if i do #thank you scribs bby for the constant inspiration #muah

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ofbreathandflame · 3 months

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ill tell you this, i'll take those weird, rabid feysand stans over the ones that purposely preach docility when we speak about the issues. like - there's a maliciousness in the latter that is much more intentional. bc there's an awareness when you acknowledge the issues, and there's something very interesting about the way they decide to frame those discussions. idk know abt yall but i think racism is pretty serious...and i think any scholarship or interrogation dealing with that issue is a bit different than being ostentatious. like i just don't get that argument - especially when the book is the one making the story a moral lesson. (and even if it didn't - sjm's writing is still the problem at the heart). like sometimes i think people are so deadset on proving the point that antis are speaking nonsense - that they end up needing to justify sjm's writing to prove their point. if we're acknowledging that sjm has (at the very least) a sensitivity/racial issue - you can't shoot that conversation down because it 'makes rhys look bad' or you've shelved it as strictly a 'pro-nesta-antifeysand argument' and therefore you're approaching the argument trying to prove the point that 'actually there is no racism bc the fantasy world justifies itself.' we're questioning why the author feels comfortable creating a situation where racism, misogyny or abuse needs to be justified.

if you don't think the issues are serious - then you just don't. you either recognize these issues in their entirety or you don't at all.

#anti sjm #anti feysand

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didhewinkback · 1 year

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Something Old

Written for @harry-on-broadway's fic challenge.

Written prompt used: "What's this, then?"

Watching your childhood best friend (& the man you've been in love with for half your life) get married proves to be harder than you thought. Will you be able to make a quick getaway to avoid further heartbreak? Or is it finally time for the truth come out?

A/N: the pic represents more of an overall vibe rather than a definite representation of what he is wearing. but the vibes of the pic are absolutely accurate. some liberties have been taken with accurate chronology of his dating life bc this is fiction town usa baby. takes place during the fine line era, in a world with no covid. dream world. please let me know what you think!

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There was a huge water fountain, right in the middle of the hotel courtyard, making criss-cross patterns into the pool below and you couldn’t take your eyes off of it. It was soothing, in a way. Or at least you were trying to force the concept of being soothed upon yourself, trying to focus in on the sounds of the water and the lights reflecting off of it. Anything to not think about the background noise of the party, of the clinking glasses and what that sound would mean, to think of him – nope. Back to the fountain.

Your mother cleared her throat. Her eyes had been burning holes into the side of your face but you couldn’t face her or that look of pity in her eyes. Your fingers tapped against the handle of your suitcase as you kept your eyes on the water. Just keep staring at the water.

“Did you call an Uber or…?”

“I’m just going to take the rental back to the city and go from there.”

“You could always take it back to the house. Bit of a drive but…”

The thought of walking into your childhood home, alone, while his own childhood home sat right next door was too much to bear. “I don’t,” you cleared your throat as your voice caught, “I don’t think I can be surrounded by all those memories. God, Mum, this is so embarrassing –”

“Oh, baby, no. Come here” Your mom rushed over to you and wrapped her arms around you in a death grip as you let yourself collapse into her arms, feeling 8, 15 and 26 all at once. The tears which you had been trying to save for the drive poured out of you, your mum shushing you as you buried your face into her shoulder. She stood there and held you tight, letting you release all the emotions you had pent up since you got here. You had never had an explicit conversation with her about your true feelings for Harry but with the way she was holding you, you knew you never had to. She knew. The thought made you tighten your arms around her, burying your head a little deeper as the tears flowed. Just a few more minutes.

“I’m getting your dress soaked,” you said, trying to pull your head away and pull yourself together before your mum tightened her arms around you, holding you in place.

“Could give two shits about my dress.” “Mum!” “I’m serious, I don’t care. Not when my baby is weeping in my arms.”

“Okay, I’m hardly weeping,” you huffed a laugh as you took a step back and wiped your face, looking into your mum’s kind eyes, glassy in their own right.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk to him? Tell him what’s on your mind?”

You shook your head before she even finished her sentence. You had tried that, years ago. Winter break 2013. He had been gone almost two years, touring and traveling the world while you watched from afar at uni. You had walked down your stairs, rehearsing your big speech in your head while smoothing down the new skirt you bought for the occasion, only to look up and find him in your living room with the most famous pop star in the world in his arms. He had brought her home to “meet the family” he said. Which included you. You were just family. And he dated pop stars now. A gut punch that you quickly healed with copious amounts of tequila. And a drunken hookup with a boy from sixth form. It was fine. You were fine.

You had been best friends since you were 8, neighbors since you were 6, and for years you brushed off your crush, chocking it up to an extension of affection for your first male friend - the boy who made you laugh until you cried, who always needed help with math homework, who dragged you onto the dance floor when everyone else was too nervous to at that first school dance. The boy who stood in front of you in his bedroom, nervously singing along to a Youtube track before asking you if this was something you thought he could do, for real. The boy who invited you to join him a few weeks each summer, riding bikes through muggy Colorado streets for late night froyo or hiking those Hollywood hills. The boy growing into a man who called you when you were studying at the library, in the middle of the night halfway across the world, feeling overwhelmed by the pressure and needing a piece of home to slow his exhausted, racing mind.

This crush was something you thought you would grow out of. Except you didn’t. His life had become drastically different than the one you two had shared in your small hometown but whenever you were together, it was like no time had passed. After that fateful winter break, you had tried to keep your distance but each time you saw him, you were sucked right back in.

There had been more moments - falling over yourselves during a drunken McDonalds run, or during a screaming match in the middle of a very competitive round of charades, or when he bounded off stage after that first solo night at MSG, wrapping you in his arms and holding tightly - moments where the words were about to burst from your chest, overwhelmed by the love you felt for him. But you knew it would never work - he wasn’t interested. And, even if he was, you were nowhere near his league. Even his one night stands were straight off the Forbes 500 list. Not that you were ashamed of yourself or who you had become, you just knew, for many reasons, that there was a disconnect there. He wasn’t interested. You were family. You had to keep it that way.

You steeled yourself to get over it, to be okay with just being his friend. And you had convinced yourself it worked. You had met his girlfriends over the years; no longer tearing yourself apart in comparison as you blossomed into that confidence that comes with getting older and finding your place in the world. Falling into relationships with some really great guys, guys that you really cared for, who made you laugh and met your family on your birthdays. But no matter how hard you tried, those relationships always seemed to fizzle out because you never felt that spark. That once in a lifetime spark. That spark you felt the second you saw him yesterday - a smile blooming across his face as his arms lifted up in a cheer when he locked eyes with you. All that hard work shot to shit in an instant.

You snapped back to reality, shaking your head more fiercely, desperately trying to get those memories to fall out of your head forever. “That’s not how he sees me, Mum. It’s not - this is just something I have to get over. But I can’t do it here.”

Her face fell, before she took a deep breath and steeled herself. “Okay,” she said, looking at you with new determination. “So, what’s the story? Work emergency? Appendicitis? Stomach virus? Uncontrollable pooping?”

“Mum! Oh my god!”

“What?!” she shrugged, her eyes glowing with a playful twinkle as she watched the smile grow on your face. “I just feel like the more details we provide, the more believable it will be.”

“Whatever you have to do,” you said, rolling your eyes as you pulled her into another hug.

“It’ll be okay, lovebug,” she whispered in your ear. “This pain won’t last forever. He’s not the be all, end all.”

“Why does it feel like it then?” you said softly, tightening your arms around her, unable to stop yourself when more tears began to fall. “I really have to get going, I don’t want anyone to see -”

Suddenly, the sounds of the party got progressively louder as the doors swung open. Your stomach sank as you heard the last voice you wanted to hear. “There you are! Been looking all over for you two. Ang? - Oh. ”

“Yeah?” Your mom turned to face him, blocking you from view as you furiously wiped away your tears.

“Mum’s been looking all over for you. Something about a bet involving tequila shots…”

“Ah, was hoping she’d forget about that. Tell her I’ll be in in a bit, just need to help this one -”

You cleared your throat, keeping your head down as you nudged her forward. “No, Mum, it's fine. Go in. I’ll be okay.”

She turned to look at you, eyes searching. “But you’re not feeling. well.” She emphasized her point by placing her hand on your forehead. Oh, god. No Oscar in her future then.

You looked at her, feeling his eyes on you, shaking your head. “It’s okay. Really. Have fun”.

“Love you.” She kissed you on the cheek as she squeezed your hand, whispering, “Be brave”.

You kept your eyes to the ground as you heard her walk inside, closing the doors behind her. Enveloping the two of you in silence. You looked up, taking him in for the first time all night. He knocked the wind out of you.

His white suit was tailored to perfection, the dress shirt open in a deep v down his chest, revealing the smattering of tattoos that you swore he’d regret one day, but that only looked perfectly in place as his muscles grew more defined. His hair, curls tousled just the way you liked it. The smattering of scruff along his chiseled jawline, held tightly as he took in the scene in front of him. He looked good.

You can’t imagine what you looked like. Tear tracks streaking down your face and hair messy from how often you had been nervously running your hands through it. Dressed for a cocktail hour while wearing your sneakers for the quick getaway. You had to get the fuck out of here.

“Thought only the bride was supposed to wear white.” The words slipped out of your mouth before you had the chance to stop them. This was not the time for banter. You should be in the car already, leaving all this behind you. You snuck a look at his face, his green eyes locking with yours, his brow furrowed in confusion.

He looked right at you, his deep voice rumbling as he shot back, “Wanted to be dramatic. It’s my day too.”

“Classic H.” you said. You could not get your feet to move. Your car was no more than 10 paces away and yet here you were, frozen under his questioning gaze.

“What’s all this, then?” he asked, as he took in your suitcase, the car keys fiddling around in your hand. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah. Uh, a work emergency came up.”

“Bullshit.”

“No it’s not -”

“Your mum just said you weren’t feeling well.”

Shit. “Both things are true. H, please just - I have to go.”

“No, I think I have the right to know why my best mate is leaving my wedding weekend early. Why you’re standing out here with your mum and - are you - were you crying?” He looks desperately confused, eyes searching your face. “Need you to talk to me.”

He takes a few steps towards you when he notices your hands visibly starting to shake. “Hey, hey…” He reaches his hands towards yours as you quickly put your hands on your suitcase, pulling it towards you. You take a few steps back and try to take a few steadying breaths.

“Please,” your voice was barely a whisper. “You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

“I always notice when you're gone. Haven’t been able to find you all night, I’ve been trying to hang out with you. Wanted to spend time with you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the look on his face, trying to not think too hard about those words. Trying to be casual, nonchalant. Trying to be anything but the crumbling mess you were in front of him. “C’mon, I’m not even in the wedding party it’ll be better -”

“Is that what this is about? You knew we were keeping it small on purpose, didn’t think you needed to be in the bridal party to know how much y’mean to me but I guess–”

Anger suddenly swirled in you, turning your cheeks warm, eyes blazing. As if you’d be out here having a full mental breakdown over something so trivial. You scoffed, “You think I’m out here crying because of some arbitrary fucking title? You know that’s never mattered to me when it comes to you.”

“Then WHAT is going on with you?”

“Can you please just drop it and let me –”

“It’s my fucking wedding, you’ve been avoiding me ever since you got here. I need you here and you’re just standing outside with your car keys and your fucking suitcase like it’s nothing. Like I’m nothing–

“Oh my god, how can you even say that – ”

“Well, what am I supposed to think? I’m flying blind here you won’t TALK to me–”

“I CAN’T WATCH YOU MARRY HER!”

The words were loud, louder than you meant them and out faster than you could stop them. Fuck. This was. Not. How This. Was supposed to go. You shut your eyes. Your mind was racing, mouth trying to move to make an excuse but you couldn’t think of anything and then you hear a derisive snort, your eyes flying open to see his, suddenly colder, taunting.

“‘S that what this is about, then? Never did like her, did you? Always wondered when we’d have this conversation. Thought you may have been a little more fair and try to do it before my wedding weekend but hey, guess I’m not the only one who can be dramatic.”

You stood there, gaping at him, tears pricking your eyes as he glared back at you.

“Let’s hear it, then. What’s so wrong with her?”

Oh, he misunderstood. You could let him think this is the truth, that you’re just some bitchy childhood friend who never approved of the fiancée and waited until the last moment to make a dramatic exit. You could leave right now and let him think that. But he needed to know the truth, as painful as it may be. You began to shake your head, the tears seconds from pouring out.

“No, that’s not - you’re not understanding me.”

“Am I not? Seems pretty clear to me” His tone was still taunting, angry. He had every right to be. This was supposed to be the biggest weekend of his life and here he was, out here with you, instead of partying with all of his loved ones mere feet away. The thought of it made the tears spill over, a small sob escaping you. Through the tears you saw his face drop, his brows furrowing.

“It’s not her. She’s lovely. She’s so lovely and you should be in there with her. You could be marrying fucking Beyonce and I wouldn’t be okay with it. I … I can’t watch you marry someone else without - without wishing it was me instead.”

You watched as he froze, his eyes widening. In shock? Anger? Pity? You weren’t quite sure.

You took a deep breath and kept going, continuing to dig yourself into the grave of your own making. Every part of you was screaming at you to stop, but now that you got started, the words kept coming, “I’ve been in love with you since we were like 15. You’re my best friend in the whole world and I…god, I can’t breathe when I look at you sometimes. You’re the first person I want to make laugh with a new lame joke, the first person I want to share good news with. The first person I want to do anything with. You’re kinda it for me. Always have been. You’re just my favorite person in the world. And I –”

You shook your head, cutting yourself off. Your heart was about to beat out of your chest, your cheeks burning. You stand there, slightly panting, watching him watch you, his own eyes glassy, his own breath coming in fast spurts. Neither of you dared to move.

You stand there, watching as your confession explodes between the two of you, helpless to do anything but stand in the carnage. It is deadly silent. A minute passes, then another. It could be five, it could be twenty. What did you just do?

“Fuck, fuck, I’m sorry.”, you said frantically, your brain finally catching up to your mouth. “You should go back inside. I’m –”

He inhales sharply, head shaking in disbelief, “Y’think - y’think I’m going to go back in there right now? After–? Fuck.”

He drags his hand down his face, bringing his other hand to meet it and standing there with his head in his hands. You wish you could get a good read on him, to tell how he’s feeling, but you just stand there, heart beating wildly, in disbelief of what you have done.

“I’ve got a reception hall full of people here.”

“I know.”

“People traveled for this.”

“I know.”

“Why - why now? I had no fucking idea. Why’d you never tell me before?”

“I tried, but the timing was never right – ”

“Yeah, well, your timing right now is impeccable,” he deadpanned.

You rolled your eyes, though his sense of humor reappearing made a zing of hope run through you. Maybe he won't hate you forever. Maybe, one day, the friendship could be salvaged. Maybe you didn’t just embarrass yourself beyond belief - though your burning cheeks indicate otherwise.

He clears his throat, pulling you out of your racing mind. “This whole time…you’ve felt this way? This whole time?”

You had been expecting to confess and run. For him to smile politely at you, let you down easy. You had spent your whole life believing this was a one sided thing. But here he was, looking utterly wrecked, his green eyes never once wavering from yours.

“Yes, H,” you told him. “I’ve loved you this whole time.”

You watch as his face crumbles slightly. He brings a hand up to his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, a mumbled, shaky “fuck” leaving his lips.

You clear your throat and wipe at your eyes, praying your waterproof mascara is doing its job. As much as you want to live in this fantasy of possibilities, you can’t let yourself make more of a mess of this than you already have. He was getting married. Tomorrow.

“H, the last thing I ever wanted to do is ruin this for you”, your voice shakes the more you look at him, “I will be fine. You should go back inside. I’m going to go.” You grab your suitcase and keys and start to make your way to the car. The sound of his voice calling your name stops you in your tracks.

“Don’t,” he says, his voice cracking.

You turn to face him, finding him staring right back at you. His glassy eyes ablaze, his jaw set. You don’t make a sound.

“Please.” He closes the distance between you in a few quick strides. Hesitantly, he lifts his hand to your jaw. You’re sure he can feel the warmth there, blooming at his touch. You lock eyes with him, both of you barely breathing. After a second, his thumb caresses your cheekbone, his eyes fluttering closed. He leans his forehead against yours and you can feel his hot breath on your lips, the smell of mint and tequila filling your nose. You might pass out.

“This is a lot to process,'' he whispers.

“I know.” You try to pull your head back a bit to give him space, but he holds you steady in his grip. His other hand falls to your waist, both of you inhaling sharply at the contact.

“I have to go back in there. Supposed to get married tomorrow,” he whispers as his thumb starts to draw circles on your hip bone. You’re sure even he can hear your heartbeat at this point, the way it’s thundering in your ears.

“Y-you don’t owe me anything, you know”, you whisper back, his brow furrowing as he feels your breath on his lips. “Just because I told you. There’s no pressure or anything. I know, like… I’m not….I’m not expecting - I should -”

He takes a step closer to you, pulling you flush against him, effectively cutting you off. “Don’t. You can’t. ‘S not pressure, I just - I don’t know”, he takes a deep breath, “I need time. Please. Don’t leave. You don’t have to go back in there but don’t leave tonight. Please.”

He kisses you on the cheek.

“Please.” His words fall across your lips as he moves to kiss your other cheek.

“Fuck. I wish…just - please don’t go.” He leans in slowly, kissing you once on the neck, right below your ear, inhaling deeply. His forehead falls to your collarbone, resting there. “You can’t go, not yet. Not until…Please. I need time to think. I don’t know. Promise me you’ll still be here later tonight.”

He lifts his head, holding eye contact with you until you nod, bringing your hand up to wrap around his wrist, moving your thumb in soothing circles. He stares at you, eyes dropping to your lips, then back up to meet your eyes. His grip on your hip tightens, his eyes dropping to your lips once more.

You hear glasses tinkering, calls of his name. Shit. You take a step back, his hand sliding from your jaw to your wrist, holding a loose grip. Your cheeks burning at how caught up in the moment you got, head reeling at what this could all mean.

“I have to -” “I know.”

He leans in, presses his lips to your forehead, not once letting go of your wrist.

He steps back, his glassy eyes flitting all over your face before meeting yours once more and holding your gaze. “You’ll be at the hotel later tonight? You promise?”

“I promise,” you say, squeezing his hand once before letting go.

He nods sharply, walking backwards towards the door, eyes never leaving yours. He stops right before the entrance, quickly wiping at his eyes, shaking his head. You can see him physically brace himself as he pulls the door open, a tight smile on his lips as he gets pulled into the party once more.

The doors close, once again surrounding you with silence. With your own thoughts. The feeling of his lips on your neck playing over and over again in your mind.

Holy. Shit.

#harry styles fan fiction #harryonbroadwayficchallenge #harry styles angst #would u believe this was supposed to be posted 3 hours ago but i got so hung up on one detail that i couldnt iron out #i am a gal who loves run on sentences with commas and for that i will not apologize #fic rec #babys first fic #cant believe we are here #harry styles fic #i have read this so many times i started to hate it thats when ya know its time to post #just losing it in the tags over here #something old

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