#(I hope this counts as fair use Idk if this is too much of the clip)

[winter-spark]

Back at it again putting my film degree to good use.

[alwayssunnyinhawkins]

Idek what to say at this point

[thedreamlessnights]

Since requests are open, here's my suggestion: I recently revisited my old mythology book and found one of the myths about aphrodite bathing in a lake and blinds some pervs that sneaked up to watch her. Now, the reader might not have the powers of a goddess but you know what she does have? A dagger-happy vampire boyfriend more than willing to shank unwanted peeping toms (in his defense, he actually asked if he could be there, so no harm done here). Idk, I just like the idea of the reader having scary dog privileges and Astarion not minding looking menacing/scary while doing so

Thank you so, so much for this request, anon. It's an absolutely incredible concept, and it fits Astarion so well! I had such a fun time writing it, and I really hope you enjoy the result!

For Your Eyes Only

Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW

Content warnings: Mentions of brief, non-consensual voyeurism. Somewhat graphic violence, as well as mentions of blood, degrading terms, and the description of an injury and death. Explicit sexual content, including: oral sex (receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, blood drinking, and ear play. Tags: Takes place post-Cazador, some point in Act 3. Includes mild spoilers. Established relationship, a bit of emotional hurt/comfort, and tender smut.

Word Count: 5.8k

After the darkness and chill of the Shadowlands, the heat in the city feels suffocating.

You missed the warmth dearly back then, trudging through despair and gloom, thinking of nothing but the inevitable relief of the city. Your bones always ached something awful in that foul place, never warm enough to ward away the icy air. Now, though, it occurs to you that you hadn’t fully appreciated the cold when you had it. 

The sun that streams down from the skies is blistering - scorching, even - and without reprieve or relief. Sweat courses down your neck, soaking the collar of your shirt. Your socks are damp inside your boots, and where the leather meets your calves, they’re chafing. 

Gods, what you wouldn’t give for a bit of that chill again. Even with the achy bones.

What’s worse is the mud, somehow. One would think that Baldur’s Gate would be scarce on its share of the stuff, but it’s everywhere. Tracked up from Rivington, puddling in the streets, clinging to the bottom of boots.

Granted, your boots have seen more than their fair share of mud since the nautiloid: sticky, wet, warm. It’s seeped into socks and splattered across new armor, stained some of your favorite nightwear. Sometimes, when you’ve finally settled down for dinner, you’ve been able to taste it. No amount of scrubbing rids you of the earthy, bitter taste for long. 

The mud in front of you is different, though. By all accounts, the heat should have baked everything at least somewhat dry, but this puddle remains. If it can even be called a puddle, really. The gloppy, wet mess looks more like a pond, and completely blocks the only path ahead. Even the edges of it remain entirely liquid. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it’d just rained.

A quick glance at your map confirms what you’d feared; this is the only nearby route to your destination. You’re on the outskirts of the city. Rock walls line either side of the path, too steep to climb. You know for a fact that Shadowheart had recently used your last Potion of Flying. Either you lose hours of progress to get Gale from camp so you can cross, or you’ll have to proceed through this stupid pond.

Astarion watches you eye the mess with a dramatic flick of his wrist. “Oh, by all means, darling, you go first!” he exclaims, raising a brow. “It won’t be me jumping in that slop.”

Karlach frowns at the mud’s appearance, tapping the toe of her boot against the surface. It ripples at the movement, brown waves gently sloshing against the surface of the nearby stone. “Can’t be that deep, right?”

“I don’t know,” you reply. You’re aching for a stick or loose branch, something to measure it, but there’s nothing around. Just grass and stone, the scalding sun on the back of your neck, and the muddy pond directly in the middle of the path. 

“I say we go back,” Shadowheart urges. “I don’t know about any of you, but I’m not keen on dirtying myself.”

“We’d have to backtrack through hours of traveling,” you point out. “There’s no other way forward. I’ve checked the map.”

“Fine,” she relents, crossing her arms across her chest. “You go first, and we’ll follow behind you. Once we’ve seen it’s safe, that is.”

And, hells, you do not want to step foot in there. Not one bit. Still, do you have much of a choice? Your feet are already aching from the day’s walk. It would be devastating to lose all your progress. So, no - you really don’t have a choice, not if you want to get those Netherstones and stop the Absolute in time. The quakes in the city have only been getting worse.

“Alright,” you finally reply, your voice stronger than you feel. 

You step forward, pressing your right boot against the mud, then apply your weight. Your heel breaks the surface with a terrifying rush of movement, and your leg instantly slides down into the muck - much deeper than you’d thought, deeper than it should be. When your foot hits the bottom, sticky, cold mud splatters up, painting your shirt, neck, and parts of your face. 

Suddenly, the day isn’t quite so warm.

When you finally muster the courage to look down, your right leg is submerged up to the knee, soaking through your trousers. You can practically hear the sick squelch of it making its way into your socks, squishing between your toes.

“Urgh,” you mutter, wrinkling your nose as you attempt to pull your leg up. “Disgusting.” But it won’t budge. In fact, your squirming seems to be making you sink down even further. You try to shift your weight, but your balance is uneven with one leg in and one leg out. You’re dangerously close to losing your footing, and every bit you struggle threatens to tilt you face-first into the makeshift mud pond. In a prime moment of idiocy, you plant your other foot in the mud for support, and find your bottom half completely unable to move.

“What a brilliant idea,” Shadowheart says. “Now you’re stuck.”

“Thank you, Shadowheart,” you grit out, sweat dripping down your neck as you attempt to twist yourself around. “I had no idea!”

Karlach steps behind you, laughing a little. “Come on. Up you go, soldier,” she says, leveraging her arms under yours and giving a quick tug. You’re expecting the mud to release you, but it doesn’t. Your legs don’t budge - not even an inch. 

“What in the…?” she mutters, giving another pull. This one has more force behind it; when she tries to haul you up, white-hot pain sears up through your ribs, ripping an agonized cry from your lips. No matter how hard she yanks, the mud’s grip only tightens around you. It’s beginning to feel like you’re a brittle piece of rope in a vicious game of tug-of-war. 

“Shit! I’m sorry!” she exclaims. “So, so, sorry!”

“What are you doing?” Astarion asks, his voice suddenly sharp. “You’re hurting her! Put her down!”

“So she can get sucked further into the mud?” Shadowheart asks. Her voice is lined with fear now, which is scaring you more than anything else about this miserable situation. “We have to get her out!”

But it quickly becomes clear that no matter how hard Karlach pulls, it’s useless. Every yank is agony, and you only sink further and further. Tears stream down your cheeks from the pain, and your spine feels like it’s gained a good two inches from being stretched, but still nothing. No give at all.

Eventually, Karlach lets you go. Your body plops down in relief, but the mud is somehow deeper than it was before. It’s up to the bottom of your ribs now. 

“Fuck me,” she pants, wiping her forehead. “What should we do?”

“How should I know?” Astarion’s face is drawn, more pallid than usual. His lips are pinched into a line. He should be telling you I told you so, making jokes - and you know he would be, if he were anything but absolutely terrified. Your panic is bad enough with the heaviness of the mud on your chest and lower body, but the look on his face? That tells you it’s even worse than it feels.

 “Step back,” Shadowheart instructs quietly. “I have an idea.” 

Once the two of them are out of the way, she steps forward. Stretching out her hands, she mutters an incantation into the air. In seconds, the slight chill of the mud surrounding you becomes sharp, painful ice that burns against every exposed inch of skin it touches. A very muddy shade of ice, but ice all the same. 

Karlach’s axe crashes through the surface and it shatters, breaking around you. After another hit and a moment of digging, she finally has you out: freezing, still covered in mud, and very sore - but alive.

“Thank you,” you manage, choking out the words between your shivering.

“Never say I didn’t do anything for you,” Shadowheart says, smiling a little. She lets out a breath of relief, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. “Now. Turning around, are we?”

By the time you get back to camp, you’re the most uncomfortable you’ve ever been in your life. You’re wet and cold and exhausted, caked with dried mud that pulls at your skin when you move. It’s in your hair, on your face, and in your shoes, squelching with every step. The feeling makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Your ribs are sore and achy, and - on top of all of that - you’ve lost a good day’s worth of travel. 

The only thing you want is to fall into Astarion’s arms, but he wrinkles his nose when you come near, holding out a finger to stop you. “Oh, no you don't,” he says. “Bath first. Then you can talk to me, darling.”

It seems no amount of persuasion is going to change his mind, so you head back to your tent and grab a number of supplies - soap, sponges, a towel, and a change of clothes. Your trusty knife for protection. The river is bound to be freezing, but it’s better than sponging yourself down and hoping for the best. 

Thank the gods you’d found a decent pair of boots in an abandoned house today, because the ones that are currently plastered to your feet will take days to dry out, even in the hot sun. When you get to the nearby river, you don’t even bother to take them off before you plunge them into icy water, sufficiently drenching them until you can furiously loosen the mud enough to slip them off and toss them onto the riverbank.

The rest of your clothing gets the same treatment: the trousers which slowly pull away from your skin, the shirt that’s splattered with mud and covered in it up to the waist. Your hair will no doubt be a disaster, too. 

You’re still sitting in the soaking-wet clothes when you hear the sound of a twig snapping behind you. Your hand instantly grabs for your knife, ready to throw it at whatever threat might be in the woods as your eyes sweep along the trees. 

Nothing. You find nothing.

“Darling,” comes Astarion’s voice. He slips out from the shadows, immaculately clean, gazing down at the weapon in your hand with a lifted brow. “Planning to render me dead twice-over?”

“You scared the living hells out of me, Astarion!” you snap, sucking in a shaky breath. The blade drops from your loosened fingers, softly thumping against the dirt. “What are you doing out here?” 

He steps closer, taking a seat on a nearby log. “You were taking ages to get clean,” he whines, sprawling out his legs in front of him. “And, unfortunately, our companions haven’t had an argument all night. How else am I meant to entertain myself? So here I am. Trudging through the woods for your company.”

“You could give me a warning next time,” you reply, still a little jarred. “I thought you were someone hoping to catch an eyeful.”

A smirk flickers across his lips. “Oh, but I am,” he says. “Do you mind terribly?”

Against your will, your cheeks heat, and his smile widens. “I don’t mind,” you say. “Not if you behave, that is. Hands to yourself.” 

“I’ll be on my very best behavior,” he promises. Leaning forward, he prods your boots, wrinkling his nose at the sight. “Gods below. Those disgusting things should be burned.”

“I have an extra pair.” You move to tug your shirt off, but it’s clinging to you. “Gods damn that stupid mud pile. I should have asked Gale to use a cleaning spell.”

“Oh, please,” Astarion says. “He’s been sulking in his tent all evening. Apparently, being asked to blow yourself up by an old flame doesn’t do much in the way of socializing.”

The shirt finally pulls free, and it’s clear that your smallclothes have received the same treatment as the rest of your garments. Gods, you really should have asked for that cleaning spell. This mud is going to take ages to get out.

“Hand that here,” Astarion says, motioning for your shirt. You toss it to him, and he inspects it closely before setting aside.

“What?” you ask. “What were you looking for?”

“Oh, darling, nothing,” he says. “That’s my ‘to be burned’ pile. We’ll get you a new one.”

You’d argue, but you aren’t very attached to your current outfit - and besides, after weeks of trekking through wilderness and Shadowlands alike, it’s falling apart even without the mud. 

“Do what you want with it,” you grumble, finally pulling off your smallclothes. “That shirt was barely surviving anyway.”

You glance over your shoulder and find him observing with a raised brow, slowly taking the sight of you in. You must look like a mess, but you’d never know it from the glint in the eye, or the complacent smile that plays upon his lips. Heat stirs low in your belly, simmering under your skin. Later, you tell yourself. When you aren’t covered in filth.

You lather up the soap on your sponge, scrubbing away the mud the best you can, but the damned stuff takes ages to get off. By the time you’re finally clean, the silvery moon is high in the sky, and your skin is beginning to prune.

Astarion makes a small comment or two, but mostly seems content to watch you in silence. His gaze burns over every inch of exposed skin, leaving phantom heat wherever it stalls. All you want is to get out of this damned river and touch him, but you’re determined to get every bit of the mud off before you do, and it’s taking much longer than you’d hoped.

When you’re finally presentable, you start on cleaning your filthy smallclothes. The soap is slippery, making it difficult to do much scrubbing, and the water alone is doing hardly anything. 

Astarion watches you struggling, huffing as you nearly drop the soap bar in the river. After a moment, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Dearest, you do realize that it would be much easier if you-”

But his words suddenly cut off. His head snaps toward the woods, and every nerve in your body burns with fear. In the span of seconds, he’s lunged forward, grabbed your knife, and darted after the sound. 

Not a moment later, there’s a loud crash - some form of impact as he tackles whatever it was that he heard. You instantly push yourself out of the water without thinking, numb, your heart pounding in your chest as you stumble into the forest after him. It only takes a few steps in before you see it: a man on the ground, Astarion’s knife to his throat.

Your stomach churns, and your skin prickles in the air’s chill. How much had he seen? How long had he been standing there?

Astarion is shouting something at him, and the stranger is struggling against his hold, but it’s useless. He’s a scrawny, weak little thing, no match for Astarion’s lithe, nimble strength. No amount of twisting or fighting dislodges Astarion’s grip. After a moment, he finally gives up, cackling like an old hag as his head plops down against the dirt.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you here and now,” Astarion hisses, anger contorting his features.

In response, the man spits in his face. “She’s your bitch, is she?” he croaks. “You can take a turn after I’m done with her.”

Astarion snarls in response, gripping the man’s collar and pressing the blade deeper into the skin until it draws blood. 

“Wait,” you call, stepping closer. “Don’t.”

Astarion blinks in disbelief, sitting up, careful to keep his weight on the stranger underneath. “My love, you can’t be serious,” he says. “You want to spare this-”

“Spare?” you echo, cutting off his words. “Who said anything about sparing him?” 

Something glints in his gaze as he takes in your words. “Darling,” he drawls, his tone admirational. “By all means.”

He hands you the knife, and you kneel down next to him. It’s heavy in your hand, cold and smooth as you run your finger over the flat edge of the blade. You stare at the shimmer of it for a moment, entranced, somehow calm in the midst of this chaos. Then you slam the bottom of the hilt into the man’s nose.

There’s a sickening crunch before he screams, blood streaming over his mouth and spilling down his chin. Even after last night’s feeding, Astarion tenses up at the smell of it, but the curl of his lip tells you that he won’t be drinking from this piece of absolute refuse.

When the stranger reaches over and grabs at your arm, you almost don’t even realize - you’re so caught up in your own mind, in the weight of the knife in your hand. Then his nails dig into your skin, and everything hits you at once.

The freezing night air. The stinging, throbbing pain that flares through your skin as he claws at you, unable to do much more. The feel of Astarion’s hand, gentle but firm, prying the knife from your grip. It happens before you can even react - a swift slice of the blade, slitting the man’s throat. Dark blood, gushing from the wound and onto the dirt below.

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of your breathing. Sharp but shallow, straining in your chest. Jagged air that flows in and out, but it does nothing to stop the increasing amount of black in your vision. 

You’ve fought and killed more people than you can count so… why does this feel different? Why here, why now? You’ve nearly died before, so why does the scrape on your arm feel like it’s much more than that?

Then Astarion’s hands envelop your cheeks, blissfully cool, and the panic and pain seep out all at once.

“Darling,” he’s saying, half-breathless, “are you alright?”

You manage to nod, and some of the concern leaves his eyes. He runs his fingers over the scrape on your arm, and you wince. “We need to get you patched up,” he murmurs, his brows pinching together.

“Don’t take me to Shadowheart,” you choke out. She’s already done you enough favors, and you won’t be able to stand her disapproving gaze if you disturb her rest after today’s fiasco.

He huffs. “Stubborn little thing,” he mutters, but he doesn’t argue. 

Instead, he heads back to your supplies by the river. When he returns, he wraps a towel over your shoulders, and it’s only then that you realize you’re naked. Completely, utterly naked. It had been bold of you to break that bastard’s nose in the nude, but… well, it hadn’t been your intention.

He’s dead now, though. He’ll never look at you again.

Astarion sweeps you up into his arms and carries you out of the woods along with your clean change of clothes, holding you tight against his chest and leaving your soiled clothing behind. 

You can’t find it in you to care at the moment. You’ve scrounged up plenty of clothing along the journey; those torn, stained things won’t be missed. Not to mention, if you ever need more, Astarion will gladly steal you some new ones.

He takes you to your tent, and you’re grateful to see that everyone else has turned in for the night. Anyone awake to see you would inevitably have questions, and this only affirms your decision to avoid Shadowheart - if you woke her up to heal a minor scrape on your arm, she’d be seething. 

And though she’d undoubtedly be sympathetic after hearing the cause, you don’t think you can muster up the words to tell her what’d happened.

After he’s carefully set you down on your bedroll, Astarion yanks the flap of your tent closed and reaches for your pack, digging through the contents until he’s found some bandages. His grip is gentle as he takes your arm and swipes some remnants of a healing potion over it. You’ve been through this dozens of times, but you can never seem to shake the urge to wince as it sets in - the potion stings just a bit before it soothes, a sharp tingling that fades into a sweet, balming relief. 

You’ve calmed down some, warming up in your tent with him, but Astarion’s hands are shaking as he wraps the wound. His brows are pinched together, his swallows are thick and strained, and he can’t seem to meet your eyes, even when he’s done bandaging you up.

“Astarion,” you murmur. “He’s dead.”

He stills in place, jaw clenching as he inhales sharply, still not meeting your gaze. Instead, he glowers down at the tent’s floor, his hands balling into fists. “He deserved so much worse than that,” he snaps. 

You don’t argue with him. Instead, you let him fuss over you, taking the time to smooth through your wet hair, plucking out remaining leaves and twigs from the woods. He gets you into a warm, fluffy robe - only the gods know where he’d managed to find something like that - then pulls you close, his thumb stroking over your cheek. You rest your head against his chest and close your eyes, listening to the soft sounds of his body working under his skin. No heartbeat, of course, just the quiet churn of his movements, the rise and fall of his ribs that’s become habit to him. 

After a moment, he takes your face in his hands, just as he had in the woods - but when you meet his gaze, there’s a sharp intensity in his eyes rather than fear. He takes you in little by little, tilting your head up to brush his fingers over the fading marks on your neck. 

Then he leans in, and you catch the smell of him you know so well, lingering on his skin like soap. Bergamot, rosemary, brandy. It’s what you associate most with him, that sweet, sharp scent that bathes over you. When his lips finally meet yours, the kiss is rough and desperate, heated and aching. His fangs scrape over your lip, grazing the delicate skin but not breaking it. His tongue slides into your mouth, and his hand returns to the back of your neck, tightening his grip.

One of your hands fix into his shirt as you lean into him, nipping at his lip. You shift your free hand up into his hair, tousling through the soft, silky curls before gently tugging. He groans and pulls you closer, and - gods, it’s incredible. Warmth drags down your spine like a hot coal, searing and addictive. You squirm a little in his grasp, shifting until you’re straddling his hips, and he pulls away to kiss down your jaw, murmuring soft words into the skin.

When he gets to your chest, you let him untie the robe and spread his hands underneath, peeling the fabric off your shoulders, fingers slowly warming as they trail down your back. His hands settle on your waist as he kisses you again, mouth soft against yours.

Gods, you need him. You’re already soaked, and he’s barely even touched you.

You can feel him hardening underneath you, his movements growing desperate, his breathing labored. You grind your hips against him and he lets out a strained noise against your lips, shuddering. He pulls away, examining your expression as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. 

The movement is tender and incredibly sweet, but you’re hardly patient. You’ve been wanting him ever since he sat on that log in the forest, gaze roaming over every inch of you. You let out a soft whine, attempting to tug off his shirt. He does absolutely nothing to help you.

“Astarion,” you breathe. “Please.”

“Hm? Did you want something, darling?” he asks, the desire in his voice betraying his otherwise casual tone.

“I want you,” you tell him, rolling your hips again in search of the friction you so desperately need. “Please. I want you.”

“Easy, love. You have me,” he replies, brushing his thumb against your lips. Your heart swells with a fondness that would threaten to make you cry if you weren’t so ridiculously needy.

And finally, thank the gods, he takes off his godsdamned shirt.

You run a hand up his shoulder, then into his hair. You’d once thought that he was using a special shampoo - his hair was so soft, it seemed the only explanation. Then you’d seen him with the same shampoo you were using, and you’d practically wept with envy over his ridiculously perfect genes. Even now, as you run your hands through the silk-soft curls, you don’t understand it. 

Then you trace up the line of his ear, and he shudders, leaning into your touch. When you gently massage the tip of his helix, he lets out a soft, seeking noise and his eyes flutter shut. Hells, you swear that you can feel him growing even harder beneath you. Another roll of your hips and his eyes slowly open again, half-lidded and glazed with desire. His hands firmly grip your waist, and there’s the briefest sensation of falling as he rolls you back onto your bedroll, tucking the pillow under your head.

He kisses along your clavicle, nosing down your ribs, humming against your skin. Feather-light brushes of his lips meet your ribs, then your breast, pausing to swipe his tongue over your nipple before he proceeds downward. When he arrives at your navel, your legs automatically spread open for him, and he lets out a hum of approval. He takes a leg in his hand and kisses up the thigh, warm, sharp kisses that trail up to the place you want him most.

He starts off slowly - a long lick over your clit, a quick swipe of his tongue before he settles between your legs, propping your thigh over his shoulder and starting a maddening rhythm. After all this time, you really should know how much pleasure to expect - but after everything, after his confession in the Shadowlands and the fear with Cazador, this still feels… new.

And Astarion is very, very good at what he does. He seems to know exactly what you want before you do, before your mind can put it into tangible thought, and before your body can even search for it. He works a finger into you, then two, and you’re left gasping and squirming as he sets an agonizingly slow pace. After a moment, he speeds up, just where you want him, perfect, perfect-

And then he pulls away, and the look on his face practically shouts that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Of course he does. He’s always been a tease. His fingers continue their work, languidly dragging in and out of you as he speaks.

“You know,” he says, pressing a kiss to your thigh, “back at the river, this was all I could think about. Getting my mouth on you. Watching you come apart piece by piece.”

Gods, he’s been direct before, but never that direct. Frankly, you’re surprised you don’t come then and there. Instead, you clench hard around his fingers and whimper, rolling your hips in time with his movements.

“Astarion,” you pant, unable to coax your mind into forming a coherent reply. “Gods, Astarion.”

He hums in response, flashing you a wicked grin. “That’s it, darling,” he encourages, shifting his fingers until they’re brushing against a spot that makes your vision black out. “Say my name. Let everyone hear you.”

You manage a laugh that quickly fades into a soft moan. “The entire camp will kill me if I wake them up.”

He nips at your thigh. “Let them try,” he muses. “They’ll have to get through me.”

He lowers his mouth between your legs again, and your head falls back against the pillow. It’s an embarrassingly short time before your muscles start to tense up, wiring you with pleasure from head to toe. One of your hands fixes in his hair, pulling tightly as white-hot pleasure sparks through your abdomen, and oh, gods, you’re coming-

Your vision cuts out again. Your mind fuzzes over, drunk with pleasure, leaving you shuddering, clenching around his fingers, moaning into your free hand. 

You know he’d prefer to hear you, but if you actually disturb any of the others, you’ll die of embarrassment. One day, the two of you will have your own house with a real bed, and you’ll be as loud as you want. For now, you muffle your cries into your fingers and tremble through your climax.

Your body floats weightlessly for a moment in what must be Elysium, until you finally rejoin yourself and find your limbs heavy and uncoordinated. Astarion huffs, placing a final kiss on you until he crawls upward, kissing up your chest again. 

He’s still holding himself back - you can see it in the way he moves, in the tension of his muscles and the coil of his shoulders. There’s a fire in his eyes, a hunger that you recognize so well. When he reaches your neck, you instinctively tilt your head, allowing him access to his usual spot. 

For a moment, he hesitates, his warm breath fanning over the skin as your pulse hammers in your throat. Then he groans, grinding himself into your leg as he bites down, chasing his pleasure against your thigh as your blood spills into his mouth.

You know this routine so very well by now. The sting of the bite, and the numbness that follows. The ebb and flow of your blood, filling his mouth. The slight dizziness that comes before he pulls away, swiping his tongue over the bite for one final taste.

“Gods,” he pants, gripping your shoulder. Then, to your utter disappointment and confusion, he pulls away. “Wait here, my sweet. I need to - I’ll be right back. I promise.”

And before you can protest, he’s scrambling out the tent. For a long, numb moment, you stare at the tent opening, wondering if you’re dreaming. The silence of the tent grates on your ears, echoing the sound of your breathing until you can barely stand it. Then he’s pushing inside again, a scroll in hand as he closes the tent.

“Do I want to know what that is?” you ask.

“A scroll of Silence, darling. I’ve been saving it.” He flashes you a grin, murmuring the incantation as the scroll shimmers in his hand. Pure Weave, confined into parchment. 

You don’t hear the spell take effect, but you feel it. It’s a thickness in the air, a heaviness in your movements. 

Astarion doesn’t waste another second. He pushes up to kiss you, and it’s messy - your tongue against his, the sting of sharp teeth, your hand in his hair and his hand on the nape of your neck. There’s the taste of metal and herbs: your blood mixed with the remnants of a healing potion. He spreads your legs with his knee, then sits back on his heels and reaches down to undo his trousers.

You study him for a moment. The crease of his brow. The alabaster of his skin, sculpted out like a statue from marble. 

If you were an artist, you’d make him your life’s work. You’d chip out his every feature little by little, painstakingly working away at the stone to define the look in his eyes when he tells you he loves you. You’d spend ages carving every wrinkle, every line, every perfect imperfection. The touch of it would be cold, like him, but it could never compare to how he looks as he settles over you, eyes blown dark with desire. 

He inches closer, still on his knees, and takes hold of your thighs, lifting them up to meet his hips before gently easing inside of you. He lets out a sharp exhale as he slowly presses deeper, his grip shifting to your waist.

Nothing could compare to the way it feels as he fills you up inch by inch, murmuring praise, telling you how beautiful you are for him. “Darling,” he bites out, gritting his teeth at the pleasure. “If anyone ever tries anything like that with you again, I’ll tear them to shreds.”

You laugh a little, breathless, delirious in the delicious stretch of him inside you. “I won’t stop you. I just might ask to break their nose first.”

He shakes his head, but a small smile plays on his lips before he straightens and starts his rhythm. Slow, even thrusts that leave you grasping at the blankets beneath you, trying to steady yourself in the waves of sensation. He stares down at you, half-drunk on your blood, lips parted and his cheeks flushed.

“You feel incredible,” he breathes. “Gods. You’re incredible.”

Your eyes don’t quite know where to land. They never do. Now, they flutter over his abdomen, taking in the sight of the muscles that ripple and contract with the rolling of his hips. The droplets of sweat that slowly build on his skin, glimmering like crystals. 

His jaw clenches, and his pace starts to quicken, and the feeling of him inside of your aching cunt is just so godsdamned good. His cock stretches you out like it was made for you, and soon your lungs are hardly filling with air. You can’t think, and you can scarcely breathe. All you know is that you’re not going to last much longer.

You tug at the blankets and shut your eyes, and he lets out another soft, aching noise as he thrusts deeper, faster, filling you up, the slick sound of your arousal echoing through the tent and mixing with the heaving of your breaths. You clench around him and he groans, shifting the angle of your hips, rhythm frantic.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Come for me, darling.”

And you do. Your body clenches around him as you cry out, back arching, pleasure overtaking every thought but one: Astarion. Astarion, Astarion, Astarion. Your breaths scrape shallowly through your chest and ecstasy burns through every inch of you, every nerve - until you feel paralyzed. Content, thoroughly fucked and sated, but paralyzed.

 You’ve just started to come back to your senses when Astarion follows you over the edge, a moan tumbling from his lips that sounds remarkably like your name. His hips thrust a few more times, chasing after his pleasure, clumsy movements that slow to a halt as he shuts his eyes. He shudders, then slackens, carefully pulling out of you before he wraps his hands around your thighs and gently lowers them back to the bedroll.

You can barely move, still lost in the aftershocks of pleasure as he cleans you up, smoothing the hair out of your face as he lays next to you.

“You know,” he says, “I think I’m going to ask Gale to make us another one of those scrolls.”

And, gods, all you can do is laugh.

[cowboybeepboop]

Sweet Surrender

Pairing: Scott Miller x fem! Reader

Genre: Romantic smut, kind of angsty at some parts idk

Word count: 6k

Summary: You're apart of storm par and just so happen to get on the nerves of Scott, which truly isn’t that difficult of a task. But as much as you get on his nerves, he gets on yours. One day he takes things a little too far which leads to an interesting encounter.

a/n: I’m gonna be so fr and say that I’m not so sure how to portray Scotts personality but I do like the idea of taming the grumpy character with a sunshine character. I’m currently working on a couple different Scott ideas. Also if you have any request just let me know. Hope you enjoy!

You’re Javi’s childhood best friend, following him all the way from Miami to Oklahoma. The warning everyone gave you was to not follow a man rather than your dreams, but they just didn’t get it, he’s not a man. He’s your best friend and you were always going to follow him because it just wouldn’t feel right without him.

The one thing that made you want to run in the opposite direction was Scott. You don’t know how they ended up as friends in the first place and you hated the way he treated people.

You always make sure to take Javi to clean up towns, even though Scott is against it. You help Javi find which storm to follow (call it natural instinct or an early childhood fascination with storm chasing), even though Scott always pushes to go in the opposite direction.

The list can go on and on but the point being that Scott gets on your nerves. You’ve always been an absolute angel to him, well as much as humanly possible, you pride yourself on being kind. It doesn’t cost a thing to be kind, well, at least that’s your motto in life.

Being on the road with Javi (and Scott) has proven to be more than difficult, the highlight being when you get to meet up with Tyler Owens and his crew. He has quite the southern charm and they’re all pretty nice once they get over the whole storm par thing.

It’s around noon when you finally stop at the gas station, you hop out of the vehicle with a bounce in your step as you’re finally able to stretch your legs. The rest of the team pulls in parking around Javi’s truck. Scott steps out of his van and Javi calls him over, you silently curse him under your breath, preparing a smile for the unfortunately cold man.

Scott approached the group as you muttered under your breath, a slight smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he heard your subtle discontent.

“Hey man, we’re gonna get some snacks and take a restroom break, then hit the road again.” Javi says as Scott nods along, his gaze flickering to you, meeting your forced smile with a look of indifference.

"Sounds fair," Scott replied, his voice lacking enthusiasm. “But are we just stopping so princess over here can get her snacks?” he says with coldness in his voice. You cross your arms over your chest.

“No,” you try to keep your usual smile, “Javi is hungry too, right?” You turn to him, nudging his shoulder.

Javi glanced over to Scott then to you, he returned your smile with a soft grin, silently enjoying how Scott's jaw slightly clenched. Javi nodded in agreement, standing by your side. "Yeah, definitely could use some fuel. And snacks." he said.

Scott rolled his eyes, his arms crossing against his chest. "Whatever. I could use a break too, I guess." he muttered. Just as Scott finishes his sentence you all hear the blasting of Tyler’s music as he pulls into the parking lot.

Your smile brightens as you turn to the noise, “Tylers here!” You say to Javi “I’m gonna go say hi, then we can meet up inside.” Your tone is cheerful as you bound off toward Owens, your skirt and hair moving in sync.

Scott's gaze followed you as you walk off towards Tyler, a small scowl on his face as your skirt swirled around you. Javi chuckled, shaking his head while watching Scott.

"Someone's happy to see Tyler," Javi teased, noticing the slight frown on Scott's face.

Scott rolled his eyes, "Yeah, sure. She's just too cheerful for her own good."

Javi smirked, "Jealous, Scott?" he said with a hint of mockery in his voice. They both watch as you smile up at Tyler, your arm finding its way into his as he walks toward the door of the shop.

Scott's eyes narrow, a pang of jealousy coursing through him as you linked arms with Tyler. He clenched his jaw, trying to maintain his cool demeanor, and turned to Javi.

"Well that didn't take long. Didn't expect her to cling onto him so quickly." he said, a hint of bitterness in his voice. Javi just responds with a roll of his eyes, knowing that’s just how you are with someone you’re comfortable with.

”Bye Ty,” you wave to him, finding your way back in front of both Scott and your best friend. “Javi, look at what Tyler bought me.” You smile as you show your snacks to him. Javi chuckled, amused by your childlike excitement as you showed off your stash. He was used to your enthusiasm, and it was something he secretly found endearing.

Javi chuckled, admiring your collection. "Looks like you had a successful shopping spree."

Scott interjects, his tone dry. "That's one way to put it. Or, she's just freeloading off him." he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes at your animated display.

“No,” you seethe, your demeanor changing for a second before you reel it back in.”I bought him some water bottles for his team to hand out, that’s what we were talking about earlier.” You smile at Javi, ignoring Scott as you start walking back to the truck.

As you turn away, Scott rolled his eyes, letting out a scoff as he followed behind you. Javi glanced between the two of you, sensing the tension, and silently followed behind.

Scott leaned against his van, his arms crossed as he muttered under his breath. "Sure, water bottles. Definitely not just flirting with the ‘tornado wrangler’." You shoot him a tense look.

“First, I wouldn’t have to buy him anything if I was trying to flirt,” You cross your arms under your breasts. “Second, I’m not flirting with him, he’s just a sweetheart.” Scott smirked at your response, his gaze flickering down to your chest before meeting your eyes.

His arms stayed crossed, a cocky grin forming on his face. "A sweetheart, huh?" His tone was dripping with sarcastic mockery. "Of course, that's why you're buying him water bottles. Just being a sweetie."

Javi silently watched the exchange, his eyes flickering between you both, feeling the tension thicken in the air. You take a deep breath to steady yourself, “Well, I do enjoy the company of someone who’s kind and a sweetheart, especially over a jerk like yourself.” With that you get in the passenger seat of Javi’s truck, slamming the door loudly.

Scott's smirk widened into a smug grin as you slammed the truck door, enjoying how you reacted to his taunt. He leaned against his van, clearly amused, and let out a soft chuckle.

Javi shot Scott a glare before quickly climbing into the driver's seat next to you. He looked at you with concern and then looked back at his friend. "Way to go Scott," he muttered sarcastically Scott responds with a shrug.

“He’s a real dick,” you say to Javi as you pull out the coke Tyler bought you.

“Yeah, I know. But you’ve gotta stop letting him rile you up like that.” He responds, his hand patting your shoulder as he starts the car.

Once the excitement of the chase was over and the tornado died out, you brought the team to the small town to help clean up. You stayed back with Tyler's team to help them get necessities to the people.

Scott watched as you worked alongside Tyler's team, his arms folded across his chest, and leaned against Javi's truck. He had his usual scowl on his face, clearly displeased with the situation.

"Can't believe she's sticking with them," he muttered, his eyes flickering towards you from time to time.

Javi glanced at Scott, then back at you, his expression neutral. "She's just helping out, Scott. They need the help." Tyler's hand goes to your back as he whispers into your ear, telling you to go get some rest after the rough day.

Scott's gaze immediately goes to Tyler's hand as it lingered on your back, his jaw clenching tightly. You nod, saying goodbye to the whole team, grabbing your water bottle as you head over to Javi.

Scott stays silent as you approach them, his eyes darting between you and Tyler whose gaze remained on you. Your bright smile being replaced with a half one as you get them. “Javi, Scott, how’s everything going?”

Javi glances at Scott before answering, noticing the tension between you two. "We're almost done here. Just cleaning up the rest of the town," he said. Your eyes fall to the damage around you as you pick at your fingernails anxiously.

Scott remained quiet for a moment before speaking, his tone cold and sarcastic. "And you're leaving already? Thought you'd have stayed the night with the ‘tornado wrangler’."

Your eyes narrow as your sweetness finally dropped. “Scott what the fuck is your problem,” your eyes brim with tears, you’re just exhausted from the day and all his antics, “you’ve seen all of this damage and you’re still as cruel as ever.” You bite out bitterly.

Scott's gaze darkened at your emotional response, his arms still folded across his chest. He seemed unfazed by your anger, a look of indifference on his face. "My problem?" he retorted coldly. "Maybe my problem is that you're too caught up in helping those storm chasers, instead of sticking with us."

Javi stepped forward, his voice calm but firm, "Scott, don't-”

Scott cut him off, his attention now fully on you. "I'm just being honest. Stop fawning over Tyler and remember who your real team is here." Your tears fall from your eyes as you step back from him.

“Fuck you, asshole.” Your body trembles as tears stream down your face, Javi pulling you into his chest rubbing your back intimately.

Scott's expression softened slightly at the sight of your tears, his gaze flickering from you to Javi holding you against his chest. Javi shot Scott a cold glare before turning his full attention to you, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

"Hey, don't let him get to you," Javi whispered, trying to soothe you as his eyes narrowed at Scott. He opens his mouth to speak, but he quickly closed it, realizing that anything he said right now would only worsen the situation.

He was taken aback by your reaction and the way Javi was holding you, regret fills him as he watches you shakily move from Javi. Your hands and voice are shaky as you wipe your tears from your cheeks “I think I’m gonna get a ride back from Ty..” your voice trails off.

Javi calls out to you, his voice stern but concerned. “Hey, wait-”

Scott interrupts, his tone softer than before. “Y/N, hold on-”

But you ignore their calls, your steps becoming brisk as you make your way to Tyler’s truck, your arms wrapped around yourself, seeking comfort.

Javi looks at Scott, his eyes filled with disappointment, a disapproving scowl on his face. “Scott, you have a funny way of showing how much you like her.” Tyler pulls you into a comforting hug, his arms around your neck as you hold his waist. Your tears soaking his white shirt as you try to explain that you’re just crying because you’re exhausted.

“You’re just sending her off into the arms of another man, whose intentions might not be so pure.” Javi’s voice is harsh as he watches the interaction while shaking his head.

Scott's expression hardens at Javi's words, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "As if her intentions are any better." he shot back, jealousy and irritation seeping into his voice.

Javi lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. "That's not the point, Scott. Just look at her." he says, gesturing to you as Tyler opens the passenger door for you. "You've hurt her more than you realize."

You sigh as you get into his truck, “Thank you again Tyler,” you smile up at him but your eyes stay teary.

“Don’t even worry about it sweetheart, things seemed pretty heated. I’m just glad to get you away from that.” He starts the ignition giving you a small smirk. “So, how about we hit up the bar next to the motel? Get you cheered up.”

“That sounds like a great idea” your smile reaches your eyes as he pulls off.

Your irritation continues to build as you sip on your whiskey, a scowl taking the place of your usual sweetness. “Scott is a dick.” You say in a cool tone, your arms crossing.

“Is he why you’re so worked up?” Lily questions as she orders herself another cocktail.

”Unfortunately..” you grumble before taking another sip.

“I don’t know why you guys keep him around or why you let him get you all hot and bothered like this.” She says with amusement in her voice.

“I don’t” you protest, your eyebrows furrowing, she laughs in response.

”Oh really?” Your fingers fumble with your glass, “Do you hate him or is it something more?” She teases.

You gasp as Boone laughs, “Maybe you should go argue with him some more,” he motions to your drink. “Now that you have liquid courage.”

”You’re right. I should go talk some sense into that thick skull of his.” You say with newfound confidence.

You shoot Javi a text asking him which room Scott is staying in. He responds rather quickly, making sure to tell you to play nice.

“I’ve got it, I’m gonna go give him a piece of my mind.” The pair laugh at your remark as you down the rest of your drink. Grabbing your jacket you leave the establishment, thinking about all the things you’re gonna yell at him as you walk to his motel room.

You knock against the door roughly, Scott is sitting on the edge of his bed. He’s deep in thought and frustration, nursing a beer, when he hears the knock on his door. His eyes narrow, wondering who it could possibly be.

He gets up and makes his way to the door, opening it. Scott looks at you, his eyes slightly widened at the surprise of you standing outside his room, a stern and determined look on your face. He knew this conversation wasn’t going to be pleasant.

"What do you want?" Scott asks, leaning against the doorframe, pretending to be unaffected by your presence. You push your way into his room, slamming your shoulder in his arm. You plop onto the mattress with your arms crossed over your stomach.

“I want you to apologize.” You throw your left leg over your right. Scott lets out a huff of annoyance, clearly unamused by your unexpected and blunt demand.

He lets the door close behind him as he crosses his arms over his chest. "What are you, five?" he retorts, a slight smirk plays at the corner of his lips. "You barge into my room uninvited, just to demand an apology?"

”Yes, I want you to apologize to me.” You keep a stoic expression, no longer extending kindness his way, which frustrates him even more. Scott looks down at you, his smirk fading as you maintain your cold expression.

He's not used to seeing you so serious, and it only serves to irritate him further. "And why should I apologize to you, princess? I didn’t do anything wrong." he replies, his tone still biting.

He steps closer to the bed, his arms still crossed over his chest. The annoyance in his eyes becomes more apparent as you refuse to back down. You stand up and poke your pointer finger into his chest, your eyebrows furrowing.

“You did do something wrong and you know it.” You spit out. Scott's eyes narrow as you poke him in the chest, annoyance rolling off of him in waves. He swats your hand away, gripping your wrist and holding it tightly.

"And what exactly did I do wrong?" he says back, his voice low and firm as he steps closer to you. "As far as I'm concerned, I just stated the truth." You shove his shoulder with your free hand pushing him onto the bed.

“Oh yeah?” You retort, “You weren’t being honest you were being a total douche.” Scott grunts as he makes contact with the bed, surprise flashing in his eyes. He looks up at you, sitting on the edge of the mattress, frustration written all over his face.

He scoffs at your comment, bristling at your insult. "Being a douche? I was just being real. You’re always so focused on those other storm chasers and you don’t even notice what's right in front of you."

He grabs your wrist once again, pulling you down onto the bed beside him. “And what’s right in front of me, huh?” You yank your arm away while glaring up at him. Scott lets go of your wrist, his eyes locking onto yours as you glare up at him. He scoffs, rolling his eyes briefly before answering you.

"Me, dumbass," he retorts coldly. He lets out an exasperated huff as his eyes flick across your face. "I'm right in front of you. And yet for some reason you keep swooning over Owens."

Your eyes widen with surprise as his words cause a blush to creep up your cheeks. “Tyler?” You question Scott, your eyebrows furrowing. Scott notices the blush creep across your cheeks, he smirks seeing your flustered response. He raises an eyebrow at your question.

"Yeah, Tyler. Ring a bell?" He taunts. "You always hang around him, buy him food and water, and give him those sweet little smiles." he states dryly, his voice dripping with jealousy and irritation.

He reaches out, his large hand grabbing your thigh, his thumb slowly rubbing against the smooth flesh. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.” You say biting your lip as his touch sends a shiver down your spine.

Scott's eyes darken at your question, his grip on your thigh tightening as a pang of annoyance and jealousy shoots through him.

He swallows before responding, his tone gruff and sarcastic, "Jealous?" he retorts. "Of Tyler Owens? Why would I be jealous of that pretty boy wannabe storm chaser?" He lets his hand run further up your thigh, his fingers teasing the edge of your short skirt.

”It sounds like you’re a bit worked up.” You groan out, your body tingling in reaction to his hand. Scott smirks at your reaction, his hand continues to move further and further up your thigh, slowly and deliberately.

He notices the way your body responds to his touch, relishing in the effect he’s having on you. He leans in close so his breath fans against your skin. “Worked up?” he repeats, his voice low and sultry. “And why would I be worked up, princess?”

”Maybe because you’re thinking about Tyler having the same kind of thoughts about me as you do…” You tease him, your hand sliding up his toned arm. Scott's breath catches in his throat as your hand runs up his arm, the muscles in his body tensing in response.

He grits his teeth, his jaw clenching tightly, as a surge of jealousy washes over him at your mention of Tyler. He turns on the bed to face you fully, his hand on your thigh moving to grip your waist, pulling you closer. "Watch your mouth, princess." he warns, his voice a low growl as he leans down towards you, his face mere inches from yours.

”And why should I?” You say with mischief in your voice, “You never watch your mouth when it comes to me.” Scott's eyes narrow, a fire igniting within him as you challenge him. He grips your waist pulling you even closer to him, your bodies nearly pressing against each other.

He leans down so his lips hover over your ear, his voice a rough whisper that sends a shiver down your spine. "If you keep talking like that, princess, I might have to shut that pretty mouth of yours."

”What if I’d like that?” You flick your tongue out to wet your bottom lip. Scott lets a deep chuckle rumble through his chest as he watches your tongue dart out to wet your lip, the action only fueling the desire burning within him.

He grips your hip, his hands roughly pulling you onto his lap, your legs now straddling his hips. He runs his hand up the expanse of your bare thigh, his fingers brushing against the edge of your skirt.

He looks at you, his gaze dark and intense as he replies huskily, “Careful what you wish for, princess.” You grind your hips down on his, trying to further tease him as your arms find their way around his neck.

Scott lets out a guttural groan as you grind against him, his grip on your body tightens reflexively, pulling you against him even harder. He leans in, his lips mere millimeters from your skin, his hot breath fanning your neck.

His hands move further under your skirt, his calloused fingers trailing up the inside of your thighs slowly and torturously. "Playing with me still?" he growls in your ear, his voice thick with desire.

”It’s my way of getting back at you,” Scott lets out a huff as you push his shoulders, his body falling back onto the bed. He looks up at you, a mix of surprise and arousal in his eyes as you straddle him, pinning him to the bed.

He lets out a low growl, his hands reaching up to grip your hips, holding you in place. His thumbs move in circles against your bare skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Is that right, princess?" he huffs, his voice strained with desire. "You finally fighting back?"

”I am,” you lean down to whisper in his ear, “I’m gonna get you back for everything.” You say teasingly as you slip off of him, heading for the door. Scott's eyes widen as you slide off his lap, panic and desperation creeping into his gaze as you make your way to the door.

He sits up quickly, reaching out and grabbing your wrist before you can reach the door handle. His grip is firm, not willing to let you go just yet. "Where do you think you're going, princess?" he growls, pulling you back towards him.

”Not so eager to let me go this time?” You question with amusement, a smile creeping over your lips. Scott yanks you back onto the bed, pinning you underneath him in one swift motion. His body weight presses against yours, trapping you against the mattress.

He looks down at you, a mixture of annoyance and desire in his eyes. "Did you really think I'd let you walk out that door?" he huffs, his hands gripping your wrists and pinning them down beside your head.

"You're not going anywhere." he murmurs against your skin as he trails kisses down your jaw, to your neck, then your collarbone. The sudden shift in power dynamics sends a jolt of excitement through your body as you feel his weight pressing you down into the bed.

You struggle slightly, not with fear but with a thrill that you never knew you enjoyed. "Scott, what are you doing?" you breathe out, your voice a mix of surprise and challenge.

His eyes are dark and focused on yours as he leans closer, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "Teaching you a lesson, princess," he murmurs before his lips find yours in a fiery kiss that leaves you gasping for more.

His tongue sweeps into your mouth, claiming it as his own, and you can't help but kiss him back with a passion that matches his.

As Scott's kisses grew more tender, his asshole demeanor began to slip away, revealing a side of him you hadn't seen before. He started to undress you, his movements urgent but not rough.

You could feel his hands shaking slightly as he unbuttoned your shirt, his eyes never leaving yours. He slid it off your shoulders, exposing your lacy bra.

His eyes darkened with desire as he took in the sight of you, his breath hitching in his throat. You felt a strange mix of excitement and vulnerability under his gaze, but the alcohol and your own pent-up frustrations gave you the courage to let him continue.

He leaned down to kiss your neck, his breath hot and sweet from the beer he had been drinking, sending tingles down your spine. His hands moved to the clasp of your bra, fumbling slightly as he tried to undo it, a hint of awkwardness peeking through his usually cocky exterior.

Despite everything, you found yourself eager to see where this would lead, your body responding to his touch in ways it never had to anyone else's.

As Scott's hands continue to explore your body, he finally unclasps your bra, revealing your soft, round breasts. His gaze lingers on them for a moment before he leans down to kiss and suck on your hardened nipples, causing you to arch your back and moan in pleasure.

You feel his arousal pressing against you, making you even more eager for what's to come. He then slides your skirt down, his eyes taking in the sight of your matching lacy panties.

With a smirk, he hooks his fingers into the waistband and slowly pulls them down, revealing your wetness. His eyes darken with desire as he licks his lips, and before you can even process what's happening, he's already between your legs, his tongue tracing the edges of your folds.

You gasp as he tastes you, his mouth and tongue exploring your most intimate parts with surprising tenderness. He looks up at you, a question in his eyes, but the desperate need in yours is answer enough.

He settles into a rhythm, licking and sucking until you're squirming beneath him, begging for more.

With a low groan, Scott pulls away from you, his eyes filled with a hunger that you never knew existed within him. He quickly strips his own clothes off, his erection standing proudly as he leans over you.

His gaze lingers on your exposed body, a look of awe and desire mixing within his eyes. He positions himself between your legs, his hand caressing your thigh gently. He whispers against your ear, "Ready, princess?" His voice is a mix of tenderness and urgency.

You nod, feeling the heat pool between your legs, and he doesn't waste another moment. He slides into you with a gentle push, filling you up with a surprising tenderness that makes your heart race. He starts to move, his hips rocking into yours in a slow, sensual rhythm that sends waves of pleasure crashing through your body.

His eyes never leave yours, the intensity of the moment building as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear. His hands are everywhere, caressing and exploring, making you feel cherished and desired.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as he picks up the pace, the gentle movements turning into a passionate dance of bodies intertwined. The room is filled with the sound of your soft moans and his deep grunts of pleasure.

It's nothing like you've ever experienced before, and you can't help but feel a strange sense of belonging as he makes love to you with a fiery passion that seems to burn away all the tension between you.

Your bodies move in perfect harmony, every touch and kiss feeling like it's been written in the stars, leaving only the aftermath of passion and the thundering of your hearts beating together.

With a final, deep thrust, Scott's body stiffens as he reaches his climax, groaning against your neck. He releases himself inside of you with a raw passion that resonates through both your bodies.

Pulling out, he rolls onto his back, bringing you with him so that you're nestled against his side, your legs tangled together. His chest heaves with heavy breaths, his eyes closed as the tension in his muscles slowly starts to ease.

You lay there, feeling a mix of satisfaction and bewilderment, your heart racing in your chest. The room is quiet except for the sound of your mingled breaths and the occasional distant rumble outside.

The warmth of his cum inside of you serves as a physical reminder of the intensity of the moment, leaving you feeling both fulfilled and slightly overwhelmed.

As the reality of what just happened begins to sink in, you glance over at Scott, his eyes now open and staring up at the ceiling, his expression unreadable.

Quietly you slip out of the bed, grabbing your clothes and sneaking into the bathroom. Cleaning yourself up, you put your clothes back on your heart aching as your mind wanders, wondering if he regrets it all.

Scott remains lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling for a few moments after you quietly slip away to the bathroom. His mind is a flurry of emotions. Part of him still can't believe what just happened.

He sits up on the edge of the bed, pulling his boxers back on, running a hand through his hair as he waits for you to exit the bathroom. When you do, he looks up at you, his expression still unreadable.

He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. He stands up, walking over to you, his gaze intense. You look up at him, your eyes scanning his face as you try to read his face.

Scott stands in front of you, his eyes locked onto yours, a mix of uncertainty and intensity swirling in their depths. He swallows, his throat dry as he looks at you.

You can practically see the gears turning in his head as he struggles to find the right words. He lifts his hand, gently cupping the side of your face, his thumb lightly tracing the contour of your cheek.

"Hey..." he mumbles, his voice rough and strained. You think he’s trying to brush you off so you push his hand away from your face.

“I should, uh, I should probably go now..” your voice trails off as your gaze drops to the ground. Scott's eyes widen as you push his hand away, his heart clenching in his chest.

"Wait..." he says urgently, reaching out towards you. He doesn't want you to leave. Not after what just happened between you two. He grabs your wrist, gently pulling you back towards him.

"Hold on a second," he murmurs, his voice a mixture of desperation and pleading. He steps closer to you, his other hand coming to rest on your hip. You lean into his touch savoring how his hands feel against you.

”Scott, look..” you try to think of what to say but nothing else comes out. Scott's heart pounds in his chest as you lean into him. He can feel the tension in your body, sees the conflict in your eyes.

He searches your face, his gaze flickering over your features, desperate for any hint of what you're thinking. He tightens his grip on your hip, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek.

"Look at me," he says gruffly, his voice almost pleading. He gently turns your face up towards his, his eyes locking onto yours. "What were you going to say?"

”I mean,” you take a deep breath, “it’s okay if you want me to go, I get it.” You close your eyes, your cheek pressing into his palm. Scott's eyes widen in disbelief at your words.

"What? No, no, that's not what I want at all." he says urgently, his grip on your hip and cheek tightening. He pulls you even closer to him, closing the distance so your bodies are nearly pressed up against each other.

He looks down at you, his expression a mixture of frustration and desperation. "Do you really think I'd want you to walk out after... after what we just did?" he says, his voice low and gruff.

Your arm wraps around his torso, fingers pressing into his back. “Scott, I don’t have to stay just because you feel bad about what happened..” Scott's heart clenches in his chest as you wrap your arm around him, his body responding to your touch. He lets out a sigh, his other hand moving to wrap around your waist.

"It's not that," he mumbles against your skin, his breath hot against your ear. He pulls you even closer, his arms holding you tight against him. "I don't feel bad about what happened. I just... I don't want you to leave," he admits, his voice thick with emotion.

”Scott, you’re not usually the sweet type.” Your voice regains its amused tone as you realize he wants the same as you. Scott can't help but chuckle at your words, the amused tone in your voice bringing a soft smile to his lips. He shakes his head slightly, pulling back just enough so he can look at you.

His eyes roam over your face, taking in your features and the slight smirk playing at the corner of your lips. "Sweet, huh?" he mutters, his hand on your hip moving up to grip your chin, tilting your head back slightly. "That's not what you'd usually call me, princess."

”Not quite,” you smile, “but I can’t lie, I like your change in attitude.” Scott's heart skips a beat as you smile up at him, his grip on your chin tightening just slightly. A sly grin spreads across his lips as you comment on his change in attitude.

"Oh, yeah?" he hums, his voice low and sultry. He brings his face closer to yours, his breath hot on your skin. "You like it when I'm not a complete dick?" he teases, his smirk widening.

“Mhm,” you sit back on the bed, slipping out of your skirt and shirt. “You think I can borrow your shirt for the night?” Your voice is sultry as you look up at him through your eyelashes.

Scott's jaw clenches as you undress, his eyes roaming over your body as more and more skin is exposed once again. He swallows, his throat suddenly feeling dry as he watches you reach for your bra.

"Uh, yeah," he mumbles hoarsely, his voice thick with desire. "You can borrow whatever you want, princess."

His eyes are fixed on you as his shirt, still balled up on the bed from earlier, is in your hands. He watches as you slip it on, the fabric molding to your curves, and he can't help but let out a low growl at the sight.

You grasp his hand and pull him to you Scott willingly follows your lead, letting you pull him down towards the bed. A low rumble vibrates in his chest as he looms over you, his eyes roaming over your body once again.

His hands move to brace on either side of your head, holding his body above you. He looks down at you, his eyes dark and hungry. "You look damn good in my shirt," he growls, his voice thick with desire.

“You think so?” You brush your fingers over his jaw. Scott's skin tingles where your fingers brush against his jaw. He leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as a shiver runs down his spine at your gentle caress.

"I know so," he murmurs, opening his eyes to lock onto yours. "You look good in anything," he adds, his voice low and husky as he gazes down at you.

“Scott, we should sleep..” you murmur, your eyes getting heavy. Scott lets out a soft sigh, noticing the tiredness in your eyes. He knows you're right, but he can't help but want to hold onto this moment for just a bit longer.

With a final brush of his hand against your cheek, he rolls off of you, laying down beside you. He pulls you close, wrapping his arms around your waist and tucking you against his chest.

"Sleep," he mutters, his voice soft and soothing. "I'll be here when you wake up, princess." You rest your face against his chest, cuddling into him.

[fayes-fics]

Textual Encounter

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Text fic. Wrong number meet-cute over text.

Warnings: none... this is fluff and humour.

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: Fic request fill for Anon (HERE). I kept it fun and fluffy, but yeah, I can see a sequel where they sext. Thanks to @colettebronte for the read-through. Enjoy! <3

Y/N: Hey Liz, it’s y/n y/l/n. Kindle Spa gave me your mobile. Said you had moved to another salon. I don’t trust anyone else to wax me tbh. Big date this week, kwim 😉 Can I get an appt? I’ll come to you. Doesn’t matter where. 

BB: Errr, I think you have the wrong number…

Y/N: Not Liz?

BB: Nope, Ben here. 

Y/N: Not a waxer, I presume?

BB: I may have waxed lyrical in my time, may even have lit a few candles. Have not waxed anyone no - my own body or anyone else’s. Yet. But I’m game to try anything once...

Y/N: Lol.

BB: Big date, eh?

Y/N: ….Yeah. Not that it's any of your business, stranger Ben.

BB: Fair. BB: Does it hurt?

Y/N: ??

BB: Getting waxed.

Y/N: Oh. Yeah. Like a motherfucker. But you sorta get used to it, tbh. And it’s so much less itchy than shaving regrowth, especially in sensitive areas… Wait, why am I having this convo with a complete stranger?!

BB: We don’t have to be strangers. BB: I’m Ben, 33, London. BB: I have no strong opinions on hair removal methods.

Y/N: lol. K. I’m y/n, 28, also London. Y/N: I, as you can see, do have some opinions.

BB: Hi y/n 👋 BB: I hope you can find Liz. Or someone else to assist with your hair needs.

Y/N: I would like it stated, for the record, I’m not hairy like a troll. I just like to keep things neat.

BB: The lady doth protest too much…

Y/N: You are cheeky for a stranger.

BB: Hey, I thought we agreed. Not strangers. Me Ben. You hairy troll.

Y/N: BLOCK.

BB: Just typing it doesn't work, you know.

Y/N: You should work at the Apple Genius Bar.

BB: Hmm, possibly. I do look good in blue. Or so I've been told.

Y/N: Always glad to provide career counselling.

BB: 🫡

4 days later.

BB: How’d your date go?

Y/N: That's odd. I don’t see a Genius Bar appt in my calendar…?

BB: iCal is a lying bastard. BB: I also assume you now can move faster through water.

Y/N: ??

BB: Waxed smooth like a dolphin…?

Y/N: 😆 Y/N: Entirely none of your business, but yes, actually. Well mostly. I leave some. Why am I telling you this?! Y/N: The guy was such a dud tho, I didn't get to show it off 🙁

BB: Please don't stop on my account. This is just delightful.  BB: I apologise on behalf of all men.

Y/N: For what?

BB: Having 4 sisters, I find the safest answer here is usually… everything, of course.  BB: But specifically, your rubbish date.

Y/N: Apology conditionally accepted. Y/N: 4 sisters?! 

BB: Only conditional? What do I gots to do to make it unconditional? BB: Yeah, I know… I’ve got 3 brothers too. My parents were really into each other. 

Y/N: IDK, serve a mean martini? Y/N: Understatement.

BB: That could be arranged. I took an online mixology course during lockdown.  BB: My sister El declared I'm better than Stanley Tucci. Admittedly, that was after 4 espresso martinis… but I'm taking it. She's opinionated but the best one. They are a weird bunch tho 🤔

Y/N: WOAH WOAH WOAH. That's a bold claim.

BB: Well, there’s only one way to dispute it: try one for yourself…

Y/N: Smooth, Genius Bar, smooth.

BB: I do my best 🤷

1 day later.

Y/N: I can't get my AirPods to work.

BB: You do realise I didn’t actually follow your career advice?

Y/N: Urgh. Inconvenient. What use are you then?

BB: As I said. Cocktails. I’ll try my hand at waxing if you want.

Y/N: Best stick to the day job. Which is…?

BB: Graphic design.

Y/N: Oh, that’s quite cool. 

BB: It pays the bills. You?

Y/N: MI-5

BB: Wow, you're a shit spy.

Y/N: It could be an excellent double bluff…

BB:

Y/N: Oh, we’ve graduated to memes now, have we, Genius Bar?

BB: It was called for.

Y/N: I’ll take it. Purely cos it's a Hemsworth.

BB: I would too, tbh.

Y/N: Bi?

BB: For a Hemsworth? Always.

Y/N: Anyone else?

BB: I’ll keep you posted.

Y/N: I'm on the edge of my seat.

3 days later.

BB: Oscar Issac.

Y/N: Good non sequitur evening to you, too, Genius Bar Ben.

BB: For the bi thing.

Y/N: Ahh. Got it. I can respect that.

BB: This is me, btw: www.instagram.com/benbridgerdesign.  BB: Figured you can decide for yourself if I'm a creeper.

Y/N: Appreciated.

3 minutes later.

Y/N: You paint?

BB: I dabble

Y/N: Modesty will only make me like you more.

BB: You like me?! 🥹

Y/N: You didn't mention you were handsome.

BB: There is no way to respond to that without me sounding like a twat.

BB: But thank you 😊

Y/N: This is me: www.instagram.com/ynhandle 

7 minutes later.

BB: Oh, Amalfi is so beautiful, isn't it?

Y/N: Wow. That's a deep cut. How far did you scroll back??

BB: 👀

Y/N: Yeah, it's beautiful. Shame it's tainted for me now. Was there with an ex.

BB: I saw. Very handsome.

Y/N: Are you sure you're not just into men full-stop?

BB: 🤷 BB: You’re very pretty, too.

Y/N: I’d believe it if you didn't mention my “very handsome” ex first…

BB: I call it like I see it. BB: I have had 4 whiskeys, tho, so make of that what you will.

Y/N: On a school night?!

BB: It’s my brother Ant's birthday. This is like non-optional drunk, I’ll have you know.

Y/N: Happy birthday to him. 

BB: He says thanks. He’s also told me to get off my fucking phone. Which is rich. He is texting his wife nonstop.

Y/N: Hah! Safe travels through Whiskeytown, BenBridger 🫡

BB: I kinda miss Genius Bar…. 😞

Y/N: I can't win…

2 days later.

BB: Settle an argument for me.

Y/N: 🍿

BB: Col, younger brother, never stops eating... He claims Katz Deli is overrated. I argue it's touristy but still good. You’ve been. Where do you sit on this matter?

Y/N: You really did go thru my Insta, didn't you?? Y/N: Thanks for the follow, BTW.

BB: It's a compliment, I assure you. BB: Welcome. And same.

Y/N: Not complaining. And yeah, I agree with you, actually.

BB: Hah! Excellent!!

Y/N: Wait… your older brother is Ant, and your younger brother is Col? You’re Ben. So, like ABC?

BB:  … I already warned you my family was weird.

Y/N: You did. You did.

BB: Now, please excuse me while I go gloat.

Y/N: 👍

5 mins later.

BB: Hi. This is Col. You must be the famous y/n. Ben’s in the bogs, and the mug left his phone on the table unlocked, so this is on him.  BB: He like really likes you. Like a lot. Will you go on a date with him pls? 

Y/N: Err, ok, hi Col. Y/N: Umm, I think Ben should be the one to ask me that. Don’t you?

BB: He’s too scared you’ll say no.

Y/N: I won't…

BB: EXCELLENT.

2 minutes later.

BB: I am so SO sorry about that 😬 He’s such a shit. BB: But… do you mean it?

Y/N: Ask me properly…

BB: Would you, y/n, like to go on a date with me? Please?

Y/N: I would be delighted to Ben. 😀

BB: 🙏 BB: Are you free on Thursday? Could I take you to dinner?

Y/N: Sounds wonderful. 

BB: 7pm? Meet at Picadilly Circus? By Brasserie Zedel?

Y/N: I’ll be there 😀

BB: 😀

10 days later.

BB: I think you should know… Liz is an artiste 😮‍💨

Y/N: Stop texting me from my bed, you dork. 😘 Y/N: How do you take your coffee?

BB: I'm like 10 meters away. Why not just ask me?

Y/N: You started this, Genius Bar…

BB: Come back to bed, Mostly Hairless Troll.

Y/N: I asked for that, didn't I? ���

Benedict taglist, pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[aemondsbabe]

Two Souls, Entwined

summary: dreams & dirty talk || helaena has been plagued with visions; things between her and her lady in waiting finally reach a boiling point

pairing: helaena targaryen x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, wlw, mutual pining, angst but happy ending, dry humping, breast/nipple play, dirty talk but make it poetic and loving, slight aegon slander i broke my own heart, i love helaena sm, there needs to be more content for her i love her, let me know if i missed anything!!

word count: 4.1k

a/n: happy day ten of 12 days of smuff!! i'm actually very excited/proud of this one, it got a lot more personal than i was expecting! really feeding that scared bi girl i was in middle school idk. i hope y'all enjoy it!!!

12 days of smuff masterlist!

gif creds to @merrypembertons

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

Helaena sighs when she opens her eyes and blinks, disoriented by the early morning light, her head still clouded with sleep. 

“Your friend is not a friend yet not your foe…” She whispers to the emptiness of her chambers, the cryptic phrase a familiar one now as it had been making its home in her head for the past few weeks. 

Sitting up with a groan, she pauses at the edge of her bed, staring blankly ahead as the cloudy figures from her dream seem to swirl around her still. She was growing frustrated with the shadowy shapes, as much as she hated to admit it – she did not often enjoy her dreams, they often brought news of unpleasant tidings, secrets that she alone seemed expected to bear, but for the past few weeks her dreams had been… pleasant. Joyous, in fact. Yet they seemed much further away than the others, only revealing small slivers of information to her night after night. 

She smiles softly as she gives one last glance out the window before padding over to the vanity in her chambers, determined to brush out her hair before the maids have the chance, they were always too rushed and hurried. Her mind drifts back to her dream as she runs a comb through her fair hair; lately, this mysterious dream seemed to be the only thing she could focus on for very long. 

The figure in it seemed so familiar, moving around her as if it was an old friend, someone safe. She sighed again as she thought, blushing despite herself as she recalled her latest vision, remembering how the shadow had moved about her, as if in a courting dance, before it leaned in closely, though if it were for a kiss or to whisper a secret she didn’t know. 

“Your friend is not a friend yet not your foe.” She repeats, as if the repeating will somehow reveal more. 

It puzzles her greatly, the feelings of safety mixed with distinct romantic desire, a deep wanting from somewhere within her. There aren’t many people she even feels safe around, and even less so those she’d ever felt romantic longing for, and a much shorter list followed of people who had ever felt romantic longing for her. She feels secure around her mother, of course, and grandsire and her precious younger brothers, but she cannot help but wrinkle her nose with disgust at the thought of romantic intent with any of them.

She blinks, setting her hairbrush down and biting her lip as she thinks. I feel safe with Aegon, she ponders, brows knitting together, He’s never given me a reason to not feel safe but… She sighs, not bothering to finish the thought. She was well aware her marriage was one of politics, not of love. She remembers there had been whispers of many suitors when she’d finally come of age; everyone from Aegon and Aemond to her half-sister’s bastard sons had been considered, and though Helaena appreciated some more than others… she didn’t desire any of them. 

Before she can help herself, her blue eyes flit over her own curves as she gazes at herself in the mirror, wishing, as she had so many times before, that she could reach out and feel her own reflection – feel a mirrored twin with similar soft skin and supple flesh. She wishes that soft, delicate fingers could touch her as well; she had grown tired of rough, battle worn touches long ago. 

Someone I feel safe with and feel romantic longing for, she thinks again, blinking rapidly as a familiar face immediately springs to mind yet again, just as it had every time she’d pondered this mystery for the last few weeks, only growing more frustrated. It can’t be, she’d decided that long ago, long before this vision began. 

But...

The Gods only ever seemed to show her visions that were assured, that would come to fruition, one way or another. Maybe… maybe that meant that y–

No, she thought, locking eyes with her reflection, Don’t be ridiculous. 

She smiles as she hears her chamber doors opening, at the same time they do every morning, and turns around on the ornate, cushioned chair at her vanity, her eyes locking with your familiar ones as you waltz it. 

“Good morning, Princess,” her heart beats a mite faster at the sound of your voice, at the bright smile that graces your lips as you stride to her, “I trust you slept well?”

“Good morning, sweet friend,” she greets you brightly, standing and pulling you into a hug as she did every day, “I did, quite peacefully, actually. And you?” She asked, trying to ignore the small voice that longed to hold you more closely, as she did everyday. 

“I did as well,” your hand lingers in hers for a moment as she steps away, sitting back at her vanity as the maids arrive, instantly fluttering around the two of you like a kaleidoscope of butterflies, “After we break fast, would you like to come to the gardens with me?”

Helaena merely nods, though inside she buzzes, her heart fluttering like a bird’s wings. 

I would follow you into the Seven Hells, she longs to say. 

You wake with a small start, your hand instantly flying to your lips. You could swear they still tingle for a second from when she’d kissed you, just before you’d woken up. Blushing, you glance around your chambers, as if there would be anyone else there, and finding them empty leaves you both relieved and disappointed all at once. 

Sighing, you slide off of your plush bed and walk over to your small vanity and use the small wash basin to splash water on your face. A small thrill shoots up your spine as you glance over your shoulder in the mirror, knowing from the position of the light filtering through your windows that it’s nearly time to go find your friend. 

Friend.

It’s a funny word, you think, not one you would have imagined assigning to the princess all the many years ago when you’d arrived at King’s Landing, young and eager to be a lady in waiting for Helaena. You can’t help the smile that blooms on your lips each time you think of her, your quiet, captivating princess. You meet your own gaze in the mirror and frown, looking at yourself in the way a disappointed parent would look at a child. 

Not yours, you chide, like repeating it over and over would make it hurt any less, Not yours, not yours, not yours. 

Sighing yet again, you rise from your spot at the vanity and quickly grab your robes, eager to escape your own thoughts. 

“This one is the iphiclides podalirius,” Helaena says, her voice soft as she marvels at the delicate butterfly perched on the back of her hand, “More commonly called the scarce swallowtail, I believe. It’s truly remarkable, normally they don’t travel this far north, though I’m told they’re a common sight in the gardens of Sunspear.”

“Then we are quite lucky to see it,” you smile, setting your embroidery hoop on the bench beside you as you study the yellow and black striped insect, though your eyes seem to drift to the princess on their own; you can’t help but smile as you see the way her beautiful sapphire eyes light up as she examines the small creature, “It’s very beautiful.”

Like you, you think, swallowing down the words. 

“Would you like to hold her?” Helaena asks, looking at you hopefully. 

As always, you nod, aware that you were the only one who seemed to entertain her fascination with insects and plants. Selfishly, you liked that. 

Slowly and carefully, Helaena guides the butterfly onto the back of your hand; the two of you sitting close together, close enough for your shoulders to press together. A giggle leaves you at the feel of the insect's feet on your skin, so small and light, like tiny, faint kisses.  

“Perhaps she was drawn to the hydrangeas,” the princess muses, “Those are new this year, though I suppose any of the other very colorful plants would spark her fancy as well, like the lilac or poppies or…”

It takes you a second to notice that she’s gone quiet next to you and you finally tear your gaze away from the butterfly, frowning slightly when you see the look on her face, her blue eyes hazy and unfocused as they flit back and forth like she’s watching figures you cannot see. 

“Princess?” You ask softly, reaching out to take her hand, only halfway aware of the butterfly fluttering away, “Helaena?” You ask again, a bit louder, gripping her hand tighter. 

“Your friend is not a friend yet not your foe…” She whispers, so faintly that the words scarcely leave her lips. Your frown only deepens, your eyebrows knitting together as you shake your head, trying to make sense of her words. 

“What?” You ask softly, used to hearing her mutter odd phrases but seeing her in a trance was something altogether different, “Helaena? Should I go fetch the maester?” You don’t know why you ask her, not expecting a response. 

The figure danced in front of her again, clouded in darkness, though instead of feeling cold and empty like the dark so often did to her, these shadows hugged Helaena like a blanket. 

She blinked, and suddenly everything changed, becoming clear as if she’d blinked away tears. The clarity was startling for a second as the edges of the figure sharpened before her, still leaning toward her as if it meant to whisper an amorous secret.

Finally, her eyes focused and in that moment, she felt as if she could be knocked over by the air current made from the flittery wings of a butterfly. 

You. 

It was you, just as she’d always suspected, standing before her as if you’d always been there. 

Your friend is not a friend yet not your foe. The phrase repeats in her mind like a mantra as she stares at you, marveling at the way you stare at her. 

Like she’s precious, something to be fawned over. Something to be… loved? 

Her heart hammers wildly in her chest as she reaches out, her fingers finally skimming over your cheek. 

She could cry, perhaps she is crying, she doesn’t know. The only thing she’s sure of is that this feels so right, like a puzzle piece within her has finally shifted and slotted into place. 

Just as it crosses her mind to lean in and kiss you, the vision falls away, words echoing in her mind as the gardens come back into focus.

Not a friend. 

Not a friend.

Not a friend.

Yet...

Not a foe. 

“Helaena, please!” You beg, urgency coating your voice as you lean in closer, closer than you’d ever dared before, praying to see some spark of recognition in the princess’s eyes. 

Suddenly, she seems to come back to herself, gasping as you jump back away from her, startled. 

“Oh!” She breathes, blinking a couple times before her blue eyes finally fix themselves on you, “I’m so sorry, I don’t… I don’t know what came over me.”

You shake your head quickly, moving back toward her and taking her hands in yours once more, your heart twisting as you notice them trembling slightly. “There’s no need to apologize, I’m just happy you’re alright.” 

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, Helaena staring at you in a way that makes your cheeks heat up, as if she’s seeing you for the first time, before she seems to catch herself and look away, much to your disappointment. 

“Was that one of your dreams?” You ask softly, looking down to where her hand rests within yours. 

“Yes.” She says simply, her eyes locked on the way your fingers overlap hers as she desperately tries to ignore the voice in her head telling her to enterwine them. 

“What did you see?” You ask, catching her gaze again. There’s a fire in her eyes now that makes you shiver. 

She’s quiet for a moment, neither of you so much as breathing as you stare at each other – the princess looking at you so intently you wonder if she’s trying to hear your thoughts. You pray she can’t. 

“Nothing of importance,” she says finally, pulling her hands away and standing from the bench suddenly, “They’re just shapes, really. Fuzzy things.”

“Alright,” you smile as you stand with her, picking up your embroidery hoop from where it had been abandoned at your side, “If you ever wish to discuss them, I would be more than happy to listen.” You tell her, desperately wanting to hold on to whatever moment you had just shared with her. 

She merely nods with a small, soft smile and holds her arm out for you to take, “Let’s go, we don’t want to be late for supper.” 

The fire warming your skin from the hearth in Helaena’s chambers normally felt cozy and inviting, but tonight the heat of it was stifling as the two of you sit in silence. Each of you is presumably working on an embroidery piece, although the atmosphere feels more like that of a stalemate with each passing moment. 

You can feel her looking at you, sneaking glances every minute or so. You imagine she can probably feel the same, perhaps that’s why she keeps looking your way, because you can’t seem to keep your eyes off her either. 

Finally, the tension in the room seems to boil over and you can’t take it anymore; your fingers dig into the wood of your embroidery hoop as you gather the courage to speak. 

“Have I… Are you cross with me?” 

“Pardon?” The princess asks, jumping a bit before laying her hoop at her side, her eyes wide as she looks at you unabashedly now. 

“You, well, you keep looking at me. I just, I’m hoping I haven’t offended you in some way.” You chance a glance at Helaena and quickly do a double take, heart clenching in your chest when you see that she looks as if she’s about to cry. 

“You haven’t,” she breathes, shaking her head emphatically, locks of pale hair cascading down her shoulders as she does, “I simply… I was considering the dreams I’ve been having, the one I had earlier today.” 

“But what does that have to do with me?” 

“You’ve been in them!” She says suddenly, loudly, like she has to force out the words. 

“What?” You blink. 

She sighs heavily and swallows, wringing her hands on her lap. “You were in them. You have been for weeks.” 

You wonder if the princess can hear your heart beating rapidly in your chest as you blink, silently praying to whichever of the Gods may be listening that Helaena’s dreams and your dreams were not somehow intertwined. In the back of your mind, you knew your pleas were useless. 

Your mouth opens and closes a few times like a fish that’s been plucked from the water before you finally find your voice, “What… what am I doing in them?” Your whole body buzzes, fearing the answer and desperately needing it all at once. 

The princess hesitates, you want to scream as you can all but see her weighing her options in her mind before she finally, finally speaks. 

“Courting me, kissing me.” 

A small withering, wounded noise passes your lips at her words. You feel dizzy, the room spinning as you feel as though the entire world is crashing down around you while at the same time, it’s as if a mountain’s worth of weight has been lifted from your shoulders. 

“And your visions… they only show things already fated to occur?” You feel frozen as you ask, not a muscle in your body moving. You know the answer even as the question leaves your lips, but you need to hear her say it. 

Helaena sighs and shakes her head, a frown cutting across her pretty face, “That’s why it’s frustrating,” she bites, spitting the words like the mere act of explaining is painful, “This one cannot come to pass, I do not understand why I see it…”

She keeps speaking, talking through her annoyance, but the sound of your own blood pumping wildly through your veins blocks out her words. 

No, your head pounds as you silently scream, No, no, no! Please, just let me explain, give me a chance, I’ll do any—

A loud sob cuts through your thoughts; the world seems to wrench its way back to you as you look at the princess, eyes widening when you see the tears flowing down her flushed cheeks. 

“You could never truly wish to…” She says slowly, brokenly, words fading like she can’t even bear to say them. 

“I do.” The words feel punched from your chest like you’re holding your heart out to the open air.

Helaena’s ocean eyes cut to yours as her breath hitches, the both of you not daring to move a muscle as you sit together on the small sofa in her chambers; the fire crackling in the hearth is the only indication that time has not ceased to exist. 

You aren’t sure who moves first, maybe the Gods have threaded the two of you together so tightly that you move as one, you can’t be sure. 

But her lips are on yours. 

And her hands cup your cheeks as yours scramble to fit around her waist, four hands poised on a knife’s edge. 

You sigh against each other, pulled together like a knot in a thread, and you gasp as you find yourselves pressed together, chest to chest.

Finally, you part for air, panting together as you stare, foreheads pressed together. 

“Princess—“

“You love me?” She asks, swiping a thumb over your cheek; it’s only then you realize you’re crying. 

“Yes,” you breathe, your hands grip her tighter, pulling her impossibly closer to you, “And you?” 

“Yes,” she echos, her thighs slotting over one of yours as she climbs atop your lap, “You are my heart beating out of my body.” 

Her words zap through you and your heart twists in your chest as your hands clamber against her, your lips press against hers again urgently. Twin moans, muffled into each other's mouths, sound between you as your hands cup her rear, pressing her more urgently against you. 

“You are beautiful,” you sigh, hands grabbing at her plush curves through the silk fabric of her skirts, “You’re so soft and —“ 

“Warm,” she breathes, moaning into the column of your neck as her lips move against your skin, “You’re so warm, my love, like the sun.” 

My love. The pet name sends a shiver down your spine as the two of you move together, pressing kisses against whatever patches of skin you can find, rocking together instinctually. The firmness of her thigh presses deliciously against your center, your skirts rucked up enough to bare your smallclothes, which press welty against your core. 

You gasp, pressing a kiss to the princess’s collarbone as her hips move tantalizingly on your thigh, the warmth between her legs nearly suffocating as you whimper and sign against each other’s soft skin. 

“I have always loved you,” you confess, nearly coming undone as she begins tugging at the ties at the bosom of your gown, her hands shaking as she pulls them loose, “Always, from the first moment I saw you.”

She makes a noise between a moan and sob as she finally tugs your bodice loose, and you whimper as her lithe fingers ghost over your breasts, causing your back to arch into her touch. “I’ve always loved you too,” she sighs as her soft hands cup your chest, kneading the flesh in her palms, “I always wanted to court you, marry you, I,” her voice breaks off in a faint, high-pitched whine as you finally manage to unbutton the bodice of her gown, she savors the feel of your lips and hands against her breasts for a moment more before continuing, “Gods, I wished to bed you, I’ve always longed to know what you would feel like, how sweet you’d taste.”

Her confessions nearly make you weep as you kiss over the fat of her breasts, keening into her supple skin as she delicately pinches at your nipples, “I have only ever thought of you, my sweet princess,” your chest heaves as you speak, your words muffled as you lick over her nipple, “When I sleep, when I wake, when I–” The words stick in your throat as you freeze, peering up at her through your lashes, somehow still impossibly afraid of going too far, or too fast, or too anything. 

“When you what?” She asks, her voice so soft and sweet as she stares down at you, her fingers digging into your breast and side as her sapphire eyes flit between yours, “Tell me, my love, when you what?” She urges, her hips moving somehow more desperately against yours, only serving to fuel the fire slowly building within you. 

“Gods, when I touch myself,” you whisper, shuddering as she lets out a breathy moan above you, “When I peak, sweet princess, I think only of you.” Your confession ends in a sharp gasp as she angles you backwards, anchoring you to her with an arm wrapped tightly around your waist. Her lips trail down your neck and collarbone before finally, she presses firm, fiery kisses to your breast, panting as she wraps her petal pink lips around your nipple and sucks, pressing her thigh more firmly against your center as she does. 

“I think only of you too,” she breathes, blue eyes fluttering up to yours as your hands tangle in her pale locks, “Every time I touch myself, I dream of you,” she mumbles around your breast, her touch all but burning into you as she kisses across your chest before mouthing at the other side, “When my brother beds me, it is you I see, my precious lady.”

You practically sob as her admission sends you reeling, each cell in your body bursting like lightning from a stormcloud as you peak. You’re useless to do much else other than tremble in her hold as shivers travel in currents down your spine, your smallclothes no doubt ruined as your center clenches frantically at nothing, your pearl so taut and achy as it twitches against the princess’s thigh. 

You don’t waste a second when your high subsides, moving frantically as you push Helaena back, slotting yourself perfectly atop her, pressing your thigh between her legs like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. Your skirts fan out around your bodies, blanketing your forms in a soft sea of silk, your bare chests pressed tightly together as you rut against her, needing to see her awash with pleasure more than you need breath in your lungs. 

“My love, my sweet princess,” you sigh into her mouth, your tongues swirling together as she all but cries beneath you, her hands digging possessively into your waist, “I am yours, my love, until the end of my days.” You swear, pressing your thigh tightly against her center, and your heart soars as she finally shatters in your grasp.

You watch, enraptured, as she peaks; mesmerized at the blush that blooms on her skin, at the way her blue eyes roll back as her eyes flutter closed, at how her breasts heave as she sucks in desperate breaths. The sounds she makes seem to pierce into your soul, each whimper and moan and cry ripping away parts of you until your heart is stripped bare, beating only for her. 

The two of you lay in a heady silence for many moments, the only sounds being your soft, panting breaths as you each come down and the ever-present crackle sounding from the hearth. 

“Your friend is not a friend yet not your foe.” Helaena whispers, her voice raspy as she speaks.

“Pardon?” You ask, pulling back from her embrace just enough to meet her gaze.

“That phrase,” she explains, her eyes glimmering in the firelight as a smile steadily blossoms on her pink lips, “I kept hearing it, in my dreams about you.”

You stay silent, tracing soft circles on her soft skin, leaving room for her to continue.

“I wasn’t sure at first, but now I see.”

“Hm?”

You aren’t my friend, the Gods spoke truthfully,” she beams, radiating joy as she studies your face, “You’re my love.”

Her statement is simple, but it makes you smile all the same as you press a sweet kiss to her lips.

“Yes,” you nod, pulling back to meet her eyes as you lay a hand over her heart, “Always.”

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @alerisc @fan-goddess @wickedfrsgrl @moonriseoverkyoto @echos-muses @schniiipsel @avidreader73 @marvelescvpe @imawhorecrux @grsveeth0m

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

[wasteddmoondust]

the universe || sirius black

pairing: sirius black x reader 1.2k words, soulmate au, angst (i tried, really), happy ending, some language from this request! :) a/n: AHH i hope you really like this, i haven't written this much before but i think it was a good challenge!

Sirius feels like he shouldn't have looked. But he stares at the four little paw prints tattooed on your left shoulder blade, identical to the one he has.

But that was the thing with soulmates, wasn't it? One can never control how it happens, they just do. It was already written. He was meant to see this, and he's meant to do something about it.

There's a sinking feeling in his chest. He's not sure if he wants to do something about it.

Sirius doesn't believe in soulmates. At least that's what he wants himself to think.

It's too much commitment, he usually says to himself. Why can't I choose who I want to be with?

I've been following rules my whole life. What does the universe know about me and who I'm meant to be with? For the rest of my life? Who would want to be with me that long?

I'm not a good enough person, let alone for Y/N.

Who would even want to love someone like me?

That's usually where the thinking stops.

So he decides for himself. Going out to parties to pick and choose which girls to make out with. No strings attached, just his physical desires to be satisfied.

He knows it's massed up, even more so when you're at said parties, keeping a lookout for someone with your matching tattoo. And so Sirius keeps his shoulder covered. You don't know he's your soulmate, and a part of his never wants you to.

Unfortunately, you're good friends, and he doesn't want you getting hurt over the fact he doesn't want a soulmate.

By the time he's done sticking his tongue down another girl's throat, he usually hears that you've decided to call it an early night.

It all comes crashing down one New Year's Day.

It's the adrenaline of counting down in the very crowded room, and the feeling of someone grabbing him to be their New Year's kiss. Everyone welcomes the start of a new era with a cheer.

The party goes well into the night before Sirius decides to finally crash in his room. He immediately falls asleep as his head hits the pillow.

He wakes up with the usual hangover headache, but nothing a bowl of ice water can't fix. A quick shower and a carton of juice later, he checks his phone for his missed notifications.

Moony: wake up, get to the hospital now. Moony: Sirius where are you??? Moony: we're outside room 402 when you get here. Prongs: Y/N's sick again, we're heading home Prongs: she won't stop throwing up idk what to do Prongs: we're going to the emergency room Prongs: call me when you see this Lilypad: James and i are going to the hospital with Y/N, call us when you see this Lilypad: Sirius if you do not wake the fuck up right now i will actually come for your throat.

Sirius doesn't think he's gotten ready so quickly in his life. To be fair, he was still in his pyjamas, just adding his leather jacket and running out of the door with his keys, wallet and phone in hand.

When he arrives, he sees his three friends outside of the room you're in.

"What happened?" he asks, panting from all the running.

"They don't for sure know yet," Remus says, arms crossed and leaning against the wall.

Lily is sitting on the chair, her hair is tied messily in a ponytail. "They think it's soul-repelling."

Sirius furrows his brows, "What does that mean?"

"My parents talked about it once," James says from his seat next to Lily. "They used to talk about stories of people who constantly reject the soul bond they had with their soulmate, which would cause the other person to be very sick. Or in worse cases, die."

Lily visibly hates the way James says it, and he knows it. He tries to comfort her by holding her hand, their matching flower tattoos on their hands side-by-side.

"...But she doesn't know her soulmate yet?" Sirius asks carefully, trying to sound normal.

James shrugs. "She may not, but they say the way her body is reacting means her soulmates knows it's her."

Sirius feels his breath knock out, his heart pounding, realising what he's done. He's been rejecting their bond the entire time. All the while he thought he was doing himself a favour, he made her suffer for his selfish needs.

The ache in his heart is undeniable. He grabs the fabric that covers his heart and feels his breath get heavier.

"Sirius?" Remus calls, noticing his actions.

"It's- it's my fault..." Sirius feels tears start to prick at his eyes.

"What?"

"It was me," he starts to remove his jacket and shirt, showing the tattoo on his shoulder for the first time. "It's me-" his voice cracks. He turns to the door, "I need to get in there."

"Woah wait- Sirius!"

But he bursts through the door to the ward. He runs in and the first thing he notices is you staring at him, paler than he's ever seen you before. You have eyebags and you're heaving, as if you'd just thrown up before he came in.

The nurse next to you speaks up, "Sir, you can't be in here yet-"

"I'm sorry!" he yells, grabbing your hand and bending over the bed. He buries his face in your chest.

"Sirius?" you whisper, confused, but you finally see the print on his shoulder. "Oh."

"I've known for the longest time and that was so selfish of me. And it's still so selfish of me to want you still," tears are fully flowing down his cheeks now. "I've realised I cannot lose you. But would you allow me to be selfish one more time and ask for you to forgive me?"

If anything, you're too stunned to speak. One minute you were throwing your guts up and suddenly your best friend is crying in front of you and he's also your soulmate.

But at the same time, you start to feel your body be at ease. The nausea is already starting to subside. His warm hand in your cold one feels nice. Like two puzzle pieces finding each other.

You cough, feeling your throat finally clear. You look down, and SIrius is still crying, his question still hangs in the air. He waits for your answer.

"I hope you know you have a lot of making up to do after this," you say softly, smiling.

He heaves the biggest sigh of relief. He leans towards your hands and kisses them. "Of course, anything for you. Oh thank god."

You chuckle. "I'm so glad it's you, actually. I had a feeling."

He looks up at you, "Really? How'd you know?"

You shrug. "Just a feeling I guess. Probably a soulmate thing."

He smiles, the universe has his back, he thinks. "Can I kiss you?" He asks.

"Sirius I just threw up, I'm not letting you taste whatever is in my mouth right now," you say. "But the rest of my face is available."

He opts to kiss your cheek instead. And something in him clicks. It feels normal, it feels right.

Yeah, the universe definitely knew what they were doing.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

hello lovie🫶🏻 as of the past mmm three days I’ve been coming back to your account and reading your tan fics, they’re just SO good!! I couldn’t help but maybe put in a request?? I’m not quite sure if you’ve done one of these before, but would it be too much trouble to do a sort of hurt/comfort type fic, where tan comes back from a mission absolutely tattered and beaten and reader instantly helps mend his wounds?? Idk what it is but I’m an absolute WHORE for these kind of fics. omg and reader uses rubbing alcohol on his cuts and stuff and he starts wincing and she goes “sorry, it’ll hurt” and he retorts with “really?? hadn’t noticed” or something like that HSJSKSN and throughout this WHOLEEE thing he’s just staring at her so lovingly and eventually they both lean in to kiss SJJWW IM SORRY BUT HES JUST SO AHHHHH😭🫶🏻🫶🏻lysm girlie, your writing makes me literally kick my feet, giggle and twirl my hair🫶🏻🫶🏻

hii omg omg thank you cutie!!!🤍 done a fair few of these but I love the wound cleaning trope ESPECIALLY with tan! thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌

CUTS AND SCRAPES.

tangerine x reader (gn) — fluff

word count. 790

!! blood mentions

No matter how late it would be when Tangerine returns home, you'd still wake to the sound of the front door softly closing - the sluggish footsteps of your lover creeping inside. And without fail, you would find yourself stepping down those stairs to greet him with a sweet, welcoming smile.

Though tonight —well, extremely early morning— when you heard him come through the front door, instead of hearing his usual exasperated sighs, you heard groans - like he was in pain. And without missing a beat, you followed that noise, feet cascading down the steps to check he was okay.

You find him in the kitchen, leaning over the island - dampening a cloth in the sink. 

"What happened to you?" you ask, voice quiet as you look over his face - taking note of the cuts, bruises and the crusted, dried-bloody state of a nose. "You okay?" 

"In fuckin' agony," he mumbles, wincing when he places the cloth to his forehead. 

You walk around to meet him behind the island and reach into the cupboard under the sink, picking up one of the many med-kits around the house. Collecting a bag of frozen peas, you nod Tangerine over to the kitchen table, gesturing for him to sit in front while you lay the kit and bag on the surface.

He follows suit - taking a seat and scooching the chair closer to you, placing the bag of peas over his knuckles.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you ask, trying to ease him. You look up at him, turning your eyes away from the contents in the first aid kit - trying to gauge his response. "You don't have to... but it might help though."

He shakes his head faintly, sniffling in his usual mannish way. "No, I'm good, love," he dismisses.

You only nod, accepting that he'll come to you when he's ready. You slip on a pair of medical gloves and tear open an antiseptic wipe, hesitantly reaching for the cut on his forehead. "You ready?" you ask, pushing back a messy, unkempt curl with your free hand.

"Not particularly."

His apparent unease about the wound cleaning was almost endearing - it was oddly humanising to see the vulnerability in his usual cold assassin shell. Or the bravado he often puts on around others.

"I'll be gentle," you say, voice almost distracted as you carefully run the point of the cloth around the cut - cleaning it. 

His face grimaces, his features pulling together uncomfortably. 

"Sorry, this bit hurts," you try to comfort him, eyes glued on his forehead. 

He hums shortly, the noise like an unamused 'humph.' "Ya'think? Hadn't noticed— fuck."

"You moved, I'm sorry. Keep still." 

He exhales harshly, attempting to pull himself together. He prods the bag of peas with his other hand, trying to use it as a distraction as you finish up with his cut. 

"Nearly done," you say, laying a plaster flat over his wound - soothing the sticky edges over his skin. You press a kiss into your finger and stamp it onto the covered dressing. "There we go."

Without thinking otherwise, you move on and attend to the other mild injuries - his knuckles up next. You remove the peas, placing them on the table while you slip your hand under his beaten one, holding his palm in your hand. 

"Looks like you got a few licks in," you joke, nodding to his bruised, cut-up fist. 

"Just a few," he jests, mindlessly grazing his fingers over the back of your hand - caressing you. 

You laugh faintly, the sound amused. You run the damp cloth over his knuckles, cleaning up the residual flecks of red he tried to clean earlier.

Unbeknownst to you —your attention solely on his hand— he's looking at you, his expression like that of admiration. Half-lidded eyes scan you attentively, watching the way you care for him. 

"Thank you," he says, words gentle. 

You hum, peering up from his hand to look at him. 

"I mean it," he emphasises, holding onto your gaze when you try to glance back down. 

You squeeze his hand gently and press a kiss to his knuckles. Lips against his skin as you whisper. "I know."

And just as you're about to release his hand, his other moves to cup the side of your face - his grip light and tender as he pulls you in for a kiss. He lingers longer than necessary —longer than usual— as if to soak in the feeling of being back home and safe. 

You pull away first, resting your forehead against his brow bone. "I missed you."

He thumbs over your cheek, his hold still faint on your face. "Missed you."

[ieatstarsforaliving]

The Origin (1)

Summary: How you and Hazel and the fight club started. Also Hazel's Spider-Woman. But you don't know that.

Pairing: Spider-Woman!Hazel Callahan x Classmate!Reader

Warnings: Mature language, use of (Y/N), mentions of bruises and cuts, Idk what else

Word Count: 1508

Note: It's literally my first post. It may suck. I don't care. I don't get paid for this. I hope you do enjoy though, cause there's not enough Spider-Woman Hazel Callahan fics out here. Love yall - Bia <3

“You got paired up with (Y/N) for the ‘women murdered in history’ project?” 

Hazel nodded at Josie’s question. She had just left Mr. G’s class with PJ and Josie where he had introduced a new project to create a diorama based on a famous woman who was murdered. The partners were chosen by random, and to Hazel’s horror, she was paired up with you. 

Who just happened to be Hazel’s crush for 4. fucking. years.

Hazel had many moments of crises in her 18 years of life, which included getting bitten by a radioactive spider during sophomore year at a school field trip to the science fair, getting caught by Josie and PJ’s spider-trap (Where PJ wanted to catch Spider-Woman for her youtube channel with a net, and she actually managed to?) and Hazel had to reveal her secret identity, and her mother’s recent divorce with her minor-fucking, emotionally unavailable father. 

But none of them made Hazel as frantic as being paired with you for a school project. 

“Thats fucking amazing,” PJ said in jealousy. “How come that never happens with me and Brittany? I got paired up with that one emo kid who probably wants to blow up the school.” 

Hazel groaned, leaning her head against her locker. She was already tired from last night’s fight with a local bank robbery, which led to her face scratched and bandaged up today. She couldn’t stop thinking about how she was going to impress you. 

“Okay, well, you don’t look very happy considering you’re like, obsessed with her,” Josie commented. She was well used to Hazel’s constant remarks about how pretty you looked during class or how you made eye contact with her for 2 seconds. 

“I’m fucked. I just get so nervous around her,” Hazel replied, anxiety seeping out from her voice. “I have never really had a conversation with her other than, ‘hello’. If I can’t even talk to her properly, how am I going to do a whole project with her?” 

PJ rolled her eyes. “Hazel, why are you so worried? You literally swing down tall ass buildings and beat up tall ass criminals, and you can’t even talk to a girl that you like? Didn’t your spider powers give you like, enhanced everything?” 

“I’m pretty sure the whole point of Hazel’s secret identity is for you to not talk about it out in the open, PJ.” 

“I’m just saying, if I saved the neighborhood every night wearing a red and blue spandex lady gaga suit, I’d be getting so much puss right now.” 

The two continued to bicker as Hazel sighed. PJ was right. It was just a project. It wasn’t a big deal, it was only for a week, and she was certain you were straight anyways. All she had to do was just man up and talk to—

“Hazel?” 

Hazel jumped, turning around from her locker to see you standing with an alluring smile on your face. You wanted to talk to your project partner before the start of next class, who seemed to be very stunned at the sight of you. She looked like a puppy, with her widened blue eyes and her tousled brown hair. 

Hazel blinked rapidly and clutched her notebook, barely managing to reply with a small, “Hi.” 

“I don’t know if you remember me. I’m (Y/N),” You introduced yourself, starting to offer your hand but retracting immediately because you realized that you’re a high schooler and that it’s probably lame to shake hands in this day and age. “I’m partnered up with you for Mr. G’s class—” 

“-Yeah, I know who you are. (Y/N),” Hazel said, almost too quickly, causing her friends to hold in their laughter. “Mr. G’s project. Yeah– I can work on it. All of it, if you want.” 

“No, of course not, we can work on it together,” You laughed, before recognizing all the injuries on Hazel’s face. “By the way, you’re pretty bruised up. Are you okay?” 

Hazel instantly touched her bandages, feeling a bit embarrassed at her state. 

“’m fine. I just fell.” 

You frowned, staring intensely at Hazel’s face. “I don’t think you can get these cuts from falling.” 

“Well, some of them are from falling and some of them aren’t...” Hazel trailed off as you came closer, your face filled with genuine worry. You knew Hazel wasn't exactly popular, but you didn’t know she was bullied. Hazel slowly backed away, her heart beating out of her chest as her back made contact with her locker. 

Hazel's Face started to burn up, turning to Josie for help. Josie stuttered, “This is nothing, she just– she’s part of this— this club, and—”

“A club? What kind of club fucks up her face like this?” You interrupted, your hands reaching out and brushing Hazel’s bangs out of the way, carefully examining the bandages. “Is it like a fight club?” 

“Yes!” 

“No–” 

“-More like a women’s self defense club?”

You looked at the three girls who’ve provided different answers all at the same time.

PJ spoke up first. 

“Yes, we absolutely do have this club where girls fucking beat each other up and shit for… feminism. So that we can teach girls how to protect themselves from the evil male football players.” 

“You know how to fight?” You asked, staring at PJ who barely had any muscles.

“Yes. Because, We… went… to… juvie over the summer.” 

You blinked.

“...There’s also a serious lack of female solidarity in this school,” Hazel stiffly added. 

“Right. Okay, that’s fine, I guess,” You accepted. “Could I join?” 

“Yes. Absolutely!” PJ exclaimed, her face lighting up immediately. “You could bring your friends too. You know. Specifically your cheerleader friends. Specifically Brittany and Isabel.” 

Before you could question why specifically Brittany and Isabel, the bell rang to inform the students for the start of next class. 

“Okay, here—” You took the notebook Hazel was holding and quickly scribbled your number on one of the pages. “Message me so we can talk about the project. And the club. Is that okay?” 

You handed the notebook back as Hazel nodded, in denial that you just gave her your fucking phone number. You waved before running off to your next class, feeling happy that you had made a new friend. (haha friend…)

Meanwhile, Josie was losing her mind. 

“PJ, what the fuck are you doing?” 

“This is absolutely perfect!” 

“No, it’s not, PJ— we don’t have a feminist women’s self-defense fight club. You also don’t care about feminism. Your favorite movie is Entourage.” 

“Okay, first of all, shut up, and second, we can just make the club now, obviously. Come on– I just created the perfect opportunity for all of us to talk to Brittany, Isabel, and (Y/N)!” 

“Hazel, please tell PJ that she’s insane,” Josie turned to Hazel. 

Hazel grinned and said; 

“She gave me her number.” 

Josie groaned. “Congratulations! But we have a bigger problem now. We don’t know how to defend ourselves!” 

“Self-defense is common sense. You try to punch me in the face. I stop it from happening. Whatever, I don’t care, it’s easy,” PJ shrugged, holding a MMA fighter stance and started throwing air punches. 

“Yeah, maybe for Hazel, who literally has the… spider tingles? Hazel tingles?”

“Please do not start calling it Hazel tingles.” 

“And let’s not forget, you literally have superhuman strength,” Josie cautioned. “If we do this— very big if, we just run the biggest risk of exposing you and your spider identity. One wrong punch and you’ll send a girl to the hospital.”  

PJ turned to Hazel and grabbed her by the shoulders. 

“Hazel, listen to me. We teach a bunch of girls how to defend themselves against the evil high school fuckboys. They are grateful to us. Adrenaline is flowing— next thing you know, Isabel, Brittany, and (Y/N) are kissing us on the mouths!” 

Hazel paused. “I don’t know. Like Josie said, it’s a huge risk. The last thing I’d want to do is put (Y/N) in danger.”

A sardonic smile played on PJ’s lips. She tapped on Hazel’s notebook.

“Hazel, she gave you her number.”

Hazel stood, her mind racing once again. PJ’s idea of starting a self-defense club was dangerous, she knew that. She would be gaining attention all while showing off her fighting skills, which is what she had been hiding for years. Josie’s warning echoed in her mind. But then she remembered the way you had looked at her, with darling concern in your eyes when you asked about her injuries. She hadn’t had anyone worry for her like that in a while. 

Hazel took a deep breath.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Josie cried.

“She said okay! It's an okay! We’re doing this!” PJ screamed, grabbing Hazel’s hand and pulling her towards the school’s office to create the club. “We’re going to lose our virginities this year! This is the year!”

“Okay, but who’s going to be crazy enough to even advise this club?” Josie yelled after them, but the two were long gone.

Next Chapter: The Fucking Fight Club

[flowerui]

♫ we both like apple cider, pgw

fluff & light angst, 4.1k words ୨୧ first fic on this blog! feedback is appreciated!! ^_^ i've had awful writer's block for MONTHS so i hope i havent gotten too rusty,,,

wherein dancing is your favorite way to destress, until a certain gunwook park goes and spoils it all.

꒰ requested. gender neutral reader (no pronouns or gendered terms used), reader is a year older than gw, dancer reader, bff hanbin, one-sided enemies to friends to lovers, college au, misunderstandings, set in the us, does this count as forced proximity? light angst, fluff (it gets so cheesy idk what happened to me), drinking/underage drinking ꒱

Dancing had always been your favorite way to unwind. After a long day of classes, practice is like a treat; the mental toll of having to listen to your professors drone on all day, and procrastinating assignments until the night they’re due is easily unraveled by dancing until you can’t feel your limbs—it’s unmatched.

That’s why, despite it being Wednesday (the second worst day of the week), you walk out of your last class with a skip in your step, like nothing could ruin your day.

Nothing except a man named Hanbin, that is.

After changing, you enter the practice room, ready to forget your worries. But before you can begin, you see a paper stuck on the wall beside the door—Hanbin must’ve finally put together the choreo for the solo and duet performances for an upcoming recital for some event on campus (truthfully, you can't be bothered to remember all the details, that's Hanbin's job), and decided on who’d best fit the roles. You’re a little late, so it’s just you who curiously shuffles over to take a look.

Seeing your name under Duet makes you smile until you read your counterpart's name. Gunwook Park.

You find a spot to sink to the floor in the back of the room. Suddenly, you’ve changed your perspective on dancing; it’s the worst thing to happen to you. You regret ever discovering this useless passion of yours, who even needs passions in this economy?!

Hanbin would tell you otherwise, but you believe that you have pretty good ideas.

You’d tried to take an easier route and complain to Hanbin that you absolutely could not work with Gunwook for a duet. But he was adamant about not making any alterations at this point, at least not just because you don’t like Gunwook—what a traitor, what happened to friendship?

Since complaining about your unfair working conditions did fuck all, you came up with a wonderful solution. You get paired with the number one person on your shit list? Just don’t show up to rehearsals. Boom, problem solved. Though it’s easier said than done; you’re a creature of habit, and the disappointment of remembering you can’t destress with dance is depressing.

And, of course, avoiding both Hanbin and Gunwook is a chore.

It’s on day four that you consider, maybe Hanbin is right sometimes. You were only successful in avoiding everything except schoolwork because college kicks everyone’s ass, and finding free time starts to feel like finding a needle in a haystack. But, maybe ditching practice when you live with the leader of your dance team wasn’t your best idea. On Sundays, both you and Hanbin usually end up being home at the same time.

And like an idiot, you forget this detail and trudge out of your room at two in the afternoon (no, you certainly did not just wake up, thank you very much) to find something acceptable to eat.

As you’re rummaging through the pantry, you hear your name called in that tone. The one where Hanbin’s voice sounds mildly shrill and a bit patronizing, the one that lets you know you’re in trouble.

Yeah, not your brightest idea—it might take over the number two spot of your top three worst ideas, followed by trying to gaslight a random group of people into believing that Play-doh is edible after you’d had a drink too many at your first college party at number one. (To be fair, you did not expect a twenty-something-year-old man to have Play-Doh on hand and tell you to prove it. Yes, you tried. You vomited on the guy’s shoes.)

Rigidly, you slowly turn to face Hanbin, who has a terse smile on his face.

“...Yes?”

“I thought maybe you hadn’t shown up to rehearsals because you weren’t feeling well, but yesterday, Gunwook told me every time he spotted you on campus, you naruto-ran away.”

“Uh,” you fake cough into your elbow, “Must’ve been someone that looks like me? ‘Cause I have been feeling kind of under the we—”

You shriek and make a run for it when Hanbin stomps over with that creepy hamster puppet you’d given him as a gag gift last year in hand. Eventually, you get cornered and get a creepy hamster puppet thrown in your face. “You can’t just ditch practice because you have some petty one-sided rivalry—or whatever it is—with Gunwook. You’re risking embarrassing the whole team! What are you planning to do, just not learn the choreography?”

“You know it's not a rivalry...” You grumble.

“You’re being childish,” Hanbin sighs, “I’ve already told you that whatever your deal is with Gunwook is some misunderstanding, he’s a sweet guy.”

“Yeah, whatever.” You huff, probably not helping the childish accusation. You’re tired of hearing that about what a good guy Gunwook appears to be because you know what you heard.

Without another word, you stomp off to your room.

If you had any hopes of getting out of going to rehearsal again, they’re promptly stomped on by Hanbin waiting outside of your class when you trudge out.

“Really?” You groan, and walk over to your supposed friend, “You don’t need to escort me.”

“I think I do,” Hanbin crosses his arms, fixing you with a look, like he knows you better than yourself… okay, he does ninety percent of the time, but that doesn’t mean he can act like it. “I’m pretty sure I saw you ready to head in the wrong direction before you saw me.” He says before grabbing your arm and pulling you down the hall.

“I don’t even get what your deal is with Gunwook,” Hanbin finally says when you’re about halfway to the studio, “I know you said you heard him say something… unsavory, but that just doesn’t sound like him at all. I think you should talk to him, I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding.”

“I know what I heard, Bin…”

“I’m not saying you didn’t hear what you heard, but maybe there’s some missing context.”

You try to consider Hanbin’s words, even as you absentmindedly head into the changing rooms, and reluctantly shuffle into the practice room afterward, you truly do. 

But all the rational thinking and breathing techniques in the world cannot quell your ire when you see Gunwook. Calmly walking over and refraining from saying anything uncouth is a true test of mental strength—one that you are quite afraid of failing.

“Hey—” Gunwook rises from his spot in the corner of the practice room to greet you.

“Let’s get started.” You blurt out, aware of how cold and biting your dismissal comes off. To be fair, Hanbin didn’t tell you to be particularly nice, he just insisted you show up.

“Oh, right,” Gunwook’s expression wilts, but he clears his throat and plasters a polite smile on his face. “I’m sure Hanbin already let you know he wouldn’t be here to help us out today—he’s helping Natty with her solo. I’ve got the choreo down, so I should be able to guide you if needed.”

“I practiced at home.”  You did. A little bit, it wasn’t easy with the limited space in your cramped—ahem, homey apartment. But practicing a duet by yourself, then giving up after stubbing your toe on every fucking piece of furniture in your home, and practicing it with your duet partner are two different things.

“Oh, that’s good… um, I’ll start the music.”

Your name is followed by an exasperated sigh. With reluctance—because your phone’s home screen is just that interesting—you glance up from your phone, to see Gunwook eyeing you through the mirror. 

“Could we try to get through the routine? Maybe without you scratching me this time?” Gunwook gnaws at his bottom lip, sweat beading at his temple. He’s actually been hard at work, practicing while you sat in the corner of the room—essentially sentenced to a time-out after accidentally scratching Gunwook every time you tried to run through the routine with him. Accidentally.

You can’t help the frown that sets on your lips. Only to you, it seems, Gunwook Park is an enigma. When he first joined the team, he seemed nice, and he wasn’t much younger than you, you just never got the chance to properly talk to him. However, now you never want to speak to him, the fact that you have to work so closely with him is nauseating.

Tampering down all the ugly word vomit bubbling in your throat, you mentally repeat Hanbin’s words from yesterday to yourself, ‘You’re risking embarrassing the whole team’. Not only do you find most of your teammates to be more than bearable, but you also you can’t bomb a performance because you were too petty to practice the choreography, so, even though the thought of being so close to Gunwook—having to touch him makes you full body cringe, you suck it up.

“Sure.”

Begrudgingly, you get into position and wait for your cue. As the music starts up for what feels like the billionth time that evening, you miss the many nervous glances cast your way.

Succeedingly, you manage to not cause any more bodily harm, even when you have no choice but to get close enough to Gunwook to the point you cannot look anywhere but into his eyes. The urge to flee strikes, as unease among other odd emotions you will not address churn in your gut, but you deal with it (read: ignore it).

You manage to run through the routine once, then again, and again, and again, until your limbs feel like gelatin and you have no option but to sprawl out on the floor. It occurs to you how much you missed this feeling, you can barely believe you let your pettiness get in the way of it.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

Turning your head to the side, there’s Gunwook, also sprawled out beside you. Huh, you don’t even have the negative energy within you to loathe his presence in the moment.

“You just did. But you can ask one more thing.”

A goofy grin splits Gunwook’s lips before he turns his head back to face the ceiling, expression shifting a little more seriously. “Did I… was there something that I like did? Or said to upset you?”

Oh. Right. So, you haven’t forgotten your distaste for Gunwook. You feel your good mood sour, as you scoff, and force yourself to finally sit up—your limbs are very much protesting, screaming at you, matter of fact, but fuck them. And fuck Gunwook Park. “Seriously?”

You glance over your shoulder, Gunwook, who sat up shortly after you, only blinks at you curiously, as though he hasn’t got a clue.

“You really don’t know? Do you just talk shit about everyone and that’s why you can’t seem to remember me?”

“What…?” Gunwook’s brows furrow, “What are you talking about?”

“I heard you." You push yourself up off the ground, fixing Gunwook with an exasperated look, "After our performance at orientation in August, you had a lot to say about my skill, and how ridiculous I looked.”

“I don't…?” You watch as the confusion and then the recognition passes over Gunwook’s features, “No, I—shit,” he hangs his head with a groan, which doesn’t serve to dissipate any of your arising confusion. “That wasn’t about you.”

“I heard you say my name, don’t bullshit me.”

“I—okay, I definitely said your name, but it seriously wasn’t about you. There was this, um, character in a film my roommate watched for some project; they were supposed to be a dancer, but they were godawful. I was talking about the character, and I didn’t even think about how they had the same name as you, or about how loudly I was talking about that.”

“Oh,” you say, rather intelligently. You consider the thought that he could be lying, but he looks at you with such earnestness, remorse practically pooling in his eyes, you can’t even entertain the thought for more than a moment.

“Yeah, oh. I’m sorry you thought I was talking about you…”

“No, I’m sorry,” you quietly sit back down, anger gone as quick as it arose, and flop back on the floor with a sigh. Having your entire view of Gunwook Park debunked in a mere minute was not on tonight’s bingo card.

“I should’ve—Hanbin kept telling me it was probably a misunderstanding and to confront you, but I just stewed in my misguided hatred. God, Hanbin’s going to be insufferable once I tell him he was right all along.”

Gunwook huffs a laugh, “I’m glad we sorted this out, finally. Um, I guess we should wrap up for tonight since it’s getting late. Can I walk you home?”

“Don’t you live on campus? You don’t have to walk me home if you just have to walk back here…”

“It’s fine!” Gunwook smiles, oddly enthusiastic. Weird, personally, you dread having to walk home after practice. “I want to, and I guess now we can get to know each other? Now that you don’t hate me.”

“Yeah… okay, I’ll grab my stuff.” You sit back up again, as much as you’d like to become one with the floor.

“Okay, cool.”

“Cool.” you can’t help but smile, seeing the wide grin on Gunwook’s face. You’re going to choose to believe the warmth in your cheeks is because you’re still cooling off from rehearsing.

The idea of rehearsing is a lot more palatable now that you don’t despise your duet partner. The actual rehearsals aren’t too bad either… they’re actually kind of enjoyable.

Hanbin was, in fact, very insufferable when you spilled everything that’d happened that day to him. He’d been waiting up for you, sitting on the armchair in your living room, and nearly gave you a heart attack when he flicked on the lamp beside him; like he was your mother and he’d caught you sneaking back in the house.

“Hey, how was class?” Gunwook has taken to waiting for you outside your classes on rehearsal days, you even say hi to each other when you see the other on campus, and maybe talk if you’re not busy.

“Don’t get me started…” you groan, “I have no idea what my professor was on about today, but I thought his jaw was going to unhinge before he finally stopped talking.”

Gunwook chuckles, and grabs your bag from you, cradling it to his chest. “I thought I told you I could carry my bag myself?”

“And I told you that you could try to take it back.” 

You did try, and you decided you do not like freakishly strong guys. “Whatever… what about you? How was your class?”

“Didn’t go today…” Gunwook trails off, glancing down at your linked arms. A habit after losing Hanbin in crowds one too many times. It feels nice with Gunwook, though. “Um, my roommate—” he clears his throat before he continues looking forward, revealing his red ears. Oh, that’s cute.

“He kept me up late ‘cause he needed help with his film project that he’s been procrastinating. I ended up waking up at like one-thirty…”

“Really? So, you just came straight here after waking up?” You tsk, choosing to look away from his pouted lips for your sake. “Did you even eat? Let’s stop by this café a few blocks away before we rehearse. It opened last month, Hanbin and I were supposed to check it out, but I think he forgot.”

You’re not blind, of course, Gunwook is, well, objectively attractive (subjectively as well, perchance). With much coaxing, you might’ve been able to admit it a week ago when you hated him. But, his attractiveness is far too illuminated when you’re a mere inches from his face; faced with his distractingly pretty brown eyes, and rosy cheeks. Oh God, he’s cute. He’s so fucking cute, and you are so fucking screwed.

Before you can say something so embarrassing you’d have to migrate to another country and assume another identity, you take the initiative to part from Gunwook, carefully backing away, and clearing your throat, “Should we take a break?”

Except that doesn’t even help, because when you sink to the floor to watch YouTube, Gunwook is beside you, smushed at your side to watch whatever you’re watching. You can’t even remember what video you tapped on, but apparently, you’re seven minutes into a video when Gunwook reaches over to pause it.

“Hey, um, one of my friends—his name’s Junhyeon, his frat, Zeta Rho Xi is having a party this weekend. He kinda roped me into going, and I was just wondering if you were free…? I would, um, it’d be cool if you could stop by.”

Parties haven’t been your thing for a long time; you tried to party freshman year, since people seemed to go on about the college parties. You just couldn’t get super into it, plus only things like the Play-Doh incident came from parties… and that’s why you’re not sure why you say, “Yeah, no, I should be free. I’ll check it out.”

You aren't even free, you have an essay you’ve written approximately two sentences for that happens to be due Monday. But the smile on Gunwook’s face makes agreeing feel like the right choice.

Immediately upon stepping inside, you remember why you hate parties. One, you lose Hanbin instantly. Two, trying to push through a bunch of sweaty, drunk people (who are surprisingly sturdy) is a pain in the ass. And three, it’s loud, you already feel like you need a drink. Or maybe three.

You manage to make it to a mostly empty kitchen, and at that point, you’ve lost any motivation to go search for Hanbin or even Gunwook. For the most part, you’ve given up caring about being ‘lame’, so, you’re perfectly content sitting in the kitchen on your phone at a party while sipping on possibly the worst quality beer you’ve tasted in your twenty years of life.

It’s maybe thirty minutes until you finally look up from your phone at the call of your name over the ear-damaging volume of music.

Hanbin stumbles into the kitchen, using Gunwook as support. You can make out your friend’s flushed cheeks, even in the dim lighting, you have no idea how he’s gotten drunk so fast. “There you are! I found Gunwookie, it looked like he was waitin’ around for you, ‘cause he was just in a corner lookin’ around… didn’t you guys exchange numbers?”

“I already told you I forgot to ask…” Gunwook mumbles.

“Oh,” Hanbin lets go of Gunwook to slide up beside you, “Hey, did you know that, um—” Gunwook rushes over to slap a hand over Hanbin’s mouth, are they both drunk? It’s more difficult to tell with Gunwook, his cheeks always look pink…

Hanbin removes Gunwook’s hand with a glare, “Don’t interrupt me,” he chides, as sternly as he can while drunk. “Anyway, ‘m so glad you two figured things out. I hope Gunwook tells you about his massive heart boner for you.”

Hanbin makes it probably ten times worse by continuing, “He’s—he’s had such a big crush on you since like, um, since like the millisecond he joined the team. But this whole time you thought he was mean to you, isn’t that silly?”

What isn’t silly is the look on Gunwook’s face, he looks positively mortified.

“...Okay, Bin, I think you’re ready to go home already,” you smile tersely, side-stepping the topic for now, maybe forever actually. “Gunwook, can you help me with him?” You ignore Hanbin’s slurred protests. It must take a moment for Gunwook to recoup before he’s at Hanbin’s other side, helping you pull the drunkard up.

You avoid looking in Gunwook’s direction, despite the fact you can feel him burning holes into the side of your head. Of course, there’s no avoiding the conversation—inevitably, you’re going to have to talk to Gunwook about what Hanbin said, but maybe you can get out of it tonight…?

It’s not that you’re particularly afraid… okay, well, you are, except it’s just unnecessary anxiety. Now you feel better about admitting to yourself that you’re interested in Gunwook. But what if Hanbin’s drunk rambling was just drunk rambling, and it was all nonsense? Well, Gunwook probably wouldn’t seem so nervous if that were the case, but maybe he’s nervous because he just doesn’t want you to be under the impression that he—

“Oh, hey, I’ve been looking everywhere for Hanbin…”

“Oh, Hao, hey.” you mentally thank Hao for unknowingly rescuing you from spiraling into your annoyingly irrational train of thought.

“Do you want me to take him off your hands? We were planning to ditch before he disappeared.”

Okay, time to put on your big person pants and be an adult. “Yeah, thanks.” Handing Hanbin off is pretty easy, the man completely unbothered that he’s thrown two of his protégés for a loop (he’ll probably feel a lot worse about it tomorrow, especially when he’s hungover). What’s less easy, is being left with Gunwook.

“Well, since Hanbin aired everything out…”

“Right, yeah. We should talk, maybe outside?”

Gunwook nods, leading the way to the back door, you follow closely behind him. As not to lose him in the clusters of people, and maybe just because you want to, you grab onto his arm.

Outside, your eardrums thank you for finally getting out of there, though your nervous heart is another story, rattling against your ribcage incessantly. Warily, you avoid looking at Gunwook, distancing yourself a good few feet away from him, “So…”

“I like you,” Gunwook blurts as if he won’t get another chance to say so, “like a lot. I initially joined the team ‘cause of you actually, I hadn’t even danced since middle school. But you were so—watching you on stage at orientation felt so… enchanting.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks at Gunwook’s flattery, and he only continues, “I thought you were perfect, so obviously I immediately signed up for the dance team, even though I wasn’t even sure if I was any good at it anymore, just so I could have an excuse to see you. Only for me to never gain the courage to even talk to you…” Staring at the wooden planks of the porch beneath your feet, you see Gunwook’s beaten-up Converse come into view, urging you to look up again.

“Gunwook, I—”

“It’s okay if you don’t feel anything like that for me, I just can’t let the what-ifs get in the way of me trying anymore.” Oh, how could you not feel something for him? Surely anyone could fall for him just by staring into his pretty brown eyes.

The weird feeling in your gut, which must be those butterflies people talk about, amplifies, you think you’d have to be a fool if you didn’t feel something for Gunwook Park. “I don’t… not feel something,” you hastily avert your gaze, “I guess I’m not entirely sure what it is, but I am interested in you. I, um, would be open to exploring that.”

“I understand—wait, you… really?”

You look up in time to see the overjoyed grin split Gunwook’s lips. It’s infectious, you can’t help but mirror his smile, laugh tumbling past your lips, “Yes, you dork. You better sweep me off my feet.”  You playfully shove at his shoulder.

“I will,” Gunwook grabs your wrist before you drop your arm, thumbing at the inside of it, “are you free tomorrow?”

“I…” You aren’t free, remember that pesky essay of yours? “Yeah, I am.” Oh, well, you suppose it can wait; likely until tomorrow night, when you finally open your laptop at eleven-thirty at night, when it happens to be due at midnight. You happen to work great under pressure!

“Perfect, can I pick you up at your place at two?”

“Sure, are you gonna remember to ask for my number this time, though?” You tease, making a ‘give me’ motion with your free hand.

Gunwook’s cheeks somehow get pinker, as he finally lets go of your wrist and retrieves his phone from his pocket, handing it over with the new contact screen open. Quickly, you type in your number and then your name, cheekily adding a heart beside it.

“Can I walk you home? Or, uh, if you wanted to go back to the party, that’s fine too…”

“Nah,” you’d rather do just about anything else than go back into that mess, you’ve had enough parties for the rest of your college life, “I’m pretty tired, and I have a super important date with a great guy tomorrow.”

With a coy smile to match Gunwook’s shy one, you cozy up to his side and link arms with him, “Let’s go?”

You’d still consider dancing to be a great way to unwind—still one of your favorites, it's just been demoted to second place.

Nothing ebbs away your stress like Gunwook popping into your room with your favorite food after you’ve been staring at your laptop screen for hours as if you were hoping your assignments would finish themselves. Or his hugs—always so warm, it’s like hugging an oversized stuffed bear. Or just… him.

Unrivaled after several years, dancing has finally met its match: Gunwook Park.

[ezraholmes]

pirate!schlatt x crew!nurse!reader

chapter 1

yipeee wrote a chapter, this is mainly charcater introduction but idk more interesting than just that I hope!

if you haven’t already read the prologue here

word count : 1k ish

cw: mention of injury, mention of death

8 years later, you find yourself still on board the mighty ship you boarded all those years ago. You had grown and matured with the ship that now sported a fair few scratches and missed a plank or too up on deck. The important bit was that you made it, and no longer concealed, you were a pirate! Or as close to being one as a woman could get, you were resident doctor on board the chuckler, a small room beneath deck filled with makeshift beds and vials of medicinal potions; the room was yours, although many a day you spent sharing with unwell pirates. You sat on the edge of one of the crates that formed a bed. Applying some concoction of Caribbean amenities onto a nasty wound upon the boatswains right foot. A wedge of golden light enlarged as the decrepit door of the dimly lit room was pushed further open. Your eyes stayed on your patient, having learned your lesson after a few unfortunate incidents. A humm left your lips, your way of enquiring to your mystery guest. Your question was answered by a firm hand on your shoulder, followed by Schlatt's gruff voice: ‘You almost done?’ Slicing through the mild silence as if with a knife, his violent demeanour was ever present. ‘Yeah. Just let me dress the wound,’ you replied, your voice soft as ever. You reached for the bandage from the crate to your left. Gently stretch it out before wrapping it several times around the foot before you. You could feel Schlatt's eyes on you, him observing how tender and careful you were with every movement. His eyes were following you as if you were the brightest thing in the room, as if you cast everything else into shadow. You slit the end of the bandage and fastened it tight before helping the boatswain to his feet and assisting him out the door. You waved him out of the room and closed the door behind him, turning then to light the candle sitting by your bed. Sitting down next to your newly lit candle, legs dangling from the side of your raised bed, sheets crinkled and faded from years of use. Only then did you look st schlatt, giving him your full attention. He looked down at you, seemingly taking his time choosing his words but in truth admiring the sparkle in your eye and the way you looked at him as if you were equals. As if he wasn’t a cutthroat pirate and you weren’t a well-informed medic. ‘Captain thinks there's a ship up ahead, he says, briefing in 10’ It saddened you the way he referred to his own father with such formality. A ship up ahead meant a raid, you sighed. As much as you enjoyed the pirate life, you knew how Schlatt would throw himself into battles. He would fight to the end. Thankfully, that ‘end’ hadn’t yet been his end. You and Schlatt had grown even closer over your years at sea, a combination of your already-formed bond and the fact that everyone else on the ship was a good few years older, well into their 30’s. He knew how much you despised the wholeheartedness he applied to battle; he knew you spent their time at battle sitting worriedly on your bunk waiting, hoping for his return. This was probably the only reason he hadn’t yet come a cropper. Saving himself for you. He was the only reason you joined this ruddy ship, and he wouldn’t leave you here alone. 

Minutes later, Schlatt broke the silence that had overcome the both of you. ‘We better go,’ he offered you a hand, and he helped lever you out of your bed. Your hands lingered in each other's grasp a little longer than anticipated before falling back to their owners sides. He followed you out of the room, unbeknownst to you, his hand hovering just off the small of your back as you made your way up the ship's rickety stairs and up onto the top deck. The fresh sea air is a relief to your lungs after the damp, smelly interior or the ocean vessel. You let Schlatt take the lead, and you followed him to the gathering of men around the helm of the ship. A man you knew as Zame passed schlatt a tankard of rum, watching you almost judgingly as you seated yourself atop an empty barrel. Schlatt stood himself behind you, a protective hand on your shoulder. Being the only female on a ship of middle-aged men led to more than your fair share of sexual advances, and Schlatt knew how much you disliked the attention. He acted as somewhat of a guardian angel with the way he shot angry glares at anyone looking your way, even a little too long. The captain stood on the raised platform of the ships wheel and explained the vague plan. Himself Schlatt and Gart were to be the front line of attack, and so on and so forth. Our pirates were skilled, usually taking our whole ship with only one or two casualties and very rarely fatalities; as far as you were aware, your ship was known ocean wide. Yet still, before any raid or attack, there were the nerves bouncing around your head and making light in your stomach. The uneasy feeling knowing the possibility of schlatts demise. In your head, you were friends, but you’d been devoid of social norms for the last 8 years, not having seen the proper functions of love interests and feelings. Not being taught the difference and how friends acted. Schlatt was always touchy with you, feeling the need to always have some part of himself connected to you when in your general vicinity, and vice versa. You hadn’t yet realised the strength of your relationship, and yet with every clash of swords, you feared the end of it.

You could see the other ship drawing nearer, and with a soft exchange of words, you were sent back to your room to cross your fingers and wait for your friends return. 

<-previous part ||

Ummm yipeee, I have an idea for plot so just hold tight :)

kinda new to posting on here so lmk if you enjoyed this by rebloging or wtv 🫶

taglist: @azzypzazzy (just ask to be added or removed)

[ssuperficialspacecadett]

i headcannon that benny and reader blast rihanna while closing the gym. it becomes a tradition that they blast music and dance around while closing. it gets to the point that the boys start wondering why benny keeps being late to their hangouts after his work. at some point they catch benny blowing his back out and reader recording and laughing at benny

Benny, Better Have My Money

Chapter Five | Drabble for the Through the Scope series | Chapter Six

*best read in between chapter 5 & 6*

Rating: IDK ?? everyone ??

Word Count: 1029

TW: tooth rotting friend fluff w/ Benny & some ass throwing ?!?!

Notes: anon, i wish i could kiss that beautiful brain of yours for thinking of this absolutely fucking hilarious scene thats now 100% canon in the through the scope series to me HAHAHA !! i hope i did some justice to your brilliant idea & thank u so so much for submitting it ((: this one is for u ! happy reading <3

*i wrote this w/o looking over it because the idea was just to good so if you see any grammatical errors.. no you dont*

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Closing up after a long shift was never fun. Well, it was never fun until you started working for Benny. After the last guests were ushered out and the doors were locked, you were put in charge of the gyms music. It was only fair since Benny had free reign during operating hours after all. Plus, your taste in music wasn’t exactly family friendly. 

“Alright, what are we feeling this evening? Lady Gaga? Megan Thee Stallion? Doja Cat? Maybe some Rico Nasty? What artist really says ‘I want to clean this whole gym and look hot while doing it’ to you?” 

“The evening song choices are all yours. I’m way too tired to even think about makin’ another decision right now.”

“Well,” You say as you start scrolling through artists on his phone to find one that will bring the energy that both of you need to get this done. “If you’re so tired, why are you going out with the guys after this?” 

“You know that doesn’t count.” He’s currently working his way through cloroxing all the workout benches and weights. “The only decision I have to make when I’m there is if I want another drink or not and that's easy. Of course I want another fuckin’ drink!” 

“Touché,” You laugh as you find the perfect playlist for the evening. “Let’s get this cleaning party started!” 

Rhianna’s Bitch Better Have My Money starts blasting at full volume from the gym's speakers as you make your way over to the basket full of used towels. 

Bitch, better have my money

Y’all should know me well enough

Bitch, better have my money

Please don’t call me on my bluff

Pay me what you owe me

“Oh fuck yeah! I love Rhianna!” He yells as he turns to you. 

You pull out a towel, point to him from across the gym, and start swinging it over your head as you lip sync to the song playing. 

Kamikaze if you think that you gon’ knock me of the top

Shit, your wife in the back seat of my brand new foreign car

Don’t act like you forgot

I call the shot, shot, shots.

Benny makes finger guns and pretends to fire them at you on each beat. “Sing it, girl!”

The two of you run dramatically to each other in the middle of the gym and start dancing like crazed animals. Each of your tasks having been long forgotten as soon as the music started. You both know by now that neither one of you will be leaving anytime soon.

***

“Where the fuck is your brother, Will?” Pope huffs.

Frankie, Pope, and Will have all been waiting at their table for Benny to show up for 45 minutes now. They turned the waitress away three times before they caved and ordered a round for themselves. Hoping that a light buzz would satiate them.

“I’ve been texting him, but he’s not answerin’!” Will explains. “His location says that he’s still at the gym.” He turns his phone screen over to show the others.

“This is the third time this week that he’s been late. He’s never taken this long to close up before.” Frankie adds. 

Pope tips his almost empty beer bottle in his direction and nods. “Fuck this. Finish y’alls drinks and let's go pay him a visit.”

They all do as Pope orders and make their way out of the bar. As they cross the street and enter the gym’s parking lot they see both yours and Benny’s cars in the same spots that they were in this morning. All of the lights in the building are still on as well. 

“Do y’all hear that?” Frankie asks the men walking next to him. “It sounds like -”

“Rhianna?” Pope says curiously. 

All three of them walk up to the gym doors and the sight that greets them will be burned into each and every one of their minds for all eternity. 

***

You’re currently holding onto one of the corner poles from the boxing ring with both hands and trying to explain to Benny how to shake his ass.

“Move your hips to the right, then the left, then shimmy down, and use your knees to help you bring your ass up and down!” You’re winded from both teaching your lesson and singing with Benny for almost an hour straight. It also doesn’t help that you’re trying to yell instructions over Rhianna’s S&M song.

“I think I got it now! Let me try!” 

He helps you down so he can climb up and get into position. You pick up your towel and phone off a nearby workout bench. There is no way that you aren’t going to document this moment.

‘Cause I may be bad, but I’m perfectly good at it

Sex in the air, I don’t care, I love the smell of it

Stick and stone may break my bones

“But chains and whips excite me!” You and Benny sing together.

You are struggling to hold your phone still as you record because you can’t stop laughing. Benny is throwing everything, and you mean everything, into his one man performance on the edge of the boxing ring. He definitely paid attention to what you showed him. Even put his own little twist on it by bringing his right hand back to slap his ass. You can’t help but get swept away in it all and you start hitting him in the ass with your towel as well.

“Let’s go, Benny! Shake that shit for me!” Your lungs threaten to burst from over exhaustion. 

S-S-S&M-M-M

S-S-S&M-M-M

Oh, I love the feeling you bring to me

Oh, you turn me on

***

“Should we tell them we are here?” Will ask hesitantly, still not entirely sure what he’s watching.

“I’m not even sure what we would say if we told them.” Frankie quips as he wishes you would get back up and dance again. “Pope?”

He looks to his left and sees him pulling up your contact information. “Let’s tell them that their audience wants an encore.” Pope presses ‘call’ and puts the phone to his ear with a devious grin.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

{tag list: @cutesyscreenname @rsquared31 @smol-beb @bitchwitch1981 @avastrasposts @hoeslingz @saltybutteredtoast @javicstories @c-justhere @pimosworld @modernperplexity @beboldbebravethings @modernperplexity  @mxtokko  @moonliqhtszn @tanzthompson @megcads @myloveistoolittle @casa-boiardi @jitterbugs927 @partyofone3413 @pedrit0-pascalit0 }

[hearts-hunger]

sweet peach || sam kiszka x reader

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Summary: Sometimes, you want special attention from Sam. He reminds you that all you have to do is ask.

Pairings: Sam Kiszka x Reader | Genres: fluff, angst, emotional hurt/comfort | Word Count: 3k | Chapter Warnings: none, I think?

A/N: This is, like, Hollow To The Touch's fluffier sister fic. Idk why Sam conjures these angsty stories in me, but I sure do like writing them! I hope you like it too! ♡

“Look! Here it comes.”

You pointed to the model train that wove its way through swaths of flowers and low-hanging palms, a delighted smile on your face as it passed you by and chugged up to the miniature bridge suspended overhead. You followed it until it came back down to steam through a scale-model town complete with shops and a train station. 

“You sure do like that train, don’t you?”

You looked behind you and grinned at your boyfriend. “How could you guess?”

He chuckled, watching with you as the train continued to another part of the greenhouse. Sam had surprised you yesterday with a weekend getaway trip to the Biltmore, and you’d been telling him excitedly about the model train exhibit in the greenhouse since you’d gotten in the car.

“Isn’t it gorgeous in here?” you asked, looking at a display of lovely pink and orange orchids. 

He hummed in agreement. “Hey,” he said, gesturing to the small sign in the display. “These are your special orchids, honey.”

You smiled, seeing that the sign read peach dendrobium orchid. Sam had called you “peach” since your first date where you’d worn a soft pink dress, and the nickname had stuck.

“They are my special orchids, aren’t they?” you said happily. You glanced at the camera that rested against his chest, wondering if he’d offer to take a picture of you with the orchids, but he gave the flowers one last look and headed on to look at a different display.

You bit the inside of your cheek. You knew it wasn’t fair, but you didn’t want to have to ask him to take your picture; you wanted him to do it because he wanted to do it.

Pushing the thought aside, you joined him at the model greenhouse.

“There’s us,” he said. He looked over your shoulder. “And I think your train’s coming back.”

You watched the little tunnel to your right until the train came through.

“That’s my dream job, I think,” you said.

He smiled. “What, model trains?”

“Yeah,” you said, following the train through the flowers to the next exhibit. “It would be so fun to build all this stuff and set the track up, don’t you think?”

“I think it would drive me crazy to set up all this little stuff,” he said, but he wasn’t unkind. “I’m glad you like it, though. We should get a model train for your Christmas village this year.”

You smiled up at him. “Could we?”

He shrugged. “Sure. You’ll just have to keep Josh from staging train robberies with all your little village people.”

You laughed and went to take his hand. Just as your fingers glanced his, though, he took his camera and snapped a few pictures of the greenhouse roof through a spray of palm fronds.

You swallowed another pang of hurt and put your hands in your dress pockets, following him as he continued down the brick path through the greenhouse that led out to the garden.

Sam wasn’t the most overtly lovey-dovey boyfriend, that much was just a fact. You’d known it going in, and you’d convinced yourself it wasn’t that big of a deal. Most of the time, it wasn’t — you knew that he loved you, and he showed you as much as he told you. He was patient and kind and gentle with you all the time. He remembered little things you told him, things even you’d forgotten you’d mentioned to him. He was forever finding little ways to serve you, from carrying your bags to getting you coffee to everything in between, and he was the Olympic world champion of writing little love notes and leaving them where you’d be sure to find them throughout the day. He loved you, and there was no way you could ever doubt it.

But, as far as public displays of affection went, they just weren’t his thing. He preferred not to kiss in public, and hand-holding was usually met with a sort of willing indifference. He didn’t really think to take pictures of you when you were out and about, and you always had a tough time getting him to dance with you at parties. You’d learned to be okay without those things; besides, when you were home and you gave him even the slightest bit of prompting, he’d shower you with kisses and affectionate touches and spontaneous dance parties until you thought your heart would break.

But every once in a while, when you wanted it when you weren’t at home and you wanted him to start it, it would hurt. You guessed today was one of those days.

You trailed behind him out in the garden, watching the butterflies drift from flower to flower. In the shade of the long, vine-covered pergola a few paces away, a couple giggled and took a selfie as he kissed her cheek.

“Hey, peach.”

You tore your gaze away from the couple, trying to ignore the jealousy gnawing at you. “Yes?”

Sam beckoned you over, and your heart jumped for a moment; you practically skipped to his side and waited for him to take your hand or put his arm around your shoulder or something.

He nodded to the huge, wine-colored tulip amid a few pink ones. 

“Can you hold that purple one closer to the pink ones?” he asked, hunkering down and getting his camera ready.

Your heart dropped to your shoes, again. “Oh. Uh, sure.” 

You did as he said, holding the flower just so in order for him to get the perfect picture. Photography had become a hobby of his lately, especially with his fancy new film camera, and you usually enjoyed indulging his desire to get a very specific shot. Today, though, you felt embarrassed to be standing awkwardly, holding a flower for your boyfriend who didn’t even care about you.

You grimaced. That last thought had been uncharitable, and you knew it wasn’t true. Still, you couldn’t ignore the bitterness and hurt that was welling inside you with an alarming quickness.

“Perfect,” he said, grinning up at you. “Thanks, peach.”

You managed a tight smile. “You’re welcome, honey.”

Sam tried to engage you in conversation as you meandered through the garden, but you couldn’t quite muster up any enthusiasm for talking.

“It’s a great day for strolling through a garden, huh?”

“Mmh.”

“I’m glad I’m spending this beautiful sunny day with you.”

“Right.”

“I think we should buy the Biltmore and have a baby for every bedroom, what do you think?”

“Okay.” You registered what he’d said a second too late. “Wait, what?”

He gave you a slightly worried smile, cocking his head at you as if looking at you from a different angle would reveal something.

“You okay, peach?” he asked gently.

You wilted, knowing you were being rude. “Yes. I’m sorry I wasn’t listening.”

“That’s alright, honey.” He held the waist-high gate open for you as you walked to another part of the grounds. “We can go back to the hotel for a power nap or something. Or go do that wine tasting thing in the village if you’re tired of just walking around.”

“I don’t care what we do,” you said, and you smiled to soften it. “Really. I’ll do whatever you want to do.”

He frowned. “But it’s your vacation.” He ducked under a low-hanging willow branch. “You’re supposed to be the one calling the shots.”

You sighed. If that was true, Sam would be smothering you in kisses and telling every person you walked by how much he loved you and how beautiful you were.

“I hear you sighing, peach,” he said. He unfolded his map of the grounds and tried to figure out where you were. “Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to twenty-questions it out of you?”

“Not twenty questions,” you said, embarrassed.

“No?” He peered over the map and through the winding shrub garden. “Glad to hear it. So, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you lied. “Sometimes I just like sighing.” You sighed again to prove your point.

He laughed. “Okay.” He put his map away and looked back at you.

“Would you like to go to the azalea garden or the Italian garden?” he asked. “Or somewhere else, keeping in mind that I am perfectly happy to go anywhere you want?”

You felt a sharp sting of guilt at how petulant you’d been acting. Sam didn’t deserve for you to be moody, especially not on a trip he’d planned for you, and certainly not when he’d never set the expectations you were upset with him for not meeting.

“I’d like to go to the Italian gardens,” you said meekly. “Please.”

He smiled and gave a grand, theatrical gesture to his left. “Right this way, my lady.”

You walked close to each other as you set a leisurely pace for the Italian garden, and you twisted your fingers together to keep from reaching out and taking his hand. You didn't think he wouldn’t mind if you did, but you didn't like to want things from him that he didn't want from you. You twisted the worn pearl ring he’d gotten you at an antique store forever ago around and around on your finger.

You came through the opening in the hedgerow to the long stretch of ponds lush with water lilies. Little statues were interspersed between the ponds, and you took your time wandering around to see the flowers and the koi fish that swam among their roots.

When you came near to the house, Sam stopped at a statue of a woman and a child dancing with flowers in their hair. The woman was nude from the waist up, one hand extended upwards in her dance, the other holding on to the child’s hand.

“It’s called ‘The Dancing Lesson’,” Sam told you. “Very ‘Flower Power’, don’t you think?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, I’m sure your song is what the artist had in mind.”

He smiled, pleased he’d amused you with his joke. He raised his camera and took his time getting the picture he wanted.

“She’s beautiful,” he said, and your heart twisted with foolish jealousy. When he reached out to touch the statue, you turned and walked up the steps to the library terrace a few feet away.

“Peach, wait!”

You ignored him. You didn’t want to turn back and see him touching the statue and taking pictures of it and saying how beautiful it was. You didn’t want to feel jealous over a stupid statue, of all things.

“Peach, honey, hold on.”

Sam caught up to you and took your wrist in a gentle grip to make you stop. You felt a full-body shiver of delight at his touch that only made you feel worse.

“Let go,” you said, pulling out of his grip. He released you without protest.

“I’m sorry for grabbing you,” he said, thinking he’d upset you with his touch instead of his lack of it. “I wasn’t trying to be a jerk.”

Neither of you said anything for a moment. You started to twist your ring uncomfortably again.

“What’s going on, honey?” he asked. “Are you sick?”

You shook your head.

“Okay,” he said. “Are you hungry?”

Again, you shook your head. It seemed like he was having to do twenty-questions with you after all, but you hated to tell him what had gotten you so upset when it wasn’t really his fault.

He started to say something else, but a tour group came out of the double doors that led from the library out to the shaded terrace. He gently steered you out of their way and found a bench in the far corner, pulling you to sit with him.

“Let’s just sit here a minute and cool off, okay?” he said. 

You nodded. 

“And when you’re ready,” he said, “I’d really like for you to tell me what’s going on.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “There’s nothing going on.”

“Peach,” he said, gentle. “I don’t lie to you, so I don’t want you to lie to me. Alright?”

You nodded, but you didn’t say anything. He put his hand over yours after a moment, and you wished it hadn’t been a crisis that had drawn him to hold your hand.

“I want to fix it, honey,” he said, and you knew he meant it. “I didn’t plan this trip so we could sit here and be upset with each other. Help me figure out how to get my sweet peach back to her usual chirpy self.”

You felt the sting of tears. “Your sweet peach?”

“You are, aren’t you?” He squeezed your hand. “Come on, my sweet peach. Tell me what’s bothering you so much.”

“I want you to hold my hand,” you said, almost in a whisper.

He held your hand tighter, the one he was already holding. “Okay. What else?”

You didn’t say anything for a moment. You knew he deserved the truth, and he was being so patient with you; you looked up and met his eyes even though you wanted to run and hide.

“I want you to hold my hand in the garden,” you said, and your voice was wobbly. “When we walk together. I want you to hold my hand.”

He nodded after a moment. “Okay. I will. Have you... have you wanted me to this whole time?”

A tear rolled down your cheek, and before you could reach up and try to hide it, Sam had touched his fingers to your cheek and brushed it away.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said quietly. He tucked your hair behind your ear. “That makes me sad, peach. I wish you would have asked. You know I would have loved to hold your hand if you asked me to.”

“I know,” you said, and you hated yourself for how bitter you still felt. You raised his hand to your face; he splayed his fingers and cradled your cheek.

“So why didn’t you, honey?” he asked.

You met his eyes, desperate to make him understand.

 “I don’t want to make you do it if you don’t want to,” you said, the words spilling out of you now. “I always feel like I’m asking for things you don’t want to give, and then something like this happens and you say you’ll hold my hand and take pictures of me and whatever else I want, but isn’t it just because I asked you to do it and not because you want to do it?”

You stood, agitated and ashamed at your behavior. 

“I don’t ask because I don’t want to be needy and clingy, but...” You gave a helpless laugh and wrapped your arms around yourself. “I guess that ship has already sailed.”

He didn’t answer right away. You couldn’t bear the silence, and you walked over to the terrace railing and looked out over the mountains in the distance.

You heard him join you, and you let out a shaky breath when he brushed his thumb over the strap of your dress.

“I forgot to tell you how pretty you are in this dress,” he said. “I think you’re prettier than any of the flowers in the garden, peach.”

Your throat felt tight. “So why didn’t you take a picture of me?”

He sighed. “You know I’m not good at that kind of stuff, honey. It’s not that I don’t want to, it just... doesn’t occur to me. You have to ask.”

He tugged gently on a lock of your hair. “And I know you don’t want to have to ask. I understand that. But it doesn’t make you clingy to ask, and it doesn’t mean I don’t love you because I don’t think to do those things for you. I’m trying to be better about it, to be more... aware of it. But it’s not going to happen overnight, sweetheart.”

The guilt in his voice tore at you. You turned to face him.

“Do you have something you want to ask me?” he said, tender and sweet.

“Can you hold my hand?” you asked quietly.

A smile flickered across his face. “Of course I can.”

He took your hand in his and squeezed it gently. 

“Can I...” You wavered, even though he’d said you could ask. His smile was soft.

“Does my sweet peach want a... kiss?” he asked.

You blushed and gave a bashful nod.

“A kiss for my sweet peach, then,” he said, and gave you a gentle, chaste kiss. “See how easy it is? You don't ever have to worry that you're asking for something I won't give, honey. I promise.”

You leaned your head against his chest. “I’m sorry I didn’t just ask, Sam. I'm sorry about... all of this. It’s not fair of me to expect you to read my mind.”

“No, it isn’t,” he agreed. “But I understand why you were upset. Thank you for apologizing.”

You looked up at him. “Will you forgive me?”

“Already done.” He kissed your temple. “I promise to pay better attention and try my best to initiate more. You’ll just have to take it easy on me, okay?”

You cherished the way his touch lingered. “Okay.”

You walked together, hand in hand, back to the greenhouse and around to the azalea garden. The shrubs were in full bloom in every shade of pink, purple, and white, and birds flitted to and fro as they sang.

“Sam, look!”

Your voice was hushed as you walked carefully, quietly over to a bird’s nest in a cradle of pink flowers.

“Look how pretty they are,” you said, looking over the fragile little eggs inside.

“Peach.”

You looked over your shoulder at his voice, a smile on your face, and heard the camera shutter before you saw he was taking a picture.

“Sam,” you chided, bashful even though you were happy he’d done it.

“It’s a beautiful picture, honey,” he said. “Stay just like that.”

You did as he said, and you felt a rush of eager butterflies when he lowered the camera after he’d taken another picture. The way he was looking at you spoke more than any words, and you twined your fingers with his as you came close to him again.

“Sam?”

“Hm?”

“Will you give me a kiss?”

He grinned and did as you said, quick and sweet and gentle. “I like it when you ask me for what you want, peach. I always love to give it to you.”

You brushed his soft hair behind his ear. “I love you very much, Sam.”

He smiled, sunshine-soft and full of tenderness.

 “My sweet peach,” he said gently. “I love you very much too.”

sam taglist: @lil-twilight-glow @dannythedog

gvf taglist: @malany-gvf @spark-my-nature @eearevee @madneedshelp @demonrat444 @josh-iamyour-mama

@gvfrry @ohhey1293 @the-chaotic-cow @mountain-in-springtime @xserenax-13 @stardustjtk @brooke-gvf @weightofdreams-gvf  @jakeydoesit  @gretasmokerising @hayley1623 @doodle417 @finestoflines @brokenbellz @bowievanfleet @s0livagant @strugglingtodoshit @s-u-t @kay-jordan @gretavanfleas @jakeyboiiiiiii @gretavansteph @gretavanbitches @myownparadise96 @luverleaver @weightofdreamz @greatervanfleet @maedesculpaeusoubi @jakekiszkasbestie @pineapple-photographer @baguettejuliette @alexxavicry @levi-wants-ur-bones  @carlybubs @cowboysamkiszka @dannyandthekiszkas @jordierama @slutforsteve @starshine-wagner

sorry if tumblr didn’t tag you — it’s stupid sometimes. but i’m real thankful for you, sweet peaches! and if you’re a new bestie and would like to be added to my taglist, check out the form right here!

[cactusringed]

Etho and Bdubs' meeting | Political Intrigue AU

Putting it in a tumblr post because idk if I can commit to a full fic that'll be posted on ao3 yet so I'll share this way

Word Count: 3,715

Content Warnings: Depictions of a staged suicide

The blood moon illuminates the night sky, painting the surrounding clouds crimson. Looking up through the glass roof of the observatory tower, Bdubs knows that today is to be the day he dies. 

Even before his vision, he’d known, somehow, that the blood moon would signify his end. He was always attracted to it like a moth to a flame. Except moths aren’t aware — Bdubs doesn’t think — of the fate awaiting them once their delicate wings brush against the harbinger destined to extinguish their life. Bdubs is. He is, he believes, the most painfully aware one could be about their demise. The blood moon calls to him the way a jailer would a prisoner on death row, marching him through that last corridor towards his end. 

“No, wait, I think a siren would be a more accurate metaphor,” Bdubs muses out loud, rubbing at his scruffy stubble. He should’ve shaved. Perhaps he still can. No. He’s meant to look this way, he knows. Images of his destiny flash in his mind and Bdubs screws his eyes shut in hopes to chase them away. 

It doesn’t work. He takes one shaky breath, then another. His lungs ache. When he opens his eyes again, his vision blurs with tears that he quickly blinks away. 

After spending over a year aware of the grisly details of his own death, one would expect Bdubs to have come to peace with it. He certainly thought he did. Yet here he is, staring up at the moonlit sky for what he knows is the very last time. Fighting back not only tears but primal fear that screams at him to rattle the bars of the cage fate has sealed him in. His heart gallops in his chest with such force he swears he feels its echoes against his ribcage, all the way up to his throat. His Adam's apple bobs as he forces his gaze downwards, to the workshop he’s built in the main observatory room. To his very last painting:

A landscape - that of the country of Oblivion. He’d hoped to finish it before his death, but he supposes the least he can do is bring it to an acceptable state. He wonders how much his work will sell for. He wonders if he can ask his murderer to burn it all before they leave. 

Bdubs picks up his brushes and palette, the oil paints still wet from his last session, and works at the landscape. He paints a tree — thin, spindly, and grey — only to cover it almost immediately. He refines the cliff-face, as he’s done dozens of times, overworking the surface into a mush of dull colors and clashing textures before he throws his equipment to the ground in frustration. 

His mind’s eye always had trouble focusing on the picture he wanted to bring to life, the shapes blurring together even after spending hours studying references of Obliviate scenery — but now, with the promise of death hanging over his head, he finds it downright impossible to not only focus but also keep his every muscle from shaking. Come on, he wants to tell himself, it’s not like you’re going up on stage to give a speech. It’s just the day of your own murder. Relax.

Bdubs worries he might puke. Or cry. That would be worse. 

Another couple of breaths in and out. Shakier than before. He’s restless, to the point he knows he won’t be able to sleep no matter how late it gets, but also won’t be able to get anything useful done. What is there to do that would be useful mere hours, or potentially minutes, before his death? He could draft a will. He doesn’t know how to write one. Maybe he should’ve learned before he had to go and die, but to be entirely fair to him… no, he did know it was going to happen tonight for some time now. Ever since he knew of the blood moon. It just didn’t feel real enough to warrant any preparation, somehow. 

Bdubs looks at the unfinished landscape. The sculk that snakes through every crack of the cliff-face. It’s too flat, despite how hard he’s worked at it. It resembles the sketches and croquis he’s studied in tomes, but not the feeling they elicit in him. That infinite darkness that threatens to suck him in. He reaches for his paints, but pauses. Gazes up, instead. Up and around himself, searching for that blackness, for that feeling.

It must be here. They must be here. Whoever Oblivion sent to end him. Bdubs isn’t stupid — he knows they’ve been following him for a while. Studying his every move, habits, his entourage. Yet he’s never been able to feel the weight of their presence. Not a shadow has ever been out of place. No matter how hard Bdubs has looked, how much he tossed his room upside down. How much he’s raised his voice.

But he’s got to keep trying.

“Assassin,” Bdubs speaks in the Obliviate tongue, struggling with the soft and flat tones it forces upon him. “Show yourself. I know you’re here. You have to be. You’re here to kill me, are you not? So, show yourself. Let me see my own murderer before I die.”

Bdubs waits. He waits for what feels like a full minute, only to be met with complete, suffocating silence. His lip twitches downwards, but he keeps his chin high, and continues to speak in a register he knows to be far more proper than he prefers to speak in his native Celesti tongue. He should’ve worked harder on his lessons. 

“I’m unarmed. I don’t deal in violence. I just… wish to see your face. Then you can kill me,” Bdubs walks slowly, carefully, to the oak desk covered in loose paper and canvas pressed against one of the walls. His fingers trace over his sketchbook. He lets out a soft laugh, peering back up at the ceiling, looking out for any movement overhead. “I bet it’s not often you get to speak with your victim. I can offer you some critique. Because I have to say, the method you have planned for me… Well, it’s a bit too quiet. It’s like….” he frowns, unable to think of the right Obliviate word. “It’s boring,” he settles on the Celesti equivalent, before he switches back to the assassin’s tongue. “It will make my retainers suspect foul.”

Still nothing but silence, no matter how long Bdubs waits. A long sigh, as he lets go of held breath. He takes his sketchbook, worn at the spine, and holds it to his chest. He turns, raises a foot, intends to take a step — only to let out a roar of terror as he’s suddenly faced with a tall figure come out of nowhere. 

Bdubs stumbles back, and as quickly as he began screaming he slaps both hands over his mouth to silence himself, letting the sketchbook fall open by his feet. His back hits the edge of his desk, and he waits as the figure stands still as a statue. One, two — his eyes dart to the door, listening for guards, servants, anyone who might have heard the commotion. Only when he’s certain no one intends to ruin his moment does he drop his hands down, letting out a high pitched giggle. 

“You scared the life outta me!” he exclaims in Celesti. “I mean,” he corrects himself in quiet Obliviate: “You sca—”

The figure holds up a hand, and Bdubs stills, before letting out another, softer chuckle.

“Right. You understand Celesti. There’s no need to translate,” He insists on continuing in Obliviate, but it does save him some time.

Another stretch of silence. The figure lets their hand drop. They remain still, and though it fills the air with an awkwardness that would normally make Bdubs want to keep yapping — he instead finds himself transfixed by their presence. 

Slowly, as to ensure they don’t take it as an offensive move, Bdubs leans down to pick up his sketchbook. He opens it towards the end, and meets with a sketch of himself laid in bed, arms stretched out at his sides, small rivulets of blood dripping down. The blood moon shining in the window. He’s transfixed by it for just a moment, his throat closing up.

He flips the page. More angles of his dead body. A few sketches of gloved hands taking hold of his wrist. The fingers are slender, long — one might call them delicate, even as they hold a blade to Bdubs’ wrist. 

A study of how the blood flows. It pearls at the edge of the cut at first. There’s a few attempts at getting it quite right. The amount of blood that begins to trickle, then pour out. The way it soaks Bdubs’ sheets. 

Then, finally, the main object of interest: The assassin. His sketches become more abundant, but less clear, as he focuses on them. Looking up at the figure standing in front of him, then down at his sketches, he’s happy to note he got their build right: Tall, slender, but not too much. Loose clothes that likely hide solid muscles. That’s another thing he realises he portrayed perfectly: Their outfit. The long, dark cloak hiding the near entirety of their figure. The large hood obscuring their head alongside a scarf wrapped around the bottom half of their face. The only part that remains uncovered is their eyes and a few strands of silver hair — easy enough to remember and portray, one would think. Yet it always remained blank both in Bdubs’ memory and sketches.

The surface of some of the pages have been rubbed raw from his eraser. Some have frustrated scribbles all over the assassin’s face. Others have just been left blank. It’s endlessly frustrating, and if he doesn’t get to do anything else before he dies, he hopes to at least fix this. 

“Can I…?” Bdubs reaches for the assassin’s scarf — only for them to suddenly jerk back before his fingers can even brush against the fabric. 

It’s the first movement he’s seen from them, a proof they’re not just a hallucination. It makes him jump, and he tenses in expectation of a blow that never comes. The assassin just adjusts their scarf securely on their face before peering down at Bdubs’ sketchbook. They point. A silent question hangs in the air.

Bdubs frowns. “Can you use your words?”

“No.”

Their voice is deep, surprisingly so. It’s also rough around the edges — the way one’s voice sounds after waking up in the morning. And a bit muffled by the scarf. 

“Very clever,” Bdubs grins, reaching to shove playfully at the assassin. They move away. “It does mean you can speak though, so— Oh, how do you say in Obliviate… you know, like… gotcha? Do you guys have a word for gotcha?”

Bdubs swears he hears a quiet, near inaudible snicker from the other. 

“You can switch to Celesti. I’d rather you did, actually,” they say in perfect Celesti. Not a trace of an accent. Not even an intonation amiss, despite how much more melodic Celesti is compared to the flatness of Obliviate. Bdubs could mistake him for a native if he didn’t know better, and if it wasn’t for the paleness of his face. 

“Right, yeah, I was tryna impress you, but turns out I’m real rusty. But hey, I was doing well enough, yeah? Since you came down from your little hidey hole?”

Silence. They’re still pointing. 

“...So, uh, what’d you want my sketchbook for?”

The silence stretches, until the assassin seemingly remembers it’s their turn to speak. “I want to see.”

Bdubs raises a brow. “Not the most eloquent sort, are ya?”

They blink.

“Just gimme a second, okay?” 

Bdubs reaches for one of his charcoal pencils, and holds the book open against his chest. He peeks up at the assassin, then down at the page, lightly finishing up one of his attempts at a portrait. He sticks out his tongue as he adds the outline of lips he can barely see through the scarf, refines the shape of their face, and draws the long, white eyelashes caressing scarred skin. The hint of sculk Bdubs can barely see, pulsing like veins burrowing deep within the assassin’s skin. He goes at it for a moment, before he finally gives up with a dissatisfied huff. 

“It’s not as pretty as you are in real life,” he holds the sketchbook out to the assassin. “But have a looksie, if you want. It’s kind of… Ah, well, you can keep it as a souvenir after you’ve killed me! I’m sure in a few decades you’ll be able to resell it for some pretty money. I mean, can you imagine?” Bdubs gestures when the assassin takes hold of the book. “‘The prophet prince’s last drawings.’ People will fight for it!”

The assassin doesn’t seem to find it quite as funny as Bdubs does. They stare at him blankly, jaw slack, before seemingly remembering to look down at the pages, ignoring Bdubs’ grin as they do. He doesn’t let it get him down. Instead he watches their piercing grey eyes dance across the pages. He doesn’t think he did them justice. He wishes he had more time. They genuinely are beautiful.

Their fingers run over the sketches. As they study the depictions of themselves knocking Bdubs unconscious and slitting his wrist, Bdubs can’t help but hyperfocus on their hands. They’re like a pianist’s. He wonders if they play instruments. Are Obliviate assassins allowed to partake in hobbies? Arts? 

“I wasn’t sent by anyone,” their voice force Bdubs out of his imaginings. They stop on a page depicting them hopping out of Bdubs’ bedroom through the window and disappearing into the darkness of the night. It was a bit of a challenging pose to figure out. Bdubs is proud of that sketch. He doesn’t think it’s what they’re admiring. “My actions were planned by myself, in opposition to my orders. You are dangerous, but no one seems to see that.”

Bdubs swallows heavily. A strange calm had settled over him, ever since the assassin revealed themselves — but their saying that turns his blood to ice. He’s suddenly aware of every inch of his body, and the way they scream at him to run, or hide, or fight — something. Instead, he stays frozen as the assassin circles him, takes in the room as if they hadn’t been spying on him for stars know how long. 

“You showing me this,” they tap their fingers on the pages. “It made me realise something I hadn’t considered before.”

Bdubs opens his mouth to speak, but the assassin continues before he gets even a sound out:

“If I choose not to kill you tonight. What happens with your vision?”

“I…” Bdubs looks down at his dead body laid on the pages. It’s hard to speak. He should stop staring. He can’t. “I don’t… know. Every single thing I’ve predicted has come true, no matter how hard I’ve worked to stop them. I don’t know what happens if… if they don’t. I think it would just push away the inevitable. If you don’t kill me today, then you’ll do it on the next blood moon. Or the one after. It’s not the first blood moon I’ve seen since the vision, after all. I could just be wrong on the exact date. Both of us could be.”

The assassin shakes their head. “Even if the date isn’t right, I won’t do it like this,” they gesture at the book. “So it still wouldn’t be true. Besides, you knew this blood moon was to be the one. I’ve been watching you for a long time. You’ve never called out to me the way you have tonight. You knew it was today.”

“I just… felt it, somehow. I tend to, with my visions. Even if nothing indicates a specific date within the vision itself, I just… feel it, when it’s about to happen,” he shrugs. “With normal prophecies — you know, the one they do all those fancy rituals for? With those, it’s kind of a fifty-fifty as to whether they’ll actually happen. But mine have always, always come true, no matter what. I’m just too good at this divination thing!” He laughs. It comes out wrong. Stilted. Tearful. 

The assassin watches Bdubs pace. 

Bdubs’ eyes find the image of the assassin’s bloodied blade, placed in his limp hand. 

“...I don’t wanna die,” he finally admits, quietly. A few tears roll their ways down his cheeks. “I just know — well, I don’t know… what’s meant to, to happen. If you stop it, I mean. I don’t know what happens if you don’t kill me. If I— If I wake up, tomorrow. I don’t know what… what would happen. I’m not meant to. It— It won’t. It won’t happen. You know?” he looks up, his lips trembling uncontrollably. 

He feels like a damn child. 

The assassin is obviously uncomfortable. Their previously relaxed posture grows suddenly tense. Their shoulders are almost all the way to where Bdubs assumes their ears would be. They reach into their coat and Bdubs gasps, sharply. His eyes squeeze shut. He expects the stab of a knife. For all of it to have been a ruse. A way to finally end their conversation and get to the very reason they came here. 

But nothing comes.

Bdubs takes one, two — up to three shaky, hiccuping breaths, before he opens his eyes again and looks up. What he sees is not a knife, but instead a handkerchief. It’s held in front of him awkwardly, the assassin staring at him unblinking. Bdubs hesitates, before he takes it and wipes the tears off his face. Except the very act of compassion coming from what should be his assassin makes his tears double, and Bdubs sobs embarrassingly against the cloth. 

“We’ll find out what happens when a vision of yours does not come to fruition, then. Because I won’t kill you. You won’t die by my hand, prince Bdubs.” 

Their voice is so gentle, now. Bdubs nearly chokes on air as he tries to calm himself. As he tries to listen. Take it in.  

“I was only sent here because we found out about your vision. Before you worry — none within your court knows. We’ve only inferred it through our surveillance. I will report back, explain what happened. They’ll send another spy to continue monitoring your safety. Oblivion never wanted you dead, so you won’t have to be afraid of them. And it means… you’ll know: There’s a way to stop your visions.”

Before Bdubs can say anything, before he can thank them, they turn away. They take a step to leave. Bdubs’ tears stop in an instant, and he reaches for them. For their cloak. He pulls them back towards him, and wraps his arms around them in a tight embrace, feels the air escape from their lungs as he squeezes.

“Thank you,” he says, voice only shaking a little as he clings to the assassin’s clothes. “I don’t know how I could ever repay you. I don’t even know your name, I—”

“My— My name’s not important.” The assassin’s voice is strained, as if in pain. They pat Bdubs’ hand in what he assumes is a gentle attempt to pry him off. He doesn’t let go quite yet. “We won’t meet again. Just… try to find a way to stop your visions. If anything, for your own sake.”

Bdubs shakes his head. “I won’t let you leave,” he declares. “Not after you saved my life. Not after you did… did this. You were sent to protect me, right? So you must be pretty good! Then, I want you to stay. I can write to Oblivion, get them to keep you here. Then you can help me stop the visions from coming true again. Yeah?”

He finally pulls away so he can walk around the assassin and face them, sniffing as he watches them shake their head.

“I’m not a protector. I’m an assassin. The only reason I was sent here was to neutralise your murderer. Since I technically have, there’s no reason for me to stay. Especially now that I’ve revealed myself to you. It… goes against almost every tenets of the code,” they sigh, reaching to pinch the bridge of their nose. “It just can’t happen. I’m sorry.”

“... Will they hurt you? For… you know,” Bdubs gestures. Could the price of his life be his would-be assassin’s death? Does he want to know? “...If not your full name, can you give me… I dunno, a nickname, the first letter —  anything? I don’t wanna forget the person who broke my curse. Please? Then I’ll let you leave. And I’ll promise not to speak a word of this. To anyone.”

The other furrows their brow, and studies Bdubs’ face. They shake their head again, and brush Bdubs’ hands off themselves. “Slab,” they finally offer. Bdubs recognises it: A clan name. A… very prominent one. “And what happens to me isn’t something for you to worry about. I’m… uh… Sorry. For causing you stress.”

There’s an awkward pause, then, before they take a step back. Bdubs lets them. He watches them as they climb back up to the rafters, open a window, and leave without a trace. 

“...Slab…” Bdubs looks down at his sketchbook, hugs it to his chest. Clouds creep closer to the blood moon, obscuring its glow. The observatory is plunged in darkness, illuminated only by the flickering candles on Bdubs’ desk. 

He’s alive. His vision has come and gone. 

He sits at his desk. Opens his sketchbook, picks up a pen, and begins sketching. 

He draws until the sun rises. A feverish attempt to burn the Slab assassin’s image in his head. Draws until one of his retainers knocks on the door and scolds him for not showing up at breakfast. Until they drag him out of the observatory, force him to breathe the fresh air outside. 

He’s free of the burn in his lungs as he’s smothered into unconsciousness, of the blade splitting his arms open. 

He’s alive.

[rollercoasterwords]

hello, I just finished the 27th chapter of atwmd and will start The hand that feeds series ... not sure what to expect as it'll be the first sapphic centered fic (not sure if that description is correct, but yeah ... first lesbian centered fic I'll read) .... no reason other than my utter obsession with wolfstar.

In the meantime though ... as a fan of the zombie trope, I saw the zombie apocalypse fic you have in the works and was wondering what happened to it? Have been looking for a zombie trope marauder AU and now that I found yours I don't really want to look elsewhere ... I mean ... you're writing is the most incredible thing I've ever witnessed, world building, multiple arks and how it all intertwines is just a masterpiece so ... as you can imagine ... I'm just wondering if that's something you're considering or to just drop it, it's done, no point in asking, which ... if it is ... fair ... life's life and this is just something incredible that you're doing and so humbly sharing with us and I have no reason to expect anything ... which is why I decided to ask here ... any reply is appreciated.

P.S.: reported the etsy shop, can't believe the audacity some people have .... hopefully it helps and it'll stop ... doing something like that is beyond stupid and those responsible should be stopped and fined ... this trend needs to stop.

P.P.S.: I would donate if I could, but I can't ... what I can do is promote every Palestinian content with donation links ... that madness also needs to stop ... it is inhumane, a genocide and it needs to stop ... the world needs to stand up ... I just ... I don't want this content to be flagged so I'll stop there

hi ahhh thank u!! glad ur enjoying atwmd hope ur enjoying thtf as well <3 as for the zombie fic….it is on hold indefinitely….i love zombie stories but unfortunately i overthink them wayyyyy too much like i simply cannot be normal abt zombies & i ended up getting writing paralysis bc i was like fuck idk how i’m going to end this story….& then i started working on other projects & kinda moved on 🤧🤧 i might return to it someday so im not saying it’s abandoned, but i also wouldn’t count on any updates anytime soon lol my first priority is definitely finishing atwmd & i already started writing another fic that im probably gonna post after that 😵‍💫

& thank u for reporting that etsy store !! & also sharing fundraisers!! i genuinely do really appreciate it <3

[the-boy-meets-evil]

tell me how it got this way | ch. 6

pairing: jungkook x f.reader, hoseok x f.reader genre: fwb to lovers/friends to lovers, love triangle | non-idol!au, angst, smut, est. relationships rating: 18+, minors dni warnings: mentions of past issues (so brief), lots of kissing, explicit smut (seriously minors DNI), fingering (f. receiving), orgasm denial (f. receiving), unprotected vaginal sex (they've talked about it previously but don't do this), slight marking, begging, mentions of multiple orgasms, cream pie kinda, mention of oral sex (f. receiving), mention of shower sex, mention of bathroom sex, mingyu makes an appearance as the shithead roommate, i think that's it? word count: ~9.7k (idk what to say, it got away from me)

a/n: SHE IS FINALLY DONE! this is the fic that completely got away from me, ended up being much harder to finish than i imagined, and went some place completely different from the original idea. this was definitely not the ending i imagined, but sometimes you just have to go with what feels natural rather than forcing something that doesn't. i hope you enjoy it and sorry for the length.

prev. | masterlist

With a new day also comes the realization that you don’t get another pass. Today you don’t get to just tell people you don’t want to talk about the conversation with Hoseok and actually have them respect that. It’s time for you to start figuring out what it is that you feel and process your emotions. To use Jimin’s words, you need to start acting like an adult that’s published multiple books and earned a streaming deal. Which is kind of terrifying. All you want to do is pull the covers over your head and pretend the world doesn’t exist. 

You’re seriously considering that when you roll over to your side and Jungkook isn’t there anymore. And your feelings about him being gone are complicated. The rational part of you knows that he has his own life, his own things to do, he doesn’t owe you his free time. But, it was really nice just to fall asleep cuddled up with him, no sex or talking, just comfort. It’s also a little gut-wrenching to think he might have left without a word. That’s no who you are, is it?

Then Jungkook walks back into the room, still in just his briefs, with a mug in each hand. You sit up with a smile and accept the cup when he hands it over to you. It smells amazing, which isn’t a surprise. This man is good at everything, including something as simple as making the perfect cup of coffee. Surprisingly, though, he never takes the credit. Just reminds you that it’s easy to make good coffee when you’ve got a full coffee bar in your apartment. And because Jungkook is a saint, he tells you that he’s ordered breakfast from your favorite place. 

For all the time you and him spend together, it feels like it’s been ages since you had a day like this: both free from work or other plans, a full day just to be lazy together. You don’t even have to talk about it, you know you’re both on the same page when he asks if you have anything to do and says he doesn’t either. Seems really happy to be able to spend the day with you too. 

Okay, so maybe you did sneak an extra day of not having to talk about your feelings after all. It’s not like you were going to answer text messages when you were with Jungkook and it wasn’t like he asked about it either. Which suited you just fine. 

Today, though, you agree to go see Yoongi and Jimin. Without the special guest this time, because you really do want to figure out how you were feeling. And to do that, you really needed to take him out of the equation. As amazing as he is as a friend on top of everything else, this just isn’t fair. It’s not fair to ask for advice now. Besides, Jungkook has been at your place since two nights ago and Mingyu, his roommate, is getting whiny. Not that it’s unusual, but it does mean Jungkook should go home.

You suggest going to Yoongi and Jimin’s apartment since they’re both there, which annoys Jimin since he was excited to get out of the house. Even if it was only to come to your apartment. Your offer to bring coffee and pastries, anything he wants, which quiets him back down again. There’s also a strategy in it. Part of you isn’t entirely sure what your friends are going to say and going to their apartment gives you the chance to run, if you need to. 

You don’t, thankfully. 

Both listen intently as you relay your memories from the conversation the previous day. Jimin, as usual, interjects more than Yoongi does. He wants to know things about Hoseok’s body language, facial expressions, if he leaned in or fidgeted in his seat. And just as usual, Yoongi lets his boyfriend pepper you with questions throughout the story, only listening intently. It makes you a little nervous, though, because you know that he’s going to have something to say and you’re really not sure what it’s going to be. 

“I think this is a good thing,” Yoongi finally says, even earns an eyebrow raise from Jimin. 

“You do?” both you and Jimin ask together.

“I do,” Yoongi responds. “Even if you haven’t been talking about it, this fight with him and losing that friendship has been hanging over your head for the past 5 years.”

“He has a point,” Jimin agrees. 

“I remember when we met, it couldn’t have been much after the fight, I’d say a year max,” Yoongi starts and you nod. “I didn’t know what happened except that there was this pain completely covering you.”

“Wow, thanks Yoon,” you say, sarcasm kicking in as a defense.

“Will you just…listen?” he asks. There’s something in his tone that makes you roll your lips together and nod. “You wore the pain like armor, still do sometimes, but wouldn’t it be nice to not have to anymore? Wouldn’t it be nice to be free?”

“Yeah, I mean of course it would,” you say, letting out a sigh in the process.

“You’ve got that chance,” Yoongi says. “Jimin and I can’t tell you what you feel…” 

“Though I’m happy to offer opinions,” Jimin interjects, only to be silenced by a look from Yoongi. 

“But you have a chance to get closure, real closure, and move forward from one of the worst things you went through,” Yoongi says. “So figure out what you feel and talk to them both.”

“Both?” The surprise is clear in your voice and on your face.

“Oh honey,” Jimin says almost like he’s pitying you. “Jungkook?” 

“I’m not sure…” you start and Jimin is even quicker to cut you off. 

“I don’t wanna hear about how it’s just casual or you’re not actually in a relationship because it’s bullshit,” Jimin says. Which catches you off guard, a bit, because he doesn’t usually swear like that in your direction. 

“I know things have gotten deeper,” you concede. 

“He was worried about you the other night, when we went out,” Jimin admits and you realize you never actually asked Jungkook about the text. “He texted me…”

“When did you get his number?” Yoongi asks and Jimin smiles. 

“Aww is my Yoonie jealous?” Jimin taunts, earning nothing more than a huff in response. 

“You know she’s my best friend, right?” Yoongi grumbles under his breath. 

“Yes, my grumpy little cat, I know she’s your best friend. We exchanged numbers a while ago because I put him in touch with someone I knew about a job,” Jimin says and continues before either you or Yoongi can ask any questions about the vague answer. “Anyway, he texted me after he’d texted you a few times. Just wanted to make sure you were okay and nothing had gone wrong. I told him we were out and things were fine, but that I was sure you wouldn’t mind if he went over anyway.”

Not what you were expecting. Although you’re not sure what you really expected. The whole thing has been different than you were expecting. 

“Since he has a key and we do not,” Jimin adds and you laugh. 

“Yoongi does have a key,” you say and laugh harder when Jimin playfully smacks the older man. 

“It’s for emergencies, Jiminie,” Yoongi reasons, unbothered. 

“I’m gonna need my own key, then,” Jimin says. 

“Anyway,” Yoongi adds, trying to reign in the chaos. “Yes, both. You deserve the chance to get closure with Hoseok and move forward. But Jungkook also deserves to know where exactly you and him stand.” 

It’s a completely fair point, entirely understandable to lay it out like that. Only one problem. You really don’t have any idea about the answer. Despite admitting this, Yoongi stands firm that Jimin can’t help because you need to work it out on your own. Can’t even offer his thoughts or a little suggestion. Yoongi puts his foot firmly down. And he’s right, isn’t he? This isn’t something for them to figure out. This is your life and they’re your relationships. You can’t have someone else tell you how to feel.  

You take the time that you haven’t given yourself to process. Time to sit alone with yourself and your thoughts, no distractions or outside opinions. It’s not as scary as you thought it would be. There’s a strange kind of comfort in it. Maybe that’s a sign you’ve grown. Not a lot, there’s no need to go crazy, but at least enough to examine where you are. 

In the past, it might’ve taken you weeks, or even months, to process your feelings. Largely because you never actually stopped to process them. Now that you’re actually giving yourself the time and space, it’s only a couple of days. Well, it’s not that you think you’ve figured it all out. You just know Yoongi was right. You need to talk to Jungkook and you need some form of closure with Hoseok. Since you haven’t seen Jungkook in a few days, you figure inviting him over will at least get you moving. 

The best thing about Jungkook, and there is a lot to pick from, is that he always goes with the flow that you set. He’s supportive and kind and caring without being overbearing. The problem with that, though, is you never really noticed when the roles changed. Never noticed how much more observant he became. Never noticed that you know him as well as yourself. Never noticed that you depend on him more than anyone. 

He listens to everything you have to say, keeps his face carefully neutral while you relay the conversation you had days ago with Yoongi and Jimin. If he feels any kind of way about you processing without including him, he doesn’t show it. His face is thoughtful, at times, but you’re not entirely sure what he thinks. There’s something for a second when you say that you had to figure out what your feelings for Hoseok are. And it’s gone just as quickly. 

“You know he’s the reason nothing has ever worked, right?” Jungkook asks and you look for some sign he’s upset or hurt.

“I’ve always said that. That him throwing our friendship aside has made it hard to trust people,” you respond automatically.

“That’s not what I meant.” His voice is soft and low. 

You want to look down and avoid his eyes, but something keeps your eyes on his. Maybe it’s that you don’t know exactly what’s going to happen now that he’s said it aloud. Maybe it’s wondering if this is the last time you’re going to see that warm smile directed at you, the one that always makes you want to smile in return. You don’t know if everything is going to change.

You do know exactly what he means, though. You’ve known since Hoseok appeared back in your life. And maybe it’s not exactly what you expected. Hoseok’s sudden reappearance meant dealing with a lot of emotions and pain that were unclear 5 years ago. Emotions that are both clearer now and still not crystal clear. But struggling internally is very different than having this person you care so much for pointing it out. It scares you. Just how much has Jungkook realized? 

“I don’t know what to say, Kookie,” you admit, finally looking down. You pull your lower lip between your teeth. 

In a second, he’s closing the gap between you and tilting your head gently up to meet his eyes. He smiles softly, the same as always. “There’s nothing to say, I get it.” 

“How long have you known?” You have no idea why this is the question you ask in your hushed tone, but it somehow seems important.

Jungkook is quiet for a moment, like he’s thinking about what to say because he’s not usually one to say much unless he has time to think it through. This is different though. He seems to want to answer. “I guess, well I think I knew there was something when we first started hanging out. I was sure at that gala you brought me to.”

“I’m so sorry,” you repeat and he’s shaking his head.

“We’ve always known what this was, you and me, and it’s always been great,” Jungkook says and you start to open your mouth. You’re not actually sure that he realizes what you want to say. “Don’t worry. You never hurt me. Just don’t fuck it up now, okay?”

“What?” 

Jungkook smiles again and shakes his head. “Tell him. Tell him for real this time, before it’s too late for you to say something, before he disappears to give us a chance.”

“To give...us? I don’t…” You’re sputtering the words out, so confused with not only what Jungkook is saying, but with your emotions as well. Your head is a mess again and you’re not really sure what you’re supposed to say. This isn’t how this was supposed to go.

“I could see it on his face, the last time I saw him, he thinks I’m good for you,” Jungkook says.

“You are,” you say. “You know me so much better than I ever realized, so much better than I think either of us planned.”

“I know I am and I know I’m also the only one you’ve let stay around for this long. It’s just time for you to take a chance at getting what you want, even if you’re scared,” Jungkook says. Part of you really wants to disagree and doesn’t. Chicken.

“Can I ask you something I have no right to ask?” you ask. Jungkook arches his eyebrow at your question, clearly intrigued, but possibly deciding if it’s a good idea. 

“Sure,” he says, curiosity winning over.

“Were you seeing anyone else? Like while we were doing...whatever this was?” you ask. The answer somehow feels important to you. So much so that you hold your breath.

“Casually dating, I think is the word,” Jungkook offers.

“You’re cute, but I think we both know we sucked at casual,” you say and Jungkook chuckles. 

“Did we?” Jungkook asks.

“I mean, yeah? Jungkook, you literally show up at my apartment with coffee or breakfast when I’m hungover. You have a key, for fuck’s sake. I’ve asked you to come to events with me. You bring me to events with you. We hang out and do things without it being sexual at all,” you say and he looks like he’s about to say something. “Which I love, to be clear. I wouldn’t change anything about how we’ve been.”

“I wouldn’t change it either,” Jungkook says and is thoughtful again for a moment. “No, though, I wasn’t.”

“You weren’t?” Somehow this surprises you, even with how bad you were at casual.

“Nah, it was just you,” he says and you nod. “How about you?”

“Please, I always was clear I wasn’t seeing anyone else,” you say. 

The conversation is just so casual, so easy. You know you should be able to think of another word to describe things with him, but you can’t. He’s such a steady presence in your life that you’re not really sure how to go forward with his advice, even though you know he’s right. It’s weird to think you might have a Jungkook-sized hole in your life soon. He’s made himself at home and you’re not really sure you’re ready to lose that safety net.

But it’s not fair to anyone. It’s not fair to Jungkook, even if he says that he’s really not looking to be in something serious with labels and expectations. In the back of your mind, you do know that the two of you have basically been in a relationship for months without calling it that. This conversation with Hoseok is just one that you need to have. You know that there were more than just friendly feelings simmering beneath everything that happened. Not everyone gets closure, but you can and you’re going to try.

You’re nervous. Like really nervous. Like the kind of nervous where your leg is jiggling almost uncontrollably and you react every time the door opens. Okay, maybe that’s because you had entirely too much caffeine in your system. This had been the compromise though. Overly caffeinated was fine, apparently having a drink (or four, who’s counting) was a bad idea. You were internally cursing at taking Jimin’s advice on doing this sober. What did he know anyway?

(Jimin is in a happy relationship, you remind yourself, with someone you never thought would settle into something as easily as he had with Jimin. Okay, so maybe Jimin knows something, but you’d rather die before admitting that because he’s smug enough already, thank you very much.)

So yeah, the caffeine isn’t helping the nerves. Knowing Hoseok is on his way and you’re going to tell him how you used to feel is worse, though. You know there’s a part of you that has feelings for him now. You know that’s why you fell into bed with him. This seems like something he should know, or should have known. Or maybe he does know and he just hasn’t said anything. Feels bad about Jungkook. Which you do too, honestly.

No, you need to stay focused and you’re cursing yourself that the only time you can ever be early seems to be when you’re meeting Hoseok. It’s giving you too much time to think and re-think. Maybe you should just get up, text Hoseok that you’re sorry but something came up with the series and you’d have to catch him another time. (Which, you then remind yourself, is a terrible idea because one of Hoseok’s dance students is in the series so he could definitely tell Hoseok nothing came up. Ugh.)

And then he walks in, just walks through the door like there isn’t anything to worry about and nothing is going to change. Which maybe nothing will change for either of you, that thought has been on your mind constantly. Jungkook seems sure that Hoseok has feelings for you and seems sure that you have some kind of feelings for him. Maybe he’s right.

Hoseok’s smile upon seeing you sitting there is instant and genuine, that warm smile that’s always felt like it was only for his favorite people. Once upon a time, you knew you’d meant the world to him. Now? You aren’t sure. 

As soon as he had a coffee of his own, he joined you, sitting down looking suddenly apprehensive and something else you can’t place. “It’s good to see you.”

“Thanks for coming to see me,” you say, not sure exactly how to act. 

“I wasn’t sure, after that whole thing about the TV series,” Hoseok says and you sigh. 

You apologize for that, because you know it wasn’t ever a serious thought that Hoseok would do something like that. He isn’t underhanded or calculating. Sure, he hurt you all those years earlier, but getting close to you again just to help someone get a role in a TV show? No. That wasn’t Hoseok. You’re falling over yourself to make sure he understands just how sorry you are for it. In typical Hoseok fashion, he accepts it easily. 

“It was really bad timing,” Hoseok admits, “running into you out like that, us being drunk, ending up back at my place.” 

“That wasn’t exactly what I signed up for,” you say. 

“No, I know, and then with Jungkook, I know you said it wasn’t serious. But, I see how you and him are together. He’s good for you,” Hoseok says, kind of rambling in an uncharacteristic way. 

“Yeah, he has been really good for me,” you say. “I guess…this has all been confusing and I’m not really sure what the future is for him and me.” 

He’s surprised, clearly. He was sincere in saying how you and Jungkook were good together. You think you see something else too and you’re not sure what it is. When did you get so bad at reading his emotions? There was a time you knew his face better than your own.

“What happened?” Hoseok asks. “I don’t ever remember seeing you like that with anyone, even if I have missed years of your life.”

That gets a sigh out of you. “Jungkook is different. He’s kind and patient, listens even when my mouth can’t keep up with my brain, which seems to be a lot. He supports my mood swings while I’m writing. He’s really good at calming me down when I want to throw my computer out the window and quit writing.”

“Which also probably happens a lot,” Hoseok jokes and you can’t completely fight a laugh.

“I’d like to say it’s better now, but it’s not,” you concede.

“So why aren’t you sure?” Hoseok asks.

“Why did you pop back up?” you ask. “Why now?”

Hoseok lets you answer his question with a question. 

“I don’t know,” Hoseok says and thinks about it. “I knew I made a mistake, that I fucked up for what I said then. I think, eventually, she knew it too. I couldn’t get why she was so threatened by our friendship, she couldn’t get why I didn’t get it. I had all this regret and I didn’t know how to apologize.”

“I’m sorry for being a dickhead is usually a good place to start,” you offer, and Hoseok levels you with a look. “Sorry.”

“We finally broke up and I wanted to call you the minute she left. I just felt like that would feel off? Like ‘hey, we just broke up, you were right and I’m sorry’ just felt lame,” Hoseok says. 

“I want to say it wouldn’t have been, but I also don’t think I would’ve been in the right headspace to hear it,” you acknowledge.

“I figured,” Hoseok sighs. “So I waited, and then you had a book drop and some time went by. I was getting ready to reach out, when I looked at your Instagram. The last two posts were a super heartfelt post about a friend of yours that you referred to as your best friend and then a picture with some really attractive guy looking at you like you were his whole world.”

You thought you remembered the timeframe and who you’d been dating. Seokmin had been wonderful and beautiful and cared deeply for you, a feeling you weren’t able to return completely. 

“The post with Yoongi, who I had to fight to even get pictures with for the record, must’ve been hard for you to see,” you acknowledge and Hoseok looks puzzled. “The one gushing about him being my best friend?”

“Oh, sure, that was the harder of the two,” Hoseok says and for one of the first times in your life, you feel like he’s lying. 

“Still, though, if it’s when I’m thinking, I dated that guy like over a year and a half ago,” you say. “And, to be fair, it wasn’t as serious as it probably looked.”

“I just, I don’t know, I missed you. I was at my sister’s with her and her husband and I just, I missed you,” Hoseok said. 

“I saw pictures from her wedding, she looked stunning,” you say and then, almost without a thought, “and so did you. I mean, you looked really handsome.”

The tips of Hoseok’s ears flushed a bit, another something out of character for him. 

“She was so upset. She thought I’d have patched it up with you by then and you’d have been there. She nearly told me not to come unless you were there too,” Hoseok says. 

“I missed you too,” you say and sigh because you know you have to just say it. 

“I’m surprised you thought about me at all,” Hoseok says quietly. 

“Well I tried not to, it worked a lot. Not nearly as much as I’d have liked. But artists are supposed to suffer, right?” You laugh a little without any humor. “Look, I have to put my cards on the table,” Hoseok says. “All those years ago, the things I was saying. I realized later I had it backwards. I’d been in love with you since we slept together that summer. I just, I didn’t really know what to do with my emotions and you were so sure about pretending it hadn’t happened. I’m so sorry for everything that I said and for everything that it put you through. I know it doesn’t make up for it now and I can accept that. I fucked up. Plain and simple. And I’d be willing to spend however long I needed to showing you that I’m so sorry. That’s why the relationship finally ended, though, she realized I was still in love with you. It wasn’t just that I felt bad for what I said, which I still do, it was that I couldn’t help from bringing you up, especially when anyone talked about you as a writer. I was still in love with you and she felt like she couldn’t compete.”

“What?” you ask, unable to form other words.

“I’m so sorry to dump this on you now,” Hoseok says and you sigh.

“You weren’t alone and she wasn’t entirely wrong,” you say and his eyes lock on yours. “I did have feelings for you back then, super complicated feelings that I didn’t really know how to process. Or even what they were.”

“You’re talking in the past tense,” Hoseok comments and you bite your lower lip.

“I am, aren’t I?” you ask idly.

“I’m too late,” Hoseok realizes and you look away. 

“Hobi, I do have feelings for you, that drunken night wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t,” you say and chuckle. “We’re way too old to act like drunkenly falling into bed is meaningless.”

“No, I agree there,” Hoseok says. “But?”

“I think I just walked away from someone I shouldn’t have so we could have this conversation,” you say. 

“I think you did too,” Hoseok admits after a moment and you can see how hard it is on him.

“You don’t get it though,” you say and shake your head. “It was never serious with Jungkook. Never something we labeled. He let me walk away to come talk to you. He encouraged it. He doesn’t want more with me.”

“Of course he did,” Hoseok chuckles. “What was he supposed to do?”

“Ask me to stay?” you ask and Hoseok looks amused. 

“You don’t see the way he looks at you, at least the way he did at that Gala. It took me a long time to approach you because of it. I was already there when you and him walked in,” Hoseok says, which really catches you off guard. You’d assumed he was a late arrival or at least that he hadn’t seen you yet. “You were sighing and I could just imagine you talking about how much you didn’t want to be there, but his eyes just stayed on you. So fond. And then there’s the way he apparently looks at you when he shows up to the set.”

“How do you…?” you ask and then realize. “Chan, of course.”

“He didn’t know what he was doing, just mentioned a guy with tattoos that seemed crazy about you showing up pretty often,” Hoseok says. “Chan’s so obsessed with your work and so happy about the project. He was all starstruck talking about the guy that looked at you like you hung the moon while you were just drinking your coffee.”

“Yeah, well, I need my caffeine,” you say. What else are you supposed to say? Your brain wants to process it all and wants to believe it. It’s just, it goes against everything you thought you knew.

“We were too late and that’s something I have to live with. And maybe it’s for the best, we’re not 22 anymore,” he says. “But you don’t have to be too late for this.”

“I’m so sorry, but I have to go,” you say and rush out of the coffee shop. 

Even though you spend a lot of time at your apartment, you still spend some time at Jungkook’s apartment too. The downside is just that he lives with a roommate. Not a downside really, because his roommate is great, it’s just that sometimes he complains about how single he feels around you and Jungkook. Which you didn’t really understand until now. It’s like now you can see exactly how you’ve been the entire time. You’re not sure how you missed it.

And it’s Mingyu that answers the door. You forgot that he’s like 7 feet tall as you’re looking up at him in the doorway. He looks confused for a second before he’s leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.  

“Long time, no see,” he says casually.

“I know, is Jungkook here?” you ask and he shakes his head.

“I thought you’d be with your new boyfriend,” Mingyu says and you frown at him. Frown because he didn’t answer your question. It doesn’t even occur to you that he wouldn’t know about Hoseok unless Jungkook was talking about it.

“Please, Mingyu, is he here?” you ask again.

Mingyu sighs and steps aside so that you can come in. “He’s not, but you can wait.” 

“Do you know when he’s gonna be back?” you ask.

Mingyu opens his mouth, probably to say something sarcastic, and then stops himself. Which is weird. Weirder still, his face softens.

“I really wanna fuck with you, but I’m hoping that it’s a good thing that you’re here,” he says. “He legit just went around the corner to get coffee so he should be back really soon.”

“Thank you,” you say. And you mean it.

“Can I say something?” he asks, seems to be fighting with himself. 

“You’ve never hesitated before,” you answer. Which is true, you don’t know Mingyu that well, but Jungkook’s roommate has never been shy around you.

“You mean a lot to him,” Mingyu says. “I know he’ll never come out and say it like that and he’d probably kill me for telling you, but you do. I don’t think there’s anything he wouldn’t do for you. I’ve known him for years and he’s never been like this about anyone.”

“Yeah, I think I’m realizing that,” you say, earning a smile from Mingyu. 

“Just give him a shot,” Mingyu says.

He’s about to say something else when you both hear a key in the lock, both turn to look at the door when the handle turns, both watch to see the reaction of the man walking in. 

“Gyu, I got you a coffee too even though you’re a complete…oh!” Jungkook says, catching sight of you in his living room. “What are you doing here?” 

“Sorry, it’s just…well, I,” you start, tumbling over your words and miss Mingyu shaking his head.

“No, sorry, that came out wrong. I’m happy you’re here, I just figured you’d be with Hoseok,” Jungkook says and his face crinkles. “Don’t tell me that idiot turned you down.” 

“Thanks for the coffee,” Mingyu interrupts. “I’m gonna head out, actually.” 

“I thought we were…” Jungkook starts, adorably confused.

Mingyu only claps him on the shoulder. “Another time, trust me.”

“Can we sit?” you ask and Jungkook looks unsure but he nods. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t get coffee for you too, I didn’t realize,” Jungkook starts.

“No, it’s fine, I definitely don’t need more caffeine,” you say.

He laughs, “well that’s a first.”

You take a deep breath and try not to watch the range of emotions on Jungkook’s face because you’re scared you’ll lose your nerve. 

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly to your hands. 

“For what? Did he turn you down?” Jungkook asks. You can hear the protective side of him coming out.

You ignore the second question. “For everything that’s happened since that Gala I dragged you to. All the times you’ve had to pick up the pieces, all the times you’ve had to comfort me, all the advice you’ve had to give about another guy.”

“Oh,” Jungkook says softly. “Well, that’s okay.”

That makes you look up. “No, it’s not. You don’t deserve that. You don’t ever deserve to think that you’re anything less than amazing. I know I’ve made you feel like a second choice, like a back-up plan, you’re not.”

“Hey, life is complicated, right? I’m a big boy, I knew what I was getting into,” Jungkook assures you.  

“Still though,” you say.

“What happened with…him?” Jungkook asks. It’s the first time his careful mask has slipped and it gives you hope. Hope you’re not sure you have a right to feel. 

“He told me he did have feelings for me, both back then and now,” you say. 

Jungkook, usually so composed with you, lets some of his frustration come through his next words. “So what are you doing here?”

It’s harsher than he usually speaks to you and you know you completely deserve it. You need to actually get the words out and let him make a decision for himself for once, without putting you first. 

“I realized that it wasn’t him that I wanted,” you offer, so quietly that you’re scared he won’t hear. But he does, of course he does. 

“I don’t…” Jungkook begins.

“I think my feelings towards him have always been complicated, tied up in how he was the first real friend I’d ever had. There’s a part of me that did feel some kind of love for him and definitely some kind of physical connection to him,” you say and pause. You need to take a breath to keep going. To steady your nerves. “It wasn’t until I was sitting across from him that I realized, I’m not 22 anymore. Maybe it would’ve been right then, maybe it wouldn’t. But it isn’t right now and I don’t wanna be chasing something from years ago. Love doesn’t have to be that complicated.”

“I…no, it doesn’t have to be complicated,” he agrees. 

“So he realized he was too late and I realized it wasn’t him I should be talking to,” you say and look up into Jungkook’s soft brown eyes. You’re not even sure he’s breathing with how intently he’s watching you. And hopeful, so hopeful. “It’s you that I want, Jungkook, if I haven’t fucked this up so bad that you can’t…”

You don’t get to finish your words before his lips crash against yours. And the feeling is warm and comfortable and electric all at once. It’s right in a way nothing else has been before. He just fits together with you like it was always supposed to be this way.

“I’m so sorry, Jungkook,” you say between kisses. “I am so insanely sorry for everything I’ve put you through.”

“It’s okay,” he assures you, not wanting to break apart. 

You have to pull away though, his face between your hands. “It’s not and I want you to know that you’re my first choice. This, right here with you, is all I need.”

“I know,” he says. “And fuck, I’m so happy you’re here. I know we have a lot to figure out but can we just…can we do it tomorrow? I just want today with you.”

How can you deny him that? After everything that’s happened between the two of you, you really do feel like this is the least you can do. He’s also far more perceptive than you’ve given him credit for, so maybe it’s okay to just follow his lead this time. 

Kissing Jungkook now feels…different. Not bad, just new somehow. Which is kind of crazy because you’ve kissed him thousands of times over the months you’ve been together. There’s just something about your brain and your heart finally seeming to be on the same page that makes everything feel more. More feelings, more happiness, more excitement. You didn’t think that kissing someone could get any better. It has, though, and you’re not sure you’re going to be able to catch your breath if you keep going. 

Another amazing thing about someone who knows you as well as Jungkook is that you don’t always need words. When he stands and grabs your hand, you follow him into his bedroom without even questioning it. You watch, eyes probably full of some nauseating level of affection, as he sits on the edge of the bed and reaches out for you. There’s an equal amount of affection as you let him pull you in and settle on his lap, one knee on either side of him pressing into the mattress. 

There’s never really been a rush with Jungkook, at least not since the first few times. Yeah, there have been plenty of rushed times, but just as many slow. This is somehow different, just like the kiss. And that makes sense, doesn’t it? Because you have all the time in the world. All the time to be together and figure each other out even more. Jungkook may have the edge there. 

His hands are firm on your hips, keeping you anchored in place, stopping you from rolling your hips against his for the friction you crave. The control is  a stark contrast from the softness of his lips moving in time with yours and it’s making you a little dizzy. You really thought you knew this man inside and out, yet here he is surprising you again. 

Even more dizzying is the realization that you’re in so much deeper than you ever thought. It’s more than just caring about him, even though you do, probably more than you’ve ever really cared about a partner. It’s this inescapable feeling of being safe and on the edge at the same time. Knowing that if you fall, he’s going to catch you. It’s so glaringly obvious that you see why your friends were so insistent that you include him in the equation. 

Just when you think you might explode, Jungkook pulls apart from you and studies your face. His fingers graze along the skin at your waist, playing with the hem of your shirt. You nod and lift your hands up as he grips the hem to pull it over your head. His fingers are so light across your skin when he unclasps your bra and slides the straps away. 

Gentle. He’s so gentle. Like he’s telling you that it’s okay, that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. Like he’s not sure this is real. It is, though. As his lips move down your neck, you can’t help the sigh that escapes your lips. The trails his kisses down to your breast, slow and deliberate. The way his warm breath meets your skin makes you suck in a breath. 

He’s always been generous, always wanted to be exactly what you wanted, but this feels like even more than that. It feels like a side of him you should’ve known and yet didn’t quite. It feels like a last little bit of him that had been tucked away, just waiting. And that’s kind of exciting, to think that someone you thought you already knew completely can still surprise you like this. It makes all those hangups you thought you had about relationships seem insignificant.

And he’s getting a side of you that is a little different, too. There’s something about him that makes you needy, but it’s never been like this. All you want is more of him, more of everything he’s doing. You try to take advantage when he’s not anchoring you quite so steadily, roll your hips against his. While you’re rewarded with a low groan, he also puts a hand firmly back on your hip to keep you from doing it again.

“Please Jungkookie,” you whine, finally relenting. You will absolutely beg if it gets you what you want.

His eyes study you, so full of affection that you might combust. You don’t even realize he’s slid his hands under your ass until he’s standing up and you gasp. It’s just for a moment, though, so he can lay you back onto his bed. Almost immediately, you go to remove your pants and his hands are on yours, stopping you before you even get to the button. The next second, he’s pinning you down, one hand holding both of yours above your head, the other swiftly undoing your pants. If this is the way you go, a squirming mess beneath this beautiful man, it all might be worth it, honestly. 

Jungkook pulls himself back off of you so he can pull your pants down, taking your underwear along with them. Even though you’ve seen him get undressed more times than you can count, you still find yourself watching as he removes his own clothes. Eyes taking in the recently added color of his tattoos, the lines of his body, the way his muscles contract as he moves. 

He’s back almost on top of you, slightly offset so he doesn’t put too much weight on you, but it’s still a surprise to you when he starts kissing you again. You need something more, some sort of relief before you go insane. And you’re just about to beg for it when one of his fingers slides along your folds. So this is the game he’s playing, teasing you with just his fingers and making your back arch in response. You want to protest, want to tell him there’s plenty of time to go slow, but you just need now. With his lips so insistent on yours, though, that’s hard. 

Thankfully, Jungkook isn’t cruel. After running his finger along your entrance, collecting some of the wetness there, he slides a single finger inside you. It’s so slow, painfully slow, but it’s something. It’s a start to the relief that you need. Okay, maybe he is a little cruel. His finger slides in as slowly as his kisses, which are all languid motions. Any part of you that wants to fight back sinks into the mattress as he licks into your mouth. 

It’s honestly the most relaxed you’ve ever felt with someone like this. There’s a part of your brain that fights against that feeling for a second before you realize that it’s been there all along. This feeling of complete comfort and safety. You were just too caught up in the idea that it wasn’t that serious to realize Jungkook had made a home in your heart. Too caught up in your past bullshit to realize this person had carefully broken through every defense without you realizing it.

But, unfortunately, Jungkook is still kind of a shit. Through your moaning, he picks up the pace, something you immediately encourage. A chorus of nonsense mixed together with your appreciation. He had two fingers inside you and his thumb on your clit. All you feel is that you’re close, so close.

Until he stops. Just completely stills himself when you’re on the precipice. Ready to come on his fingers and body still wound tight.

“Not yet babe,” he says, eyes alight.

“I was so close,” you whine.

“I know,” he says, just confirming what a demon he is. He captures your next protest with a kiss and you tangle your hand in his hair without thinking. Anchor him to you. Take back some small, tiny bit of control.

It’s all too fast when he pulls away again and you recognize he’s looking for a condom. So you just tell him not to bother. You mostly haven’t been using one lately because you’re protected and you know both of you are clean. It’s something you’ve both talked about more than once. 

And thank fucking god he seems like he’s on the same page as you again because he doesn’t question it. Just abandons his search and presses his lips to yours again. You arch your back into him, chase his lips with your own. It should be embarrassing, the way you just need, except that it’s Jungkook and it’s not. It’s just…natural. The most natural thing in the world.

He does successfully pull away from your lips again, sparing a low, quiet chuckle for the way you immediately pout your lips at him. But then he’s lining himself up at your entrance, using just a little bit of lube along his shaft, and pressing the tip into you. Just like everything else, it’s slow. So slow as he pushes into you, buries his length inside of you and lets you adjust to him. Wants you to feel comfortable. But you’re always comfortable with him. 

The second that you try to move against him, Jungkook presses a hand to your hip, pins you down to the bed. There’s none of the usual wide-eyed wonder in his eyes when they lock onto yours, silently telling you that you need to stay in place. Be good. Somehow it makes you want to squirm even more. Instead you focus on the way the muscles in Jungkook’s arm that’s holding you down contract, focus on the furrow of his brow, focus on the lines of his chest.

You tentatively wrap your legs around him, wanting to change his angle and he moves his hand from your hip to balance himself over you. Somehow, even though this is not your preferred position, it feels…different, intimate in a way that usually scares you. You’re not scared, though. You’re only happy. Jungkook finally starts moving, too slow like everything else but at least it’s something. 

Without warning, he pulls almost all the way out and snaps back into you hard, a perfect contrast to the previous thrusts. He must anticipate your reaction, too, since he leans down to kiss you, capturing all your pleasure. So you do the only thing you can think of and drag your nails down Jungkook’s arms. Part of you hopes you’re leaving a mark so that everyone will know he’s yours. Wholly and completely. 

“Fuck,” Jungkook hisses.

“Do you like that?” you ask with all the innocence that you can muster. 

“Don’t play games with me,” is the only answer you get.

“Then please, Jungkook,” you beg and he slows, still moving but focusing on your words instead.

“Please what?” he questions.

“Please just fuck me,” you supply immediately. “We’ve got the rest of forever for slow, just fuck me. Show me that I’m yours.”

It’s what he’s been waiting for. That last little thing he needs to hear. There’s a split second where he looks at you full of that same love and affection you’re sure was on your face earlier before he switches back to pure want and lust. And fuck this is what you need. What you want. The only thing in the world for you.

Jungkook picks up his pace, thrusting hard into you as you grip yourself as tightly to him as you can. Arch into him to change the angle, tighten your thighs around his hips. Before you can move a hand to your clit, he’s there. His finger along with the speed of his thrusts has you back on the edge. Your entire body is hyper aware from the earlier orgasm denial. He knows it, too.

“Come on baby, I want you to come for me,” Jungkook urges.

“I’m so close, oh my god,” you say through a moan. “Yes, oh my god, Jungkook, yes!” 

“I wanna see you come undone,” he says, breaths getting ragged. “Fuck I’m close too.”

“Come for me then,” you whine.

“You first,” Jungkook says and thrusts even faster.

A few more thrusts and you’re cumming harder than you can remember in a while. Nothing coherent leaving your lips. Jungkook is just a few seconds behind you and you meet his thrusts through his own high. When he stills, he carefully drops himself down, half laying on you without putting his full weight on you either. Almost absentmindedly, you run your fingers up and down his arm, tracing the lines of your favorite tattoos, watching the way his body moves with each breath. 

Jungkook looks up at you and he’s the same man that you fell in love with without realizing it. Except now you can accept it for what it is. You see the love and care in his eyes when he looks at you, the same look everyone else has seen the whole time. It almost makes you shy. He leans up to plant the softest kiss of them all on your lips before he pulls out, the mix of both of your cum spilling out in the process. 

“We need to get cleaned up,” Jungkook chuckles. You can’t help but laugh along with him.

“Yeah, probably need a shower,” you agree. 

“Let me check if the coast is clear,” Jungkook says and gets out of bed to pull on some boxers. He disappears out the door and you hear him out in the living room before he’s appearing back in the doorway. He’s got a smirk when you look over at him.

“Busted?” you ask.

“Better, he says he won’t be back until after dinner at least,” Jungkook says.

“Okay, sometimes he’s not the worst,” you admit.

“So shower?” Jungkook asks hopefully.

“Jungkook, I am not fucking you in the shower, do you remember that one time we tried?” you ask and he’s all smiles.

“Can you blame me for trying?” he asks. You’re so hopelessly endeared that it’s actually a little sickening. You’re also about to answer when he hops back into bed nearly on top of you.

“Jungkook, we have to clean up,” you say through a laugh.

“I don’t care, I’m just happy,” he says.

And that’s just it, isn’t it? That one word perfectly sums up how you’re feeling, too. This, with him, is what happy feels like. The lightness in your chest is only further confirmation.

You shoot down shower sex again, suggesting that maybe you should just shower separately to avoid anything awkward. But that doesn’t stop the two of you rolling to the other side of the bed to continue kissing each other. Doesn’t stop the kisses getting deeper. Doesn’t stop Jungkook kissing down your body until he gets between your thighs. Doesn’t stop him from going down on you and making you come hard on his tongue. 

It’s probably good, you think as you’re heading off to actually shower, that Jungkook sends his roommate a text that he may not want to rush back. It should be embarrassing how quickly Mingyu says he’ll just be home in the morning. Or that he knows exactly what’s happening. All you can think about, though, is the overwhelming feelings for this man.

(Well, you try to shower and remind Jungkook that shower sex was a disaster. But with his roommate gone, that doesn’t stop him from bending you over the counter and fucking you. It also shouldn’t be hot but you love the way you can watch him in the mirror. In almost know time he’s pulling yet another orgasm out of you and you’re not even sure if you can stand in the shower.)

There’s a loud knock on the bedroom door seconds before a louder voice carries through it. “This is your 30-second warning, I hope you’re dressed.” 

He doesn’t even give you that amount of time before he’s opening the door. And it’s fine, because you have one of Jungkook’s t-shirts on and he’s got boxers on. So you’re at least partially dressed.

“Oh, you are dressed, that’s so boring,” Mingyu whines, throws in a pout for good measure. 

“Don’t be weird,” Jungkook says. 

“Pot, meet kettle,” Mingyu starts but has to dodge the pillow Jungkook throws. 

“Out,” Jungkook says. 

“Is that any way to talk to someone who’s making breakfast?” Mingyu chides. 

“Oooh you cooked?” you ask. 

“You never get that excited when I offer to cook,” Jungkook whines.

“Out of the honeymoon phase already?” Mingyu asks and pretends to grimace.

“Babe, you don’t know how to cook and you won’t let him teach you,” you respond. 

“Yes, I am cooking, we’re celebrating,” Mingyu says.

“Celebrating what?” Jungkook asks. 

“Someone finally getting her head out of her ass and realizing how amazing my roommate is,” Mingyu says and is out the door before you can hit him with a pillow. 

“Breakfast does sound good,” Jungkook says, a little shy.

“Okay, but then can we talk afterward?” you ask.

He nods. 

Breakfast is good, but it comes with a side of The Talk from Mingyu before you even get to eat. Jungkook wanted to shower quickly before eating, and that’s fine. You’ve been alone with Mingyu before when you’ve been over at their apartment. He tries to make it a serious talk, telling you that he’ll come after you if you ever hurt Jungkook. It’s just, well it’s a little hard to take him completely seriously with his threats when he’s like the personification of a golden retriever. You do mean it, though, when you say you’re in this for real, that you care deeply about Jungkook. That you know it’s been hell for the last while and you’re so sorry it took you this long to see what was there all along.

After breakfast, some of the best waffles you’ve ever had, Mingyu leaves to go see a friend of his. And you all know it’s at least in part to give you and Jungkook time to talk. Still, you appreciate that he’s giving you the space you need to sort this all out. 

“I don’t wanna pop this little bubble, but I think we have to talk about us,” you say when you and Jungkook are settled on the couch. 

“I’m not sure how much there is to talk about?” Jungkook admits. 

“Well, for starters, I need to know if you can actually forgive me,” you say. Jungkook opens his mouth, but you’re quick to continue, “and please really think about that, Jungkook.” 

“I mean it when I say that it was mostly fine. I knew what I was getting into almost from the beginning. It was obvious you had some shit to sort through,” Jungkook says after a moment. “And I felt like you were always honest with me about everything.”

“And the times it wasn’t fine?” you prompt. 

Jungkook takes a deep breath. “Yeah, those times kinda sucked. Like when you came home drunk that night after you talked to him and you called him Hobi.” 

“I was so happy to see you, I don’t even remember calling him that,” you say.

“I knew it didn’t mean anything, I assumed it was just a slip, but it hurt my heart for a minute thinking you were just going to fall back into step with him,” Jungkook says. 

“I can see that,” you acknowledge. “What about when I told you that I was going to go talk to him about whatever the feelings were?” 

“I was, well I don’t know, I wasn’t really sure. I really wanted to be there for you because you’re such an amazing person and I do want the best for you,” he says and you find yourself studying his face. Finding more expressions there than you’re used to seeing. 

“You just wanted to be the best for me,” you finish and he nods. 

“I know I should’ve just told you how I felt and asked you to stay. But, I don’t know, there was this part of me that thought if you didn’t at least talk to him…” Jungkook trails off, unsure how to finish the sentence. “There was a part of me that thought if I asked you to stay, and you did, we’d both be wondering with him like hanging over our heads.”

“Honestly, I don’t think I had the right to ask that of you, or to even expect it,” you say. “I never really let you know where I was at.”

“You did,” Jungkook says and that surprises you. “I could always tell. I knew what I meant to you and I was…I was a little scared, even knowing how much you liked me, to just ask for it to be more.” 

“I thought you didn’t want more either,” you nearly whisper.

“I didn’t, not when we met at least. I thought being with you would just be easy and casual and what we both needed,” Jungkook says with a chuckle.

“I don’t know that I’m easy,” you grimace.

“You are, what wasn’t easy was slowly falling for you. I’m not used to being the one falling first,” Jungkook says.

“I’m so sorry, Jungkook,” you say, “I would take it all back if I could.” 

“I wouldn’t,” Jungkook disagrees. “I think we both needed to go through that to get here.” 

“And this is somewhere you want to be? Here with me?” you ask, more honest than you’ve been in awhile. 

“Yeah, I do,” he says immediately. “You said I deserved to know I was someone’s first choice and you do too.” 

“I want you to know that I do realize I was unfair to you and that’s not something I want to ever do again,” you say carefully.

Jungkook takes one of your hands in his, always so thoughtful. “We all make choices we’d change if we could, but you chose to be here. You’re acknowledging it, so I think we can take that and move forward.” 

“I wanna be clear about where we are though,” you say.

“I’m sure you want to take it slow, this is all kind of new territory for us,” Jungkook says. 

“No, that’s not it,” you say and watch his face. “I mean, we can take it at whatever pace you want, I just mean I want to be clear. This is a relationship and I’m serious about it just being you and me. I don’t want there to be any confusion in defining it.”

“I don’t think there’s any confusion,” Jungkook laughs. “But yeah, I’m on board for that. We can figure out the rest of what a serious relationship looks like as we go.”

“Together?” you ask and he smiles your favorite smile. The one where his nose crinkles and you can see his slightly-too-big front teeth and his eyes seem to sparkle. 

“Always,” he says. 

thank you for reading and for sticking with me through this, i hope you enjoyed it <3