#//i am lurking between blogs hey

[writesvani]

Dear Me | 02

lawyer! jungkook x privatechef! reader

SUMMARY: Once upon a time, Jungkook and you were everything. Best friends who shared every moment, every secret—except one: you were in love with him. But life changed. High school ended, real life began, and slowly, you drifted apart, the distance between you growing too wide to cross.

The end. Except it isn't.

One day, after a long day at work, you open your email to find a message from 13 years ago—written by your younger self. A letter you’d forgotten, sent by a service you paid to remind you of your youth, your love for him. As the emails keep on coming and you keep reading, the flood of memories hits you, and you realize something heartbreaking: you never stopped loving him.

But now, it’s too late. Jungkook is about to marry someone else. Or is he?

estranged childhood best friends-to-friends-to-lovers?

TWs (for this chapter): abandonment, unrequited love, emotional pain, jealousy, self-doubt, isolation, neglect, heartache, betrayal, loss of friendship, overwhelming feelings, loneliness

comment HERE for Dear Me taglist;

SERIES M.LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter

wc: 4,2k // date: 22nd of March

CHAPTER TWO — It's you – well me again, UGH happy reading my gummies...

AN: hey everyone! holy moly, i am literally sobbing seeing how much support this fic is getting. like, i can’t even. y’all are just chef’s kiss. pls keep reblogging, liking, and sharing the love because i appreciate it more than i could ever express! BUT. and this is a big but (no, not that kind of big butt lol), i’m absolutely OBSESSED with reading your comments. seriously, i live for them. your thoughts, your reactions, your theories, ALL OF IT. i am lurking, waiting to reply and fangirl with you. you can also come talk to me on my blog – my ask box is always open, let’s chat, let’s get unhinged. thank you again for all the love, you’re all amazing, and please never forget, i adore you all. now go comment or i will personally haunt your dreams (jk… or am i?) 💕

— love, vani

You’re not certain about many things in life, but there is one undeniable truth: you are a creature of habit. A prisoner of routine. A slave to the ticking clock.

Everything about your life follows a rhythm—a comforting sequence of events that you know like the back of your hand. The way your mornings unfold, how your afternoons stretch on, and the quiet predictability of your evenings. It’s not just familiarity. It’s safety. A shield against the chaos that could unexpectedly break through.

Since childhood, you’ve held tight to the belief that routine is the antidote to disorder. It was the one thing you could count on, the one thing that offered stability in a world full of unpredictability.

But now?

Now, there’s a disruption. And it’s not a small one. It’s as if the very fabric of your week is being unraveled, thread by thread.

There’s a gnawing ache in the pit of your stomach—a hollow feeling that you can’t shake. It burrows into your thoughts, quietly slipping into the spaces where your peace used to reside. It’s a feeling that’s eating away at the walls you’ve carefully built around yourself. A slow, relentless erosion of the calm you’ve worked so hard to protect.

The worst part? It’s not just the present. It’s everything that’s been hanging over you, lingering like an uninvited guest.

The whole damn week—every second of it—looms in the back of your mind. It doesn’t matter how many times you tell yourself you shouldn’t be thinking about it. It doesn’t matter how many distractions you try to throw at it. The thought still creeps in, gnawing at the edges of your thoughts, never letting you rest.

The email.

Not just the email itself, but the fact that it’s coming again.

It’s maddening. The thing that claws at you the most isn’t the dreaded message itself, but the fact that you can’t remember what you wrote in it.

You’ve been writing these emails since you were just a teen. The words, the phrases—they’ve become second nature to you, so familiar that they’ve lost their meaning. But now, now it feels like they’ve become ghosts. You can’t grasp them anymore. It’s as if they were written by someone else, someone you no longer recognize.

Too many things have happened. Too many choices made. Too many pieces of yourself you’ve buried so deep that even you can’t recall them.

Possessed. That’s the only word that could possibly describe what you’re feeling.

You wake up with an unsettling giddiness, the kind that makes your stomach twist, and as soon as Wednesday arrives, it consumes you. A nervous energy builds inside you, bubbling up with every passing minute. You try to focus, to concentrate on the task at hand, but it feels impossible.

At work, you can’t seem to get anything right. The moment you step into the kitchen, disaster strikes. You knock over a pan with a loud clang, the sound echoing like a mistake that can’t be undone. The judgmental glare from your boss stings more than you expect—why does she have to work from home, anyway? You don’t need her disapproval hanging over you.

But the pan is just the beginning. The soup, which you had so carefully planned, boils over on the stove, its aroma turning sharp and unpleasant as it becomes too salty. You have to start over, again, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t get it right.

Then, while washing the dishes, you break not one, not two, but three plates in quick succession. Each crash is like a sharp reminder of how out of control you feel. Your hands shake, your breath quickens, and you nearly cut yourself in the process. Almost.

You know exactly why you’re like this. Why everything feels so off, so wrong. You know it’s not just clumsiness or nerves. It’s because today is Wednesday. The first email came last Wednesday. And that means—

It’s coming. And it’s coming today.

And the anticipation, the weight of it, hangs over you like a dark cloud you can’t escape.

You close the door to your apartment behind you, the soft click of the lock a familiar sound that echoes in the quiet of your space.

Water clings to your skin like an unwanted reminder. Droplets trail their way down your body, dripping messily onto the wooden floor beneath you, leaving small puddles in their wake. Your shoes, heavy with mud, leave their own trail—a mess you’ll have to clean up later.

Your teeth chatter from the cold, and a curse slips past your lips before you can stop it. The realization hits you like a punch to the gut: you’ll be scrubbing this floor again.

"Ugh," you groan, the sound of frustration hanging in the air. You swear to God, you’re going to start carrying an umbrella every day—yes, even when the sun is shining bright.

This morning, though—this morning had been perfect. The lazy rays of sunlight stretched across your room, coaxing you awake with their gentle warmth. It was just warm enough to wear a T-shirt and pants, courtesy of Spring's tender touch. You had woken up to the harmonious melody of birds and nature greeting the new day.

But then, work ended. And as soon as you stepped outside, the heavens opened. The rain came pouring down, without mercy.

You barely had time to brace yourself—a small, five-minute walk from the bus stop to your apartment, and you were drenched. Now, the cold seeps into your bones, creeping up your spine. You can already feel the tightness in your throat, that familiar ache that will make swallowing a painful ordeal, which—coming from a chef—is nothing short of devastating.

And your nose? It’s already starting to run, that disgusting, constant drip of misery. The irritation swells inside of you, a sharp, biting frustration that makes you wish you could just disappear into the warmth of your dreams, away from the cold, the rain, and the never-ending annoyances.

You try to stretch out your shower, clinging to the warmth of the water as it pours over you, trying to let it soothe away the tension of the day. The heat surrounds you, but your mind pulls at you, relentless, reminding you that there’s no escaping what’s coming.

Before you even realize it, the evening slips away from you. Dinner’s a blur. After it, you’ve made your favorite—green tea, comforting and simple—but it’s not enough to calm the storm inside you.

You sink into your couch, the soft fabric wrapping around you like a too-familiar embrace, but it doesn’t quite hold you the way you need. Your laptop rests in your lap, its weight small and familiar, like the way your legs drape over the coffee table in front of you. A simple, normal scene. But nothing feels simple right now.

There’s an unsettling quiet before you break it.

Click.

Click.

You open the email.

It feels almost too much to bear, too heavy for the moment. The words on the screen seem to stretch, pulse, and mock you, as if daring you to face whatever’s inside. The thing you've been running from all day. The thing you can’t shake, no matter how hard you try.

And as your eyes fall onto the text, a wave of something tight and cold wraps around your chest, making it harder to breathe.

“Dear me,”

You bite down on your cheek, a small habit that betrays the nervous energy running through you. Your eyes skim lazily over the words on the screen, barely registering the flow of text at first.

“It’s you—well me again, UGH. THIS SHIT CONFUSES ME TOO MUCH BECAUSE LIKE, I DON’T KNOW HOW TO ADDRESS US? SHOULD I USE ME, US, YOU? I’ll probably be using all of those. Anyway, the past week has been the first week of high school, and I LOVED IT.”

A small, almost involuntary smile tugs at the corners of your lips. She loved it. You can feel that warmth in your chest, a tug of nostalgia for the beginning of your high school journey. The days were full of excitement, each one an unknown adventure. You remember how every second of it felt—like you were just waiting for something to change, to begin.

“Anyways, what’s new is I made TWO new friends, their names are Yoongi and Nina.”

Your heart flutters, that familiar warmth surging within you as thoughts of the twins invade your mind. Your chest feels lighter, as if your heartbeat is dancing just a little faster. You remember those first shared glances with them—the way their presence seemed to fill the room, just as it does now.

“THEY’RE TWINS, ISN’T THAT SOO COOOOOL? AND THEY’RE FROM NEW YORK, WHICH HELLO, SINCE WHEN ARE BIG TOWN FOLK MOVING TO THIS LAME CITY?”

The words ring in your mind, playful and free, as you imagine them—their voices, their laughter, the energy they brought with them. You can’t help but smile, the memory of their faces suddenly so vivid, so real.

“They’re kind of shy though—but they sit behind Kook and me, so I finally got them to talk to us yesterday,”

A flash of Yoongi’s young face suddenly strikes you—a brief, sharp image that you can’t shake. You remember him clearly, sitting in the back row, shoulders slouched, his nose buried in a book. The memory is so vivid, like a photo you’ve never forgotten. That was Yoongi. The bookworm. The quiet observer. He was always tucked away in the corner of the classroom, never seeking attention.

You can still see him now, the way his eyes were always lost in the pages of novels, the weight of words pulling him deeper into worlds only he seemed to fully understand. Yoongi wasn’t the kind of person to take up space with noise or drama. He was the kid who avoided the spotlight, who didn’t need the chaos of teenage gossip to exist. Instead, he was happy in the quiet, turning page after page, writing essays that won competitions without ever trying.

And you loved him for that. For the way he could exist without needing to be anything other than himself. The mutual love of books had bonded you two in a way that few others could understand. It was an unspoken connection that stretched back to high school, back to when the two of you would spend hours talking about novels, about the worlds between the pages.

Now, years later, you’re both far from those early days—living in apartments fifteen minutes away from each other, with careers that have shaped who you’ve become. But Yoongi remains a fragment of that high school you—still here, still unchanged in ways that matter. He’s the piece of you that didn’t fade, didn’t leave when everything else seemed to shift. He stayed.

You bite your lip, the weight of those memories pushing you back into your seat. You’re thankful for having the luxury of knowing Yoongi—having him in your life. You’re thankful that he didn’t abandon you.

Your thoughts drift to Nina, her image flashing in your mind with an almost effortless clarity. Nina was always so beautiful, in a way that felt natural, like it came easily to her. From the chestnut strands of her hair, which would catch the sunlight in just the right way, to the lazy hum of green in her eyes—a color that seemed to flicker, almost mischievously. Even though she and Yoongi were twins, they didn’t look alike in the way you would expect. They shared that one thing—the gummy smile, the one that colored both of their faces, but that was where the similarities ended.

Nina was the embodiment of the teenage dream—the one everyone noticed, whether she wanted it or not. Wild. Reckless. Effortlessly captivating. She never had to try, never had to force attention on herself, yet it always found her. Even when she tried to avoid it, when she would feel the heat of all those eyes trained on her, even when her ears would flush with the soft pink of embarrassment, she was always the center of attention.

And it felt so familiar, like deja vu.

Much like Jungkook. So much like Jungkook.

A shiver crawls down your spine at the thought of him. Your body twitches involuntarily, like some cosmic force is urging you to look away, to move on from the screen.

But you can’t.

You simply can’t.

“I don’t know them well enough, but both Kook and I think they’re cool. Well, I mostly talked with Yoongi because he was reading Wuthering Heights AND I NEVER SAW ANYONE, LET ALONE A BOY READING IT? HELLO? 911 I FEEL LIKE FAINTING.”

You laugh softly, the sound escaping you almost involuntarily, and tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear, the familiar gesture one that feels too gentle, too intimate for the moment.

“And Nina is sooooo pretty. I feel like I’ve never met a prettier girl in my life AND she’s kind,” your gaze drifts, and in your mind, you nod at your past self, agreeing with her—yeah, Nina is pretty. She’s sweet too.

“But I think Jungkook thinks she’s pretty too. Which is weird. Lowkey.”

The words slip too easily, but there’s a weight now, settling somewhere deep inside you. Your stomach flips—suddenly queasy, your skin prickling. Nausea spreads through you like a dark cloud, thick and suffocating. The cold that you feel creeping up your spine could be from the chill in the air, or it could be from the words you’re reading. You're not sure which one it is. Maybe it’s both.

This is it. The beginning. The words you��d been dreading, the ones you knew were coming, yet couldn’t prepare for. Reading about Jungkook and Nina. The start of whatever they were. The start of whatever love they shared that grew so greatly.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, suddenly feeling the weight of something heavy in the pit of your stomach. The feeling of something real starting. The one thing you’ve feared the most.

Your gaze flickers down to the bottom drawer of your desk, and your heart skips a beat. The envelope. It’s still there, untouched.

The invitation.

The invitation to their wedding.

The wedding Jungkook didn’t tell you about before inviting you.

You try to force yourself to focus on the rest of the email, but the words blur in front of your eyes—nothing seems to matter anymore. Some mention of a fight with your mom over laptop time, a new dish you cooked, but the sentences fall flat, blending together into a haze of indifference. They don’t matter. Not like Yoongi, not like Jungkook, not like Nina. And certainly not like Nina and Jungkook together.

And their wedding.

You can’t shake off the gnawing sense of dread that’s settled deep in your chest, weighing you down. Your stomach twists, heavy and sick with the kind of nausea that feels like a thousand broken shards scraping inside. It's as if someone stuffed it with rocks, cold and jagged, leaving you gasping for air.

You had no idea Jungkook was getting married before that invitation showed up in your mailbox. And it eats away at you, slowly, relentlessly. You hate it.

You tell yourself it’s normal. You two just drifted apart, right? It’s been years. Of course, he didn’t feel the need to tell you something so big. But it still hurts, deep down. It gnaws at you—steals your sleep, pulls you under.

Because years ago, you couldn’t have imagined your best friend getting married and not telling you. It would have been unthinkable, absurd. The younger you would have sworn this was just some terrible, cruel dream. But it isn’t.

It’s real.

To be honest, the shift in your dynamic with Jungkook wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t some abrupt change that left you reeling—it was slow, almost imperceptible, like the tide eroding the shore little by little. Neither of you noticed it at first, and you’re certain that if either of you had, one of you would’ve stopped it.

It all started when you were eighteen. At that point, you knew you didn’t want to go to college. Everyone around you was shocked, confused. Everyone, except for your mom and Jungkook. They understood the real dream—the one you weren’t ready to share with the world. Your summer in Europe. The plan you’d built with your mom to travel and immerse yourself in new cultures, learning recipes from every corner of that continent.

But everyone else? They couldn’t understand. You had always been the perfect student. The one who always did well, excelled. So when you chose to follow something different, they whispered. Lazy. Stupid. Reckless. It didn’t bother you, though. You knew you were doing something others were too afraid to—chasing your dreams, and the thrill of it was enough to drown out their voices.

Jungkook was different. You expected him to do the same—to follow his own path, to go after his dreams, too. But instead, he gave up. He had to.

“I have to go to law school. This drummer thing isn’t gonna pay my bills,” he said one night, voice quiet, almost ashamed. He whispered it after a fight with his father—words laced with a pain you could feel in your bones.

Your heart hurt for him, in a way that felt like it was ripping you open. Because Jungkook didn’t have the luxury of being himself. Not when the weight of his father’s debts was constantly looming over him, threatening to crush him under its heavy burden. He had no choice but to give up the dream that once seemed so bright. And it broke you to watch him do it.

So, you spent the last months of your senior year getting ready for your trip, the one that had been your dream for so long. Meanwhile, Jungkook was buried in his textbooks, his focus unwavering. He wasn’t a natural student, but his determination—his sheer persistence—was something you couldn’t help but admire.

He didn’t sleep. He barely ate. His entire world revolved around those books. You remember just hanging out at his house while he studied, watching him from across the room. His posture was tense, shoulders hunched over the pages, the necks of his textbooks cracked and worn from hours of use. Pens and highlighters were scattered around him, as if chaos had taken over his once organized space. And his face—his beautiful face—was painted with the telltale signs of exhaustion. Dark circles under his eyes, hair falling messily over his forehead. It was then, in that quiet moment, that you first felt the shift.

Then came prom. You were supposed to go with your boyfriend, but right before the event, he broke up with you. You were left standing there, heart in pieces, but Yoongi—always the good friend—was there. He was thinking of skipping prom altogether, but you begged him to take you. You never really saw yourself going alone. Prom had always been something you were excited for. The satin dress, the heels, the makeup, the perfect hair—it was all so meticulously planned in your head, down to the perfect date.

But your dream date wasn’t Yoongi. Not even your ex boyfriend. Your dream date was supposed to be Jungkook. He was taking Nina instead. And even though you tried to push it aside, it hurt. Deeply. So, you begged Yoongi—because you couldn’t let your perfect night die completely, not without something to hold on to. It was the only way you could make the night feel even a little like the one you had imagined.

Nina and Jungkook got together two months before prom, and no one was surprised—not even you. They were always destined to be. The quiet charm they shared, the shyness that somehow made them more magnetic, their popularity, and those soft, knowing glances—they were always a perfect match. Everyone, including you, saw it coming. It was written in the way they were together, how effortlessly they fit into each other's lives. No one doubted it for a second.

And despite the ache that twisted in your chest, despite the quiet pain of seeing them together, you smiled. You smiled because it was what he deserved. It was what you wanted for him—even if it wasn’t you standing next to him. You offered them your support, effortless and kind, even as the weight of your own heartbreak threatened to drown you from the inside out.

You wanted him so much it consumed you, but you kept quiet. You kept silent because you knew deep down that you would never be the one. Not for him. Not in that way. And even though it was tearing you apart, you told yourself it was worth it—because you wanted the best for him. Even if that meant letting him go.

And then came the summer. A season that promised escape, adventure, and a chance to rewrite your story. You spent it immersing yourself in the art of perfecting a croissant in France—its golden, buttery layers a silent testament to the dreams you were chasing. You learned how to make pizza dough in Italy, each knead of the dough a reflection of the foundation you were building for yourself. You basked under the Tuscan sun, feeling its warmth seep into your skin, a quiet comfort in its consistency. You stood in the loud streets of Greece, perfecting gyros with the same passion you had for your craft, and you immersed yourself in the history of the Balkans while sitting on a beach in Croatia. The world was wide, and you were exploring it in a way you had always dreamed of. It was a dream made real—but it never fully filled the hole in your chest.

And Jungkook? Jungkook spent his summer falling in love with Nina. You knew about their secret places, their quiet moments. You knew about the way he looked at her—the same way you used to look at him, the way you still wanted to look at him. He spent the summer laying in the grass with her, the breeze pulling their laughter into the air. They visited hidden beaches in your town, their footprints imprinted on the sand, and he held her close, just as you once imagined he would hold you. He made love to her, touched her, and gave her the things you had always wanted for yourself but would never get.

It hurt, more than you could bear, but you got used to it. It was the kind of pain that didn’t go away, the kind that you learned to live with. You told yourself you would, at least. You had to. You had no other choice. It was the reality of it all—the world that had shifted around you without your permission, without your consent. So, you buried it deep, kept smiling, kept writing to him, kept pretending. Because sometimes, pretending was all you had left.

And then, just when you thought your heart couldn’t take more, life threw you a chance. You were in Montenegro—another place to explore, to escape. It was on a whim, a moment of passion, that you ended up cooking for strangers at a small, bustling seaside restaurant. Someone noticed you. Someone tasted your food and liked it. It was an ordinary day, yet it was the turning point you didn’t see coming. You were offered an opportunity to work as an assistant chef on a yacht.

At first, you hesitated. You had never even imagined such a huge thing. But you always watwd it, so you took it. You grabbed it with both hands, like it was the one thing that could save you from all the lingering emptiness. You had always dreamed of something bigger than what your life had been—the same routine, the same city, the same old connections that kept you tethered to the past. And here it was, an opportunity for growth, for something different.

Your mom traveled with you for the first few months, like a safety net. She was your anchor, your lifeline in the chaos of new beginnings. But she had her own life to return to, and soon, she left. You stayed—alone, scared, but driven. Cooking and cruising around Europe, on a yacht you never thought you’d be on. You cooked for a woman you didn’t know, on a sea that seemed endless. The hours were long, the days blurred together, but you found purpose in it. The work wasn’t easy, but it was yours, and you were making something of yourself.

When you came back, after months of moving from one coastal city to the next, she offered you something real—something solid. She made you her private chef. It wasn’t just a job anymore. It was a new life, a new beginning. You had carved your own place, built a career from scratch, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you had something truly yours.

But even with all this success, all this newness, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something—someone—was missing.

Jungkook went to college. The path you thought you’d walk together diverged, and like so many things in life, the distance grew in small, almost unnoticed increments. The calls, once so frequent, became rare—each word feeling heavier, too shallow to bridge the gap that was silently growing between you. You were busy, too busy building your life, carving a future that you never quite pictured would look like this. He was tired, burnt out from the demands of his studies, struggling to keep up with everything.

You were up during the day, hustling in the kitchen, perfecting your craft, and when the clock hit 10 pm, you collapsed into bed, exhausted from the relentless pace of it all. He was the opposite—up all night, pouring over textbooks, and by the time he called you, you were already asleep. When you reached out to him, he was caught up in his studies.

And somewhere, between the rush of your schedules, the world you shared drifted away, unnoticed. You both tried, maybe, but the threads slipped through your fingers, unraveling, until neither of you recognized the version of each other you were becoming. The late-night calls, the inside jokes, the shared dreams—they faded into the background. The connection you once had felt like a distant echo.

And you never found your way back to each other.

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[yiichan]

Pove your blog! Pls could you write about yandere woozi and wonu next?

pairings. yandere!woozi x yandere!wonwoo x gn!reader word count. 1k. genre. yandere, request

warnings. obsessive behaviour, violence, rough treatment, mentions of cheating, mentions of polyamory, reader is the cheater, literal ankle breaking, sadism.

writer's notes. thanks for 'poving' my blog haha. you never said anything about whether you want it to be a short story or headcannon or member x member, so i'm just going to go ahead with this. honestly i shocked myself because i think it's the first time i'm writing something like this. once again, i do not condone this kind of behaviour in real life.

mentioning my imperial beta reader, @sousydive

network: @mansaenetwork

masterlist | navigation | main page | kofi | ao3

"Where are you going?"

You froze mid-lace, looking over your shoulder at Jihoon. He stood there, arms crossed, brow raised, his gaze sharp and unyielding.

"Just outside," you replied, feeling his stare heavy on you. You focused on tying your shoes, but before you could stand, his hand landed firmly on your shoulder, pressing you back into place. Startled, you turned slightly, only to see Jihoon looming close behind, his expression shrouded in shadows from the dim light.

"It's late," he said, voice low, his grip unyielding. "It’s not safe for you to be out there alone."

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady as you pried his hand away. "Jihoon, please—"

"You're going out to see Wonwoo, aren’t you?" His voice was ice, each word landing like a blow. A chill prickled down your spine. You shook your head, turning fully to face him.

"Jihoon, it's not—"

“I know exactly what’s been going on.” His words were a whisper, but his eyes held a storm. He leaned closer, and for the first time in your three years together, you saw a side of Jihoon you’d never seen before—cold, calculating, a darkness lurking behind his gaze. "Do you even know Wonwoo?"

"I—"

"Save it." His finger pressed against your lips, silencing you. His face inched closer until his breath was warm against your cheek, his grip firm as he lifted your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Enough with the excuses, darling."

Guilt gnawed at you. You had betrayed him, that much was true. Jihoon was always locked away in his studio, composing, chasing his dreams for a future he promised would be for both of you. You had tried to be supportive, to be patient, but the loneliness had become unbearable, and in your moments of weakness, you found comfort in Wonwoo. Wonwoo, who listened, who was present, who made you feel seen. But with Jihoon right in front of you now, the weight of your choices bore down on you.

“I’m just trying to give us a future,” Jihoon murmured, his fingers tracing your jaw, his voice soft yet chilling. "You don’t need to run to him.”

Unable to look him in the eye, you shifted your gaze away, but Jihoon’s hold didn’t waver. He released you after a moment, straightening, his expression unreadable.

“Wonwoo isn’t in his apartment anyway.”

The doorbell rang, breaking the thick silence between you and Jihoon. Relief flooded through you, but it was short-lived. Jihoon scoffed, casting a sideways glance at you before strolling over to the door.

Your breath hitched when you saw who was standing there. Wonwoo leaned against the doorway, a sly smile curving his lips. "I’m not late, am I?"

"Wonwoo? What are you doing h—?"

"Not at all. You’re right on time, hyung." Jihoon’s voice cut through your question as Wonwoo stepped inside, closing the door with a casual flick of his wrist. "Hey, babe," Wonwoo greeted, his eyes sharp as they met yours.

Your stomach twisted in confusion. Hyung? Since when did Jihoon and Wonwoo know each other? Your mind scrambled for answers, but before you could speak, Wonwoo knelt down in front of you, a dark glint in his eyes as he reached for your shoelaces.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice smooth and deceptively warm as he slowly untied your shoes, “I thought Jihoon was kidding when he asked me to keep an eye on you. But I understand why now. You certainly have a way of keeping us both on our toes.”

His tone was soft, almost tender, but there was an unmistakable edge beneath it—a veiled hostility that made your skin prickle. You pressed your hands to the floor for support, shifting back as he removed your shoes, fingers brushing a little too slowly over your ankles.

“But I never expected you’d try to seduce me like that, babe.” Wonwoo’s lips curled into a smirk, his eyes not leaving yours even as Jihoon stood over him, watching with an unnerving calm.

Trapped between their gazes, a shiver ran down your spine.

Wonwoo’s grip tightened around your ankle, and you let out a yelp of pain, instinctively trying to pull yourself away. “Wo—”

“Don’t struggle, darling,” Jihoon murmured, a disturbing calm in his voice as he watched Wonwoo hoist you up, dragging you effortlessly with him. You kicked out with your free leg, desperate to break away, but Jihoon caught it with ease, his fingers wrapping around your ankle like a vice. He ran his nails over your skin, a soft graze that sent a jolt of fear through you, before his gaze flicked up, dark and unfeeling.

"I’ve known Wonwoo hyung for a long time,” Jihoon continued. “If you’d only asked, maybe I would’ve agreed to share.” His words sent a chill through you, and you thrashed against their hold, heart pounding, but the two of them remained unfazed.

Suddenly, you felt yourself yanked forward with force, your body skidding across the floor as Wonwoo took control, gripping both ankles now as he dragged you unceremoniously toward the bedroom. Your hands clawed at the ground, panic surging through you, but Wonwoo’s hold was unbreakable, his smirk mocking your futile resistance.

“And yet,” Jihoon’s voice drifted from behind, cold and scornful, “just the other night, I heard you were out clubbing—with some other guy who wasn’t hyung.”

A shiver tore through you, and you realized that the Jihoon and Wonwoo you thought you knew were gone, replaced by something far darker and more dangerous. You opened your mouth, desperate to scream for help, but a sinking realization hit you—it was useless. Wonwoo dragged you into Jihoon’s recording studio, the soundproof walls swallowing any chance of your cries reaching the outside world. The door clicked shut behind you, Jihoon blocking the only escape.

“Shall we begin your punishment, babe?” Wonwoo’s voice was smooth, dripping with malice, his grip unrelenting as he held you in place. Jihoon leaned against the closed door, a smirk playing on his lips as his eyes watched you with a disturbing calm.

A sudden, sharp pain shot through your ankles, and you screamed, the sound ringing in your ears yet muffled by the padded walls. Tears gathered in your eyes, blurring your vision as your legs fell to the floor weakly. A gentle finger wiped them away, as you were slowly lifted and embraced by someone behind you. "Now you'll never leave any one of us, darling."

© yiichan, 2024 origin of divider

[slutforpringles]

Hey Jaimie, I just wanted to come on here and say thank you for all your contributions to the DR3 fandom. Whether it’s fighting for Daniel’s rights on Reddit or posting all the latest news, you’ve become somewhat of a lifeline for me. Your highlighted articles are my favourite to read, because it keeps me up to date with everything that’s happening. I truly hope you know how appreciated you are here, and I hope that the community that you’ve built here stays around for a long time, despite the recent news. Thank you for your dedication and positivity. Take care!

Hey, I know you sent this earlier today and I'm sorry it's taken me a while to reply, but I wanted to sit down and write a proper response. Getting this message was genuinely so lovely and I can't tell you how much it meant to me to hear that my tumblr has been able to be a positive place for someone 💞

I know I've very rarely been super personal on here, but this sport and this fandom has come to mean a lot to me, so I wanted to use this moment to express my gratitude to the dirlies (gn) and this community.

I was first introduced to F1 through friends while I was living in Europe in 2019 through DtS. I knew from the first moment I saw Daniel he was my favourite. I was immediately enamoured by his vivaciousness and that unabashed joy for life that exudes from every fibre of his being. But I was busy studying overseas and just didn't have the time to be fully bitten by the F1 bug.

I came home at the beginning of 2020 and between the pandemic, lockdowns and my personal life going toooootally to shit I was in a pretty bad place. And it was after a few months of struggle and wallowing that somehow my youtube algorithm landed me on a video of Daniel. I was hooked and very quickly worked my way through highlights, interviews, social media clips, all the funny videos, then each race highlight video as it came out in 2020, which led into every single WTF1 podcast (🙃😂) from 2020. The amount of google searches I did trying to learn all these racing and engineering terms and technical phrases I hadn't come across before (I distinctly remember googling what "box, box" meant because I had no effing clue what it meant 😂). I read every article I could about the upcoming season and the insane hype of Daniel going to McLaren (🙃🙃🙃) and can remember that first FP1 session in Bahrain I ever watched live.

I kind of stumbled onto tumblr via reddit. As I'd been learning about and becoming obsessed with F1 and Daniel I'd made my way onto the F1 sub, and for a long time I could be found on there first learning, and then discussing (and then later arguing for and defending Daniel lol). And I think it was as reddit started becoming more and more anti-Daniel that I started spending more time on tumblr.

For a long time before I joined tumblr I lurked, reading so many of all of your wonderful posts and opinions and seeing all the beautiful and creative fics and art. The mclaren hate blogging era was some of the best (and worst) times and some of the masterpieces on here in defence of Daniel and his career are so iconic and I have referenced their points/stats/quotes so many times in defence of Daniel.

I was a bit scared to fully join tumblr and start posting but I felt really quickly welcomed into this community on here. None of my friends IRL are remotely interested in F1, and so getting to talk about it here with all of you has been such a blessing (and I think my family are probably incredibly grateful that they don't have to listen to me talk about F1/Daniel quite as much as before 😅).

I just wanted to say how incredibly grateful I am to have gotten to experience the last few years with all of you on here. It hasn't always been easy and it's been a rollercoaster - that's for fucking sure - but the highs have been SO incredible. Daniel brought so much happiness and joy and laughter into my life at a time when I really, really needed it and seeing the outpouring of love for him on here the last few days has been beautiful, despite the heartbreaking circumstances.

I don't know what the next few months will look like without Daniel in F1, but I'll be sticking around for sure. I know I'm not always the best at replying to messages or inboxes (I blame my ADHD) but I'm always here for a chat and my messages are always open💞

[hwsrazzledazzle]

Hey there, everyone! As we're deep into the anthology's creation period, we've decided it's time to have the mod team introduce themselves!

Without further ado, here's the mod team of this run's anthology!

"Hey there! I’m fizzyCherryCola and I was born to be nerd trash. You can short form my name to “fizzy” if that’s easier. I started writing fanfics in January 2021, and I’ve found that I love writing. I enjoy building stories and sharing them with people, specifically, historical Hetalia stories. My OTP is FrUK, and they occupy my headspace every gosh-darn day. Poke me if you wanna chat about history, anime in general, or if you just wanna say hi! My Tumblr blog is https://fizzycherrycola.tumblr.com/ and my AO3 is https://archiveofourown.org/users/fizzyCherryCola "

"Hi, I'm Saku. I've been in the hetalia fandom since about 2010. I roleplay and write fanfic and am currently working on improving my art so I can do fanart too. I'm trans and non-binary, using he/him, or they/them pronouns and am a first gen autistic Latino residing in the USA with family from Peru and Chile. I have a general knowledge of Peruvian and Chilean history and culture as well as some ocs I need to work on, but in hetalia I usually focus on the history, current events and culture of aph South Italy, aph Prussia/east Germany, aph Iceland, aph Belarus, aph Slovakia, and aph Bulgaria. I also like history in general, video games, cats, anime, folklore, fashion, and mythology. I have a personal at Gilbertgeilschmidt.tumblr.com, and a hetalia headcanon sideblog at fioredistella.tumblr.com finally a AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saku777 "

"Hi! I am zen (she/her), a writer, a 10+ year hetalia veteran, and a Taiwanese tea connoisseur. I enjoy exploring the idea of “personifications” through a mix of history, IRL foreign relations, culture, identity, and aspects of magical realism. I tend to focus on Taiwan, as it is my home and longstanding interest, but I have also looked into surrounding nations and their relations in East Asia, as well as a wider range of topics like fashion history, Renaissance Italy, and Germany etc, stemming from close friendships and personal experiences. What is “Taiwan”? is a question I have consistently sought to answer and reflect upon throughout my time in the fandom as well as, increasingly in recent years, outside of it—a long and continuous process of learning and relearning—and I look forward to exploring that once more in this narrative-focused issue of Razzle Dazzle with you all!"

"Hey y'all! I'm Toma, a Filipino artist and writer who's been lurking around the fandom for over a decade. I use he/they pronouns, and am currently taking an MFA grad program. My interest in Hetalia ties with my fascination with narratives in history, both in regards to national narratives and the stories of people that go against that. Usually my focus tends to switch between US history and Philippine history, although I have a broader interest in Southeast Asia and occaisionally Central Europe. Aside from the use of narrative in history, I'm also interested in folklore and food history! You can find my art blog over at https://agentomato.tumblr.com/ and my personal at https://kerouacs.tumblr.com/ . I look forward to seeing what y'all will come up with!"

[asylumdwellermoved]

YOU! YOU'RE BACK! (you probably don't remember me we only talked, like, once, but hello xjbx)

ANYWAY UM UH what about a reader/PC seducing* Harper and getting more than what they asked for

* (could be intentional or could be Harper going "they are CLEARLY looking at me like that because they want something, yeah?")

(I REMEMBER YOU YOUR BLOG IS ONE OF MY FAVS TO LURK ON

leaning somewhat into the second option bc i love the contrast of manipulative freaks being equally delusional <3

gn!reader, gn!harper, dub/noncon)

"So, how have you been feeling?"

A newfound hesitance replaces your usual quickness to answer. You watch the bright eyes in front of you shift, possibly noticing a dullness in them that you hadn't before. Before you can wonder if it's your mind playing tricks on you, you clear your throat and smile.

"Good...! Been doing a little better lately..."

The doctor smiles back at you, clasping their hands together. "I'm glad! I assume you've been doing those techniques I gave you last week?"

You nod, trying to let the rumors swimming in your head fade to just the back of your mind as you automatically respond to their questions.

You had been seeing Dr. Harper on Fridays for a good few weeks now. Up until recently, you had been perfectly comfortable. It was nice having someone to talk to, even if they were just doing their job. You have absolutely no memory of anything bad happening in any of your sessions. It was only when you had mentioned your recent help to Sydney and saw their skin bristle and received a vague warning in response that you started to worry. Mickey remarking on the doctor's "problems" not long after definitely didn't help. You knew how dangerous this town could be, and you definitely didn't want to be on the bad side of anyone holding your physical well being above your head.

"And that recent spat with that person at your school that you told me about last week? How did that go?"

"Ah, well... they put out a cigarette on me yesterday, so I kind of feel like it's a lost cause..."

If you just... suck up to them it should be fine, right? They seem at least somewhat reasonable. Bat your eyes at them and butter them up a little, and you should be airtight.

Their eyebrows furrow in concern. "Can I see the wound?"

You nod, hesitantly unbuttoning the top of your shirt to give easier access to the burn on your collarbone.

"A few more, please? I'm going to wipe it down and apply some vitamin E gel so that it heals a bit better, I need a little more space."

You oblige, trying not to look bothered, the collar of your shirt now draping over your shoulder. They get to work on gently cleaning your wound. You choose your next words carefully.

"Hey, Dr. Harper..." You don't realize how close they are until you feel the heat of your own breath coming back onto you when you speak.

"Hm?"

"Thanks for everything. Really. I've been doing a lot better lately, and I couldn't have got here without you."

A smile crosses their lips and they hum in contentment. "You're very sweet."

"I appreciate it a lot. At this point, I don't know what I'd do without you..."

You wince a little as that last part comes out, worried you'd be pushing things. You see the look in their eyes change and you freeze. They turn their formerly fixed gaze to your face. It looks almost like it flipped some sort of switch in them.

"I'm very glad to hear that."

You flinch from the feeling of the cold gel on your skin.

"You know, just between us... You're my favorite patient."

You double take.

"A-Am I really?" You feign a smile at their strange remark.

They light up at your reaction. "Yes, really. I'm happy that the feeling's mutual."

Wait... what?

You stiffen a bit, unsure what to say. You notice that their hand is ghosting further and further from the blistering as they touch your skin. And did another button come loose?

"That said, you can come to me for anything. When you're hurt, when you're anxious, when you're upset, when you're... flustered..."

They've gotten closer. The faint hospital smell on their clothes mixed with a slight unplaceable scent feels near suffocating now. When you feel their fingers twitch a bit you notice their hands haven't left your skin.

Ah. So this is what they meant. Not the Bailey kind of scary. Something entirely different.

They hesitate for a second, but waste no time in pressing their lips against yours, pulling you into them and quickly darting their tongue out, trying to force it in. You suddenly feel smothered at the feeling of what control you had being pulled out from under you.

"Dr. Harper-...!"

They pull back, shuddering at the sound of their name on your lips before putting a hand between your legs, a heavy heat of their own pressing against your thigh, grinding softly.

"If I knew I could do this while you were lucid, I would've a long time ago..." They give a breathless giggle like it was some sort of joke, looking straight at you but showing no recognition of the horror on your face.

The look softens as you start to squirm at their touch, watching their eyes flick to your lips again when a gasp slips out. They lean in again, peppering soft, closed-mouth kisses against your lips like they weren't slipping their fingers beneath your clothes to try to get you off at the same time.

"Shhh, I need you to stay quiet for me... Don't worry, when I make sure we have some time all to ourselves soon you can be as loud as you want..." They coo at you almost like they're consoling a child.

The pleasure-induced haze in your brain keeps you from dwelling on what they mean as they keep teasing you, playing with one of your nipples through your open shirt and closely watching your reactions as they pant and moan against your ear. Unable to stop from eventually reaching your peak, you writhe against them helplessly, unconsciously bucking into their hand. A shaky gasp escapes their throat and you notice a warm, wet patch had grown on the fabric against your thigh. Your stomach turns a bit.

They lock their lips with yours again, breathing heavy through their nose, only pulling away when it starts to slow. They stare at you in what looks like a strange sort of... adoration? As they bring their fingers to their lips, slowly dragging their tongue through the mess you made. Their glazed over, half lidded eyes widen a bit when they look at the clock. "Ah- I didn't even notice the time."

They walk back to their desk, nonchalantly sitting back down, rifling through their papers before pulling a pen out. The second you get the chance, you walk out on shaky legs without saying a word.

"Client exhibiting potentially self-endangering behavior. Institutionalize at next availability."

[mazzystar24]

idk who else to go to with this but i have so many people sending me hate because i don’t like bucktommy when i literally never even post about them????? they keep calling me toxic and a hater and i’m not i just have shipped buddie for years and i don’t vibe with tommy…. it makes me sad because this fandom used to bond over buddie so much but now i just see angry tommy fans (and admittedly some buddie fans but nowhere near as many) spreading so much hatred and rudeness while turning around and calling buddie fans toxic when we just want to ship our 6 year long standing ship… and like i said i genuinely never post about bucktommy, and if i do say something about them that can be perceived as negative then i always tag it “anti-bucktommy” and i NEVER tag it bucktommy so that they don’t have to even see it! It hurts to open up the app not knowing if i’m going to have another person calling me homophobic or a fetishizer (i’m literally queer) or calling me a toxic bitch when i literally don’t do anything but post happy buddie content 9/10 posts! and like i said i know i’ve seen some buddie accounts go to extremes and i’m not defending that, but i’ve seen people who will call out even the slightest apprehension to bucktommy as if they stepped on someone’s grave, while simultaneously bullying and harassing buddie shippers for minding their own business… like i can’t even go into the buddie tag and it’s people attacking us left and right while the bucktommy tag is nothing but everyone gushing over them… i hate that we can’t enjoy a 6 year old ship anymore because half the fandom decided to jump to this other one that has barely gotten any screentime between two characters that don’t really have chemistry with each other and they want to berate us for it and call us names. I’m not a fetishizer and I’m not toxic, I’m just a late 20s queer girl who wants to talk about buddie without a barrage of hate and insults thrown at me but I can’t do that anymore… 9-1-1/buddie used to be my safe place but now i can’t even come on tumblr because i’m worried a stan will be lurking in my asks/replies waiting to tell me how awful i am.

i’m sorry to dump all of that on you but i just opened a really nasty ask and it hurt a lot to read what they said about me and you were the first person on my dash

Hey anon!

Okay so I can already guess I’ll be late posting this cos i think I’ll be replying to this in increments throughout my day today, and also I can tell this is really bothering you so I don’t wanna just give like a short rushed answer - oh wow I actually wrote this in one sitting cos I can’t shut up once I start

Yes the fandom has been a downright mess lately and it’s like I always say, people if you wanna engage in discourse that’s your prerogative and no one is faulting you for that but it’s the utter lack of fandom etiquette these toxic fans have that’s the real issue and I also feel like as you said a huge issue is this kind of imaginary high horse they seem to have

Like I totally agree that there is like this section of toxic bucktommy fans who try to warp not liking bucktommy into being biphobic- which look if people are actually being biphobic by all means call them out but when you’re going to actual queer people who posted 166283894 posts celebrating bi buck, only to attack them for not liking the ship?? Then that’s just plain stupid I’m sorry, like being happy to have the queer rep and not liking bucktommy isn’t mutually exclusive and it’s ridiculous people are trying to make it out to be

Like I’ve personally been sent an ask like that where they implied that I was biphobic for not being a big fan of bucktommy and that “I don’t know how exhausting it is for bi people” - which I gotta say made me go what about my blog would ever make someone think ah yes straight 🤩

And thing is at the time they sent that my most note filled post was my celebration reaction meme extravaganza to getting bi buck which I feel added some fun irony to the whole thing

And calling people shipping two MEN (buddie) homophobic takes a special kind of cognitive dissonance that I gotta say I’d almost be impressed with the leaps in logic if it wasn’t so annoying

Now I personally don’t know what state the bucktommy tag is in cos I mostly stick to the 911 abc and the buddie tag but I know how the buddie tag has been and I agree the misuse of tags to make a negative space is absolutely ridiculous and again that all goes back to the etiquette part

And the fetishising thing is also just another thing that absolutely grates my nerves, because these toxic fans really need a dictionary thrown at their heads because buddie is like the polar opposite of that.

First of all a large section of buddie shippers im aware have asexual Eddie headcanons and that aside let’s say we want gay Eddie and buddie and all those things, let’s even say we want them to fuck nasty *gasp🫢* and sloppy and write 156273 smut fics where they plain fuck like rabbits (*nun faints in the background* also probably some pearl clutching occurred upon reading this),

THAT’S NOT THE POINT HERE- the point is the main appeal of buddie as a ship isn’t that ooo look two hot guys kissing; it’s the history it’s the friendship, it’s the vulnerability, it’s the will scene, the shooting, the trust, the parallels, the understanding of each other, it’s the domesticity and it’s all these moments that have nothing to do with sex or objectifying their dynamic or mlm relationships but rather shipping them because they are two people with this amazing connection and these experiences

and THAT? That’s the furthest thing from fetishisation

Now I could be controversial and talk about how SOME and some is the operative word of this sentence- SOME toxic bucktommy fans have been blatant in not really caring about the story or the characters or buck and Tommy as individuals or the team dynamic or anything other than seeing these two men kiss, these being a lot of the same fans who refuse to watch the show other than the bucktommy and Tommy scenes and then will act like they somehow understand the show more than fans who’ve been here years or seen the whole show BUT I digress because I know that saying this is me basically asking for spam hate (so shhhh let’s pretend I didn’t say that 🤫)

who said that? 👀not me👀damn that’s crazy a ghost just ran across my keyboard 🙄

Anyways back to you specifically, because I really do think it bares mentioning, if you’ve been respectful to others then that’s all you can do and thank you on the behalf of everyone cos it really makes a difference, and I wanna say sorry on the behalf of every asshole who’s deciding to attack you for ridiculous reasons, the best advice I can give you is to genuinely not let it get to you I know it’s easier said than done but you know who you are and you know your intentions and some dumbass sitting behind a screen who can’t even properly comprehend what biphobia or fetishisation actually is (or worse DOES know what it is but is just using it as a way to put others down over a tv show to have an imaginary high ground) isn’t worth your time or your distress and they cannot change who you are

This part might be over explaining the obvious but in case you don’t know/ are new to tumblr or whatever: If you wanna continue to have fandom spaces as a safe place filtering should get rid of a lot of the posts and so should blocking but ofc you’ll see a few so just skip past and enjoy the content you like, if you wanna make posts and are scared of asks from toxic shippers maybe you can turn off your asks temporarily until you feel like you’re in a better place mentally to deal with it

Oooo or an idea that might work is you can ask your followers and mutuals (who are the ones most likely to be sending the nice asks) to use an emoji at the start of their asks to indicate to you that this is an ask you’ll like then you can delete any ask without that emoji without even having to look at the hate if it’s causing you that anxiety - if that makes sense?

I hope my reply somehow made you feel better and I really hope that you can have your fandom space and enjoyment back 🫶🫶🫶🫶

[selfcareandsippycups]

Hey, I’m Izzy—Welcome to Self-Care & Sippy Cups!

( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

If you’re here, chances are you’re in the thick of parenting—running on caffeine, surviving tantrums, and wondering if you’ll ever finish a meal without sharing. Sound about right?

I see you. Parenting is amazing, but it’s also exhausting, overwhelming, and—let’s be real—sometimes straight-up chaotic. Between the snack requests, sleepless nights, and trying to keep tiny humans alive, it’s way too easy to put yourself last.

That’s why I started Self-Care & Sippy Cups. This isn’t just another parenting blog filled with “expert” advice that makes you feel like you’re doing everything wrong. This is a real parent sharing experiences in hopes that new parents can learn from me and others, to build a community and safe space for parents.

☆彡Who Am I?

I’m just another Mom trying to navigate the ups and downs of raising kids while still making space for myself. I don’t have a all knowing guide (wish I did), but I do know that taking care of yourself is just as important as taking care of your little ones.

I started Self-Care & Sippy Cups because I was tired of feeling like I had to choose between being a great parent and having any time for myself. You don’t have to choose. You can love your kids fiercely and take care of yourself. You can be a real parent—messy, imperfect, and figuring it out as you go—without feeling guilty for not having it all together.

So, if you’re looking for relatable parenting content, self-care that actually fits into your life, and a community that understands the highs and lows of this journey—welcome. You’re in the right place.

ミ★What You’ll Find Here

This blog is all about balance—raising happy kids while still being you. Here’s what you can expect:

➭Self-Care for Parents – Quick, realistic ways to recharge (without a spa day).

➭Parenting Hacks & Real Talk – No sugarcoating, just honest, helpful advice.

➭Mental & Emotional Wellness – Let’s talk about burnout, parental guilt, and making time for yourself.

➭Relationships & Community – Because keeping friendships and relationships strong after kids is hard.

➭More Joy, Less Stress – Fun, simple ways to make parenting feel lighter.

✫彡Why This Blog?

Because I know what it’s like to put yourself last, to feel stretched way too thin, and to wonder if you’re the only one struggling (spoiler: you’re not). Parenting is hard enough—let’s stop making it harder by thinking we have to do it all alone.

So if you’re looking for a place where you can get parenting tips without the judgment, self-care reminders that don’t feel impossible, and a community that actually gets it—welcome.

Drop a comment or just lurk and know that you’re not doing this by yourself.♥︎

We’ve got this. (And if we don’t, there’s always caffeine.)(>ᴗ•)

[ensi-undertale]

Hey!

Seems you've found my blog. Welcome~

Find my ask rules, links, fics, tags and more here!

About me

My name's Ensi, I'm from the UK, in my mid-20s, and apparently spend my free time writing convoluted Undertale whump. I'm disability and LGBT friendly, also being disabled and bi myself... so feel free to include these topics in asks. On that note, I love to get asks and am really open to sharing more of my lore with you via imagines and headcanon type asks

I am an unabashed Fellswap Gold stan. I love pretty much all the main AUs, and anything angsty or dramatic. I do occasionally go on an outcode fic reading spree, but you should definitely expect more of the main AUs here!

Asks

Open.

For headcanon asks, imagines, and general fic questions.

I won't do... anything overly explicit. Other that I'm pretty chill when it comes to topics.

I wont necessarily answer all asks in chronological order. I'll do them mostly in order and flit between shorter or longer asks depending on the time I have and what takes my fancy that day!

Click here to see the boys you can send in asks for!

My Fics

Dead Man Walking - AO3 link - Mature - Multi AU

Great. You’re doing 30 years for a crime you didn’t commit, the prison guards are trying to kill you, and now your face graces TV sets across the country. It’s a good job you’ve made friends with some skeleton inmates… although some of them feel like a bigger threat than anything the prison can throw at you.

You have no idea how deep this goes.

But, he’ll make sure you find out. It’s his stage after all. He is the puppet-master, the puppet, the judge, the jury, and the executioner.

A fic featuring canon Undertale, Underswap, Underfell, Horrortale, Swapfell Purple, Fellswap, Fellswap Gold.

Omnipotent - AO3 link - Mature - My own setting / AU 'Ubiquitale'

The underground is divided, gripped by an invisible war between Humans and Monsters. The Humans have turned to chemical warfare to silently, and violently, pick off the Monsters one-by-one.

Lieutenant Sans of the Royal Guard did his best to protect his younger brother. To teach him that no-one can be trusted, and that danger lurks around every corner. Too bad for Sans then, that Papyrus is a skeleton who wants better for the world.

This is, currently, a collection of one-shots / drabbles set in a world similar to FSG / some Swapfell settings, but where the Humans are actively engaging in one-sided, chemical warfare against the Monsters.

Worldbuilding

As DMW progresses, we can put things like friendship charts and reference sheets here.

Tags

#ensi's fics

#ensi's imagines (headcanon and imagine asks)

#ensi's unclassifiable posts breach containment (misc posts)

#dead man walking

#ubiquitale

[pandapple-dapple]

✎ 𝗧𝗶𝗺 𝗗𝗿𝗮𝗸𝗲 - 𝗖𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗰 𝗙𝗶𝗰 𝗥𝗲𝗰

Notes: Yes this is the second post in my blog. Am I proud of it? Definitely not. Am I still gonna do it cause I have nothing else to do? Yes. I hope some peeps out there might find it useful though so,,, yeah!

Also, make sure to read the tags beforehand!! Stay Safe!

[ T ] the space between by nephelax

Romantic Pairings: Timkon (Not the main focus right now though)

Description:

Red Robin is a name meant for greatness. It echoes of a kid that had decided to step up as a hero that Batman needed, of a teen that shouldered burden after burden without complaint—of someone that, despite the pain and the grief and the losses, held his head high. A genius, a leader, and one of the best detectives that the world has ever seen. Red Robin is a name with weight. Tim, a high schooler whose last living memories involve a bridge and murky waters, can’t measure up to that. The ghost that lurks rent free in Tim’s head with a familiar looking insignia cracked in half on his chest says otherwise. or, how Tim realizes that he’s trapped in a world that’s supposed to be fictional, discovers that he somehow body-snatched a future Robin, and finds himself caught in the Bats’ orbit despite all his efforts not to (and maybe, just maybe, gets a family along the way too).

[ T ] Banshee In A Well by liverobinreaction (bugbee)

Romantic Pairings: None

Description:

Tim is five years old when he drowns in his parents' pool. He dies quietly, waiting for parents who love him, but will never be there, to realise that something is wrong. They never show up, and he sinks into oblivion. When he wakes up and claws his way out of the water, the sun has set, and the lights of his house are on. He is cold and wet and his lungs burn. But most of all, Tim is alone. (If you die and no-one is there to see it, were you ever alive in the first place?)

[ T ] Happy Families Kill People Too by raven_of_hydecastle

Romantic Pairings: None

Description:

Jack Drake loves his wife and son, even if they're giant, fire breathing reptiles that would rather eat the mailman than pick up a package. That's fine, he can deal. It'd just be nice if they weren't so territorial. Then they could actually be on the same continent without trying to kill each other. Oh well, every family has their challenges. The Drakes' just happen to be more homicidal than most. Feat. Dragon Tim and Janet's loving (but murderous) relationship, Jack's ongoing attempts to be a good dad, and the Waynes getting increasingly concerned about Tim's home life after he becomes Robin.

[ T ] unchanging by birdbat

Romantic Pairings: None

Description:

A lot of people tell Tim that he looks just like his mother. They share the same eye color and shape, often cold and calculating. The same sharp smiles and ghostly pale skin, and the same, lean body frames that could almost be described as delicate. One last thing they have in common is an orange pill bottle. The only difference is the name. (Or how parents pass things on to their children.)

[ T ] so much you don't know by konan_konan

Romantic Pairings: None

Description:

“Enough chatter,” Tim barks. Green Lantern grumbles. “You want to get through this, right? Then settle down. Alright. Workplace injuries.” He pauses, squinting at the slide. “We’ve seen nearly a 3% reduction in injuries this past quarter. Our goal was 5%. Do better.” “Hey,” says Flash, “it’s a dangerous job!” “Do better,” he repeats. or: tim drake is totally a pro at this whole batman thing.

[ G ] Talk To Me by A_Canceled_Stamp 🔒 (only accessible to ao3 users)

Romantic Pairings: None

Description:

Bruce and Tim have a long-overdue heart-to-heart

[ T ] Into the Deep Dark Night by siren_of_the_ocean

Romantic Pairings: None

Description:

Timothy Jackson Drake drowns in Gotham Bay with not a bang, but a whimper. Luckily...or not, Gotham isn't quite ready to give him up yet. “Spirits of children and women drowned, my child. They live in the ponds that glisten like tar. The Rusalka."

[ G ] Half the Size and Twice the Fun by raven_of_hydecastle

Romantic Pairings: None

Description:

Ra’s was a class A manipulator, but luckily Tim was suspicious of strange men in cosplay dictating his life’s purpose. He doubted anyone would make a clone out of their most “formidable opponent” for the sole purpose of being creepy. There had to be an ulterior motive… Although it was creepy. So creepy.   AKA Tim is a clone, Young Justice has a new BFF, and Batman's adoption tendency has been sledgehammered with Post-Ethiopia grief, which means the JLA is now in charge of a miniature Batman despite almost none of them being parents. This can't end badly, can it?

[ T ] Under A Parent's Wing by IzzyMRDB

Romantic Pairings: None

Description:

When Tim found out that Dick Grayson was a gymnastics instructor in Bludhaven, he quickly signed up. After all, learning gymnastics from The Nightwing himself is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Dick Grayson is more concerned at the obvious signs of child abuse he sees in one of his students. AKA Dick Grayson, as a childcare worker, is a mandated reporter who knows how to recognize child abuse in his students. Tim Drake, after a lifetime of fear and confusion, learns to trust adults.

[ T ] Newton's Third Law (Actions Have Consequences) by Megaerackles

Romantic Pairings: None

Description:

Tim wasn’t sure just how he had managed to go from having everything completely under control and according to plan to being locked in a holding cell in the motherfucking Batcave while all of his secrets were slowly unspooled around him in a single afternoon. Well, he knew how—happy, protected Jason-who-had-no-clue-who-Tim-was had suddenly gotten all of the memories of angry, overprotective Big-Brother-Red-Hood-Jason and had proceeded to kidnap him, just because he was apparently a ‘hazard to himself and reality’. But it had all happened so quickly that he was having trouble wrapping his mind around this new complication. “You know, I’d finally gotten used to being an only child again."

Welp, that's all for now! Hope you enjoy them, I might make another fic rec in my spare time. < 3

[letstalkwhump]

Let’s Talk Whump No.3

Welcome to Let’s Talk Whump!

I’m Malice, from @whumpers-inc and today I’ve got the fabulous @brutal-nemesis in the house to talk about her experience with and love for whump!

Let’s talk about you! Tell us something about yourself :)

Yo, I'm Nemi, I'm in my 20s and a whumper all the way, baby. Outside of whump, I like rocks (like have an entire degree in geology like rocks), video games (Octopath Traveler, Pokemon, FE, Nancy Drew PC games...), anime (don't ask me about Chainsaw Man, I won't shut up), and hiking (rocks but in their natural habitat).

What does “whump” mean to you?

I get to stab men and laugh about it. I love violence, I am very sadistic

Your fearsome reputation is something of a legend around here. How did you find whump and what made you want to join?

Very long rabbit hole but to be less long about it, I saw some whump stuff on the blog of a pokemon tumblr I stalked (because I didn't have an account) and I was like, Hey This Is The Shit. I lurked for a while but as time went on, I wanted to talk to people about whump and share my own shit cuz I've never really had anyone to talk to about that sort of stuff (at least not without making them really concerned lol).

Being able to talk about wanting to beat up/stab/restrain a guy without concerned looks and questions is so therapeutic, honestly. Do you have a favourite(s) whump trope?

Gore, noncon surgery & body modification, vivisection, female whumper w/ male whumpee, and just general depravity!

Female whumpers, my beloveds! Speaking of favourite pieces, tell us one that you’ve written?

Uhhhh what have I written at all...mmm, well, as far as Castys things, if I had to pick one, it'd probably be Cycle-stys of Yikes . Basically it's a nice little overview of Castys losing his damn mind while he's stuck in a lab for like 240 years. It's probably one of the darkest things I've written as far as, uh, what happens, and that's saying a lot. Idk I just feel like I did a good job with describing these really fucked up actions as...whatever the hell he thought was happening.

For Erebus and Terror...it's hard. I'm really proud of the whole series, tbh, just how I've been able to develop both Erebus and Neteri over time as they change each other, but for a standout chapter...Maybe Chapter 14, Red, White, and Blue , cuz I really love the way I wrote Erebus's panic and what was happening to him from his POV without explicitly describing what was happening. And what's not to love about how upset he is in that one :)

Damn, Red, White and Blue! You’ve definitely earned your reputation..that was brutal! Is there anything new you’re working on at the moment?

Yare yare...I should get started on the next chapter of E&T at some point, shouldn't I? I mean, I have a huge AU stockpile that's basically all between me and one person and we just sit on them, so probably nothing from there for the people...So yeah, probably the next chapter of E&T whenever I get around to that and then I'll probably try to come up with something for Castys since I'm sure people miss him.

Take it from me, the people definitely miss Castys! Care to share what your writing routine usually looks like?

Hahahaha who knows, man. Back before my lil hiatus, I used to write every day whenever I had time and felt like it, but then I became Gamer Mode for a few months and I'm still working on getting out of that habit. But usually just on the couch or in my room with either my video game/anime OST playlist on shuffle (she's 59 hrs long!) or my weeb playlist (anime ops and whatnot) because if it's English words then it's harder to focus on writing,  y’know. Usually I jump around in whatever chapter or piece I'm writing, writing the scenes or bits of dialogue/description as they come to me, and slowly stitching the whole thing together until it's one whole blanket boy.

Is there an easy thing for you to write, something the words just pour for? Anything you struggle with writing?

The easiest thing in the world is whatever bullshit thoughts Castys is having. He is incredibly easy to channel. Any of his dialogue or what he's thinking about comes without much thought. The words also usually flow for my classic™ incredibly long run-on sentence paragraphs that have like no breaks in them cuz it's all go go go, baby. Erebus and Neteri talking isn't too hard either, especially if they're bickering. As far as hard, probably descriptions of pain because it can hard to say how much a thing hurts over and over without being repetitive. I am also not a researcher.  I will just be out here making shit up because it's MY fantasy world so I can have whatever bullshit I want!

Do you have any words of wisdom or writing advice for us?

Well, my old habit that worked for me was to try and write every day, for at least half an hour. If I end up going more, great, but if it's not working at least I tried. That and inspiration is everywhere. Steal whatever shit you like and cobble it together into something unrecognisable. It's not plagiarism cuz you're making something new. Like, E&T came from Stephen King's Misery and a magical girl anime. Go crazy, go stupid.

Go crazy, go stupid. I love it! Let’s give a shout out to your favourite writing/whump blogs, bffs or people who've inspired you. We're hyping everyone up here!

Can't not shout out the bestie @galaxywhump who has impeccable taste and bomb writing and we talk a whole lot everyday and yeah, queen shit. @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifih-wifi is another good friend and amazing writer and she's got so many different stories that everyone can find something they love. Ugh, there's a lot of other people I could talk about, but I'll give the last shout-out to @whump-side cuz her art just always hits the spot for me, so fuckin good.

Thank you so much for taking the time to talk to us today. Is there anything you like to add?

Don't be afraid to be a little bit silly, lads, we're here to have fun and it doesn't have to be the most serious shit in the world for it to be good whump. we love being silly and crazy.

Thanks for dropping by @brutal-nemesis ! 

And to all the readers, have a whump-derful day!

[bellaxgiornata]

Hey!! I dont know how to start this but i hope you doing great after all the chapters and dialogues between Mikey, Matt and Frank that you have been gracing us for the passed few days, i am obsessed with it.

I also want you to know that i'm so thankful, I stumbled on your blog and read the series FTAD. It will always be near and dear to my heart as it is the reason it awakened my sleeping desire on our lovely Matt.

You are truly an amazing writer. I'm a little shy on sending this cause mostly i'm lurking on the comment section.

But if you ask me, on a scale of one to ten, how much i regret being your follower? (FTAD, The Night you Met reference).

10 will always be my answer. 🥰🥰

Hi friend!! 💕

I'm so glad you enjoyed all the little internal dialogue things I posted over the past week! And ahh yes! I'm glad you've been enjoying the new updates I've put out since returning home! I've been doing great, though I'll admit that I am in a bit of a writing slump these past couple of days, but I think my brain is rusty from so much time away from it this past week. Pretty much I have written almost every single day since last November 😅 So that was a long break to me!

I am so incredibly thrilled that you found my blog, too! And I am BEYOND EXCITED to hear that FFTD awakened a dormant love for Matt Murdock that you had 🙌🏻❤️ Omg what a compliment! But FFTD Matt is like...such a perfect Matt, it's hard not to fall for him 🥺

Thank you so much!! ❤️ That means a lot to me to hear you enjoy my work and that always makes my time on these stories feel so worthwhile. Please do not feel shy at all! I absolutely love chatting with all of y'all! It is probably my favorite part of sharing my writing. Though I totally understand, I was always a lurker until a few months ago (which probably seems hard to believe because like, I'm such a wordy commenter 😅).

AND OMG YOU DID NOT JUST MAKE THAT REFERENCE!!! 😭❤️

Just me over here emotional, don't worry about it. I'm truly happy you're here, friend! And thank you so much for taking a moment to leave such a wonderful message. You and this message are the reason my ass is sitting down to see if I can form some cohesive paragraphs and write tonight!

[sacrificialblackdragon]

Hello everyone and thank you for following and / or lurking !   I am REKI, I am a 29 year old female, with two jobs and three cats, who has been roleplaying for a few years. This is an INDEPENDENT & SELECTIVE blog and is meant for a 21+ AUDIENCE. TRIGGER THEMES ARE PRESENT AND WILL BE TAGGED !   I used to have a Hak blog but have long since forgotten the URL. ; A; My best friend actually got me into the series and I collect the manga. Sadly, I am missing a few of the beginning volumes. Please hit that like, follow or reblog button if you would like to interact with Hak!! Rules Below:

RULES, LAWS, IMPORTANT STUFFS.FIRST AND FORMOST! I love ALL pairings. I will not tolerate any hatred towards any character.

1) These rules are subject to change.

2) There will be no hate messages on this blog. Meaning if I get sent a hate message it will just get deleted. I will not waste my time brooding over your message so you are just wasting your time typing it up.

3) No god modding. Understandably my characters can’t win EVERY single battle and will not win everything. I usually like taking a few and then your character takes a few. I will always, ALWAYS, come to you and ask how the end of the fight will turn out that way I can write accordingly.

4) Writing. I don’t expect a novel back if I write a novel, and sometimes I do. However, I do expect something to work with, please do not respond back to me if I leave you with a detailed post only for you to give me a one liner, it just kills the mood. – In addition! If you would like to respond to an ask please link the ask on a fresh new post, and tag me just in case, that way it looks more appealing. I do that with other roleplayers. C:

5) Original Characters. I love original characters, I personally suck at writing and developing them so for all of you original characters out there I applaud you. However, please don’t use me to come up for ideas of your original character, that’s not my job. If you like for a starter please understand that I will be staring at your character about page for a long, long, long time. It’s a little difficult for me to write for an original character so please be patient!

6) Ships. Here we go … This is a huge one for a lot of people. I am a Multi-shipper or trash – I’ll accept either lol. You are free to jump in my inbox or IM me and be like “Hey baby. You and my muse * suggestive eyebrow wiggle*”. I will most likely be like “FUCK YES LETS GO!” and bam! We ship. But here is my problem with most people: I have a lot of ships that I absolutely adore however, if you don’t like the ship me and my roleplay partner are doing you can either unfollow or shut the fuck up and ignore it, black list it – whatever. I’m saying that in the nicest way possible. I’m tired of people complaining that they “Hate this ship but I saw it and read it so now I’ll bitch on my blog about it.” Calm down, grow up and again, unfollow that person or ignore the post. Plain and simple or else you’ll probably be hearing about it from me. I have been in too many fandoms where this goes on.

7) Exclusives/Relationships. I am a-ok and more than happy to exclusively ship when it comes to main ideas and plot, but please remember that I am only one person and I do like interacting with other people. Exclusives doesn’t mean you own me in anyway. Exclusives to me normally mean that you are a close friend and most likely already have my discord. The more was talk IC or OOC the more likely I will pick you as an exclusive for main plots.

8) Reblogging when you have no permission. During my time of roleplaying on many sites tumblr is probably the worst for this rule. Anyone who reblogs threads, asks or any other communication between my partners that they are not tagged in will be kindly asked to delete the post. If not deleted within 24 hours you will be blocked from my page and I will not remove it.

9) Nsfw. Is only available for people who are of age and adults. I am 29 and I do not take light of being tricked when it comes to age. I will be asking your age if it is not in your mun section or anywhere visible, I will not be held liable if you are lying to me. You MUST be of legal age, please ask if you are interested in rping nsfw.

10) Personal Tags & Passwords. I don’t do personal tags or passwords. Final answer, if you follow me then it means you understand that I will NOT be tagging any personal tags.

11) Triggers. I don’t expect people to tag my trigger mainly because it only happens around Halloween time. I understand people are in the spirit but I absolutely hate seeing scary things pop out at me. It leads me to paranoia and I just can’t sleep at night. Anything paranormal I can’t handle, which is why I can’t watch scary movies. If I do see this on my dash it does lead to an unfollow, but not a block.

12) Icons. These icons have been created by me, but I do not claim that the art is mine. Anything from the managa or fanart I do not claim to be mine.

13) Other. Other than all of this “Don’t do this, and don’t do that” I really just want to have fun with each and every one of you. Thank you so much for either reading or skimming over my rules.

[ivysangel]

hey ro! how ya doin??

just wanted to hop in here and tell you how much I love YOU. i found your account a year ago and immediately fell in love with your personality, your work and all your rambles, you’ve helped me survive my first year of uni and made me feel less lonely during a time of uncertainty and constant change. i am obsessed with your blog so much you inspired me to start my own blog (literally no followers bc I don’t write lol) !! i’m sure you’re busy with uni now and I miss seeing you on my feed lol, but I just wanted to let you know how much you and your blog means to me ❤️❤️

i hope im not coming off as creepy or anything, truly, I just wanted to share how much I adore you and your beautiful blog!

oh honey, don't worry about coming off as creepy at all. this message filled my heart with so much love and joy, and i'm so beyond happy that even after a year and my posts dwindling more and more, you can still find joy in my blog. i'm happy that i helped you get through your first year of uni. tbh, you guys helped me get through my first year, too <33. i remember using responding to asks as an escape between assignments, and i hope i can get back to doing that soon. as for right now, i may not be posting, but i'm always lurking, and i'm always happy to receive messages even if i don't have all the energy to respond right now. honestly, it's ones like these that keep me motivated to push through everything going on in life so i can fully come back when i'm ready <3

[woodvalewrites]

An Introduction to WoodvaleWrites

I haven't quite worked out tumblr yet, but I'm sure I will in time. I just realised that not everyone can see my blog so here's a quick overview of this multimuse.

About me:

Hey! I'm Woodvale. I'm 24 and live in the UK. I do have a 9-5 and several side jobs, but I am almost always lurking, even when I'm supposed to be doing my job. I have around 12 years of RP experience between Facebook, X and Discord. I write a lot of different verses and characters and will be adding more to the list as we go on, I'm sure. See below for the muses!

The Thick of It Muses

Kelsey Sharpe

Sherlock Crossover. In her youth (FC Suki Waterhouse) she attended university with Mycroft Holmes. Went on in her late 20's (FC Emilia Clarke) to join the labour party, eventually rising to leader. Horrific drug problem, bit of a Party Girl. Portrayal takes place either during uni, as leader of Labour or post politics.

Maria Edwards

The party's answer to Kelsey Sharpe, came in and fixed all her predecessor's mistakes. Rose through the ranks through DoSaC to leadership. Very much a good girl in comparison to Kelsey. FC Freema Agyeman

Doctor Who Muses:

Saiorse

Martha Jones

[rinneverse]

࿐ ♡ ˚ . 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤. — 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒐 𝒌𝒐𝒔𝒌𝒊 ˒ ⊹

series synopsis. your friend, your pal, your fuck buddy—sampo koski seems to be getting closer and closer with every heated exchange. you wonder, briefly, if there’s something more lurking under the surface of it all. you have a strict rule set in place, though: don’t catch feelings.

[ don't you trust me masterlist | next chapter. ]

syn. you remember the beginning of your relationship with sampo koski, and think about where you're currently at now. sampo surprises you when he asks if you'd like to stay the night... and to your own surprise, you agree. (6.8k)

cw. fem reader / piv intercourse / marking / creampie / alcohol + drinking / spit mention / usage of the petnames doll & dollface, pretty girl, pretty, sweetheart, baby / slight mention of a size diff between sampo and reader (sampo is implied to be bigger than reader) / oral (f!receiving) / fingering / praise

love, oak! ༉‧₊˚. HELLO HI. FIRST CHAPTER. i am genuinely SOOO FUCKING EXCITED but also i'm actually very scared to be posting this bc this project is my BABY but OFSJDHGHAERFSHDGK FUCK IT WE BAAALLLLL!!!!!!!

MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI. NSFW UNDER THE CUT.

You can hear your heart pounding in your ears.

It’s a rhythmic sound, aligning with the harsh creak of the bed as Sampo Koski’s hips snap into you with reckless abandon. It’s a carnal exchange, one involving sweat slicked bodies and teeth scraping against tender, sensitive flesh; it’s never been a slow, loving event. It’s always a release of stress.

Nothing more than that.

“Fuck—fuck me, please, don’t stop!” Your breath leaves you in a shuddering gasp. Pleasure zips through you, coursing from your dizzy head to your curled toes, leaving you absolutely molten.

Sampo heeds your calls, his pace never faltering for a second as he holds your hips in a bruising grip. You’re left there to grasp at the bed sheets, rake your nails down his back, lay there and take it as Sampo basks in the feeling of your soaked cunt pulsing around his cock.

“Gonna cum, pretty? C’mon, do it for Sampo, yeah?”

He had an awful habit of referring to himself in third person. It was a habit of his that you hated—not that it really mattered in this moment, when your brain was melting from the pleasure. You feel your core tightening with every passing second. You wanted to. You wanted to cum.

“Fuuuuck,” you drawl, nails digging into his shoulder blades as he draws a hand between the two of you to play with your aching clit. “Don’t stop. ‘m close, please, please,” you beg, a pretty sound that has Sampo growling.

And he doesn’t stop—he grows even more erratic in his thrusts, pushing you over the edge as his lips close around the sensitive skin of your neck. He’s always been a fan of leaving marks; possessive to a fault even if you weren’t officially his.

As you convulse around him, a sob of pleasure falling from your lips, Sampo is groaning and clutching you tight as his hips stutter. He cums, hard, thick ropes of seed shooting inside you as he pushes deep into your cunt.

He’s always had a habit of doing that, too. This one, you hated slightly less.

The two of you pant heavily as you come down from your respective highs. You clutch Sampo tightly, breasts rising and falling with every breath you take. He lets out a low laugh, content to let you hold him tightly as you bask in your post-orgasm high.

And as you come down, you reminisce.

Steam curls in the air as the pot on the stovetop boils water. You’re in the middle of your habitual tea time, getting ready to make yourself a warm cup to enjoy while you indulge in the latest book you’ve purchased for yourself when you hear your phone ping with a notification.

Your eye twitches as you spy who it’s from.

sampo: hey, pretty. mind meeting me at the usual spot real quick? i have something i need to ask youyou: what could you possibly need to ask me that can’t be sent over text? you: sampo? you: sampoooo? you: you bitch. (read)

“Sampo.”

“Yes, pretty girl?”

The drawl of his voice sends a shiver down your spine. You’re supposed to be mad at him for interrupting your tea, though, so you continue with annoyance filling your tone, “What the hell was that cryptic message for? You can never be straight up with me, can you?”

Sampo taps his chin thoughtfully. Then he shrugs. “Some things are best left unwritten… and this particular favor, I’d really like to ask you in person.”

There’s a shit-eating grin on his face, and his tone is one that has you shifting back and forth on your feet. Sampo has always been an enigma to you, a jigsaw puzzle you could never quite figure out. It honestly irked you to no end that you couldn’t read him like you could everyone else.

The ambience of the bar you liked to frequent consumed the silence between you and Sampo. You take a second to claim the seat beside him and order your usual drink, crossing your legs as you give him a once-over.

Sampo’s clad in his usual outfit, his unruly two-toned hair tied back messily, exposing the nape of his neck to the humid atmosphere of the room. Your eyes seem to linger there momentarily before you meet his gaze, emerald pools glimmering with mischief and something more you can’t quite put your finger on.

You make a face at him. His grin widens in response and you roll your eyes.

“Alright. What’s this oh-so important favor, then?”

Sampo’s grin, to your surprise, lessens into a sheepish one. He averts his gaze in favor of knocking back his drink. He looks back to you.

“Ah, well… I was thinking—”

“Don’t beat around the bush, Sampo.” You interject.

Sampo’s lips twitched slightly. “If you would so kindly let me gather my thoughts...” He takes in a breath, a brief pause as he turns over the words he wanted to say before he continues.

“You’ve been telling me about how you’ve been so wound up with stress lately.” He clasps his hands together, rubbing them together in the way he does when he starts kissing ass. “And I was thinking, what if I did you a little favor? I could relieve it for you, if you’d like.”

You wait for more elaboration from him, but it doesn’t come. You raise an eyebrow. “What, exactly, are you suggesting here?”

Silence. Then: “How about we become friends with benefits?”

You gawk at him. His eyes catch on the way your lips part and press together, covered in a pretty sheen of gloss. You’re too busy trying to wrap your head around what he just suggested to notice the lingering hunger in his gaze.

You quickly search for a distraction—noticing that the bartender had slid over your drink without you realizing, you quickly swipe it up and start chugging. You think you hear a chuckle from Sampo in the background.

Once you’re satisfied (you had practically downed your entire drink in one go), savoring the burn of the alcohol that lingers in your throat, you wipe the corner of your lips with a thumb and turn back towards him. He’s still looking at you. Had he even looked at anything else while you were busy regaining your bearings?

It doesn’t matter. Your eyes narrow at him and you cross your arms. “What’s in it for you?”

Sampo seemed to have expected your suspicion, because he doesn’t miss a beat when he answers, “I get the same as you—an outlet for stress relief. Let me take care of you, pretty girl.”

The way he purrs his chosen pet-name for you sends a shiver running down your spine. You try to hide the way your thighs press together. The prospect of having sex with Sampo… it’s not entirely a notion you’d reject. Objectively, he’s fine as hell, with pretty green eyes and a slim waist, powerful shoulders and a broad back you think you’d like to rake your nails down. You bite your lip.

Okay, sure. Why the fuck not? Regardless of whether or not there was alcohol currently addling your brain, there’s no way you lose in this situation. Unless…

You hold up a hand. “Alright. I have a couple conditions though.”

Sampo nods, and his silence is enough to have you plowing forward with your thoughts. “No strings attached. I don’t want feelings involved. This is purely physical. And…” You purse your lips, searching for the words you wanted to say. After a moment you add quickly, “no kissing. That’s far too intimate, I think.”

“Fair enough,” he muses. “Any other lines you’d like to draw?”

He agreed to that almost immediately—while that should please you, it instead leaves a sick feeling swirling in your stomach and you’re not quite sure why. You chalk it up to the alcohol you had very intelligently decided to chug, and you lean against the bar as you ponder his question.

“No, I think that’s it.” You finally respond. Sampo briefly reaches out his hand for a handshake, but thinks better of it and retracts his hand quickly in favor of rising from the barstool he was perched on.

He grins down at you and holds out that hand again, this time in offering to you. “Shall we?”

“Ah—this starts tonight, then?”

“When else would it, doll? I’ve been thinking about this for awhile. Only you can help me scratch this itch.” He winks at you. You roll your eyes, but accept his hand anyways, gracefully coming to your feet.

Despite yourself, you feel your face warm as the two of you stare at each other, neither of you making the first move. You shouldn’t be embarrassed—this was Sampo, of all people—but here you were, suddenly shy. You glance away quickly, but after drawing up a bit of courage you chance a peek up at Sampo and find that there’s a pretty pink flush dusting over his cheeks. It makes you feel a sense of satisfaction. You weren’t the only one flustered here.

Sampo rubs the back of his neck, then he ventures, “so… would my place be okay?”

You stifle a giggle at how awkwardly he asks, deciding to spare him the pain of silence as you immediately nod your head. “Okay, sounds good. Let’s go.”

Sampo’s place is… neater than you thought it would be.

Actually, you don’t really know what you were expecting. It wasn’t necessarily a shithole in the slums you were imagining, but… ah, it didn’t matter.

It’s sparsely decorated, just a few trinkets here and there scattered amongst the comfy furniture adorning the living space. You pause in the doorway as you take it all in. You thought he would be more… of the hoarding sort. Guess Sampo is full of surprises tonight.

Which, speaking of Sampo:

“Well? I won’t bite doll, promise—I mean, unless you want me to.”

Sampo wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, earning a swift kick to his shins as you take another step in. He lets out a dramatic ‘oof,’ which draws a giggle from you, to his delight.

“We’ll see,” is all you say as you close and lock the door behind you.

It’s awkward as the two of you navigate through his home, much to your chagrin, but you were completely unsure of how to proceed. All you really knew was the exact reason you were here, the thought sending your heart beating a mile a minute as you focus on keeping your breathing steady.

You were positive Sampo knew how much of a mess you felt like right now though, because he startles you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do, okay pretty girl? You just let me know if it’s ever too much.”

Your lip quivers as you look up at him. His face softens even more at the anxiety you finally let shine through when you whisper, “Okay.”

The hand resting on your shoulder drifts down to the small of your back, ghosting gently along your spine as he takes on guiding you to his room, maneuvering you to the foot of his bed where you hesitantly take a seat.

He hums thoughtfully as he searches for the words he wants to say. Another moment passes, then suddenly—“Do you trust me?”

You blink owlishly. Then, you nod your head.

“I need to hear a verbal confirmation, dollface.”

The dominance in his tone has your back straightening—and much to your surprise, heat swirling in your core. You bite your lip. “I trust you, Sampo.”

“Good girl. You just let me take the reins, okay? All you gotta do is sit back and relax.”

You nod your head. Sampo takes a step towards you but only stares, his eyes narrowing in challenge. You quickly realize what he wants and you stammer out a quick ‘yes’ before he’s descending upon you, gently pushing your shoulders in a silent command to lay back against the mattress.

You’re pliant to his whims, lying back against the plush bedding as he leans over you, breath ghosting over your face as if he’s about to kiss you—then he’s remembering your request, inching lower to press his lips to the smooth column of your neck. He draws out a soft moan from you as you feel his tongue dip against your skin, the scrape of his teeth as he drags his mouth lower, towards your collarbone.

“Your skin tastes divine, sweetheart. I wonder how much better it is down here.”

His sinful words are accompanied by a roll of his hips against your center, eliciting a gasp from you at the sudden friction. You squirm, hands coming up to clutch his shoulders as he smirks down at you.

You meet his smug gaze with narrowed eyes. Two could play at this game. You roll your hips back up against his, achingly slow, savoring the way Sampo’s eyelids flutter shut as he presses back against you.

“Don’t tease me,” you breathe. “Or I’ll do it right back.”

Sampo’s lips curl up in a smile, a pure predator looking down at you. “Yeah?”

You nod your head, eyebrows furrowing with displeasure as you meet his heated stare. It takes everything in you not to grind up against him again—desperate for any sort of friction. Sampo’s smile only widens.

“Alright, alright, I get the message. I won’t torment you for too long, okay? Sampo’ll take good care of ya.”

You make a feeble attempt at kicking him, but he’s quicker than you, pinning your legs with his strong thighs—you can see the muscles flex under the fabric of his pants at the effort. You can’t help the way your mouth drops open a fraction.

Okay, maybe you were attracted to Sampo. When he kept his mouth shut.

“Don’t refer to yourself in third person, you freak.”

“Or what?” Sampo leans closer to you, face to face. His warm breath mingles with yours—and he’s close to you, so close, leaning and leaning and—

He’s got you distracted as a hand slips under the fabric of your shirt, slithering up your stomach until he reaches what he was aiming for. He palms the soft flesh of your tit and you moan, glowering up at him as he smirks in response.

“Pay attention, pretty. Don’t want you to miss a single thing.”

You glare up at him as he smiles prettily down at you, the portrait of innocence—well, as innocent as he can be with the lust-drunk gaze he drags over your body as he slowly pushes up your shirt with another hand. With a little bit of maneuvering he pulls the fabric off of you, leaving you in your bra and the miniskirt you opted to wear out to see him.

Sampo bites his lip, running his hand over the curves of your body. Then he’s peeling away your skirt as well, humming in satisfaction as you lift your hips for him, leaving goosebumps along the skin of your legs as his fingers brush against the sensitive flesh. You watch as he drops the fabric slowly, his sharp gaze roving slowly over your figure.

“Aeons, sweetheart. You look so good.” Sampo hisses quietly as he palms at the bulge in his pants. Your eyes immediately catch on the movement.

He’s hard. And from what little you can glean, he’s big, too. You swallow.

Sampo’s smile grows feline. “What’re you lookin’ at, pretty girl?”

You shake your head. Sampo tuts quietly, but doesn’t push—not yet.

Sampo pulls off his shirt in a swift movement. Unbuckles his belt with one hand. You sit up on your elbows—not just to watch him strip unobstructed, you tell yourself—as you take in the view of Sampo, of his broad shoulders and strong biceps, the smooth skin of his chest, down his abs, and… is that a happy trail? It most certainly is. You really hope you’re not drooling.

“Now, don’t get shy on me now. It’s far too late for that.” You hear Sampo chuckle darkly. “C’mon, you can be honest. You like the view?” He asks with a tilt of his head.

You hesitate. It was going to come out one way or another, so you ultimately decide to be truthful with him and nod your head. His smile only widens.

“Good girl, bein’ honest. How about I reward you, huh?”

You don’t have time to ask questions; he doesn’t grant you any. He grasps your ankle and pulls you to the edge of the bed where he kneels, face level with the pretty lace underwear you adorn. You let out a squeak of surprise, your face heating with embarrassment as you realize just how vulnerable this position made you. His large hands grasp at your thighs, pushing them open as he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder.

“Hey—” you start with a gasp, eyes wide as you look down at him. He smiles coyly when he catches your gaze.

“You trust me, don’t ya? Just relax,” he purrs. His fingers trace the hemline of your panties, drawing a shiver from you. Biting your lip, you take his advice and lean back, watching him raptly as he kisses the inside of your thigh. You feel your chest tighten with desire.

“Pretty,” the pet-name rolls off his tongue smoothly, dripping with honey-sweet desire. “You’re already so soaked for me. Look at you.” His finger glides up your lace-covered slit. You let out a whimper in response.

He takes his time with you, holding you open with one hand as the other drifts up over your navel, around the hem of your panties, dipping under the elastic seam and snapping it back against your skin. He tugs at it gently, once, twice, then he’s pulling it down, leaving the fabric to dangle around the ankle hooked over his shoulder. He leans forward to press a kiss to the apex of your thighs.

“Sampo…” You breathe out. You’re clutching at the sheets below you in a white-knuckled grip, your ribs expanding with the deep, shuddering inhale you take in as his eyes make contact with yours.

“You’re fucking dripping for me, baby,” he all but groans. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

You’re just about on the verge of begging for something, any kind of stimulation from him, when his eyes flick back down. He’s suddenly pressing his mouth to your cunt, tongue laving up your center. It feels like you’ve been electrified, nerves alight with white-hot pleasure; you nearly jump at the contact. His grip shifts to your hips, holding you down as he devours you like a man starved.

Your head tips back as you moan wantonly. It’s maddening and satisfying all at once—his tongue strokes at your clit, dips into you and drags back out slowly, teasingly. You look back down at him through the haze of pleasure, finding intense pools of emerald staring right back at you, drinking in your every reaction like it was the sweetest nectar.

“Sampo,” his name falls from your lips almost reverently. The effect it has on him is almost instantaneous—his grip tightens on you and he’s eating you out with a renewed fervor, bringing you ever closer to the brink. As you dangle dangerously on that precipice, you bring a hand down to twine through the soft locks of his navy hair, panting with the effort of prolonging the moment. Not yet. Not yet.

The groan he lets out when you tug on his hair makes your core tighten even more.

“Baby,” he rasps as he pulls away, warm breath fanning over your sensitive slit. The sight is filthy: there’s a thin trail of saliva still connecting you to him, your slick shining on his chin in the pale moonlight that filters in through the curtains. “You taste so fucking good.”

Your chest heaves as you reply breathlessly, “you feel so fucking good.”

“Yeah, baby?” He pauses, his head dipping slightly as he presses a gentle kiss to your clit. Your hips buck again, restrained by the hand that grips you tightly. “Do you want to feel even better?”

You nod your head, the word ‘yes’ falling from your lips in a desperate plea.

Sampo smiles, his free hand coming up slowly, so so slowly, his tongue darting out to coat his fingers in his saliva. His eyes never leave yours—no, he wanted you to watch this lewd display. Watch as his tongue runs over spit-slicked knuckles, watch as he lowered his hand to your aching pussy.

“Fuck,” you whine as he eases his fingers into you easily, crooking and prodding—searching. Looking for the spot that drives you crazy. A moan rips from your throat, head falling back as Sampo’s lips close around your clit, sucking and licking in tandem with his fingers that were working you just right.

When they curl in the most perfect way, you have to stop yourself from closing your legs around his head with a sharp inhale. You miss the way his eyes light up with a feral sort of excitement—knowing he’s found the spot that makes you come apart so perfectly. And he exploits that spot, again and again and again, making you delirious with the white-hot pleasure he inflicts upon you.

It’s not long before you’re shoved off the edge, freefalling into a world-shattering orgasm that has your back arching as you let out a sob of pleasure. Sampo laps lazily at you through your orgasm, making you jolt with the after-shocks as he drags his tongue over your now too-sensitive clit.

“Atta girl,” Sampo croons, withdrawing his fingers with a lewd squelch. You squirm as you feel the cool air hit your slick covered thighs. “That feel good?”

Dazed, you nod your head. You feel the heavy weight of Sampo hover over you, consuming your senses as his lips press against your neck. Sometime between him giving you perhaps one of the most intense orgasms you’ve ever had and now, he’s shucked off his pants, now clad only in his boxers. They’re stained with pre, you note with satisfaction, his cock straining against the fabric. You slip a hand down, trailing lower and lower until your fingers brush over his erection.

Sampo groans softly. The noise fills you with a tidal wave of desire; you find yourself wanting to hear what other noises you can draw out of him. You start to palm him gently, fingers caressing the impressive length of him through the thin cotton material. Sampo makes a low noise in his throat.

“Doll… you’re driving me crazy here.” Sampo utters, inhaling sharply when you squeeze.

“What’s wrong, Sampo? ‘m not doing anything.” You smile coyly as you continue to tease him.

His eyes glint with predatory intent, his hand shooting down to grab your wrist when he decides you’ve had enough fun toying with him.

Looks like his patience has run out. Not that he had that much to even begin with.

Sampo releases your wrist in favor of tugging his boxers down, his cock springing out and slapping obscenely against his abs. He’s… oh, Aeons, you weren’t even sure he would fit.

It’s like he can read the thought plain as day on your face because he purrs, “I’ll take it nice and easy, baby. Don’t worry your pretty little head about a thing.”

He nudges your legs open as he kneels between them, hands grasping your hips gently as he readjusts you. Your eyes widen as he spits in his hand and brings it down to pump himself—the lewd display makes your thighs clench.

Despite your apprehension, you couldn’t help the heady desperation that swirled in your core, the electrifying desire zipping through your veins—you wanted him. Bad.

“It’ll feel real good pretty girl, okay? All you have to do is trust me.” Sampo says soothingly. Then he’s pressing the blunt head of his cock against your slit, dragging it along your folds slowly, coating himself in the arousal dripping from you. The tip catches against your clit deliciously, making you whine softly. You needed more.

“If you don’t fuck me now,”—your breath hitches as he finally pushes in, barely breaching your drooling pussy—”I’ll go insane.”

“I gotcha, pretty. Just be patient.” Sampo holds your hips as he presses further into you. The stretch burns; but it’s the delicious kind of pain, the one that makes you want to beg for more.

He buries his head in the crook of your neck, his muffled groan vibrating against you. He’s trembling, you think—holding back the urge to just fuck you already. While you appreciate the thought, you think you might genuinely, actually, go insane if he doesn’t start fucking your brains out soon.

“Sampo,” you rasp, hips bucking slightly. “I can take it. Please, please—need it so bad.”

His hips twitch. One heartbeat passes—then two.

“Sampo.” You whine again. Your fingers clutch his shoulder blades, nails digging into the flesh none too gently.

He breathes in deeply. The only warning you get is him readjusting his grip; he snaps his hips, thrusting all the way in. It tears a moan from your throat, walls pulsing around his girth as he bottoms out, balls slapping lewdly against the plushness of your ass. You’re both groaning, your nails digging even harder into him as he pulls out slowly, then snaps his hips again, starting a crude rhythm that drains all sense from your head.

All you can manage is a heady moan of his name, the pleasure threatening to pull you under like the strong current of a riptide. You could almost drown in it.

“So good,” you babble, chest bouncing with every thrust into you. It rips the air from your lungs, lighting a fire inside of you, on the brink of burning you from the inside out with the intensity of just how fucking good he’s making you feel.

His skin is slick with sweat, pressing and sliding against your own as he pounds you mercilessly into the soft bed beneath you. He lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours, wild and alight with desire.

“Takin’ me so well,” Sampo groans, hips stuttering as you clamp around him involuntarily. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

A sob falls from your lips as he slows to a tortuous grind, dragging his cock along your pulsing walls. You feel your core tightening, aching, begging for more, more, more.

“I’ll give you more, pretty girl, don’t you worry,” Sampo replies. You didn’t think you had said it out loud, but he doesn’t give you any time to think about it because he’s grabbing the backs of your knees and pressing them back against your chest.

The new position has stars swimming in your vision as he pistons into you, the vulgar sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in your ear as he all but folds you in half. You think you might really die. Your head is spinning. You can’t even form a coherent thought anymore—you’re quite literally filled to the brim with Sampo. You don’t think you ever want it to stop.

You feel tears prick your eyes as you’re overwhelmed with the molten pleasure coursing through your veins. He’s fucking you relentlessly, even through the orgasm that hits you like a freight-train, so sudden that you damn near pass out.

“Fuck yeah—cum for me, pretty. You’re doing so fucking well.”

You feel Sampo throb inside you—he’s close, too, and you want him tumbling into oblivion with you—so you clench around him, walls still fluttering with the orgasm he’s fucking you through. He hisses, teeth gnashing together as he stifles his groan, pace growing unsteady and snappier until he’s suddenly pulling out, painting your burning skin with ropes of cum. It’s sticky, dripping in rivulets down your skin, but you can’t find it in you to be grossed out.

In fact, you think it’s a little hot.

He curses lowly, hips still twitching in the aftermath of his own climax. “Fuck, doll…” He pants. “Let me get you a towel.”

That was almost a year ago, you think. Heat creeps up your face at the memory of your first escapade with him.

You’ve had this sort of arrangement with Sampo for awhile, where the two of you will link up, fuck, and then go your separate ways, as simple as that. Sometimes it’s more planned, and you’ll end up in his bed for an hour or two, but other times, most times, it ends with your back against a brick wall in a desolate alley, or perhaps inside the nearest closet the two of you can find.

But lately, it’s been the former. He’s even been dining you beforehand, treating you to a nice meal before he fucks your brains out. And while you appreciate the sentiment, it’s been.. throwing you off, to put it simply.

You’re not quite sure what this means for the two of you. Maybe you can choose to ignore this development in this precarious relationship the two of you shared, always teetering on that fine line between lust and something that felt suspiciously like love.

Problem is… you’re not quite sure if you even wanted to ignore it.

You’re shaken from your thoughts when you hear the shower running, and the cold slams into you with a fierceness you’re completely unprepared for. Teeth clattering together as you shiver, you grab for the nearest blanket (you end up needing to grab the duvet—Sampo never kept extra blankets on the bed) and bundle yourself up. Once you feel warm enough, you roll out of the comfort of his bed, your feet padding softly on the carpet as you make your way to the bathroom. You find Sampo in there in all of his naked glory, who turns his head as he hears the quiet hiss of the blanket dragging against the floor.

He offers you a kind smile, completely unfazed as your eyes rove over him, none too discreetly. He says, “I thought I’d start the shower for you. Get it warmed up.”

You tilt your head to the side. “That’s okay, I can just shower when I get home…” Your voice trails off as you catch a glimpse of the city outside from the nearby window—the ground is blanketed in a sheet of white, and you can barely see a few feet away from the glass against the flurry of snow outside. You blink once, twice, and then look at Sampo again.

“Ah, about that…” Sampo rubs the back of his neck. “It’s pretty cold out. How about you stay the night with me? Won’t cost any extra to ya.” He winks at you. His feet are silent on the cool tiled floor as he slowly approaches you. “I’ll even sleep on the couch, if that’ll make you feel better about it.”

Despite the… close relationship you shared, you had never actually stayed the full night at Sampo’s. Maybe you’d linger an hour or two, but it had always ended in you making it home, slipping into the comfort of your own bed. This would be the first time sleeping in his. You feel your heart stutter as the thought runs through your mind.

Then you’re shaking your head at his offer—or more specifically, the latter part of it. “No, no, that’s not necessary. I’ll stay, but we can share the bed. We’ve been tangled up in it more than enough to manage just sleeping together in it.” You wryly smile at him. “Thank you, Sampo. I appreciate it.”

You’re slightly astonished at the blush that rises to his cheeks in response to your words. The sight makes warmth bloom in your chest and your heart skips a beat. It reminds you of the first time you had seen him blush, way back when you met him at the bar for that fateful conversation.

The warmth in your chest quickly freezes over as you remember the words exchanged right before that—the stupid rules that you had put in place yourself.

Because, you remember bitterly, this was supposed to be completely and utterly no strings attached. There was no room for the butterflies in your stomach, nor the way your breath hitches when he brushes a hand over your bare shoulder as he slowly slips the duvet from around you.

“Go on, shower first. I’ll be waiting out here for you.” Sampo smirks down at you. “Maybe we’ll go for round two, if you’re up for it.”

With a playful swat at his shoulder, you quickly herd him out of the bathroom. “Horny bastard. We’ll see.”

“It’s up to you, sweetheart. I’ll see you on the other side.”

You can see him blow you a kiss as you shut the door, sliding the lock into place. You clutch your chest. You let your careful mask fall; as you turn to the mirror, you see something akin to desperation on your face shimmering in the reflection.

Maybe you’re in deep shit. Maybe you’ve been falling for awhile now, and you’ve been so stuck in your own head that it took until this very moment to truly grasp your own reality:

You have feelings for Sampo Koski.

With that realization swirling in your head, when you step into the shower, you quickly turn the temperature to cold.

When you emerge from the bathroom, wrapped only in a plush gray towel, you catch Sampo’s gaze from the bedroom almost immediately. You hold up a hand.

“Nuh-uh, no round two.” You simply say. He pouts for only a moment, quickly recovering and rolling out of bed. He immediately slinks up to you with folded clothes in hand.

“Hey now, I wasn’t gonna ask for anything! Here—these are for you to sleep in.” Sampo holds out the folded shirt and sweats. You accept it with a small thank you, and turn back for the bathroom to change.

There was something strangely intimate about putting on his clothes in front of him, so you quietly escape back to the bathroom. There’s no snarky retort or even any comment at all from Sampo, even as you shut the door, so you quickly slip on the clothes he gave you. You’d have to make do with going home in the snow tomorrow in the clothes you wore here, you think. Good thing you opted for your jeans instead of that skirt you wanted to wear.

Distracted, you glance up at the bathroom mirror and startle at the sight.

The sight of you in his shirt makes your stomach flip. His scent curls around you, musky and deep, and for some reason you feel… comforted. Almost like he was embracing you himself. You grip the bathroom counter with your free hand, white-knuckled. You wouldn’t think too hard about what, exactly, this feeling meant. No, you refused to. You would spiral down a dangerous train of thought otherwise; you couldn’t afford to do that when you’re about to sleep in the same bed as Sampo.

You could think about it tomorrow. Or perhaps the day after that. Or maybe even… never. You were happy to stay stagnant in this little bubble that contained you and him, where you weren’t really just friends anymore but you weren’t quite lovers, either. You were content to never let it change.

A knock on the door makes you jump.

“You okay in there, pretty girl? You’ve been in there for awhile.”

His muffled voice held a note of concern that makes your chest tighten. You feel your breath hitch.

“Yeah, uhm—sorry, just give me one more second, promise I’ll stop hogging the bathroom…”

“Take your time. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You hear his footsteps leave and you let out a breath. You could handle this. There was nothing romantic at all about just… sleeping. You would go to bed, then you would wake up and be on your way, and things will return back to the way they should be.

Surely.

With that thought, you slowly creep your way back to the bedroom, where you find Sampo nestled up in his bed already. You catch yourself smiling a little bit.

“Sampo, leave some blanket for me, you pig.”

You hear him snort quietly as you slide into bed beside him. There’s ample room in his bed, and as you curl up on your side, tucking yourself under the plush duvet, you hear him mumble quietly, “Goodnight, pretty girl. Sleep well.”

“Goodnight, Sampo.”

You cannot, for the life of you, fucking sleep.

It’s hard to, when right at your back there’s a warm mass slumbering—and even though you count every breath he takes like counting sheep, you’re still wide awake. It felt like your thoughts were running a thousand miles a minute.

You’re going to lose your mind at this rate.

Turning onto your back, you stare at the blank ceiling, pushing the blanket down to your midsection as you once again make a fruitless attempt at falling asleep. You know it’s futile to even try, with your heart racing in that familiar way that it did when you were tangled up with Sampo, but fuck, all you wanted to do was sleep.

Rustling makes you freeze.

And then you hear him shifting—when you turn your head to look at him, you catch pools of deep jade green staring back at you. Sampo groggily smiles at you. “Hey.”

You start, clutching the blanket as if it were some kind of shield. He snorts as he observes you.

“Sampo… why’re you awake?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” He replies, followed quickly by a yawn. You feel the urge to yawn tickle at the back of your throat before you’re following suite, bringing up a hand to cover your face.

Sampo chuckles. “You’re not sleepy, pretty? Need Sampo to tire you out real quick?”

You glower at his simpering smile, hitting his shoulder with no real force behind it. “No. I’m okay, I just… never really have an easy time sleeping anywhere that isn’t my own bed.”

He hums in understanding. Then he’s mirroring you, shifting to lie on his back, but instead he stares at the ceiling. Your eyes linger on him a little bit longer before you’re looking up too.

“What’s on your mind?” He asks softly.

You say after a moment of consideration, “I can’t tell you that.”

Sampo doesn’t miss a beat. “Why not?”

You shake your head, the movement hissing against the soft fabric of the pillowcase beneath you. “It’s… personal.”

Sampo snorts again. “I thought we were way past personal boundaries by now.”

Physically, yes, but… emotionally? You don’t voice the thought out loud. Instead you reply, “We are, yes, but um… I dunno.”

Silence. It lingers between you, not entirely uncomfortable, but it’s… tense. You glance back over at Sampo again.

His gaze flicks over to you.

“Do you trust me?”

The phrase lights up a moment of recognition within you—a phrase he’s uttered so many times; as he guides you, tugs you along with his whims, while he takes you—

Your throat bobs as you swallow. Your answer has never changed. “Yes.”

The sheets are rustling. Then, strong arms pull you towards a broad chest, wrapping you in their embrace; you’re responding immediately, lips parting in a silent gasp. Your brain is slower than your heart—you’re curling up against the warmth of him despite your better judgement. You feel the vibrations of his quiet chuckle reverberate through him, through you, echoing deep in your bones as you start to laugh with him.

“If you don’t want to talk, I understand,” Sampo breathes, lips brushing against the crown of your head. “But at least let me hold you. Let me offer you something to take your mind off of things. I want you to get some rest.”

Your hand rests against his pec—he slept shirtless, oh fuck—as you nestle closer to him, legs intertwining with his. You’re tangled together with him again, but this time it’s in a quiet way. Innocent. You find that you don’t mind this.

He doesn’t either, if the way he holds you closer is any indication. He has a strong arm looped around your waist, the other having snaked it’s way under your head, and you think that his bicep doesn’t make too bad of a pillow. It draws a smile to your lips.

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’ll try.”

Curled up in the warmth of Sampo, you finally drift.

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[jellyrubs]

Now if I had an acute sense of smell I tell you what I’d prolly not be too giddy ‘bout it. Hot weather and lots an lots of unrelenting sunshine and I are not good bedfellows.