#I’m not that petty or direct either

[anixknowsnothin]

the outside

week 3 of @ttpdpoetryweek

apologising beforehand because this is not my best and I’m submitting really late. my poetic side has gone due to too much physics and finals

The Outside I look from the outside,  I look at you,  You smile softly, lighting up the room,  As I stand in the dark cold. 

I wish I could take it back,  Take everything back, I lose sleep over the fact I walked out that door, And since then you’ve looked me in the eyes no more.

If only I tried to be better,  I swear I’m trying to be better, But you found better when I left, You found better because I left. 

I’ve never been the kind who always needed someone, I never really thought I needed someone. I said I can’t do with you, But really, I can’t do without you. 

Now I’m outside,  I walk towards the door, The same door I slammed as I stormed out of your life,  And I knock.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Monster Mania.

Pairing: Yandere!Vampire!Neuvillette x Reader x Yandere!Werewolf!Wriothesley (Genshin).

Word Count: 3.0k.

TW: Non/Con, AFAB!Reader, Oral Sex, Mentions of Blood, Non-Human Anatomy, Possessive Behavior, Prolonged Imprprisoment, and Slight Dehumanization.

“Pouting won’t get you out of this.”

“I’m not—” You paused, gritting your teeth as his shoulder pressed uncomfortably into your stomach. In retribution, you did your best to drive your knee into his chest, to let him know he was hurting you without admitting that you were even more fragile than he’d assumed, but if he cared about your attempts at resistance, if he so much as noticed that you’d moved at all, Wriothesley didn’t waver. “I’m not pouting, I’m trying to get away from my fucking stalker and his—” Another fit of thrashing. This time, Wriothesley was kind enough to tighten his hold on your legs. “—fucking dog. Why is that so hard for you two to get that through your heads?”

He hummed, drumming his fingers against your thigh. “Might be how often call us… what was it, again? A stalker and a dog?”

You scowled, crossing your arms. From your current position, slung over his shoulder, the remnants of one of his rope snares still wrapped around your left ankle, you could only see the thin footpath he was following and the dense forest that laid beyond it. The tree canopy was too thick to let you see the sky (something you mourned and Neuvillette adored, considering his fondness for early evening walks), but rays of golden sunlight still managed to pierce the endless sprawl of branches and leaves, marking the first signs of dusk. Neuvillette had still been asleep when you slipped through the door Wriothesley had forgotten to lock when he left for his daily hunting trip, but he’d be waking up soon; you could already imagine him rising from his canopied bed, picture the diluted shock he’d wear as he stepped into your bedroom for his first meal of the night only to find it empty. You weren’t surprised Wriothesley was so eager to get you home. Neuvillette was stoic at the worst of times, but the thought of letting his pet blood-bag get away was one of the few things that could get a reaction out of him.

Not that Wriothesley was much better. He was more level-headed, sure, more likely to let you wear something aside from ivory nightgowns and untangle you from Neuvillette’s arms when his hunger left him in a blood-thirsty daze, but that never stopped him from taking Neuvillette’s side when you found yourself in another petty argument, from standing in the doorway with a smile and a dreamy look in his eyes as Neuvillette fastened a lace collar around your neck, a collar just a touch too small to cover the twin puncture marks at the base of your throat and just a touch too similar to the steel choker that sat at the base of Wriothesley’s throat more often than not. He might’ve been human, something as mortal and as delicate as you were, but he was still a monster. He’d be crushed under Neuvillette’s heel a thousand times before he ever considered showing you mercy.

The shadow of their mansion was coming into view, now – the lonely building just as dark and just as intimidating as it’d been the first time Wriothesley lured inside. It stretched on as far as the eye could see in either direction and towered above you like some awful, looming thing; thick curtains constantly drawn over its many windows and every surface of its exterior constantly covered in a thick layer of creeping ivy. The rotting boards of the front porch groaned under his weight as he approached the front door, and you braced yourself as he cursed under his breath, patting down the pockets of his heavy flannel. You weren’t sure why they bothered keeping the door locked at all – aside from what it took to keep you trapped inside, at least. Neuvillette was the most dangerous thing for the next hundred miles, and Wriothesley was a close second.

The inside of the mansion was just as ominous; any light from the outside world captured and suffocated before it could penetrate Neuvillette’s endless abyss. You squirmed, hoping Wriothesley would at least let you cross the threshold on your own, but he wasn’t so kind, only responding to your silent plea with a playful squeeze to your calf as he made his way past the entryway and down an unlit hall, passing several torn paintings and overturned tables before finally shrugging open the door to Neuvillette’s study. A bottle of red wine sat open and half-drained on his mahogany desk, a small fire smoldering in the stone hearth he only rarely used. Neuvillette sat beside it, dressed in a simple black robe, his eyes blearily focused on the low-burning flames. He looked concerned, but his apprehension faded as Wriothesley carried you into his line of sigh, disappearing completely as you were hauled off of Wriothesley’s shoulder and dropped into Neuvillette’s lap. One of his hands found its way to your waist, its twin cupping your cheek, tilting your head back and allowing him to press a lingering kiss into the top of your head. “Beloved,” he muttered, practically breathing out his pet name for you before turning to Wriothesley. “Thank you, duke. I’m sorry you’ve had to inconvenience yourself for the sake of what should be my responsibility again.”

With a groan, Wriothesley fell onto the foot of the fireplace, shrugging off his coat. Where Neuvillette chose to hide his bloodlust behind a thick veil of unwavering niceties and delicate elegance, Wriothesley leaned into his brutality; broad muscle straining at the confines of his black undershirt, scruff cropping up faster than he could clear it away, his hair an untamable mess of black and grey and his clothes caked in an ever constant layer of mud and wear (save for his metal choker, of course, which was always polished to conspicuous shine). His eyes lit up when he heard Neuvillette ask after him, posture straightening like that of a soldier called to attention. You’d been too generous when you called him a dog. He was a mutt, too mindlessly obedient to ever question his master’s orders. “How many centuries has it been since you’ve had a reason to call me that?”

“It should be four this year.” Another kiss, this one to the corner of your jaw. You could feel the points of his fangs, still tucked behind his lips but no less dangerous for their momentary concealment. “Don’t you have something to say to him, as well?”

It took a moment to register he was talking to you, another to recognize the hypocrisy of what he was asking you. Your pressed frown fell into an open-mouthed balk. “Absolutely not.” And then, when Neuvillette held strong, “You can’t expect me to thank him for keeping me trapped here—”

“Silence.” He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t bear his fangs or dig his pointed nails into your thigh – he didn’t have to. All it took was that tone. Assertive, but not quite forceful. Lulling, but no softer than the wood and stone of his hellish mansion. Immediately, you shut your mouth. Neuvillette closed his eyes, letting out a raspy sigh before taking you by the hips and turning you in his lap, so that you faced outward rather than into his chest. That was enough to earn Wriothesley’s full attention, perking up as you were perched on the edge of Neuvillette’s lap. “Why don’t we try that again. Do you have anything to say to Wriothesley?”

You glared pointedly at the floor. “Thank you. For bringing me back?”

“And?”

“And...” This was the part you hated the most. If there’d been an alternative – a dungeon they could’ve thrown you into, a brand they could sear into your skin – you would’ve embraced it with open arms. But, that was the worst part about dealing with an captor. He had all the time in the world to make you bask in your own humiliation, and he never seemed to tire of the pasttime. “And, thank you for making sure I didn’t get hurt in the forest.”

As if there was anything out there that could’ve hurt you more than they did. Still, it seemed to appease Neuvillette, who let out an approving hum as he turned to Wriothesley. “What do you think? Be honest, this time. No lesson was ever taught with a gentle hand.”

He took a long moment to look over you, another to wet his lips. Wordlessly, dependent on the pure desperation in your eyes, you begged him not to listen to Neuvillette, to take your side just this once, but your improvised attempts at telepathic communication proved unsuccessful. “It could’ve been more genuine,” he admitted, with a slight shrug. “Didn’t have much nice to say on the way back, either.”

“Is that so?” His fingertips drummed against your side. “Why don’t you join us?”

Wriothesley didn’t hesitate, practically stumbling over himself as he crawled to Neuvillette’s feet. He came to rest on his knees, hand braced against the rug between his thighs and his cheek only a hair’s width from Neuvillette’s leg, as if waiting for permission to press against him. He always looked at his most relaxed there, on the floor, patiently waiting for an order from his master. It was hard to tell whether it was a skill learned through time, or if subservience was just in his nature.

His obedience was rewarded with a breathy chuckle, a hand run through his unruly hair. Wriothesley was more lax with himself than he usually was, letting his eyes fall shut as he melted into Neuvillette’s touch. “Since your tongue is so uncooperative today,” Neuvillette started, leaning forward just far enough to rest his chin on your shoulder. “How do you think you can show our dear helper how grateful you are?”

A bolt of cold dread shot down your spine. You moved to stand, to get away, but Neuvillette’s arm wrapped tight around your midriff, keeping you pinned against him despite your resistance. “Neuvi’,” you mumbled, squirming against him. “Please, Neuvi’, I don’t want to—”

“Now you’re going to play nice?” His hand fell to your knee, drawing your legs apart. Wriothesley filled the space before you could clench them shut again, his mouth immediately latching onto the inside of your thigh, his dull teeth burying themselves in the plush of your exposed skin. You cursed under your breath, trying to shake him off, but he held tight, fists curling around your ankles to keep you spread and exposed as Neuvillette watched on, his grin pressing into the crook of your throat. “That’s a little cruel, beloved. Can’t you see how excited he is?”

You could. There was a glassy sheen over his half-lidded eyes, a hunch to his posture that meant he was too distracted with you to care about how he held himself. You’d slipped out in a rush, eager to get as far as you could before Neuvillette woke up. In your haste, you hadn’t bothered to change out of the simple, silken frock you were wearing; a choice you only came to regret as Neuvillette dragged the tattered hem to your waist, as Wriothesley’s attention drifted from your thighs to your panties, the lacey fabric torn away with little more than a curl of his fingers and a throaty growl. That, more than anything, caught you off-guard. It wasn’t a threat, but it was more hostile than anything he’d ever directed towards you before. It wasn’t a sound someone like him, someone like you, should’ve been capable of making.

Neuvillette must’ve felt the way you stiffened against him. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss into the curve of your throat, just a touch too close to the vein he preferred to drink from, then another into the dip of your shoulder. “Surely, you must’ve noticed how scarce Wriothesley makes himself around this time of the month.” He paused, laughing airily. “He’d already be safely locked away in the cellar, if you hadn’t made him run out and fetch you. I suppose it must’ve slipped his mind while he was looking for you.”

“I don’t—” A tongue, broader than it should’ve been, hotter than it should’ve been, ran over your slit. “But, he’s supposed to be—”

“Human?” You refused to look at him, refused to acknowledge what he was doing to you, but you could feel his teeth ghosting over your skin, their usually dull tips beginning to sharpen into something more pointed, more animalistic. His tongue slipped into your entrance, thick enough to stretch you open with little more than its curling tip, and Neuvillette’s focus fell to your clit, left neglected by Wriothesley’s unwavering concentration on lapping up as much of your (humiliatingly, quickly accumulating) slick as he could. His thumb toyed with the sensitive bundle of nerves as he went on. “He is rather young, as far as immortal beings are concerned. He made an adorable puppy, back when creatures of the night were free to roam as they pleased, but he’s matured since his days of village razing and cattle slaughtering. I think you’ll find he’s learned how to keep his fangs to himself.” Wriothesley nipped gently at the junction of your thigh. You winced and Neuvillette added, “More or less.”

You could only bring yourself to half-listen to what he was saying. Wriothesley was growing more wild by the second, his formerly languid movements now hasty and agitated, little groans and growls joining the wet, disgusting sounds quickly filling the study. You felt claws that hadn’t been there a moment ago dig into your ankles, his already impressive build taking on bulk that would’ve been possible for anything natural, anything human. It wasn’t enough to just look away, anymore – you shut your eyes completely, bowing your head and curling into yourself as Wriothesley ate you out like a man— no, not a man, a beast starved. The cool marble of Neuvillette’s chest was almost a comfort when compared to the raw heat of Wriothesley’s mouth. It might’ve been more soothing, had he not been taking so much joy in your suffering.

“He’s always been prone to getting carried away. I used to have to fetch him at dawn – he could never seem to make it home before the moon set and he was left bare and unconscious in the vineyard of some poor nobleman.” He pulled back, letting Wriothesley’s cold nose grind against your clit in his place. You weren’t free from his touch for very long, though. The array of ribbons that kept the bodice of your frock drawn tight were undone, the neckline loosened and allowed to fall to your shoulders. “I’ve always preferred a more direct approach. The occasional drunkard taken off the street and drained was always enough to keep me sated.” He paused, cupped the curves of your chest. “Until I came across you, of course.”

You felt his fangs scrape over your neck, but he didn’t have time to bite down before you lurched forward, the sporadic movements of Wriothesley’s tongue bringing you to a sudden, unsteady climax. It was abrupt enough, violent enough to make tears swell in the corners of your eyes, to steal a ragged gasp from your lungs despite your attempts to swallow back any pathetic sound your weak-willed body might’ve wanted to make. For the first time, you couldn’t stop yourself from looking at him, letting your gaze fall onto the black-furred, oversized thing between your legs. He was unrecognizable, black fur and a wolf-like muzzle swallowing any familiar trait you might’ve latched onto. Pointed ears laid flat against his scalp, a grey-tipped tail brushed over the floor lazily behind him as he moved to keep going, to milk every last drop out of you, but Neuvillette reached down and took him by the metal collar now pressing flush against his throat. There was a low, drawn-out whine as he was dragged up and away from your pussy, but Neuvillette’s cruelty was limited to you.

“We spent hours talking about what to do with you, when he first brought you home.” He spoke absent-mindedly, muttering against your throat as he guided Wriothesley onto his knees. Even at only a fraction of his full height, he was tall enough to loom over you, to replace your limited world with a towering shadow of black fur and white teeth. He was panting, his chin glistening with slick and drool, what was left of his tattered clothes torn away in a few aggerated swipes of his claws. You’d been wrong, again – not every part of him was unfamiliar. His eyes were still there, the grey clouded and his pupils blown out but still undeniably his. Still fixed entirely on you.

“I thought he should turn you as soon as possible, but he protested, claimed the transformation would be too much for you.” He bowed his head, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Between you and I, there might be a chance he’s hoping I’ll give in first. He does his best to hide it, but he tends to sulk whenever I choose to feed from you. I think he’s hoping we might both have to rely on him.”

Clawed hands curled around the arms of his chair, the wood creaking under Wriothesley’s weight. For the first time, you let your eyes drift lower, let yourself take in the massive, pulsing cock standing erect against his lower stomach. It looked too big; like a prop, made to only vaguely resemble the real thing. It looked like it could tear you in half.

“Then again, he might’ve grown fond of the idea of adding another wolf to his pack,” Neuvillette added, as you went limp against him. “We’ll have to see how human you feel when the sun rises.”

It was an awkward position, Wriothesley too tall and Neuvillette too unyielding. He kept one arm wrapped tightly around your midriff as his other hand drifted into the limited space between your body and Wriothesley’s, his pale hand curling around Wriothesley’s thick shaft and carefully lining it up with your dripping cunt. Wriothesley bucked into the stimulation, his body lurching forward and his head nuzzling into the dip of your shoulder. You felt his breath, warm and humid, fan over your chest, then the rough reverberation of his voice against your skin. “Mate.” It was more of a groan than anything, one long breath that seemed to escape from some unseen vault. It was his voice, but there was something underneath it, too – something more guttural than you would ever want on top of you. “Mine.”

“Ours,” Neuvillette corrected, tightening his hold and drawing you close. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel it, pressing against your throat as his fangs reclaimed lost territory. “Our precious, misguided little pet.”

Wriothesley thrust into you as Neuvillette drove his teeth into your skin, both men piercing you simultaneously. Too stunned to scream, you could only silently wonder who would end you first.

[manheimsmuse]

bejewelled ; spencer reid

what’s a girl gonna do? a diamonds gotta shine!

a/n: very mildly self indulgent, i imagine this set around season one or two-ish just ‘cause the vibe of early criminal minds season will never be matched.

warnings: spencer reid x afab!bau!reader, established, secret romantic relationship, body piercings ( bellybutton ), teasing ( derek and spencer being, well, derek and spencer )

recently these late nights in the office had become more and more frequent. the team all sat in the bullpen in comfortable silence, only broken periodically when someone offered coffee from the kitchenettes unreliable coffee machine.

you rose to your feet slowly, body aching from being sat at your desk for so long. you tilt your head side to side, humming softly at the relief in your neck and shoulders before clasping your hands together and stretching them above your head.

a grave mistake.

“what is this!” elle squealed, all but launching herself across her desk then the hem of your shirt rises to expose the sparkling jewel dangling from your navel “a piercing? how edgy.”

elle’s tone is teasing as one hand shifts the hem of your shirt up just enough for her to examine the star shaped diamond with the other.

you’re too tired to swat her away, and in all honesty you welcome the distraction from the heavy workload, even if it’s drawing unwanted attention from the rest of your team.

a low wolf whistle is sent in your direction from the one derek morgan as he peers over elle’s shoulder to get a look at the jewellery, as does jj, and, naturally, penelope.

“hey, pretty boy, you know about this?” derek taunts, glancing over his shoulder at spencer, still knee deep in paperwork and ignoring the commotion surrounding your navel.

the entire team, especially derek, loved to poke fun at spencer for his little crush on you. teasing him relentlessly for not asking you on a date, for how he occasionally stumbled over his words when you sat next to him on the jet.

a bellybutton piercing, by their assumption, should’ve sent the poor kid genius into orbit.

but spencer knew already.

the two of you had been a bit of an item for a little over six months, keeping the new relationship hidden from your team for no other reason than pettiness. it was nice having something that just belonged to you two.

“yeah, i know.”

spencers mumbled response catches even you off guard, and it doesn’t even seem to register with him what came out of his mouth as he cards his hand through his hair.

“i — excuse me, what!?” penelope squeaks, heels clicking as she shuffles her way over to spencers desk and snaps his file closed “nuh uh, open your ears mister!” she scolds, tapping his forehead with the fluffy pompom on the end of her pen.

spencers laugh, your favourite sound, reaches your ears as he finally lets you catch his gaze. his eyes quickly flick up and down your body, a speedy skill he’d been perfecting since you first got together to catch a glimpse at you without anyone else noticing.

“i knew.” spencer reinforces with a nod “she caught it in her sweater last week and took it out on me”

a half truth, it was his sweater, in his apartment, but his answer seems to be enough to satisfy elle who releases her grip on your shirt.

you watch as spencer gets to his feet and, much like you, began stretching. only, to your horror, when he craned his head to the side the collar of his button up no longer shielded the dark purple bruise on his neck.

your drunken handiwork.

“now wait a damn minute..” derek began, eyes drifting from reids neck to you “now i know y’all nasty kids aren’t doing what i’m thinking.”

“no idea what you mean,” you mumble hurriedly, burying your face back in your paperwork and ignoring the giggles and prodding coming from jj and elle at either side of you.

[alastor-x-reader-stories]

To Rate a Hug - part 1 of ?

Tags: Alastor x Reader, Lucifer Morningstar x Reader, Humor, Antics, Fluff, Hugs, Reader is cat-like, shenanigans, Lucifer is a dork, Alastor is a petty bitch

part 2

“Who, in this room, is the most huggable?” Charlie asked, grinning ear-to-ear.

Your ears twitched, tilting your head at the question. “What?”

The residents of the Hotel were playing Truth and Dare as one of the redemption activities. Something about it being a good thing to be true to yourself and others? It was originally ‘Truth or Truth’ but Angel Dust complained saying if they had to play this game at all there should be a dare option.

You, being the hotel’s very own scaredy cat, only went with the Truth option. Charlie grinned, vibrating in her seat.

“Who’s the most huggable person in the room?”

You blinked. “Specify.”

“Huh?” The princess said “Um. I. What?”

“Do you mean who do I think would physically give the best hugs, who do I want to hug personally, or like, who I think is most likely to give me a hug?” You said, rocking a bit in your seat.

“Oh! All three?”

“Ok. Um.”

You scanned the room. Charlie was vibrating with excitement, waiting for your answer. Vaggie was watching Charlie more than you, a soft smile on her face. Angel Dust struck a pose, kicking one leg up in the air and shooting you a wink. Husk was pretending he wasn’t there. Nifty wasn’t paying much attention either, flitting about dusting and the like. Alastor hadn’t bothered looking up from the book he was reading and Lucifer… was staring right at you, vibrating much the same way his daughter was.

The Morningstars were so cute.

“Um. Okay, no judgement, though?” You said, grinning sheepishly.

“Of course, of course!” Charlie said with a smile, waving away your concerns.

“Wouldn’t be judgin’ ya unless ya told us who you wanted to f-“

Vaggie whapped Angel Dust over the head with a rolled up newpaper before he could finish that sentence. She sat back down and smiled.

“Go ahead, hun.”

“Okay…” you hummed, pretending you never thought about this before in your entire after life. You had. But that’s an embarrassing thing to mention so you pretended you didn’t.

“I’d say who seemed the best at hugs, physically, would be Husk.”

The cat’s ears twitched.

“Who I’d want to hug personally would be Alastor.”

One ear flicked to point in your direction.

“And I think Charlie’s most likely to hug me.”

“You’re right!” Charlie grinned, squishing you into a hug immediately and just as quickly letting you go. “I do love to give hugs!”

You chuckled, ears laying down bashfully. “Yeah, um, okay. Who’s next?

“You spin it, toots.” Angel said, shoving the bottle from Charlie to you. The group was using an empty wine bottle as the decider, and now it was your turn. You spun it and it landed on Lucifer.

“All right, Luci. Truth or dare?”

He jumped a bit like he forgot he was participating. Rubbing the back of his neck, he looked to the side and thought the floor was a lot more interesting. “Er. Truth?”

You hummed, tapping your claw against your chin. “Ooookaayyyy… Um. What’s your favorite color of the alphabet?”

“Well-“ He stopped mid-word, blinking one eye at a time. “….What.”

You cackled, unable to help yourself. “Well?”

“Answer the question, yer majesty!” Angel chimed in.

“Yeah, Dad!” Charlie said.

“But- What- how do I- I dunno, the number 5???”

You nodded sagely. “Good answer.”

“’Eh, I prefer-“

“Angel, I swear to heaven and back if you say 69 I’m going to rip your limbs off.” Vaggie growled.

The spider shrugged “I was gonna say 420, actually.”

“Ha! Weed.” You grinned. You’ve never actually touched the stuff because it smelled gross but it was fun to joke about.

Lucifer sighed and gave the bottle a spin. It landed on Husk.

“Right, Bar Cat, Truth or Dare?”

“I have a name, your majesty.” Husk snorted. “And. Dare.”

Lucifer grinned “Hee hee hee, okay. I dare you to… make me a drink!”

Husk rolled his eyes. “Coming right up.” He got up and left, then returned with a drink he passed to the king and sat himself back down, giving the bottle a lazy spin.

The old cat was really good at the art of misdirection. So if he carefully stopped the bottle with the very edge of his tail no one would notice. Except Alastor. But he didn’t mention anything because he wanted to see where this would go.

After all, he had it land on you.

You sighed, rocking a bit in your seat. “Truth.”

“Not even gonna consider a dare?” Angel said with a huff. “Kinda boring.”

You stuck your tongue out at him. He flipped you off. Life continued.

Husk sighed, leaning against his hand and humming as though he didn’t already know his question. “Ok. I guess… Why would I be the ‘best at hugs’?”

You sunk a bit in your seat. “Um. Well. Your fur looks soft…”

Alastor’s ear twitched again.

“…and you got those big ol’ wings.”

Lucifer found the wall interesting all of a sudden.

“…and you just kind of look like a care bear.”

Angel Dust burst out laughing. Husk’s ears went back, eye twitching. “Ex-fucking-scuse me?”

You ducked your head “I didn’t- I’m sorry I didn’t mean anything bad- I-“

Husk deflated, rubbing his face. “Right, right, m’bad.” He still looked irritated but managed to get his voice to sound indifferent. “…Why do I look like a care bear?”

“The hearts.” You said meekly, pointing a claw at him. “You have hearts in your ears, little hearts for your eyebrows, and your nose is shaped like a heart, and you have hearts on your hands.”

“…You know, they’re right.” Vaggie said, glancing over at the old cat. Charlie cooed.

“I never noticed that before!”

“I did!” Nifty chirped, scuttling on top of the table. “I did I did I did!” Her eye narrowed, pointing her feather dust threateningly at all those in attendance “But no one listened to Nifty.”

“Who’s Nifty?” You said with a shit-eating grin. The small little goober’s eye widened, surprise and wonder crossing her face.

“I’M Nifty….” She hummed, tapping at her chin.

You nodded sagely. “You are Nifty.”

…

“All right I’m done.” Husk said, pushing out of his seat and leaving. Charlie sighed. She thanked everyone for showing up and participating and the various people in attendance left for their own rooms.

You scurried off as soon as Charlie said you were done for the day and curled into your bed happily. Sweet, sweet privacy. Away from prying eyes-

“Hello there!”

You screeched, fur floofing up to the point you just looked like a puffball with eyes.

Alastor cackled. You crawled under the blankets to hide from him. Alastor was under the blankets with you, grinning. You flailed again, scrambling off the bed and darting underneath it. Guess where the fuck Alastor was.

Several more repeats of that later and you were laying face-down into your pillows with the Radio Demon standing over you.

“Well, that was amusing!” He said.

“I’m glad you had fun.” You muttered.

“I did, I did! Now, a question.”

“And now, an answer.”

“Very good. So. Earlier you had said that you wanted to hug me?” He leaned further towards you, quirking an eyebrow. “Why?”

“To annoy you, mainly.” You said flatly. Static surged. You flinched, ducking back under the blankets. There he was again, sitting on your bed with his legs crossed, eyes glowing brighter in the makeshift blanket fort. He had his hand on your back before you could dart again, keeping you in place.

It wasn’t forceful, though. You could sliver around if you wanted. What was awkward was how close he was to you now. Eyes shining in the dark, breath warm against your face, the smell of his cologne in your nose. And those fluffy ears squished slightly by the blanket.

The Radio Demon had no business looking so huggable.

“Now was that really the reason?” He said, eyes lidded. “From your reaction to our close proximity, I feel as though you were simply teasing me.”

“Partially.” You said. “I mean, yeah, it’d be partially to annoy you. But overall you just kind of seem really…huggable.”

He rose an eyebrow “Huggable?”

“Yeah?” You snorted “That’s what the question was about?”

Alastor leaned closer, voice dropping an octave as he purred “Absolutely nothing else you were thinking about?”

“Well now I’m thinking you need a lozenge.” You said, pushing him back “Voice sounded a bit hoarse there. And before you ask, no, I’m not that stupid and I know what you’re implying. But really that’s it.  You just seem really huggable.”

“How so?” He asked, voice thankfully back to normal.

Alastor had just been messing with you the moment prior. Usually those kinds of comments lead to certain kind of things. Though he would never partake in those ‘things’, the reactions of those who found him attractive were very entertaining. This just confused him.

You shrugged. “I dunno? I just look at you and go ‘mmm yep that’s a huggable person alright’. I mean. Assuming you didn’t hurt or kill me.”

“Oh, I might.” Alastor grinned. Your flight-or-flight instincts kicked in and you jerked back, being stopped again by Alastor’s hand. The instinct kicked in a second time when your face was suddenly pressed against his chest, a deep chuckle reverberating through him. “I jest, my dear.”

“You’re the deer.” You said. He chuckled again. “So. Uh. Is this permission to hug you…?”

“Ha! No.” He shadow-traveled out from the blanket fort and the thing crashed down on you. You reacted to this startling by running straight off the bed into the wall. Alastor’s cackle echoed in your ears as you de-tangled yourself from your blankets. You shot him a peeved look before gathering up your bedding and making yourself comfortable again. Alastor was gone by the time you were settled and you rolled your eyes and decided to forget about that encounter.

However life decided you weren’t done with the day yet. Someone knocked on the door. You groaned, melodramatically opening the door up.

“Uh? Bad time?” Lucifer said with a lopsided grin.

“Oh? Nah, I’m just being silly.” You said with a shrug. “What’ s up?”

“Uh. Well.” Lucifer said, rubbing at the back of his neck “You know, earlier, when you were saying Husk was the most huggable person ‘cause of the wings and stuff? I mean. I have wings.” He materialized his wings and spread them for emphasis. “And. Uh. So. I guess I’m wondering why I‘m not huggable….?” He ducked his head down, grin wobbly as more of his face turned red.

You blinked.

“Um. Sorry?”

Lucifer’s grin dropped entirely and he started flailing his arm around “No no no! You don’t have anything to apologize for! I’m sorry- I! Fuck I’m bad at this.” He sighed, running a hand down his face. You tilted your head, confusion beginning to cross into concern territory.

“Um-“

Lucifer disappeared into a cloud of sparkles only to immediately reappear right next to you.

“My apologies for my silly doppleganger.” He said, checking his nails nonchalantly. “In anycase, I have an important question for you.”

You snorted, crossing your arms “Ah, yes. Your doppleganger. Who is not you.”

Lucifer waved you off “Most certainly not, I am a superb mentlegan- Ah, FUCK!”

Lucifer poofed into sparkles again and reappeared on your opposite side. He dusted his shirt off “Whoops, there was another one of those imposters of mine. Sorry about that.”

You covered your mouth, trying to hide your laugh. “Yeah. There seems to be a lot of those right now.”

“Indeed.” He said, checking his nails. “Can’t blame them for wanting to pretend to be the King of Hell.”

“I dunno.” You said with a hum “I’ve heard rumors the King of Hell is kind of a huge dork.”

“Ah, yes- wait really?”

You laughed. He chuckled a bit, fidgeting with his sleeves. “Uh, yeah. My antics aside. Uh. Can I ask a question?”

“Sure. I see no reason why not.” You said with a shrug.

“Um. So. How would you rate my huggable-ness?” He said, grin snaking back up on his face. You smiled at him.

“May I get a sample for study?”

Lucifer’s wings twitched “Oh-Oh! Yeah! Sure!”

You chuckled and hugged him. He went tense for a moment, stock-still. Then the King of all of Hell practically melted into you, arms wrapping around you and squeezing tightly. Wings gently curled around you both. Soft and warm.

Overall, very solid hug. Only issue is you had to lean down a bit to do so.

[hyuckswoman]

“I’m shitting my pants” mark says to his best friend. they were currently standing outside of the music classroom awaiting the final class where they’ll have to present the project each group was working on

“really? you’ve never been one to stress over music class I’m sure you won’t fuck up” haechan replies chewing on the cherry-flavored gum he got handed during his last class

“no dude I’m talking about y/n. seeing her is *sigh* let’s just go okay?” he says to which haechan nods

“don’t worry you won’t have to talk for now” haechan says entering the class. he then proceeded to sit down next to you while mark sat right behind the both of you

“you ready?” hyuck asks turning to you “no? i don’t know? i’m nervous” you reply. playing in front of people was never your thing. you just hoped to pass this class because this class is not worth retaking the semester.

two groups passed and you only got progressively more anxious, people had practiced. they were ready. while you never practiced with both your partners, none of you did. either having alone practicing sessions or some with hyuck. you don’t know if you’re on the same wavelength, you don’t know how you guys will even sound all together. If you were being honest this was partly your fault. your pride and feelings got in the way. But you also knew that no sessions would’ve been productive had you trained with mark. You knew that you would’ve nitpicked every single thing he would do and would make sure that your pettiness and anger could be felt. So either way this couldn’t have been avoided. You just hoped that whatever terrible outcome was about to be unleashed to the rest of the music class, in just about a minute now, would be enough to get a passing grade.

sitting down, plugging your electric guitar, making eye contact with haechan - the subconsciously assigned new leader of the group seeing as though he was the middle ground in between you and mark- waiting for him to give you the go and then you started playing. And exactly 2 minutes and forty four seconds later, haechan mark and you were done performing 200 in front of your class. Immediately looking up at your professor’s face only to see a wide grin and a pleased head nod directed towards mark. Of course. This was a collective grade. you had mark in your group. how could you even for a second worry about getting a passing grade.

sighing out of relief you sat down next to wonyoung who called you over while you were walking towards your original seat “girl, maybe staying in a group with these two wasn’t such a bad idea after all.. you outshined the rest of the class I’m sad for the people going after you” she says “really? you didn’t think it was messy?” you ask. anyone could tell how uncoordinated you guys were. “not really no, sometimes it sounded like a bit.. i don’t know- like you guys haven’t practiced enough? but i assure you it was barely noticeable” she says as you sigh out of relief again “and by the way you and yujin were craaaaazy i got so hyped up” you say complimenting the both of them while they thank you. being so engrossed into the conversation you almost miss haechan calling you over telling you that you need to regain your seat because “professor said so.”

So after briefly nodding at them, you tiptoed around the classroom to sit next to your friend, once again. “ i lied by the way. the teacher didn’t say shit he’s still in his ‘mark haze’. i just wanted you to sit next to me” haechan says as you laugh at his absurdity. man you were going to miss sharing a class with him.

Some time later all the groups had passed and even though he wasn’t allowed to, the teacher assured every student that they had all passed his class. He really wasn’t allowed to say this but the minute mark asked he told the class. You weren’t complaining tho. Maybe you even understood him a little.

Getting out of the classroom after the teacher dismissed you, you felt yourself engulfed in a hug “are you less stressed out now? I know you worried about getting a passing grade but we did it!!!” haechan said while letting go of you “yea dude! I’m lowkey glad this is over.. I’ll miss sharing a class with you tho” you say back “should we go out to celebrate?” you hear mark say. For a second you genuinely forgot he was there. In your defense, he was standing on the side not making any noise so he was fairly easy to forget about.

You could feel his awkwardness radiating off of him and almost felt bad. In truth you forgave him a long time ago (that’s kind of a lie). You understood how whatever mental headspace he was in was turning him into an asshole and as the patient lenient girl you were, you couldn’t pretend to not understand. But you still decided to milk the anger because you knew you were patient (especially with mark). The way he spoke to you does not deserve your understanding. He needed to practically beg on his knees for you to even crack a smile at him. And you were making sure he understood that.

“I think I’m good actually! you guys go ahead tho” you reply. “cmonnnn, it won’t be fun without you, do you know how long it has been since the three of us hung out together?” haechan says grabbing the sleeve of your shirt throwing himself onto you “i wonder why it’s been so long” you say in a fake pensive state that made haechan laugh and mark scratch the back of his neck out of uneasiness. “well don’t involve me in your business, I didn’t do shit and I just want to hang out with my two friends.. I don’t see why I need to suffer the consequences of this” haechan says slightly laughing “oh right because you texting me about it repeatedly was not you being involved in said business?”you reply “touché. still tho, please?” haechan says (he then proceeds to threaten you, then almost gets on his knees to beg, so you agree)

after what felt like the most awkward lunch ever you guys stepped out of the restaurant in silence. not for long tho….cause yk….haechan. “I’ll get going guys, have fun” haechan says aggresively winking at mark trying to be discreet. you could see the whole thing but whatever. “I’ll get going too. bye!!” you say and before you could even turn around to leave haechan desperately yelled “NO- wait. i mean. mark wanted to say something i think” hyuck says still winking at mark but now pointing to the both of you with his chin trying to convey a message to mark that he seemingly did not get

“huh?? oh OH! yes i was gonna ask if we could talk?” mark asks you “nah, im good. bye!!” you say turning around and walking away soon after you heard someone run after you and grab your arm “wait. look, I know what he did was shitty and I know he doesn’t deserve your understanding but please hear him out? Like you guys were so close before don’t you think the friendship is worth salvaging?” haechan says still holding onto your arm “hyuck i sigh i don’t know okay? would it not be pathetic of me to hear him out when he shut me down so harshly last time i tried to communicate?” you ask. no matter how much you liked the man you needed to set standards up for yourself, you deserved respect. How are people meant to respect you if you don’t respect yourself? “i get that. truly. but please hear him out? you literally won’t ever have to face him afterwards” hyuck says while you nod and walk back to where mark was standing.

“should we go to my place to talk?” you say. you weren’t going to have this conversation in public that is for sure “my place is right there. it would save us the walk i guess but we can also go to yours if you prefer” mark says to which you shake your head telling him his place was fine.

Entering mark’s studio for the first time, the place really suited him. From the few art piece he used to decorate his wall to his keyboard in the corner of his room right next to his messy desk and even messier bed, hell even the dishes were mark coded.

“man I’m sorry, I forgot i hadn’t cleaned…. we should’ve gone to your place this is not how you visiting my studio for the first time was supposed to go” he says and you shake your head. he guided you to his small couch in his living room. as you sat down you saw in the corner of the room this pretty bouquet of lilies, man what bitch did he have over?? you knew damn well mark doesn’t buy flowers for himself so those were a gift. You guessed it wasn’t from any of his friends because they would never. These had to be from yunjin. The moment you realized it, you swore you built up a little more resentment.

“I’m sorry.” mark says handing you a glass of water; he was gonna go straight into it i guess. “i know. you’ve been saying that for the past week. I’m just here because I want to know why” you reply. “I- okay fine. I owe it to you, just, please don’t make fun of me okay?” mark says fidgeting with his fingers as you nod. “Things were going really great and I really enjoyed spending time with you and getting to know you and texting you and stuff and so because i liked you- too much I think, I had this huge slap of reality in the face like man okay this is going great but you’re going to fuck it up and then she’ll find you weird and never talk to you ever again and then you’ll be miserable because you’re such a loser. So it became a lot and I got anxious and I was like ‘I’m not gonna fuck it up if I speak less’ and that speaking less… well… it turned into me ghosting you. Then I realized and I felt guilty but I couldn’t just talk to you normally after ghosting you for days and then you sent me the texts and I was so frustrated at myself so I took it out on you. And i felt bad like I knew what I was doing was wrong but I was just in too deep and then donghyuck texted me and I was also mean but anyway. I’m not trying to make excuses for myself I just want to explain everything to you. I’m really really sorry tho” mark says not having enough courage to look at you.

“you like me?” you say. You admit everything he said after was kind of a blur “no i mean yea but I ugh I didn’t want to tell you like this or at all man I’m so sorry I’m so stupid” mark replies clearly frustrated. “ you can’t do this to me mark” you reply “I know I’m sorry I didn’t mean for it to come out I’m sorry” he says “this is fucked man, you flirt with me, ghost me and all of that because you like me??” you say to mark as he nods you burst out laughing. mark is very confused tho. “I feel…so conflicted right now man I can’t tell if I want to kiss you or punch you in the face. Was it not obvious I liked you?? If you liked me that bad couldn’t you have just confessed?? man you had me stressed for weeks im” you say laughing because what the fuck man

“you like me?” mark asks “yes. man I’ve been liking you for so long this is so ridiculous.. I used to have a hallway crush on you that’s why I stared at you during the first music class… and then when we became closer I started liking you… like deadass. when you replied to chenle ‘ew’ I wanted to kill myself” you say as mark gasps “THAT’S WHY?? I genuinely believed your lie woah.. also man I wanted to kill chenle because shut up like mind your business don’t air mine out on twitter like this” mark replies laughing. “what about yunjin tho?” you ask “what about her?” he says. “well isn’t there some sort of thing going on between you and her?? the bouquet right there screams everything but platonic” you reply “what?? no I don’t like her I like you. matter of fact the bouquet is for you I was going to give it to you after music class but pussied out and left it home before since I wasn’t sure if you hated me or not” mark says getting up to fetch the bouquet for you. “oh. thanks. they’re really pretty. They’re my favorite flowers did you know?? Also I can’t believe you like me.. that’s crazy. I’m still pissed at you lowkey” you say. “Yea we talked about it when you gave me my bouquet.. also you really didn’t know? I mean who do you think 200 is about? I thought you would get it” he says laughing. you hit him (not harshly of course) because how dare he imply that you’re slow??

“despite you being mad at me… will you let me be your boyfriend? I’ll beg if I have to” mark asks “i guess… you’ll have to do some serious groveling tho… I don’t want my friends to know I forgave you so easily” you reply “man you’re harsh.. I guess?? be a little more enthusiastic you have a boyfriend now. also yea your friends are scary, especially renjun I got so startled like… this is not the renjun I met” your boyfriend says laughing. “I’M HARSH???? sorry I didn’t want to jump up and down, i already know I’m dramatic don’t want to hear it again” you reply to which mark says touché.

“Can I kiss you?” your boyfriend asks “of course you’d be a dork about it” you reply laughing at him. he quickly shut you up. You were partly shocked because one, you were kissing the man you’re extremely down bad for and two, you didn’t think he had it in him to shut you up with a kiss. Feeling his smile against your lips he pulled away “didn’t think I’d do that did you?” he asked. you didn’t have the words so you shook your head no. What the fuck happened to dorcus lee? And before you could remove his hand that had been grabbing your chin, mark leaned in again to steal another kiss. you swore you felt lightheaded. Not enough to let him away with it tho. So you put each one of your arms around his shoulders, leaned closer and deepened the kiss.

And maybe, just maybe you guys ended up kissing for a while afterward….only maybe though!!

51. it's over

previous chapter masterlist bonus chapter 1

notes: guys... this is officially the end of an era... I'm literally so sad to see it go I'll miss uploading sooooooo much. I want to sincerely thank everyone who took the time to read this story and even more if you took the time to interact with it. I hope the end is satisfactory enough for you guys and I hope that you enjoyed the ride as much as I did. Thank you again, this has been nothing but fun!! I'll miss down bad very much! happy read!!!!!!

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[hannieehaee]

not sure if you’ve done this before, i’m sorry if you have but svt and their s/o fighting bc of a misunderstanding?

fighting because of a misunderstanding

content: established relationship, mentions of arguments, pettiness, angst but nothing too serious, etc.

wc: 790

a/n: since this was such a general idea i went in a different direction with all of them and how they'd react if you or he had a misunderstanding and then it led to a fight. hope u enjoy <3

masterlist

seungcheol -

he seems super stubborn so i think that if he misunderstanding was on his side, he'd try to brush it off and pretend he didn't realize what the issue was. would try and drag it as long as possible due to embarrassment at his mistake, but it'd just create a bigger fight. eventually, though, he'd swallow his pride and admit fault.

jeonghan -

he'd gaslight you the entire argument and end up winning ... just kidding he'd actually be really open to admitting his faults and excusing you in your own T-T even if it had all been caused bc of a misunderstanding he'd still be willing to talk it through and resolve it. would NEVER go to bed if u guys hadnt resolved things.

joshua -

he's so annoyinjwhdjsks i think he'd be super annoying in fights so he'd take any bit of ammunition he could get. whether the misunderstanding was on his part or not, he'd still somehow argue it to his advantage. if things got out of hand, he'd wave the white flag and call a truce.

jun -

just confused the whole time. had he missed something or done something without realizing? his first instinct would be to be apologetic (even if he didnt fully understand how this argument had come to be). if he at some point realized either you or him had simply misunderstood the other, he'd just let it go, being content that you had already resolved it.

soonyoung -

lol i think he'd immediately act like wounded puppy the moment he realized that a fight had formed between the two of you. would do gymnastics in his head trying to figure out how you got here, only to realize that it had all been due to some misunderstanding between the two of you. he wouldnt care who was to blame, he'd just take responsibility if it meant the two of you could cuddle again.

wonwoo -

he's so in touch with his emotions and such an empathetic soul that i cant even imagine a fight breaking out with him, even if it was caused by a misunderstanding. like jeonghan, he'd be super open to talking it out and would never try to antagonize you during fights. had it all been caused by a misunderstanding, he'd still be very calm and understanding about it all, even taking blame if necessary.

jihoon -

gives me the vibe that he'd rather ice you out than actually get into a fight. this would, of course, only make things worse. he'd stand his ground, though, convincing himself that it'd be better to wait for you to go to him. after a few days of silence for both sides, he'd realize his mistake and have to crawl back to you with an apology.

seokmin -

would be so disheartened at the concept of fighting in the first place lol. he'd be willing to get on his knees to stop whatever argument was going on. he'd take on the blame of any misunderstanding if it made you happy.

mingyu -

another wounded puppy. would pout and whine and not really take the fight seriously, just wanting things to go back to normal so that he could hold you. would apologize for any fault of his and entice you into forgetting about whatever misunderstanding had come up.

minghao -

not sure if this is an unpopular opinion but i feel like he might be a lil bit stubborn when it comes to arguments. he might let his emotions get the best of him (he's a scorpio ..) and need some time to cool off before having a productive conversation. he'd have to hold himself back a bit in the case of a misunderstanding but would still never be mean nor disrespectful during fights.

seungkwan -

if for some reason you had picked a fight with him due to a misunderstanding on your part, he'd never let you live it down. would bring this up in future arguments (lightheartedly obviously!!) to give himself an advantage in any fight. would claim you had a previous record of being wrong.

vernon -

he's too chill to ever get into a serious fight. he'd be willing to admit fault pretty easily, but he'd also stand his ground when necessary. whenever a misunderstanding came up, he'd try to be the voice of reason and be open to criticism.

chan -

lol have you seen him when he banters with his members? he never backs down and he'd give you the same treatment. would argue til the end, even if things ended up getting a bit heated. in the end, though, he would calm down and understand that misunderstandings such as these needed to be taken care of with more tact and would apologize if he got too intense.

[rainydaydreamsideblog]

(The Maze Runner) He Gets Jealous

Author’s Note:  In my fics/imagines/headcanons, Gladers are aged up, and also movie version...  Also please bear with me, I’m getting the hang of Thomas’ character.

Thomas: He trusts you, and he knows you care for him, but he gets jealous on occasion.  He doesn’t want to make a big deal out of nothing, so he will quietly watch you and who you’re interacting with, distracted from whatever job he is currently occupied with.  He might ask you later in passing what you were talking about, but won’t say anything more.  He is more worried for your safety than anything.  Sometimes he’ll warn you about being alone with certain gladers, or check on you every now and then if he hasn’t seen you for a while.  He really doesn’t want to smother you or seem overbearing, he just worries.  If anyone makes you feel unsafe, he is bold in protecting you and making sure no harm comes to you.

Newt: He’s generally chill, but once in a while, an interaction in particular with another glader will bug him.  Maybe the guy was getting a little too friendly, or maybe you laughed just a little too hard at a joke he made.  Either way, Newt’s not going to make a scene.  He’s more on the petty, subtly possessive side.  If he’s not already in the vicinity, Newt will make his way over and inject himself into the conversation.  He wants not only your attention, but to also to shoo the other glader away and lay a silent claim.  If the person in question that’s giving you attention is being so forward as to make you feel uncomfortable or unsafe, Newt won’t hesitate to jump to your defense and be direct in telling them to back off.

Minho: He is rather confident in himself, you, and the relationship in general.  He isn’t one to really get jealous or possessive.  He actually finds it funny when greenies have crushes on you, and he’ll let them know you’re not available with a chuckle and a playful clap on the back.  He might even throw in some humorous bragging for good measure.  If someone means you any harm or discomfort, there will not be a trace of amusement in his eyes.  He will undoubtedly put himself between you and the threat, expression hard and intimidating.

Gally: He gets jealous rather easily in the Glade.  Early on, he has some insecurities to work through, so it’s a process.  He finds himself less tolerant of other gladers getting too friendly, and he gets irked when greenies come right out of the box staring at you.  He’ll get petty with you over it from time to time, but most of his anger is directed at the person who makes him feel threatened in some way.  One of the more level-headed keepers who he trusts will give him advice, and it’ll finally dawn on him that behaving like that will only push you away.  His patience and confidence begin to build from there.  He still gets jealous, but he doesn’t respond to it in such an unhealthy way.  He even starts teasing the greenies who are crushing on you, and relaxes a bit.  He still doesn’t hesitate to show others you’re his and lay claim.

[temis-de-leon]

Day 9 - Waiting to be kissed

Characters: Lucifer x gn!MC

25 kisses challenge Masterlist

Main Masterlist

CW: average sleep paralysis demon experience, established relationship, drunk Luci

.

MC wasn’t entirely sure about reality. Their heart still pounded, desperately begging them to run from whatever creature was chasing them through the forest, but they didn’t feel the crisp air of nature anymore and they weren’t hearing the sounds of heaving and growling either.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

Their eyelids felt heavy and even though the fear of being hunted persisted, the familiar smell of their room and the warmth of the blankets helped them realize it was just a nightmare. A horrible, daunting nightmare, but a nightmare nonetheless.  

They opened their eyes with residual concern and searched for anything that could harm them, but their vision was still blurry; the pictures on the wall nearly indistinguishable and the clump of clothes on the chair imitating a slouched figure, shoulders and all. What was probably a sleeve even resembled a hand resting on a knee and when the pile inevitably moved forward due to its weight, it almost looked like it was breathing.

MC clenched their teeth waiting for the fall, but nothing came. The clothes stayed at the edge of the seat, somehow balancing on their own before going back and finally resting against the backrest.

The pile sighed, then crossed its legs.

Drenched in panic, MC grabbed their pillow and threw it towards the figure, hitting them in the face before landing on their lap.

“MC!”

They stared at his direction, struggling to trace his silhouette in the darkness before he waved his hand and made the candles in the tree light up. The glow that filled the room was, thankfully, low enough for MC to look at the demon without squinting.

“Lucifer?”

His irritation at being hit was apparent, but they couldn’t take him seriously when half of his face was covered in a faint red hue.

“You scared me, MC” he finally said, chuckling.

 “I scared you?” they repeated.

A flashed of embarrassment crossed his expression and his eyes avoided their gaze. He fidgeted in the chair for a few seconds before finally getting up and sitting at the end of the bed to stare at MC, half-lidded eyes giving them enough information to know what caused this behaviour.

MC sighed and sat against the headboard, heart still pounding at the creepy image of the demon watching them in the darkness.

“Did you drink with Diavolo today?”

“How did you know?” his eyes opened wide in surprise.

They rubbed their eyes, forcing themselves to ignore the fatigue. They’d rather not have Lucifer staring at them in their sleep again.

“I just know…”

He sat there, quietly, intertwining his fingers with a dreamy expression. Then, moving in what he probably thought was a sneaky motion, Lucifer got close to them and extended his hand. MC rolled their eyes, but accepted the gesture nonetheless.

“I sent you a message, but it seems you were sleeping” he explained, flustered “I was dying to see you”

They’d be lying if they said his words didn’t make their heart flutter, but the tiredness turned them into a very petty human.

“Well, I almost died when I saw you, so there’s that”

“I’m truly sorry, MC”

He opened his mouth to say something else, but nothing came out. His cheeks became even redder, if that was possible, before finally saying what was on his mind.

“Would you, perhaps, give me a kiss…?"

“No”

“No?”

MC stared at him and his stunned expression, leaving the lover boy act behind, and rejoiced in the way his hands flew straight to his chest like they had said something heinous.

“May I ask why?” he looked away, trying to hide his disappointment.

“You scared the shit out of me” they explained, finally laying down again and pulling their blanket over their head “Wait until tomorrow“

“But…”

“Wait. Until. Tomorrow”

They heard him sight, still seating at their feet with uncomfortableness. Rolling their eyes again with unnecessary aggressiveness, MC patted the empty space by their side and tried not to smile when he eagerly dived to the mattress.

“Put out the candles”

“Will you kiss me in the morning?” he immediately asked in return, doing as they ordered. The room filled with darkness again, but his arm over their waist and his breathing against their neck chased the fears away.

“Yes, I’ll kiss you in the morning”

They felt his smile on their skin and MC couldn’t help but repeat the gesture. They grabbed his hand, holding it tight, and waited for sleep to reclaim their consciousness again.

With Lucifer by their side, it didn’t take too long.

.

.

Taglist: @ourfinalisation  @owlisbuffering  @chizukimp4  @ravenredwine @darkflowerav  @beatlebeesstuff   @mehkers

[msmk11]

Road Trip With Poly!Marauders

(James Potter x Sirius Black x Remus Lupin x Lily Evans x gn!reader)

A/n: This is my first attempt at Poly!Marauders and I also wanted to include Lily! It just makes so much sense in my head. I was just on a long ass road trip so it inspired me to write this. I’m also lacking in motivation so bullet points felt sufficient! Hope you enjoy 🫶

You all agree to take turns driving to make the road trip more bearable. Typically any time you all drive together I imagine Remus is at the wheel, Lily rides shotgun, you’re in the middle, and James and Sirius are on either side of you. So you start out the road trip in this layout. It especially works because James and Sirius will never end up upfront together- a recipe for disaster defined by too many crash close-calls, bickering, and two himbos who aren’t always the best at directions.

Being in the middle of them though is a blessing and a curse. You do get to sprawl out on your comfy boyfriends, your head on James’ thighs and your feet in Sirius’ lap (though Remus scolds you for this ‘unsafe position’.) However, you’re also stuck between their playful bickering and have once or twice been pelted with a straw wrapper in the midst of a petty disagreement. (Headphones are your best friend.)

Road trip playlists for days. And you know they’re all fire too regardless of who is driving.

I also guarantee you’ll take the best naps of your life. Car naps are already elite. But snuggled up with your comfy partners you are out like a light.

On the mention of naps- there are a ridiculous amount of unflattering photos of all of you asleep in the car. Sirius is usually the one to take the photos and he forgets to turn off the flash 50% of the time, resulting in the victim being awoken.

SO. MANY. SNACKS. One: yall gotta feed James who has the appetite of three people. Second: Lily is so mother sometimes and may overpack the snacks. But you’re all so grateful for it because she always seems to have exactly what you need when you need it.

You guys take lots of rest stops. On one hand, I’m convinced Remus has the bladder of a grandpa and has to pee a lot. Also, James especially has a lot of energy and gets antsy if he sits for too long. You can often catch him making laps around the building when you guys stop (and me too.)

I’m pretty sure on a long road trip Remus could finish a whole book. Lily would be close behind.

Games! Y’all play a lot of the classic road trip games like the license plate game and the alphabet game. Lily and Sirius are both uber competitive so they can stay entertained by these games for hours.

If you use a gps, you spend a lot of time mocking the voice (maybe this is just a me thing guys).

I can’t decide what the temperature in the car would be. Remus definitely runs cold so he is bundled up with blankets and sweaters always, but I doubt he’d turn on the heat because James would simply melt. He’d love to blast the ac. Sirius (dog at heart) loves to have the windows rolled down and feel the wind on his face and hair. I feel like Lily would also have a little carsickness so she’d like the windows down. Ig it would really be driver’s preference

Lily’s carsickness=those silly glasses. She hates them but they work. If anyone makes fun of her for the glasses you’re dead!

(these guys lol)

Car. Karaoke.

But anyways, road trips with your lovely partners are the best!!

[vixstarria]

Another gift

This is a continuation of my headcanon of Astarion’s romance with bard Tav. I can’t remember the actual chronology of cutscenes, but let’s assume this takes place after you’ve started a sexual relationship with Astarion and are beginning to grow closer. I was going to take it in a different direction initially, but these things have a mind of their own once they get going. 

If you like it, check out my first fic. I do plan on writing more! 

P.S. I may have taken some liberties with the game background story and DnD lore and magic system here – if it doesn’t really match up or make sense – sorry! Also I’m still only on Act 2. 

Tav tries to comfort or distract a brooding Astarion. 

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Bard Tav  

Comfort, fluff, budding love, humour, angst, banter, no spoilers, non-explicit 

Approximately 2,000 words. 

AO3

 

Astarion was standing outside his tent with his back to the camp, staring into a silver mirror. The man had either lost his vampiric condition, lost his mind, or was simply brooding.  

“Looking at something?” he asked absent-mindedly, as you approached. 

Brooding. Definitely brooding.  

“Looking for something.” 

“Oh?” He turned towards you. “Just my company, or is there something else I can offer you?” 

“I'm the one making an offering, actually. I thought I’d bring you a little snack” 

Astarion grinned and beckoned you inside his tent.  

Inside, aside from his bedroll, was a trunk with a large mirror opposite, a lit lantern and a scattering of weapons, equipment and books. You assumed your usual position, cross-legged on the bedroll, and offered him your wrist. This didn’t take long. Just a little pick me up.  

He finished, planting a light kiss on your wrist, reached for his amulet and whispered an incantation to heal the wound. He kept hold of your hand, lacing his fingers through yours.  

“Do you have any idea how much I appreciate that you don’t sexualise this?”  

“I haven’t thought about it... Really?” 

“Well imagine that any time you went to, say, take a bite of a turkey leg, there was someone staring, groping themselves and wagging their tongue at you. When you’re just trying to perform basic functions to stay alive.” 

“Sweetheart, that’s an average evening at the pub for me, when I perform. With or without me biting on anything. ...But I see what you mean”. You contemplated what he just said in a brief silence. “I can't believe you just compared me to a turkey leg.” 

“You’re more of a ripe, juicy peach” he said. You found yourself oddly pleased to be compared to fruit rather than poultry. 

You glanced at the large mirror standing on the floor of the tent.  

“You own an awful lot of mirrors for a vampire. Why do you even keep this here?” 

“That? Oh, it reflects light... makes the tent appear more spacious... prevents anyone from sneaking up on me. ...Unless they’re another vampire.” Astarion said contemplatively. “And I figured, I woke up once with a tadpole in my brain that let me walk in the sun again – who's to say I won’t catch another parasite tomorrow that might cure my vampirism entirely?” 

“Do you miss it? Seeing your own face?” 

“Preening in the looking glass? Petty vanity? Of course I miss it. I’ve never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red. My face is just some dark shape in my past. Another thing I’ve lost. I wouldn’t even recognise myself anymore. It’s been two hundred years.” 

“But...” you fumbled, trying to wrap your mind around that. “You could have found a street artist to sketch you since then.” 

“In the middle of the night?” 

“Or commissioned a portraitist, those artistic types would accommodate you any time of day or night” 

“Commissioned a - …I’m sorry, at what point did I give you the impression that Cazador paid us an allowance..?” Astarion was growing agitated. “And before you say I could have stolen – remember, everything I had, anything I acquired by any means, the clothes on my back, my body, my will – it all belonged to the master.” He paused, regaining control of his demeanour. “There was no point in having any possessions, it would all be the bastard’s in the end. I didn’t want to give him any more than I absolutely had to.” 

You kicked yourself in the ass mentally.  

“Well how’s this... We get to Baldur’s Gale. We exterminate Cazador and take over his palace. Then we rip out whatever he’s got as décor, commission all the best artists, and hang paintings of you on every wall. There will be nothing but portraits of Astarion everywhere.” Astarion’s eyes softened as he watched you gesticulating and getting carried away by your own imagination. “Astarion in shining armour. Astarion on a horse. Astarion on silk bedsheets, half-covered in rose petals. Pirate Astarion. Astarion stroking a cat. Historic events, but every single person depicted is Astarion. Oh! And in the main banquet hall, there will be an enormous mural of you, fully naked, lounging on a divan and being fed grapes by a cadre of nymphs.” 

“With a fig leaf covering my unmentionables?” 

“A comically large fig leaf. Or better yet, no fig leaf, just your full unmentionable glory looming over the dining table” You paused, as if sobering up after being lost in your grand vision, and added in a more serious tone: “We can commission busts and statues, too. Get a mold of your face for a hyper-realistic one.” 

“We” he whispered, as if to himself, with a scornful chuckle.  

“Oh? Do you have someone else in Baldur’s Gate you’d rather spend time with?” You realised how callous that might have come across as soon as the words were out, and cringed inwardly. 

“...No, I don’t” he said absently. 

“Elves live long lives... Do you still have real family there? Friends from... before? ...A spouse? Children?” You'd wondered about this before, and figured you may as well lie in the hole you’d dug for yourself.  

“Gods, no!” Astarion blinked in surprise. “I wasn’t even considered a full adult by elven society then. No, mercifully I didn’t leave any little Astarions behind. All my friends from my youth are either dead or have blissfully forgotten me. And I don’t even know where my family is.” 

You gave him a sympathetic and questioning look, waiting for him to go on. He sighed and continued. 

“As you might expect, Cazador placed a restriction on me, preventing me from telling anyone about my affliction. I couldn’t approach my old acquaintances and go ‘Surprise! I’m actually alive! ...Sort of. I’m just someone’s vampire spawn slave now!’. No. I was to turn around and walk the other way if I ever came upon anyone who might recognise me. I was supposed to be devoted only to my new ‘family’.” he scowled. “I feared that Cazador would use anyone he thought might be important to me against me - for fun, or to teach me a ‘lesson’. And he would have, too: the mental torture he unleashed on his spawn was far worse than physical.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I couldn’t go and see my family, but as soon as I had my wits about me, I managed to arrange for one of the mercenary guilds to quickly escort my relatives out of the city. They were to be told that I made some powerful enemies who had me murdered, and that these enemies would come for them next. That they had to leave, change their names, and never return. I don’t know where they went. I can’t know, if I want them to be safe.” He looked away. “I can’t imagine how much they hated and cursed me. I ruined their lives.” he whispered. 

“You saved them!” you objected, taking his hand. He shrugged but squeezed your hand back. 

“I suppose I might have. Cazador would’ve left their heads on spikes in my crypt by now, otherwise.” He met your eyes again. “So yes, if anyone is going to be helping me decorate a palace, it’s you.” he added with a false cheer, clearly finished with the topic of Cazador.  

You thought he might want to be alone then and were about to leave, but he gently pulled you towards himself. He was sitting on the ground with his back against a trunk. You settled between his legs, your back against his chest, his lips right at your ear, one arm across your shoulders and chest, the other playing with your hair. The large mirror was on the ground right in front of you. He studied your reflection over your shoulder. You appeared to be lounging suspended at an odd angle.  

“How does it even work, anyway... It’s not just your body that disappears, it’s your clothing, too”. You grabbed a hat from the top of the trunk, holding it by its crown, and held it over Astarion’s head, moving it in circles against his hair. “Now you see it...” You let go and watched it disappear in the reflection. “Now you don’t.” 

“I’m actually not sure, darling. Maybe it needs to be supported solely by me. Or it’s got to do with movement” He threw the hat back onto the trunk, where it reappeared in the reflection. 

“Say...” threw your head back to look up into his eyes “Do you think my reflection would disappear... if a part of you was inside?” you bit your lip and grinned mischievously.  

“I don’t think so, but I love how that dirty mind of yours works” he purred in your ear. “Let’s check and find out” His hand slid towards the clasp of your pants, but you swatted it away. 

“Later.” Suddenly you were on a mission. “I have an idea.” 

The rest of your group were gathered around the fire as you made a dash for your tent and grabbed your kit of stage paints and powders.

“Chk, are you doing each other’s makeup in there?” came a scoff from Lae’zel, as you rushed past. 

“Don’t be jealous, Lae. We’ll have a girls night and braid each other’s hair tomorrow” you retorted, making Shadowheart choke on her drink.  

Back in Astarion’s tent, you reached for one of your loose facial powders. 

“You really don’t need to do anything, I’m used to it and nothing will work anyway” protested a confused and weary Astarion. 

“Astarion!” you said gravely, “This isn’t for you. This is for science”, and you blew the powder hard into his face. Sure enough, an outline of his features appeared briefly in the mirror, as the powder flew all around him. “It worked!” 

“Fan-tastic! Too bad you had to blind me to achieve that split second of a silhouette!” he coughed and rubbed at his eyes. 

“It should work with water, too, if you want me to pour some over your head. You need to wash all that powder off anyway, you look ridiculous.”  

He glared at you through the still flying powder particles and pointed a finger at your face.  

“No.” 

“Actually, hang on, I have a better idea.” You heard him groan into his hands behind you, as you ran back to your tent, to return with an amulet.  

“So, the good news is, I am really, really bad at this.” 

“If this involves setting me on fire again...” 

“That was an accident. Anyway... No, this lets me create a fog cloud. Or so it should. I can just barely manage some fog tendrils. Now if I just aim them at your face...” You concentrated on the spell. Whisps of fog appeared around Astarion. “Look...” As the fog tendrils twisted in the air, you could just make out a form that they floated around, in the reflection, one unmistakably of a face.  

“Well...” breathed Astarion, transfixed by the reflection, trying to make motions with his head to make the fog recoil. “It’s not much, but it’s more than I’ve seen in centuries” 

“Come on” you grasped his hand. “Let’s go outside, it needs a different light and a slight breeze” 

Astarion snatched his handheld mirror and followed you. He was actually eager.  

Outside, Astarion spun in the whispy fog, gazing at the mirror in disbelief, as you continued to concentrate on the spell. It was actually working. Your conjuration magic was just bad enough to make the thinnest layer of fog, framing his face like a delicate mask and reflecting in the mirror. What would have been considered incredibly precise work by a wizard, was made possible entirely thanks to you borderline failing.  

“That’s better... I’ll channel the fog right, you turn left against it. No, your other left! No, don’t go into the fire, you idiot, it won’t be my fault this time” 

You grabbed Astarion by the hand and tried to guide him away from fire and anything he could trip over – he was paying exactly zero mind to anything around him, as he semi-stumbled in circles, looking in the mirror. Scratch ran around you, barking, excited for a new game, and eventually tripped you both. 

“Another gift...” Astarion smiled at you, as Scratch did his utmost to lick his face.  

Meanwhile, the group watched the two of you from a distance, dumbfounded. Lae'zel broke the silence: 

“Your people have the strangest mating rituals.”  

“Should I... should I tell them I can probably just cast mirror image on him? I’ve only done it on myself, but it should follow the same principle” added Gale. 

“Maybe tomorrow” said Shadowheart. “Just let them enjoy this tonight.” 

~~~~~

Next in series

AO3

[spikedfearn]

I Said Just a Little Bit, Then I Got a Taste of It

Chapter III

bjorn x fem!reader

summary: After being transferred to another sector of Jackson's Star you reluctantly befriend a ragtag group of people with the exception of one cocky asshole who knows just how to get under your skin.

On the surface, you hate each other, but after experiencing a particularly harrowing event together, the two of you grow closer than anyone else could ever imagine.

warnings: secret friends with benefits, enemies to lovers, angst, alcohol/drug use, explicit sexual themes, non-linear narrative, side rainkay, trauma bonding, near death experience, brief mention of child abuse, more tags to be added

a/n: haha don't hate me but I split the chapter up again! that means there's no smut in this chapter either but it was getting long and the place I chose to leave off felt like a natural end. that being said this chapter is entirely you x bjorn-centric and there is a lot of pay off!

tags: @asvtrials @urfavhanna @orangebeauty (comment if you wanna be notified when a new chapter drops)

wc: 4.4k

Masterlist Next Chapter

Bjorn is the fucking worst. 

A marginal part of you just assumed that maybe he was an angry drunk following your little exchange in the bar but no—he's just angry.

Despite your previous apprehension you begin to accept Kay’s invites to join her and the others whenever they get together, which is a lot. You know you're treading in dangerous territory, allowing yourself to get close to them, but you're powerless to stop it, unable to recall the last time you had this much fun, almost too much, feels a little wrong, like it should be illegal. 

The only downside is dealing with Kay’s asshole cousin Bjorn, like stepping on a dull thumbtack you can't dislodge when you see him joking around with Tyler, his eyes narrowing as soon as he notices you approach, like he has some score to settle. 

You don't let it get you, not immediately, not letting him run you off out of spite, just as petty as he is. 

You can only hold your tongue for so long however, before reacting explosively to whatever insult is thrown your way, giving him exactly what he wants. 

The others stop trying to intervene after so long, when they realize neither of you are willing to back down, deciding to just roll their eyes and ignore your immature back and forth, splintering off to start a new conversation of their own.

It's another one of those nights, the tension between the two of you thick, thicker than the smoke coming from the bonfire, gathered in the quarry again. It's a regular hangout spot for them, liking the exclusivity of its location, far from the hustle and bustle of the streets alive at night, when the majority of the colonists who’re assigned to work in the mines aren't slaving away underground. 

You and Bjorn have been taking digs at each other all night—what else is new?—cycling between something passive aggressive and flippant, or overt and direct, depending on how irritated whatever he says makes you. 

“Always so hot and bothered, ain'tcha’ sweetheart? If ya’ shut up and c’mere I can give ya’ a real mouthful,” he smirks, grabbing himself through the loose crotch of his frayed cargo pants.

Disgust pinches the bridge of your nose, nice and tight, hissing back, “ugh, you're such a pig. I’m thoroughly convinced the shitty apple didn't fall far from the shitty tree,” words soaked in venom, the aftertaste of acid burning the lining of your esophagus. 

It's like pulling the pin on a grenade, watching the way everyone reacts, a collective gasp shredding through the calm. Your revulsion is replaced by one of confusion, head cocking to the side as your posture wilts, losing all strength in your shoulders. You don't get why, not when you've said far, far, worse to one another, made a little game of it even. 

You don't see the usual anger or arrogance you've become accustomed to. Instead he looks hurt. Wounded. Blinking twice as fast like he's trying to stop his eyes from watering only to catch himself, schooling his face into something neutral, something mean.

Bracing yourself for the fallout, Bjorn does something completely unexpected—he leaves. Doesn't scream or swear or snark back, just silently turns and retreats, gravel loudly crunching beneath the black worn-in soles of his stormer boots, not sparing a single glance your way while he does.

“Not cool dude,” Navarro chides in your direction, slinging the strap of the backpack she bought the beer in over her shoulder before jogging off in hot pursuit of her brother, “Bjorn, wait up man!”

It's enough to kill the whole vibe, everyone awkwardly parting ways not long after. You return to your apartment sooner than predicted, playing the scene over and over in your head as you try and decipher what could've triggered that response, like he was on the verge of tears. And the others, with the exception of Andy, all seemed floored, clearly clued in on some context you're missing. 

But the thing is, why should you even care? For Bjorn and his infantile way of coping with whatever he's dealing with? When he's not once shown you the same consideration in return? You shouldn't. 

At least—that's what you tell yourself as you strip down to your underwear and crawl into the familiar warmth of your bed, cocooning your body in your blankets as the exhaustion and sleeping pills kick in, lulling you into a restless sleep. 

A sharp knock on the front door startles you awake, eyes bouncing off the walls of your cramped room before they're drawn sideways, finding the analog clock sitting on your bedside table. 

It's late in the afternoon, not nearly as late as you usually allow yourself to sleep on days off, still, that's not what's currently puzzling your still-waking brain.

There's a followup knock, reminding you why you're awake in the first place, begrudgingly removing yourself from the comfort of your sheets while you try and figure out who'd be visiting you right now, pulling on yesterday's jeans left crumpled on the floor by your bed. 

Maybe it's Kay stopping by to check on you. She looked like she wanted to say something last night, after Tyler smothered the bonfire and everyone had left but ultimately never did, choosing to run and catch up with Rain, weaving their fingers together once she did.

You swear though, if it’s just some corpo from the council coming to assign you mandatory overtime you might just take the automatic jail sentence.  

It ends up being neither. To your surprise it’s Tyler, fist raised like he’s getting ready to knock again, immediately taking one step down on the concrete steps leading up to your doorway to give you some room, cheeks a little red. 

“Sorry, didn’t meanta’ wake you,’” Tyler greets, probably taking note of your unkempt appearance, from your tangled hair to the rapid flutter of your lashes, trying to blink the sleep out of them. 

“Could—would you mind if we had a chat?” He amends, adding on, “it’ll only take a sec,” after the fact, the porch light above your head just bright enough to illuminate the hope on his face. Well, this is new. 

You’ve grown to like Tyler and the company he provides, always thoughtful and in high spirits, regardless if he just clocked out of a sixteen hour shift or not, hands shaking and wrapped in dirty gauze from the wounds he sustained. 

That being said, you’ve never met up just the two of you, only ever spending time in facilitated group settings outside of the mines. 

Nonetheless you move aside, a nonverbal queue to come in that he readily accepts, maneuvering around you to step into the tiny kitchenette adjacent to your bedroom. You watch as he gazes around, taking in the surroundings like all the apartments the colonists reside in don't look exactly the same. Albeit yours is pretty bare, not seeing a point in decorating when you could be transferred again at a moment's notice.

“So,” you say, shattering the quiet, leaning back against the laminate counter, arms folded out in front of you with one foot crossed over the other, right heel lifted off the tile floor, “what did you wanna talk about?”

There’s little doubt in your head as to what it's pertaining to, suspicion shortly confirmed by the sheepish look in Tyler's eyes when he meets yours again,“it's about Bjorn.” 

“I figured as much,” you sigh, waiting for him to go on, his hand coming up to anxiously rub over the back of his neck.

“Right, so. Is’not my place to share but Bjorn has a lot of baggage there—with his family. It's a super sore subject for ‘im,’ so when you said that it kinda dug all that shit up.”

Tyler continues, cutting you off before you have a chance to interrupt, “And I know you didn’t mean it, that you don't owe ‘im anything, and you certainly don't hafta’ listen to me but would you please just. Talk to ‘im?’

You can tell Tyler means well, that he wants to smooth things over between the two of you and, while you’d never readily admit it aloud, you do feel a little bad for Bjorn. Bjorn. Sunlight must be shining through the perpetual polluted cloud cover from up above.

It’s just, you know what it’s like, dealing with the aftermath of familial trauma, trying to navigate a world that’s taken so much and given nothing back. Learned to bare your teeth rather than your soul, the only guaranteed method to alleviate the emotional damage life on Jackson’s Star brings.

Maybe Kay is right. Maybe you and Bjorn are alike.

And maybe Tyler is too, about talking to Bjorn, maybe it's time you two talk it out, try and find common ground so the others don't have to play referee anymore. 

“Fine,” you agree,“I’ll talk to him.” 

All the tension in Tyler's shoulders melts away, a relieved sigh deflating his chest, like he had been steeling himself for a potential refusal. 

“Lovely, that's—thank you. Really.” Tyler beams, drawing you into an unexpected hug, a quick, thankful little squeeze despite your arms still being crossed.

Tyler pulls away so you can face each other again, “I know he can be a total fuckin’ wanker but he's one a’ the only people Kay and I got left. And Kay’s got you now and—you don't have to like ‘im. Hell I don't half the time, but if you could just try and tolerate each other maybe?” 

A giggle bubbles up out of you, offering a reluctant nod in return, “sure, I can try. No promises though.” 

“S’okay. I don't expect Bjorn to listen anyways but if I can at least get you on board, things should be smooth sailin’ yanno?” 

You doubt it'll be that easy, that Bjorn will even be receptive to talking but you're willing to honor Tyler's request and try, for him, Kay and the others. 

Once Tyler leaves, you decide it's better to just rip the bandaid off and go looking for Bjorn, who's apparently putting in overtime, something he's prone to doing whenever he needs to blow off some steam according to his older cousin. 

You clock in and check out a drill, the only way low-level colonists gain entry down here, lugging it through one of the series of carved paths towards the sound of shrill cogging you hear echoing off the walls just up ahead in the distance. 

Bjorn isn't hard to find. He's the only one laboring on his day off, the only one in this section of the mines at least, save for the lone guard stationed at the mouth of the tunnel, paying you little mind as you pass. 

The drill head Bjorn's wielding bores into the hard rock, heavy handed from the anger he's trying to work through, sparks flying off as a result. 

Your stomach swoops low when he looks at you, anticipating some kind of reaction, his muscles sagging just a little but, like the guard, he goes back to working, drilling a little harder than before. You can tell this conversation will be like pulling teeth. 

“Bjorn,” you call, trying to be heard over the sound of grating metal, pulling your goggles up and your mask down, letting it hang around your neck. “Bjorn!” 

The lean lines in his forearms built over time flex harder, highlighted by the sweat gathering there, gloved fingers constricting around the worn handle of the power tool as he readjusts his grip. Even through the face shield you can tell he's gritting his teeth, grinding them just as hard as the drill against the rock, the muscles in his neck straining from the way his jaw is set so incredibly tight.

“Bjorn!” You repeat, growing frustrated, taking the risk of losing a finger or two by pushing at Bjorn's shoulder, “can you please just—look at me?”

He’s quick to snatch your wrist, startling you, strong enough to keep the drill upheld with his other arm while he thumbs the off switch. 

“Wha’ in the bloody fuck d’ya want?!” He snarls, eyes narrowed and brows pinched, twisting your arm to hold it down in between you, mindful not to actually hurt you.

“M’sorry,” you mumble, avoiding the angry scowl he's wearing, now the one unable to make eye contact.

“Wha’ tha’ fuck was tha’?!”

Your throat feels rougher than sandpaper, finding it harder to swallow than the pills you pop every night. “I said I'm—sorry.”

The laugh he gives in response sounds hollow, bitter, “oh thas’ bleedin’ rich comin’ from you. Come ta’ say sorry so you can sleep a little easier tonight, have ya?’ Well I don't want ur fuckin’ pity.”

Your head whips up at that, doing your best to keep composed, despite your fight or flight urging you to combat his animosity with your own. 

“I didn't come to apologize to make myself feel better, that's not who I am. Whether we get along or not doesn't matter. I realized I crossed a line and you deserve better than that. That's why I came to say sorry.” 

His face softens just a bit, just long enough for you to notice before his expression hardens again, lips parting to say something more but he never gets the chance to, interrupted by a low ominous groan that shakes the entire roof of the tunnel you're standing in. Shit, that doesn't sound good.  

You share a look of dread then, before either of you can react, a crevasse three feet wide fractures up the entire length of the rock right above your heads as the deafening roar of a cave-in drowns out every other noise.

The only thing you feel is Bjorn’s calloused hand still holding onto your wrist roughly yanking you into his body right as everything collapses around you.

The first thing you register is the fact you're still alive. Aching all over and windpipe tight from inhaling the harsh toxins released into the air all at once, but—alive.

The next is the ringing in your ears, a high frequency whine that sounds like a mortar shell just went off by your head, leaving you disoriented, possibly concussed.

And the last is the solid body of muscle you're lying on top of, the same one that just saved you from biting it several moments ago. 

He's sprawled out on his back, the rapid wide-eyed blinking and quick rise and fall of his chest trying to draw air back into his lungs an indication he's in much the same condition as you, goggles cracked and his face shield missing. 

Your breath catches when you notice how close the two of you are, so close you can see the dirt clinging to his goatee and the dried cracks of his chapped lips, breath smelling like rolling tobacco and polar ice gum. As much as you hate it, you can't help but think how attractive the view is.

He seems to regain his focus, looking down to lock gazes with yours, realizing the position you're in. His eyes roving over your face as if he's appraising you, as if he's checking you out. 

“Ahem,” you clear your throat, the severely dim lighting disguising the blush bleeding into your cheeks, rolling off and away from him, hoping he didn't feel the rapidity of your heart beating against your sternum like a battering ram. “Thanks.” 

Once the kicked-up soot and debris has settled a bit you take in everything around you—what's left of it. Both your headlamps are busted, both of which you discard along with the goggles and gloves, drills buried somewhere underneath the rubble you just were, the entrance to the tunnel you're in decimated to a cataclysmic degree, the only way in or out. You guys are trapped. 

“Ah fuck,” Bjorn swears, grasping the utterly abysmal situation you’ve both found yourselves in. “This is bad.”

“Thank you for your valuable insight. Where would I be without your brilliant observation skills,” you snark, the two of you sitting up to face each other, backs against either side of the walls that are still intact, knees drawn up to your chests to give each other a little more leg room.

“Shoulda just let ya’ get crushed by them rocks,” he huffs, “woulda saved me tha’ headache. And tha’ oxygen.” 

He's right about the oxygen. In an enclosed space like this with no ventilation, you're both in short supply, aware you'll run out of it soon enough. Even if the collapse didn't initially kill you, the suffocation inevitably will. 

“I seriously can't believe I'm gonna die down here with you of all people.”

“Ah yah,’ cuz this is how I wanted ta’ spend ma’ last moments before I kicked the bucket,” he rolls his eyes, untying the simple knot of his red bandana, which is grimier than usual due to the ash and sediment lingering in the air, setting it on the ground beside him. 

Bjorn pulls a rolled joint out of the breast pocket of his shirt, lighting up as soon as it's in his mouth. You almost tell him to put it out so you can preserve the limited oxygen you have but ultimately you elect to stay quiet. What's it matter anyway? Dying sooner might just be a mercy. 

“How much ya’ wanna bet some synth fuck’s up there right now tellin’ tha' council we're not worth tha' time or trouble?”

“You really have it out for synthetics, don't you?” 

You were aware he didn't like Andy, an opinion he made known every time Rain brought him to group hangouts but you didn't realize it ran that deep, never connecting the dots between his insults and the prejudice he clearly harbors. 

He chuckles, smoke billowing out of his mouth as he does so, a pungent cloud of weed looming over you, “ever tha' observant one, aren't cha babes?” 

“Fuck you,” you bristle, arms loosely wrapping around your shins, fingers lacing together just below the kneecaps. Although, to be fair you did more or less say the same thing to him not even five minutes ago. 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” the few oil lamps the cave-in didn't snuff out highlighting the wink he throws your way. “And if ya’ must know—yeah, I do. Every fuckin' last one of ‘em.” 

Deciding to tread carefully you simply ask, “why?” exercising a level of caution you normally never do.

Silence drags between you, expecting Bjorn to ignore your probably invasive question when, to your surprise he replies, answering with a painful degree of honesty that nearly blindsides you, “my mum. She worked in tha’ mines like most o’ us had to. When I was eight, there wuz a collapse much like this one. ‘Cept she was one o’ three miners on one side o’ the tunnel while there were ten in tha’ otha. A synth convinced tha’ council her life wuzn’t worth theirs. So—they let her die. Scared. Confused. Probably hopin’ for rescue. She always told me ta' keep tha' light on fo’er when she'd tuck me inta bed before her shift every night so she could find’er way back ta’ me.” 

He yanks out two sets of dog tags tucked underneath his shirt by the chain, one of them his and the other presumably his mother's, just like the ones you’re wearing, the corporation’s way of identifying bodies of miners lost, his thumb running over the engraving etched into one of the nameplates. 

Sympathy swells inside of you listening to him, “that's horrible.” 

You had assumed Bjorn's past was traumatic based on the little information Tyler was willing to share but you never expected it to hit so close to home.

“I get it,” you murmur, head tipping back to stare at the chiseled rock and remaining support beams to hold back any stray tears that might threaten to fall, clenching at your dirty pant legs a little tighter.

“My mom. She was pregnant and forced to work down in the mines until the shit she was inhaling induced her prematurely. Guess toxic fumes are bad for a pregnancy,” you roll your eyes, biting off a sarcastic, watery chuckle. “She ended up dying during childbirth.” 

There's a pause, your words hanging heavy in the air. You've never shared that with anyone who didn't already know. Word traveled fast around each sector, gossip the only news worth spreading, people talking about the girl orphaned by a reckless mother who should've known better. Fuck, it makes you sick just thinking about it.

When Bjorn speaks it's soft, comforting. “Thas’ horrible. So thas’ why you been volunteerin’ for Kay.” 

“Yep,” you confirm, popping the p, head rolling forward to lock eyes again, watching him put out the remnants of his joint on the wall next to him before flicking the butt into the pile of debris. 

“And ur dad?” he asks, the bend of his elbows resting on either one of his knees, leaving his forearms to dangle. 

“Never knew him,” you shrug, becoming detached at the very mention of him, like you’re discussing a stranger, which in a way you are, “he left right after knocking my mom up. Didn't want the added responsibility of raising a kid.”

“Fuck, I wish my old man woulda just dipped out from tha’ start. Woulda been the only decent thing he ever did for us,” Bjorn spits, words dripping with vitriol, clearly holding a hatred reserved for his father only. 

“What happened to him?” No longer trying to tiptoe around the questions that pop into your head since you're both over sharing. Since you're both dead anyway. 

“He’s still around but he's not around if ya know whadd’i mean. After my mom died he started boozin’ heavily to deal widit. When he wasn't in the mines he was out gettin’ piss drunk. Stupid prick gave fuck all about me and Navarro.” 

There's a growl that rumbles deep in his lower register, rotating his arms so they're pointed wrist-up towards the ceiling. You follow his line of sight, seeing scars littered across his skin, raised and round and purple from healing. Cigarette burns. 

“Bjorn…” you trail off, a level of sadness you haven't felt in a long time settling deep in your skin, “That's—what the fuck. Did Jackson’s, did they do anything about it?” 

“They don't give a rat's arse, yanno that,” he scowls, but not at you, turning his arms back down, “s’long as I'm alright enough to work they'll overlook a black eye or busted up lip. They can all fuckin’ eat shit far as I'm concerned.”

“I'm so fucking sorry about earlier. I really, truly am,” You stress, even more genuine than the initial apology you offered, feeling like a total bitch for what you said to him in the quarry. 

He waves you off, combing his fingers through his sweaty, clumped bangs to separate them, “s’alright babes. Already forgiven.” 

You never thought you'd say it but you're actually glad Tyler convinced you to talk things out with Bjorn, even if it inevitably did lead to your approaching demise. If, by some miracle, you both survive, maybe you can be friends. At the very least, friendly. 

“Can't believe I'm gonna die a bloody virgin,” Bjorn groans, head falling back against the rock. 

“Really?” You laugh, a full-body chuckle that has you coughing into a loosely curled fist immediately after, your lungs burning from all the shit you've breathed in, “that's your concern?”

“Uh yah! What else do I hafta' be worried about? Dying? That shit’s imminent at this point, hate ta’ break it ta’ ya’ darling.” 

He has a point. Besides, maybe focusing on a smaller problem will diminish some of the fear about the larger one at hand. 

“You're right,” you concede, though you can't help but be surprised by the revelation, with the way Bjorn carries himself he seemed like the type to sleep around with anyone willing to let him, “that does suck.” 

“Oh? So you're not one then?” he asks, raising an eyebrow that disappears under his hair, curiosity piqued. 

“No. Made a few mistakes back in my old sector, had a few one night stands. Nothing serious,” you shrug, indifferent. None of them ever meant something to you anyhow, just a brief period of time when you used alcohol to cope, when you just wanted to feel someone's arms around you. 

“Course—I don't hafta’ die a virgin.” 

His eyes openly roam over you, from your face down to what he can see of your body with the position you're sitting in, tongue parting his lips to slowly lick over them. You feel your stomach flutter, like you'd just swallowed a congregation of butterflies. Okay, he's definitely checking you out now. 

Are you seriously suggesting I sleep with you?” You ask in disbelief, the question entirely rhetorical considering you're the only other person here and he's eyeing you like a prime cut of steak, “what are you, high?”

“Clearly babes. That's beside tha’ point. Wouldn't be tha’ worst thing in the world, now would it?” 

“It might be,” you retort, “so was this just your plan all along? Get in my pants?” 

“Ah yah, I collapsed the mine so you'd drop your knickers for me, fucking come off it. And come with me, why don't ya?’” He smirks, doing that signature cocky head tilt of his.

That's not what you meant. Moreso wondering if that was his goal from the start, the tension between you seeming sexual in retrospect. You spear your bottom lip between your teeth, actually considering the offer, always finding Bjorn annoyingly, stupidly, attractive. Maybe you're the one that's high.

“I—” 

As if on queue you hear a familiar rumble, just like the one that trapped you here to begin with, rubble and soot raining down on top of you and Bjorn, looking up just as the ceiling bows.

Bjorn is quicker to react than you are, lunging at you right as one of the wooden support beams gives way and topples sideways, taking another chunk of the mine with it, the both of you avoiding another close call as the tunnel around you continues to shrink and shrink. 

This time he ends up on top of you, the full weight of his body pressing down onto yours, his gaze drawing away from the roof to meet yours again, the intensity of his stare causing heat to pool low in your core.  

Then he kisses you—and you let him. 

[perotovar]

bloody kisses — part one: less than zero

pairing: shane morrissey/tim rockford rating: E (18+) mdni word count: 5k content: vaguely takes place in the 00s, age gap (shane is 23, tim is 40), internalized homophobia, hurtful names (fairy boy, faggot, queer as a slur, etc), a gay porn magazine, lots of references to peter steele of type o negative (and his playgirl issue), male masturbation, acab, some angst, if i missed anything lmk! dividers: @saradika-graphics beta: @chronically-ghosted (ily ♥)

summary: shane has been in denial about himself for a while. newly single and with the help of one of his favorite singers, he opens his eyes to a new venture he could possibly take: the cop he sees on a semi-regular basis, detective tim rockford.

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The kid was a fucking regular at this point.

Tim just happened to be in the station every time the kid got caught. Maybe he was doing it on purpose, who knows. 

And God help him, Tim sorta liked the little shit.

“Don’t you ever get tired of coming here, Shane?”

“I told you, my name is–”

“I’m not calling you that and you know it,” Tim sighed exasperatedly, rubbing a large hand over his face. “Why did you steal the magazine?” Tim’s voice was almost bored when he asked.

Shane stayed quiet, picking at the chipped black nail polish on his fingernails. He was looking down, chains jingling from how quickly he was bouncing his leg. Was he nervous? Tim didn’t think the kid was ever nervous. Or, well. Acted like it, at least.

Shane Morrissey, twenty-three, twenty-four next month, was found at a convenience store stealing an issue of Playgirl Magazine. Tim wasn’t judging, but his reading on the kid veered off in, well, the other direction. He had the vibe that Shane could go either way; either aggressively straight, or trying to cover something up.

“Look, I really don’t care why, kid. I’m not going to… judge you, or something–”

“Whatever, old man,” Shane sneered, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away from him. “Can I just get my community service and go?”

Tim quirked a brow and crossed his own arms over his chest, standing tall behind the chair pushed into the interrogation table. Tim had asked Ron to turn the microphones in the room off. Tim knew the kid better than anyone here, and he knew Shane wouldn’t talk if he knew he was being recorded. Or he’d go off about aliens or “drones” or whatever other bullshit he came up with next.

Shane wasn’t an idiot, Tim knew that. Shane knew that. He just had a hell of a wall put up.

Tim sighed and pulled the chair out. He spun it around so he could sit on it backwards, arms perched on the top. “Kid,” Tim started. “Listen, I’m not going to do anything. It’s a fucking magazine and this is New York City. Your little theft is pretty far down the list of my priorities right now.”

Shane actually looked a little offended, looking at Tim incredulously.

“I’m going to let you off with a warning this time. And to be honest, I don’t want to see you back in here anytime soon, okay?”

“Aww, kicking me out? Thought you liked our little chats,” Shane batted his eyelashes, an exaggerated pout on his lips. He rolled his eyes after that and rested his chin in the palm of his hand, bored.

“I said I didn’t wanna see you back in here, Morrissey.”

Shane looked at him, big brown eyes squinted accusingly.

Tim reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, digging out a business card. He slid it across the table until it was next to one of Shane’s hands. He didn’t really know why he was offering this to Shane. Well, he did, but he couldn’t really say, ‘I see a lot of myself in you,’ without Shane taking it the wrong way. This wasn’t one of Shane’s normal petty crimes. Shane didn’t strike him as the type to steal this sort of thing. He’d vandalize the side of a building or go on joyrides. Things that were mostly just annoying. This magazine was… different.

Tim had his fair share of this sort of thing. He got into being a cop because he got caught when he was in his twenties. He was angry at the world because people didn’t accept him, so he lashed out. He got the feeling that Shane was the same way. Things were different in the 80s, so hiding this part of himself worked for Tim. He didn’t want Shane to feel like he had to.

“If you wanna talk, give me a call, okay?”

Shane rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to say something, but Tim held up a hand to cut him off. 

“I know, you don’t want to call a cop, but I promise I’ll be off duty. I’ll just be Tim when you call, not Detective Rockford.”

Shane blinked at him before a giggle bubbled out of his mouth. “Your first name is Tim?”

It was Tim’s turn to roll his eyes. He sighed heavily and got up, pushing the chair back in. “Or don’t call me, whatever, kid. I’m just saying, if you need someone to talk to about… anything, just. I’m all ears, alright?” He kept things vague on purpose. Once he was back at the interrogation room’s door, he turned back around. “Seriously, I don’t wanna see you back in here again, alright?”

Shane raised his eyebrows, eyes wide as a mocking facial expression crossed his features. “Whateverrr,” he sighed, standing from his own chair. He looked down at the business card on the table and picked it up as the door clicked shut. He rubbed his thumb over Tim’s name before stuffing it in the pocket of his leather duster.

He hastily left the interrogation room and made his way toward the exit, but was stopped by a secretary.

“Shane Morrissey?”

Shane cringed as he froze, staring at the older woman. He glared a little, but raised his arms in defeat. “Yeah? What?” He bit back at her.

“Detective Rockford said you had personal items,” she said sweetly, rolling her chair to the wall of lockers behind her.

Shane raised a brow. “I didn’t bring anything–”

“Here you go, sweetie. Don’t go getting into trouble now!”

Shane sighed and grabbed the black plastic bag from her. “What did this old man give me–?” He gasped as he looked inside the bag, cheeks burning. It was the magazine he’d stolen. The Playgirl magazine. He squeezed his eyes shut and got out of the station like a bat out of hell.

Honestly, the only reason he’d stolen it was because Peter Steele was on the cover. He was in that convenience store for a pack of smokes and saw the frontman’s face on the cover, bare chest on full display, with a large hand cupping the cock in his underwear.

He’d been staring at the cover for a few minutes too long, because the convenience store clerk waved his hands in front of his face. “You gonna buy somethin’, man?” The clerk’s name tag said “Dante” and he looked very bored. 

Shane shook himself out of it and looked up, the bright red of the magazine piercing the corner of his eye. “Uh, yeah,” he cleared his throat, digging into his baggy pants to pull out his wallet. “I’ll get a pack of reds,” he mumbled, pulling out a couple greasy bills.

Dante didn’t bother asking for his ID and just turned around, digging into a drawer below the case of cigarettes for the key to open it.

Shane’s eyes were like a magnet, pulling directly back to the magazine. He looked at Dante’s back for a second, and quickly rolled up and stuffed the magazine into one of the deep pockets of his leather duster. 

Dante pulled out the pack of cigarettes and locked the case shut again. He sighed as he tossed the pack onto the counter. “That’ll be ten bucks,” he said, voice monotone.

Shane handed him a ten dollar bill and turned to leave.

“Hey!”

He turned back, standing in the doorway just as the bell dinged above him, and saw Dante’s bored face now looking angry. “The fuck you doin’, man? Put that back!”

Shane raised his brows and looked down, the magazine poking out of his pocket. He looked back up at Dante’s face and booked it, running as fast as his legs would take him. 

His lungs burned as heavy boots thundered along the concrete, chains and jewelry clanging against each other. He turned down an alley and gasped for air, leaning against a dirty wall with his hands on his knees. He waited until his breathing was back to normal and checked his surroundings. When he figured the coast was clear, he took a step out of the alley. 

“‘Scuse me.”

Shane whipped his head around and saw a cop standing there. “What?” He frowned, voice having a little more bite than was probably necessary, but well, Shane hated cops.

“You just come from a convenience store down the road?” The cop pointed his thumb in the direction behind himself.

“No. Can I go back to what I was doing?”

“What were you doin’?”

“None of your business, pig,” Shane rolled his eyes and turned to leave, but the cop grabbed his arm and cuffed him. “Hey! Fuck off!”

“No can do, kid. Clerk called about a kid matching your description with a, uh… well, an interesting magazine in his pocket,” the cop grumbled, tugging on the Playgirl poking out of Shane’s pocket.

Shane’s cheeks burned in embarrassment and shame, eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck.”

“C’mon, fairy boy.”

“I’m not–!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Before Shane knew it, he was in the back of a cruiser and was headed toward the station.

He couldn’t even look at the magazine now. Shane laid in his bed, in the middle of his messy bedroom, and stared at the ceiling. The bright red of the magazine cover was just out of sight. The heavy guitars and vocals from his shitty speakers pierced the silence of his room, soothing his anxious thoughts. His mind drifted off to Detective Rockford. Or Tim, he guessed. He leaned over his bed and dug through the pile of clothes he’d discarded when he got home.

Tim’s business card now in hand, he laid his head back against the pillow and stared at the embossed text. The first thing that came to mind was Tim’s gravelly voice saying, “If you wanna talk, give me a call, okay?”  

What would he even say to someone like Tim? Tim was a cop. He wasn’t exactly Shane’s first pick in literally any scenario.

Shane sighed and tossed the card onto the pile of clothes. He looked over to his left at the magazine laying next to him on his wrinkled sheets. Peter Steele’s come hither facial expression stared back at him. 

He’d had these… thoughts for a while now. Feelings he had no answers for. He wasn’t gay. He couldn’t be. Shane liked women, he liked pussy. He did.

Did he?

He picked up the magazine and started looking through it. Of course, there were photos that went along with the cover, of The Green Man standing in front of a mirror without a shirt. He stuck his large hand down the front of his pants, lips parted and eyes closed. Shane adjusted how he was laying, feeling a minor stirring in his pelvis. Obviously Shane was looking at the woman Peter was heavily making out with on the next page.

The photos started to get a little more risqué as he went. They started out pretty tasteful, with Peter laying on a bed, fully clothed, and a hand gripped around his cock through his jeans. But they quickly became… less tasteful.

Shane stared at a photo of the singer sitting in a chair, completely naked, with a large hand wrapped around an equally large, hard cock. Shane’s own cock twitched in his boxers as he felt a light sheen of sweat at his hairline.

“What the fuck,” he whispered to himself. He slammed the magazine onto his sheets and stared at his tented underwear. There was a small wet spot where there was precum already gathering. He started to breathe unevenly and worriedly looked up at his ceiling. He couldn’t even hear the music in his room from the rushing of blood in his ears.

He leaned over his bed and frantically searched for Tim’s business card. He didn’t even know what he was thinking, but he was terrified. He grabbed the landline on his nightstand and stared at the bland text on the white background.

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He couldn’t call Rockford when he had a fucking boner.

An image of Tim’s face flashed behind his eyelids and he gasped, cock twitching in interest. His eyes snapped open and he frowned. “What the fuck?”

He looked down the tent in his boxers and felt betrayed. It was bad enough that he was hard when thinking about a man, but a cop? He couldn’t fucking believe it.

“This is bullshit,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. He refused to entertain his dick at all.

But his dick wasn’t listening, hard and starting to throb underneath the thin material.

He sighed in defeat and looked up at the ceiling of his bedroom. “One time,” he breathed. “I’m doing this one time. No one ever has to know.”

Before he knew it, his boxers were thrown onto the messy pile on his floor and his hand was curled around his cock. He moaned at the relief he felt, thumbing the head teasingly. He shut his eyes, Tim’s face appearing behind his eyelids again. He groaned. Whether from frustration or arousal, he couldn’t tell and honestly didn’t care at this point.

He slowly built up a rhythm, stroking himself steadily. He bit his lip and sunk further into his sheets, feet planted flat on the bed. He started fucking his fist, lifting his hips off the bed. The cool air coming in through the window gave him goosebumps all over and made him whine weakly. He was thankful the music was turned up enough that he couldn’t hear himself.

“Good boy.”

Tim’s voice whispered in his ear. His imagination started to run wild, imagining Tim sitting on his bed and watching him. 

“Show me how you get yourself off, baby.”

Shane groaned, the steady beat of his fist on his cock speeding up. The cool metal of the jewelry he wore on his hands had grown warm, giving him a delicious friction. It grounded him, telling him it wasn’t actually possible for it to be Tim’s hand around him. 

“Want me to touch you?”

Shane nodded to himself, eyes shut in bliss. “Please,” he whispered. He slowly removed his hand and gripped himself with his left hand. It was a little awkward, but it was enough for him to imagine that it was someone else. That it was Tim. 

“Fuck,” he huffed, rubbing the head with his thumb. “Gonna–”

“Come for me, Shane.”

Shane nodded to himself and sped up his left hand. Precum dribbled out of the tip, easing the way as he fucked his fist. It felt like only a few seconds had passed, completely lost in his own world. And maybe it had been only a few seconds.

“F-fuck!” He whimpered, balls drawing up. He groaned, stroking himself through it as he came hard, thick white cream covering his hand. 

He came down slowly, panting hard as he kept his eyes closed. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked down at his chest. He was completely covered in his own spend and he felt heavy. That was probably the most intense orgasm he’d ever had alone.

He picked up Tim’s business card and shut his eyes in defeat.

“Fuck.”

One Week Later

Shane had no idea how he got to this point. He was laying on the concrete outside of a club downtown. His face was throbbing and he was exhausted. The faint sounds of people shouting kept him conscious as he rolled onto his back. His vision was blurred and the buildings towering over him started to spin.

“Hey! Get the fuck back up! I ain’t done with you.”

Shane groaned and tried to look up at whoever was yelling at him, but his body felt too heavy. That didn’t last for long, though, because the next thing he knew, he was being hauled up by a man twice his size.

“You gonna try that shit again, faggot? Huh?” The brute’s breath smelled like shit as he spat in Shane’s face. Shane twisted his face in disgust, his head pounding even more with all the yelling.

“Nah,” Shane smirked, eyes barely open. “I’ll suck your cock before I do that again.”

The brute squawked in disgust and punched Shane square in the jaw. Shane laughed shakily, suddenly feeling more alive than dead. He was past the point of feeling any of the pain.

“Aww, c’mon, you don’t like it when someone sucks your cock?” He taunted.

“Alright, break it up, you two,” the bouncer for the club barked, pulling the brute off of Shane. Shane sagged against the wall he was pressed up against, head hanging low. “You okay, kid?”

Shane snapped his head up, but groaned in pain before he could react. He could’ve sworn that it was someone else’s voice for a second… 

“Kid?” The bouncer shook his shoulders and handed him a plastic water bottle. “I said, are you okay? You got somewhere to go? Someone you can call?”

Shane drank from the bottle with shaking hands and looked at the bouncer, eyes half-lidded. The man was big, had dark skin, a beard, and thick ropes of hair cascading down his back. He was really handsome, in Shane’s opinion. He didn’t have the energy to fight with himself about it right now.

“Y-yeah. There a phone nearby?” He croaked, licking his dry lips. The bouncer nodded and hauled Shane up onto his feet. Shane lost his footing at first and fell into him, gripping onto the man’s thick waist.

“C’mon, man,” the man grunted, basically carrying him to the club’s phone. Thankfully, the bouncer brought him to a quieter area of the club. “Can you call them yourself?”

Shane’s throbbing head moved to look up at the bouncer. He nodded slowly, opening and closing his eyes like a cat falling asleep.

“I’ll be in the hall if you need me, okay? I’ll get you another water.”

Shane hummed and picked up the club’s phone, gently pressing it to his ear. He dug into his duster pocket and pulled out Tim’s business card. It was all rumpled up and dirty, but he could still read the numbers, surprisingly. He’s pretty sure it takes him far too long to dial the numbers, but the faint sound of the phone ringing tells him he actually did it.

Tim picks up on the third ring.

“This is Rockford.”

A shiver travels down Shane’s spine at the familiar gravelly voice.

“Th-thought you were ‘just Tim’ with me,” he says weakly, a faint smile on his face.

“Morrissey? Didn’t think you’d actually call me, shit. Are you okay?”

“Peachy,” he grunted. His voice sounded pinched when he said it, his face curled up in pain again. He’s pretty sure the brute split his lip because that’s throbbing now too.

“Where are you, Shane? I hear music.”

“C-club downtown. Got–” he paused, swallowing around a lump of pain in his throat. “Pissed someone off.”

“Shit, kid. Do you need me to come get you?”

Shane groaned in pain as an answer and nodded, even though Tim couldn't see him. The bouncer came back, putting another plastic water bottle in front of him. Shane made eye contact with him and nodded in thanks. “Can you–” He gestured to the water bottle, asking for the large man to open it for him.

“Is someone there? Give them the phone, kid.”

Shane didn’t answer and just handed the phone to the bouncer. He didn’t hear the one-sided conversation and just laid back in the swiveling office chair, the now opened bottle in his hand.

The bouncer hung up the phone and chuckled down at Shane. “You got friends in places I didn’t think you would, man.”

Shane smiled, eyes shut. “We’ve got history,” he said vaguely.

“I’m sure you do. He’ll be here soon.”

Shane had no idea how much time passed, but the sound of Tim’s low, soft voice in his ear woke him up. When he opened his eyes, Tim’s tired, handsome face greeted him, making him smile softly. 

“You came,” he said softly, genuinely a little surprised, and tried to stand on wobbly legs.

“‘Course I came, kid. Said I’d help you out. You okay coming back to my place?” 

Shane hummed and wrapped an arm around Tim’s broad torso, fingers fiddling with the tank top’s material. He was wearing one underneath a button-up. He probably just got off work.

“Take that as a yes,” Tim sighed. He looked to the bouncer, and nodded in thanks. He led Shane out to his Caprice and buckled him into the passenger seat. “Keep drinking that water, okay?”

Shane mumbled in response and lolled his head against the back of the seat.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, kid, Jesus.”

“Hit ya real hard, didn’t he?” Tim grunted, pressing a wet washcloth against the cut on Shane’s cheekbone.

“More of a lovetap.”

Tim sighed and cupped Shane’s face in a large hand to hold him steady. Shane held his breath, eyes glued to the focused expression on Tim’s face. He studied every detail, never getting a chance to be so close to him before.

“Why were you at the club, Shane?”

Shane sighed and looked down at Tim’s broad chest underneath the tank top. He’d taken off the dress shirt when they walked in the door of Tim’s apartment. They were sitting at the bar in Tim’s kitchen, Shane’s chunky boots on the bar of the stool Tim was sitting on. He looked at the slacks pulling at Tim’s thick thighs and forced himself to look elsewhere, inadvertently giving Tim room to clean up the blood on his split lip.

He hissed in pain at the sting and mumbled, “Wanted to get out of my apartment.”

Tim gave him a look that said, ‘That’s not what I meant and you know it.’

Shane rolled his eyes and shrugged. “I dunno,” he sighed. 

“That was a part of downtown I didn’t think I’d find you in, to be honest,” Tim said softly. He picked up another damp washcloth and cleaned up some of the dirt on Shane’s neck. “Couple more blocks and you’d be in the… more colorful side of town.”

Shane froze, eyes wide. “What are you saying?” He asked defensively, eyebrows furrowed.

“‘M not saying anything, kid. Just making an observation,” Tim shrugged back. He removed his hands slowly and nudged Shane’s chin with the knuckle on his index finger. “There ya go. Lookin’ good.”

Shane blushed a little and looked away. He crossed his arms over his chest and mumbled, “Thanks for getting me.”

Tim smiled softly. “Sure, kid. You got anyone to let them know where you are?”

Shane shook his head and didn’t say anything.

Tim nodded and didn’t press any further. “Well, I’ve got a couch if you want somewhere to sleep for the night. Sorta late now.”

Shane turned up his nose at first, but deflated, too tired to keep the mask on. He didn’t say anything else and just walked over to Tim’s couch. He laid down on his side, facing the back of the couch and hugged himself.

Tim’s eyebrows turned down in concern, but he left it alone for now. He got up and took his shoes off, quietly making his way into the kitchen. He got Shane some water and left it on the coffee table.

Tim looked at Shane’s sleeping form one last time before he turned and went to bed.

Shane’s entire body ached. He turned his head and groaned in pain.

“Awake?”

Shane opened his eyes and immediately shut them, the light from the window blinding him. He tried again, looking over at Tim standing in his kitchen. He was wearing that same white tank top from the night before and some plaid pajama pants. His normally put-together hair was ruffled and starting to curl.  Shane’s heart pounded at the sight.

“Sorry, I know it’s bright. Want something to eat?” Tim asked gently, holding up a pan and spatula.

Shane turned his body but couldn’t, legs getting all tangled in a blanket. When did he get that? He looked down and noticed his jacket and boots were off. He looked up at Tim and raised a brow.

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t want you getting dirt on my couch,” Tim grumbled, turning back to his cooking. 

Shane felt… something in his stomach. Were those butterflies? He didn’t get butterflies in his stomach. Least of all for a cop.

“You like eggs?”

Shane looked up again and nodded.

“Think this is the quietest you’ve ever been around me, kid,” Tim chuckled, cracking an egg into the pan. 

“Sorry,” he croaked, voice still scratchy from sleep.

“Don’t be, it’s alright,” Tim hummed. He transferred the eggs onto a plate and grabbed a fork, bringing it over to Shane. He sat on the edge of his coffee table and handed the younger man the plate. “Eat, please.”

Shane looked at the plate of scrambled eggs and almost cried. He couldn’t remember the last time someone did something like this for him. He took the plate and started eating quietly.

“How you feeling?” Tim asked softly, taking a drink of his coffee. He held the mug in both hands between his thighs, Shane’s eyes glued to the sight.

“‘M alright. Sore,” Shane mumbled around the eggs.

“I’m sure you are,” Tim snorted. “I mean how are you feeling, kid.”

Shane shrugged, chewing silently. “Fine.”

Tim sighed and got up, walking back to his kitchen. Shane frowned to himself as he finished off his eggs. He set the plate down on the coffee table and stood up. He really was sore, but pushed through it as he walked into Tim’s kitchen.

“You wanna know why I was at that club?” 

Tim froze at his opened refrigerator and slowly turned toward the younger man. He shut the fridge door and gave Shane his attention, leaning against the counter to the bar.

Shane shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He kept his eyes downcast as he spoke, staring at the hole in his sock. “I was at that club because I wanted to… I dunno, see more people like… like that.”

Tim crossed his arms over his chest, listening intently. “Like what?”

“Like–” Shane sighed in frustration. “Gay people,” he mumbled. “Got the address mixed up, so, this–” he gestured to his face. “Was the result.”

Tim smiled internally. There it was.

“I felt– I’ve been,” he paused, looking for the words. “I don’t really know. I don’t,” he sighed in defeat.

Tim hummed in response, unsure if Shane wanted his advice or not.

“If you’re gonna be a dick, I can just leave. I don’t wanna hear what you have to say,” Shane frowned, looking up at Tim with a hard expression on his face.

“How do you know what I was gonna say?” Tim replied, shrugging easily. Shane stared at Tim’s bulging biceps, the tank top revealing more skin than he’d ever seen.

“Well–! You’re,” Shane frowned, cheeks warm. “You’re a cop. You guys are always saying shitty things to guys like me.”

“Sure, some–”

“Don’t ‘not all cops’ me, Tim.” 

Tim’s eyes widened at the response. Not necessarily the words, but the fact that Shane actually called him by his name. “Alright, I get it,” he said softly. “I know you’ve had a lot of bad experiences with cops, I’m sorry.”

Shane huffed in response, but didn’t retort. 

“I mean it, though. I wasn’t going to judge you, Shane,” Tim said, stepping closer to him. 

Shane’s breathing picked up, looking at Tim’s large hand on the bar’s countertop. “You weren’t?” He asked shakily.

“No, kid,” Tim chuckled. He cupped Shane’s face and gently rubbed the pad of his thumb along the split in his lip. “You can’t keep getting into trouble over this sort of thing. There are other ways.”

The air left Shane’s lungs, big brown eyes staring at Tim’s handsome face. He was so close now, Shane had no idea what to do. “L-like what?” He breathed shakily. He stared at Tim’s lips, subconsciously licking his own.

Tim looked over Shane’s face, trying to read his body language. Not yet. He took his hand away and grabbed a glass, filling it with water. “Talking about it, for one,” he said quietly.

Shane exhaled a heavy breath and looked down. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest he thought he was going to pass out. Was Tim about to kiss him? He looked at the back of Tim’s head, eyes looking over the curls intently.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Shane said quietly. “Not right now anyway.”

Tim turned around, face unreadable, and handed Shane the water. “What do you want to do now, then?” He asked, leaning against the bar’s countertop again.

Shane set the glass down and stepped closer into Tim’s space, eyes glued to the older man’s lips. He looked up at his eyes, then back down at his lips. He surged forward and pressed his mouth to Tim’s, kissing him roughly.

Tim grunted into it, arms raised at his sides. It took a second for his brain to kick in and he pulled back, turning his head to the side slightly. 

Shane’s cheeks burned and he felt like an idiot. He turned away and grabbed his jacket that was hanging over the back of one of Tim’s dining room chairs.

“Shane, wait,” Tim started, but Shane ignored him, roughly pulling his chunky boots on.

“Don’t,” Shane snapped. “I’ll be out of your hair.” His face was hard and left no room for argument. He stormed over to the door of Tim’s apartment, heavy boots thundering loudly across the hardwood flooring. 

The last thing Tim saw was Shane’s retreating form and the sound of his front door slamming, the sound echoing throughout the apartment.

[discokicks]

BAD IDEAS (ON THE SAME PAGE) — JAMIE TARTT

a fic inspired by bad idea right by olivia rodrigo!

masterlist! song inspo! AO3!

pairing: jamie tartt x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)

summary: football star jamie tartt is an asshole. he’s the one ex of yours that your friends always hated, one that you now all joke about, and one you haven’t spoken to in four years. however, after a chance encounter, the two of you reconnect, and he leaves you with his new number and a hundred questions about his reformed personality. but seeing him tonight would be a bad idea, right?

word count & rating: 11k (wowza), M! (18+! minors get away or i’ll narc on you to your guardians)

warnings: SMUUUUUUT, porn with plot, lots of suggestive language, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, sprinkling of a handjob, unprotected p in v (wrap it up kids), angst, mentions of alcohol, probable secondhand embarrassment, exes reuniting (it needs a warning sometimes), jamie tartt was an asshole and is now just a prick (in the best way possible), reader is a physio, major fluff, and swearing. also reader is american (bc the author is too. sorry </3)

authors note: well. i wrote it. olivia wrote this song for teenage girls in their twenties (me) only and i immediately thought of this fic the second i heard it. i'm calling this an exercise in smut writing before i embark on my aces (my roy kent series for my new friends) eventual-smut-adventure, so this evolved into something i wasn’t expecting but i had so much fucking fun writing it. god, i love jamie tartt. also! this is my first smut fic at this type of level, so go easy on me. hope you all enjoy. love you all tons! -mags

There are two universal truths in life. 

The first is that the coffee shop you frequent on your way to work will and will always have the best cold brew you’ve ever tasted. The second is that Jamie Tartt will and will always be a massive fucking prick, and you’ll never see him again for as long as you live.

These are two things you live by, and while they may seem rather mundane or petty in the grand scheme of things, they are the only truths you can count on these days. Especially when everything else is so up in the air.

However, the universe doesn’t seem to believe in these things as blindly as you do, and this becomes evident the moment that you step into the shop on a gloomy Wednesday morning. Because these two truths (well, they’re fucking bald-faced lies now aren’t they, huh?) are broken within approximately two minutes of each other with seven words.

It began when you greeted Natalia, the barista who was here every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday before your shift at the clinic with a wide smile. As soon as she saw your face, her expression turned apologetic, albeit a bit dazed.

“You’re gonna hate me,” she says, putting her hands on either side of the register. Your brows shot up at her words. “We just ran out of cold brew.”

Your face falls. “You’re kidding.”

“We were low on it this morning,” she starts to explain, “our stupid night-shifters didn’t prep enough last night. And it’s been selling like crazy today.”

“Seriously?” you nearly whine. “I might cry.”

“I’m sorry, Doc,” she apologizes, but she doesn’t sound too apologetic. Natalia’s eyes keep shifting to your left, the dazed look in her eye never faltering. Then, she says the fated seven words. “But he took the last of it.”

You turn your head in the direction she’s been looking, and your blood runs completely cold. You think you could drop dead and go to hell at this very moment, and it’d be a better existence than what awaits you in the next five minutes. And while this all may sound dramatic, you don’t care. 

You don’t care because Jamie fucking Tartt is standing across from you, newly long hair peeking out from beneath his hood. He’s engrossed in whatever’s on his phone, fingers flying back and forth like he’s texting. 

You think you could run. You’re pretty sure you could successfully make a break for it and leave Natalia high and dry without him seeing you. It’d be an easy exit, and you’d never have to see him again.

But then, as if he can feel your eyes on him, he looks up. And the second he meets your gaze, his face falls in what you can imagine was a similar fashion to yours. 

Fuck.

Luckily, Natalia is none the wiser. She barely notices your expression, and with Jamie by the pick-up area, she can’t see the way he’s looking at you. So, instead of questioning you, she straight-up giggles.

“I know,” she practically squeals. “I was totally going to save you the last of it, but he asked for it. And I mean, c’mon. It’s Jamie Tartt. I couldn’t possibly say no to him.”

You tragically know that feeling all too well. Knowing you probably would have had a snappier, more cutting response to that if you weren’t in the most debilitating phase of shock, you settle for a quiet, “It’s okay.” You nod at her, brushing it off in an attempt to be casual. “I can settle for an espresso today.”

Natalia nods, tapping it into her register. “Same size as usual?”

“Yeah,” you say, not completely sure what you’re agreeing to. You glance over again at Jamie and find that he’s still standing there, staring at you, and you immediately blink away. “That’s fine.”

The rest of the transaction feels as though it takes a millennium and three seconds all at once. You’re still caught off guard by the time Natalia gives you your receipt with a dazed look in your eye that now matches hers. 

However, yours isn’t because you just saw your favorite Richmond player or your favorite reality show villain. It’s because you’ve just seen your ex-boyfriend and you’re about to walk over and stand next to him for a prolonged period of time.

Nothing about this scenario feels real. You hadn’t seen him in four years. Not since things ended as ugly as they had, with him leaving you sobbing outside of a club at three in the morning, letting you know that things were over between you two. And he hadn’t even given you a reason. It was just that he wasn’t ‘feeling’ it anymore.

You saw in a tabloid about three months later that he was now seeing Keeley Jones (yeah, having to compete with that did not sit well with you at all) and had drawn your assumptions from there. Whether or not he’d been seeing her behind your back or had broken up with you to be with her, you didn’t know. You didn’t care. You were in your anger stage of the break-up and only knew one thing.

Jamie Tartt was a massive fucking prick, and you’d sooner walk on a bed of nails before you saw him again.

But now here he was. And there were no nails to be found.

You avoid eye contact as you pass him to wait for your coffee. There’s a piece of you that wants to say hi and play it cool, just to put on a show for him about how unaffected you were by everything that had happened. The other piece of you hopes that not a word is said for your entire time here.

Unfortunately, neither of those happen.

Jamie slides over to be near you, awkwardly rocking back and forth on his heels. His hands are stuffed in his sweatshirt pocket, and you wait for him to say something. Anything. But he doesn’t.

Instead, you can feel the ‘play it cool’ part of you rise up to the surface. You could do this. You could feign indifference. Fuck him, you could be cool.

You glance over at him and see that he’s pressing his lips together, eyes shifting around the coffee shop. It’s crazy how familiar you still are with his tells to know he’s desperately looking for a way to say something. 

You say it for him. “Hi,” you say simply. Cool and unaffected.

It’s as if the one word alone makes him flinch. He clearly wasn’t expecting you to say anything. “Hi—” He clears his throat after his greeting comes out cracked, and he stuffs his hands further in his pockets. “Hey.”

The awkwardness of this moment is killing you, and it’s taking everything in you to pretend like it's not. As you search for something else to say, you land on, “You took my cold brew.”

You can see his brows shoot up out of the corner of your eye. “Oh, fuck, did I?” 

You nod slowly. “Yeah,” you tell him. “I come in here every morning. Friends with the barista. Said she was going to save me the last of it, but…” You trail off and finally look at him. “She couldn’t say no to Jamie Tartt, apparently.”

You want to jump up and down about how well you’re doing right now. Maybe you are over him. Maybe you’ve finally moved past this shit, and seeing him once more is all you needed to solidify that. Maybe—

The second he chuckles softly with an apologetic smile, your confidence in those things shoots down. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“Since when do you drink cold brew, anyway?” you ask, frustrated with the fact that he’s fucking laughing in front of you. “You were always a like, caramel macchiato or frappuccino asshole.”

The names make him laugh harder, shaking his head. “Don’t like those anymore,” he responds. “Sugar hurts me teeth. Tryin’ somethin’ new.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “My fucking coffee.”

That chuckle continues with a shrug. “I’m sorry.” he says again. Then he pauses. “But it’s not like your name was on it, or anythin’.”

Your face draws blank, and immediately, Jamie can tell he’s made a misstep. And it’s not that you’re angry about the joke, it’s just the… everything. Him. The situation. Everything you can remember that you wonder if he bothers to remember too.

Before you can walk away, you feel his hand on your arm. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeats for a third time, turning you so that you’ll look at him. Your pissed-off expression meets his easy smile and it only fuels your anger more. “I was jokin’. I’m sorry I took your coffee. We can get ‘em to put your name on it if you want.”

“Whatever,” you mutter. It’s not the most mature thing you could have said, but frankly, you don’t care. You just want to get your consolation espresso and get the hell out of here. “What are you even doing over here anyway?”

You’re not sure why you ask it. You don’t know why you keep the conversation going. Jamie looks just as surprised as you are. “I moved over here a couple weeks ago,” he answers. “Got sick of the old place.”

“Can’t imagine why,” you reply. By the way that Jamie snorts, you know he recalls just how much you hated his apartment when you knew him. It screamed twenty-two-year-old AFC-money shithead and you would tease him about it constantly. “Was the empty beer bottle sculpture finally giving you mold poisoning?”

He chuckles again. “That came down shortly after we stopped talking.”

“Oh, so I was just lucky enough to see it in its final days?”

“Oi,” he says, pointing at you. “That thing was fuckin’ impressive and you know it.”

“Impressive in a dorm,” you shoot back. “Not a seven million pound flat.”

He bows his head in a guilty manner. “You remember that, huh?”

“Hard not to,” you answer. “You never stopped talking about it.”

He at least has the decency to wince at that one. “I know,” he says earnestly. It makes you look at him. He shrugs once more. “I wanted to impress ya.”

He did impress you. But not with things like that. He’d impress you when you watched him play, he’d impress you when he made you laugh, and he’d impress you on the rare occasion that he’d just be himself in front of you. Not some asshole footballer. Just him.

But you don’t say that. You say, “That wasn’t the way.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles mirthlessly. “Got that now.” He rocks back on his heels again, like he’s not sure if he should say whatever he wants to. “I was a proper fucking dick to you, wasn’t I?”

That almost makes you fall over. Did he just say that? Did he actually just admit that? Out loud, here, for everyone to hear? Accountability? Unprompted? From Jamie Tartt? 

You want to glance around to see if Rod Sterling’s going to emerge from the bathroom to narrate the next couple of minutes of your life, but are too shocked to do so. 

Your surprise must show in your eyes, because Jamie laughs to himself. “Yeah. Wild, innit?” He shakes his head. “On a bit of an apology tour this year. Trying to build back some bridges, or whatever.”

The nod you give him is slow, still reeling from all of this. “Right,” you say lamely. “Building bridges.”

“I’m serious,” he tells you and for a brief moment, you think he may just mean it. The sincerity in his eyes is clear. “I was terrible to you. And I’m sorry.”

Whatever you were expecting when you stepped into this coffee shop on this rainy Wednesday, it certainly wasn’t this. And you certainly weren’t expecting your first time reuniting with him to go this way— with him apologizing to you. The actual words ‘I’m sorry’ just left his mouth. 

You genuinely don’t know who this is. Because it’s certainly not the Jamie you knew.

You saw flashes of this guy. Quiet moments during your short-lived relationship, typically when it was just the two of you. It’s the type of guy you always knew he could be if he tried. The type of guy you pushed him to be. 

(Your friends always taunted you about having the ever-horrendous I-can-fix-him gene, and they never quite let go of it. But it’s not like it wasn’t true.)

Those flashes are why you held out for as long as you did. If it were anyone else, any other asshole who treated you the way he did, you would have dropped them in a second. But he wasn’t like that. Not always, at least.

It was terrible to think like that. You’d been in a low spot when you’d met him and had taken even lower when he left you. You’d recovered tenfold from that and now knew your worth. 

But as he stands in front of you, apologizing, genuinely apologizing, and looking at you like that, you start to question it.

No! the logical part of your brain practically screams. Don’t you fucking dare.

You’re keen to listen to that for the time being. It hardens you. And all you can do is nod at him again. “Well, uh—” Your voice comes out hoarse. You cough awkwardly. “Yeah. You were. Terrible to me. And, uh… thank you. For saying that.”

So much for playing it cool. You want to slam your head up against the wall but hold yourself back from doing so.

He nods at you, opening his mouth to say something else before he’s interrupted by one of the baristas calling your name. His cold brew’s sitting on the counter too, something the two of you clearly missed in the middle of your conversation.

When you reach for your drink, he grabs his too. He’s still staring at you, biting the inside of his cheek like he wants to say something. When you go to move around him, he stops you.

“Look, I just—” You look up at him expectantly, and his shoulders deflate. “I know you probably want nothin' to do with me. But, I just… I want to talk to you.”

Your espresso is hot in your hands. “Well, that sounds like a you problem.”

That’s when he says your name. Your actual name. Not the nickname that everyone calls you, not a pet name that he used to use, he says your name. And it makes you stop in your tracks.

It’s so stupid. It’s so fucking dumb that your fucking name can send you back to the day you first met him and were completely taken with him. You hate it. And you hate the way it makes your walls come crumbling down.

“Please,” he begs. “Can we… Can I at least give you my number? It’s a new one, but I-I think I’ve still got yours. You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to. But just so you can… I don’t know? Think about it?”

You wouldn’t know if he still had your number. You blocked him ages ago. But you doubt it. 

However, the more you think about it, the more you consider it. It’s the product of your resolve falling and well, everything else about him now. You think about it.

If you allowed him to give you his number, the ball would be in your court. You could do what you wanted with it. You could text him, you could tell him to fuck off, you could ignore him. It was up to you. 

And you don’t know if that’s worse or better.

You decide on better. The second you sigh, Jamie knows he’s got you. A wide grin breaks out on his face as you hand him your phone. “I’ll think about it,” you mutter. 

That’s good enough for him. He gives your phone back to you, new number inserted and new contact created. You’re glad he didn’t search for his old one. That one just says ASSHOLE in big capital letters with about a million gun emojis. 

(That was done by your previous roommates in an effort to get you to move on from him. You thought it was a bit overdramatic. You were never one for emojis.)

He’s smiling when he holds his coffee out for you. You stare at him blankly, thinking he’s attempting to cheers you. Instead, he shakes his head and says, “Take it.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“Trade with me,” he clarifies and your expression turns to one of shock. “C’mon. You said it’s yours anyway, right?” When you don’t move he rolls his eyes. “Offer’s only good for another second. Me arm’s getting tired.”

At that, you sigh rather dramatically and grumble to yourself, trying not to act pleased by the gesture. You hand him your coffee and he gives you his. “Thanks,” you say. It was kind of him. 

His grin returns and he nods at you. “Alright,” he says. After a slightly awkward beat, he steps back from you. “It was good to see you, Doc. Really.” You’re taken back by how genuine his voice sounds and say nothing in return. “I’ll talk to you later?”

He says it as a question, hopeful and well-meaning. “Yeah,” you tell him noncommittally. “Maybe.”

That too, is good enough for him. Because he sends you one more smile, then walks out of the coffee shop with your espresso in hand. 

You’re still reeling from the interaction when you glance down at his your cold brew and see Natalia’s handwriting. She’s made it just as you like it, down to the milk and everything.

But below it is a small drawing. It’s a tiny shark fin with a #9 written inside, with little lettering circling around it.

Doo-doo-do-doo-do-do-doo.

You’re fucked.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” is the question that your best friend and former roommate Leah screams at you over drinks at a busy rooftop bar. So busy, in fact, that barely anyone looks over at the two of you.

You’d made the mistake of telling Leah that not only had you run into Jamie on Wednesday, but you’d let him give you his number. 

And you’d texted him after hours of deliberation.

It was something innocent, something you’d thought way too much about, but innocent still. You weren’t sure if you were ready to actually talk to him, but there was something about texting him that wasn’t so scary. Your guard was clearly still up, evident by how dry you were in your messages, and you were keeping your distance. You never texted back too quickly, didn’t ask many questions, and often left him on read. 

(Yeah, you’d turned your read receipts on for him. What about it?)

Your first text was a simple enough question, something that you’d been genuinely wondering about since you saw him. It was open enough for a conversation but not too forward. how’d you know my coffee order?

His response came in minutes later. Is that yours? Good taste. It was shortly followed up with, That espresso you drink was fucking disgusting though.

And that was that. That was how you started texting your ex again. That’s how you reconnected yourself with Jamie Tartt. That’s how you knew it was over for you.

And that’s how you’re pretty sure you’re about to kill your best friend.

Leah’s eyes were wild, somehow angry yet still disbelieving yet intrigued. But the intrigue was very minimal. Very minimal. It was hidden well by how pissed off she was at you.

She had every right to be pissed at you. She was the one who always warned you about him. She’d straight-up nursed you back to health when you broke up. She was the one who had to hear about him 24 hours a day until you were finally over him.

Leah had had a year of peace. And now you were killing her for good.

“You’re kidding, right?” she follows up with. Her grip on your arm is tight. “Please tell me your kidding.”

“Leah…” Your voice is weak.

It tells her everything she needs to know. “Oh, my God! Oh, my. God.” She puts her face in her hands. “You’re insane. You’re fucking losing it and we need to have you checked out right now.”

“I’m completely sentient and in control of my own body.”

“Are you sure?”

You sip at your cocktail. “I reset a knee today. I’m pretty sure.”

“I think you might need to reconsider,” she says. “Because you just told me that not only are you talking to Jamie Tartt again, but you were the one who instigated it!”

You deserve this verbal beatdown and you know it. But all you can do is shrug. “Technically, he gave me his number. He’s the one who instigated it.”

“I’m gonna throw my fucking drink in your face,” Leah threatens, gripping her glass in warning. 

You roll your eyes at her. “Nothing’s gonna happen,” you say, even though you know you’re probably lying. Leah knows this too. “We’ve just been texting a little. It’s nothing serious.”

“Yeah, sure,” she deadpans. “Right. And even if I did believe you, what happens if it does? What happens if you get back in your weird, scary Jamie phase and he kills you again? I can’t deal with that.”

“That’s not going to happen,” you assure her, and this time it’s more confident. Because you know you won’t. Not this time. Not if anything happens.

You’d met Jamie when you were twenty-two. You were in your first year of your Masters program, slightly lost as in your move to London to finish your journey to become a physical therapist. Or a physio, as they called it here. Whatever. You couldn’t keep up with the names. 

You were shadowing a physio at the clinic you now worked at, assisting him as a part of your internship at one of the football tournaments the clinic worked at. It was a ton of big-wig footballers, some names you recognized, others you didn’t. But it didn’t matter. They were precious fucking cargo and you were so paranoid about screwing up that you barely registered who they were when you worked on them.

That was, until a twenty-two-year-old Jamie Tartt sprained his ankle and plopped himself down on your doctor’s bench. He looked at you, you assisted him, and you were wrapped up in what you were doing that you didn’t even notice he was flirting with you. 

You didn’t realize until he asked you out. And the rest was history, for better or for worse.

You were surprised he went for you. You knew who Jamie was, what type of girls he liked to be seen with. They were singers and models and actresses. They weren’t you. 

(Perhaps that’s one of the reasons you liked him so much. Because he chose you. You didn’t like to think about that phase of your life.) 

But after six months of seeing him, he ended things out of nowhere. Right when you’d settled on the idea that despite it all, you might be in love with him. And that was that.

You hadn’t seen him since. Not until this week.

“Not gonna happen my ass,” Leah scoffs, bringing you back into the conversation at hand.

A sigh of frustration leaves your lips. “Listen, I know it’s a bad idea;” you tell her. “I know it is. But, I don’t know. There was something different about him, Leah. He was just… like not someone I recognized.”

“Maybe because his hair is fucking long and stupid now.” She brings her glass to her lips. “His highlights look horrendous.”

“I actually like his hair like this,” you admit, earning yet another eye roll. “Listen. I’m not saying he’s changed. He probably hasn’t. But I…” You trail off with a shrug. “I don’t know. What if he has?”

Leah’s looking at you like you’re the dumbest person she’s ever met in her life. “Are you hearing yourself right now?” she asks incredulously. “Babe, he was a prick to you. Like, category-five, prestige-level twat. Like, worst boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

“I know,” you repeat. “And I said nothing’s going to happen. But if it does, and it goes south, I give you full permission to say I-told-you-so for the rest of my life, alright?”

Leah bites the inside of her cheek, shaking her head. “Whatever,” she says. After a moment, she glances over at you. “I’m just looking out for you, y’know. I don’t want to see you hurt again. And I definitely don’t want him to be the reason for that hurt again.”

You grab her hand. “I know,” you say once more. “And I love you for it. But if I’m gonna be stupid, I’m fully aware of when I’m gonna do it. And it’s gonna be my own fault.”

There’s a moment of silence between the two of you before Leah nods. “Okay,” she finally says. “Okay. Fine. Your fucking funeral.”

“I’ll let you give the eulogy and allow you to call me a dumb bitch for ten minutes straight.”

“Sold,” Leah says, pointing at you. That slight intrigue you previously saw in her eye returns. “Okay, now that I’ve yelled at you, you need to tell me everything.”

And so you do. You tell her how he took your coffee, how you nearly threw up the second you saw him, how you played it cool until you didn’t. How he apologized to you. Joked around with you. Apologized some more. And then he gave you his coffee. 

You despise how excited you sound about it. Again, you’re trying to play it cool, but the people that know you the best can always see right through you. You’re excited about it. Excited about him.

It’s a bad idea to be excited about him.

It’s a bad idea to look down at your phone after you and Leah order another drink. Your heart stops when you see he’s texted you. 

It’s a bad idea to open the message when Leah excuses herself to go to the bathroom. What are you up to tonight? 

It’s past midnight on a Saturday and he’s texting you. It’s still preseason for him, so he might be drunk, he may not be. You’re three drinks deep and aren’t sure if you are.

It’s a bad idea to respond to him. getting drinks with a friend. You keep it dry.

It’s a bad idea to not look down at your phone until you finish the drinks you ordered. Because now, you’re definitely drunk and looking at it all with new eyes. 

Would you want to hang out tonight? No pressure.

It’s a bad idea to consider it. 

But it’s a worse idea to agree.

text me your new address. i can be there by 1:30.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re knocking on Jamie’s door, intertwining your fingers together when you realize you’re shaking.

The second you do it, you regret it. You’re no longer feeling the effects of your drinks. It wore off on the Uber ride over here. And everything seems like a terrible idea now.

God, what were you doing? He treated you like that and the second you see him again, you go running back? He was an asshole. He’d made you question everything about yourself, he’d made you cry, he’d made you experience every fucking emotion in the book and all it took is one text for you to be back on his doorstep?

Your roommate was right. This was a horrendous idea and you were an idiot.

However, none of that matters. It doesn’t matter because Jamie Tartt’s opening his door and he’s got a stupid fucking smile on his face. And the second you see it, you know there’s no turning back.

“Hey,” he says as he opens the door. “You alright, love?”

You clench your jaw at the name, at his smile, about how casual he’s being, about everything. “Hey,” you say, avoiding his eyes to look around his flat. 

It’s a complete 180 from what he had when he first joined Richmond and what he had when you knew him. It’s a bit less mojo-dojo-casa-house-looking and something more mature. While you can still tell that a twenty-something guy definitely lives here, it’s decorated well, it’s put together, and it’s clean. No beer bottle sculptures in sight. He’s even got a fucking candle burning on his counter. Who the fuck is this and what did he do with the guy you knew?

Jamie follows you as you enter, wiping his hands on his sweatpants. “You find the place okay?”

His question snaps you out of your flat-induced haze. “Yeah,” you reply. You clear your throat. “This is nice.”

That same, stupid smile returns, but it looks a bit nervous. “Yeah. I told you it was a bit different, huh?” he chuckles. He walks toward his island, rounding it as he speaks. “Needed a fresh start or whatever. The old one was gettin’... old.” He watches you as you nod, continuing to look around. “You still in the same place with the same people?”

“Uh, no. Different place. No people,” you answer. You’ve stayed on your side of the counter, actively keeping your distance. “Willa moved to New York last year and Leah moved with her boyfriend. We live in the same building, though, which is nice.”

The small talk is fucking killing you. You’re not even sure if he cared to remember your previous roommates' names, so this all could be pointless. You can’t believe you’re here. You can’t believe you’re actually standing here, talking to him about the past. 

But as you finish speaking, he nods like he’s listening. Maybe he is listening. Maybe he does remember. 

“I’ll have to see that sometime,” he ends up saying, and the implication of it makes your head spin. He wants to see you again. Or he just learned small talk common courtesy. Whatever it is, it’s driving you insane. You have so many questions for him, so many things to say, and as he wipes his hands on his pants again and nods over to his kitchen, he asks, “Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got—”

“Why did you invite me here, Jamie?” The question comes spilling out of you, rushed as if it were waiting on the tip of your tongue and simply couldn’t stand to stay in any longer. Jamie stops in his tracks to blink at you. The look on his face encourages you to go on. “I mean, I know I texted you first. But why… why did you text me tonight? Why’d you—” You grimace, trying to find the right words. “Why’d you give me your number?”

He’s silent for a moment. Thinking. Evaluating. But his eyes haven’t left you. “Because I wanted you here,” he finally says. You cross your arms over your chest as he takes a step toward you. “Because I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I saw you.”

You want to say that you’ve been driven crazy all week because you feel same, but decide against it. Instead, you look away from him and scoff. “Right.”

“I’m serious,” he tells you, and your heart stops with every step he takes. “I felt like I was goin’ insane. I didn’t…” For a flash of a second, he looks shy. “I didn’t think I’d see you again. And I didn’t think you’d actually text me. I mean, I hoped you would, but…”

He’s right in front of you, but you still refuse to look at him. Your gaze has shifted to the floor. “I shouldn’t have,” you mutter.

The asshole has the nerve to chuckle, but it’s nervous. Your stomach churns. You’re not sure if you’ve ever heard him nervous. “No, you probably shouldn’t have,” he agrees. “I don’t deserve it.” He pauses and your throat starts to tighten. “I didn’t deserve you.”

That makes you look at him. Either he’s actually apologetic about everything, or he’s gotten really good at knowing everything you want to hear. “No. You didn’t.”

His fingers tentatively brush your arm and you allow him to take your hand. “I know,” he says. “I was a fucking prick. I get that now. I should never have… done that shit to ya.” You’re close enough to him now that if you moved an inch, his forehead would be up against yours. He brings your hand up to his mouth, pressing a feather-light kiss to the back of it. The action makes your throat tighten. “And I can’t fix it. But I…” He trails off again and looks you dead in the eye once he has the words. “I want to make it up to you.”

Your resolve is getting weaker and you hate yourself for it. You lean back against the counter, like that will put space between you two. “Jamie…”

“Please,” he whispers. His forehead finally meets yours. You can feel his breath on your lips. You don’t pull away. “Let me make it up to you.”

The last front you have standing weakly presents itself. “If you think,” you begin, breath shuddering as his hand meets your neck, “that one 2 AM hookup is going to make up for what you did, I—”

“I know it won’t,” he says, and it sounds like he does know. “But I want it to be a start.” The fingers on your neck are now tracing your jaw. And they tighten when he says, “Let me show you just how sorry I am, yeah? Let me make it fucking good for you.”

Jesus fucking Christ. That last front dissolves the second he says that, and your logic flips on itself. You came over here for a reason. You knew what this was. At least you got an overdue apology. Whether or not he meant it, is still up in the air, but if he’s promising things like that, then you might as well get something out of it.

You struggle to get a word out, so you nod against his hand. “O-Okay,” you finally stammer out. The way he’s looking at you gives you enough confidence to say, “Fine. Make it up to me.”

Jamie’s lips curl into a smirk and say, “As you wish,” before they’re on yours.

He’s softer than you remember. His lips aren’t chapped, he isn’t as aggressive with it, and he isn’t as rushed. Everything about him feels more mature and you struggle to understand how fast he could have changed in four years. But you’re not complaining. Not when he’s kissing you like this, with more practice and passion than you can ever recall.

His hand unlocks from yours to slide it up your sweatshirt, and it’s surprisingly warm against your back. Still, you shiver from the contact and you can feel him smirk once more against your lips. 

The action alone prompts you to fork a hand in his hair and tug at it slightly, reveling in the soft sound that escapes him. Everything about him comes back to you at once, and you’ve never been happier to know that the same things still get him. If he wants to play it like that, you can keep up.

His hands drop to grab your thighs and lift you onto the counter, breaking the kiss momentarily. Your chest is heaving up and down, lips swollen and wet. Jamie appears to be in the same boat. “Fuck,” he whispers, sounding even more out of breath than you. He dips his head to press a kiss to your neck, nose rubbing against it as he makes his way down. “You look fucking gorgeous, by the way. Meant to tell you that at the shop.”

You’re too caught up in it all to play it cool, especially as he works at that one spot on your neck. “You look— fuck, you look good too. The long hair suits you.”

You feel him grin against your neck. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree breathily. “Looked like a prick with the old cut.”

You feel his teeth dig into your skin at that one, and you hiss. “You liked that prick,” he reminds you.

You were in love with that prick, but you ignore that thought. “I liked a lot of things about him,” you respond. While it’s honest, the accidental double meaning of it isn’t lost on you.

It’s certainly not lost on Jamie. “Yeah?” he asks again. He lifts his head to look at you, hand creeping up your leg. “What’d you like?” You grip his arm as it rises beneath your sweatshirt once more. “C’mon love. Tell me what you want.”

You hate the way your breath hitches the second his fingers meet your back. You know what you want. You want to see what he’s learned since you last had him. What he’s like four years later. What’s changed, what’s stayed the same. But you’re too embarrassed and much too proud to ask.

Instead, you decide to say, much too shyly for your liking, “You know what I want.”

He hums in agreement, other hand creeping dangerously close to the inside of your thigh. “I do, don’t I?” he murmurs. “Bet I know everything ya want. But I wanna hear you say it.”

“Oh my, God,” you say under your breath, frustration creeping into your voice. The asshole fucking laughs at you. “I want you to make good on your promise. This seems far from it.”

“Right, right, I’m sorry,” he tells you. He doesn’t sound sorry at all. “Just making sure we’re still, y’know. On the same page.” He glances at you. “Right?”

You blink at him. You’re not sure you could have been clearer about what page you’re on. But that’s not what surprises you. What surprises you is the seriousness in his eyes. How he’s searching for assurance in yours. And you know that if, for whatever godly reason, you wanted to stop, he’d pull away immediately, despite how worked up he clearly is. 

It's the bare fucking minimum, but it's more than you’re used to getting.

So, you nod. “Yeah,” you say. “Definitely on the same page.” 

The grin he breaks out to is nothing short of breathtaking. “Good.”

“But—” you suddenly say, stopping him from leaning in once more. He freezes beneath your touch, brows furrowing. “This is… This is a one-time thing. You’re…” You trail off to find the word. “You’re apologizing to me. That’s all this is.”

His smile falters, dropping momentarily before returning with a bit less radiance. It’s his turn to nod. “Okay,” he says, fingers now toying with the edge of your sweatshirt. “Gotta make it count, then.”

And with that, Jamie presses his lips back to yours, grabbing you securely and pulling you off the counter. Your legs wrap around his waist, grabbing the sides of his face, like that’ll stable you against him. 

This time, it’s more desperate. It’s more tongues and teeth, more force and intention behind each movement. He’s setting the pace, but you’re keeping up tenfold. While it’d been four years, you’re not sure if he’d ever kissed you like this. He’s passionate instead of aggressive. While he knows what he wants, he’s definitely not just going to take it. He may be leading but he’s listening to you. And that stirs something inside you that you haven’t felt in a long time.

That much is clear, because you unconsciously let out a quiet sound against his lips. You can feel him smiling once more as he walks you slowly to wherever the hell his bedroom is. You’re caught up in him. And by the way he’s gripping you, you can tell he’s just as caught up in you.

So much so, that he completely loses track of where he’s going and accidentally slams you into his doorframe. You yelp, more because of shock than pain, and pull away to glare at him.

Jamie’s already apologizing. “Sorry, sorry,” he says. “Still gettin’ used to this place.”

“Well, figure out how to navigate better,” you respond, verging on a pout as you rub the back of your head.

“I’m sorry!” he repeats. He’s still got you against the doorframe. “It’s hard to see with your big head in me face. And I can’t kiss ya with, like, my eyes open. It’d be freaky.”

“I’ll give you a pass for that one,” you reply dryly. “Be weird instead of giving me a concussion.”

He’s walking you toward the bed when he mutters, “I’ll give you something, alright.”

Your back meets the mattress and you try to ignore the way he held his hand behind your head when he laid you down. You have under a second to adjust before he’s on top of you. The desperation returns and it almost takes your breath away.

He’s essentially straddling you, tugging at the waist of your leggings before he leaves one last kiss on your lips. He finally gets to pull your sweatshirt off, something he’d clearly been dying to rid you of since he first kissed you. You lift your arms up to help him, finding that you quickly start to do the same to him. You hear him chuckle as you attempt to get it up his back.

“I got it, love, hold on,” he says softly, tossing your hoodie to the side to take off his own. Your eyes immediately go to his chest and stomach and you refrain from reaching out to touch him. When you look up at him, you expect him to be smirking. However, he’s doing the exact opposite.

Jamie’s looking down at you like he can’t fucking believe you’re real. It’s jarring, seeing him like this, but you figure he’s in the same headspace as you and is still struggling to process that this is happening. It doesn’t matter, because before you can question it, he’s moving to press a kiss to your collarbone.

Your hand falls into his hair as he works his way down, mouthing the area of your chest. He pauses before he gets to the bra you’re wearing. His eyes flick up to yours. “Can I—”

You’re nodding before he can even get the words out, shifting to make it easier for him. He discards it to the floor with the rest. When he looks back at you, he releases a shaky breath and just stares.

He stares so intently that you begin to get self-conscious. “What?” you ask.

The question takes Jamie out of his trance. He shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says. “I just— I… Fuck. I forgot how beautiful you were.”

That spreads a warmth through you, one that pulls at your core. As you feel your face heat, you realize you have nothing to say to that. Luckily, he’s already moving on.

Jamie’s different. Really different. And you don’t realize how different he is until you start looking at him like you are right now. You were trying to convince yourself when you told Leah that he’d changed, you’ll admit that. But right now, you think you may have been telling the truth.

He grabs the waist of your leggings once more, lifting your legs to pull them off. You can’t help the laugh that leaves your lips as he struggles to do so. He shakes his head with a soft smile. “Missed that.”

“What?” you ask again.

“Your laugh,” he replies. “Missed that more than you know.”

The sweet words hit you like a bullet. The vulnerability in his voice is what gets you. Goddammit, when did he get so fucking nice? It drives you insane. But it also makes you quietly admit, “I think I’ve got an idea.”

With your leggings now gone, Jamie’s smile turns fonder. Gentler. He presses a kiss to your leg but says nothing in response. He simply places your legs down, eyes flicking down. He lifts his hand to trace down your stomach, stopping at the edge of your panties. The feeling makes you flinch.

He hooks a finger in the band, and your hips buck up to encourage him. His other hand spreads across your hip in a poor effort to keep you still. “Easy,” he murmurs. 

You huff out a breath. “You can—” Your breath hitches as two of his fingers push into your underwear. “Fuck, you can take them off.”

His lips quirk up. “Well, thank you for the permission,” he says. “But not yet. I wanna take it slow with ya.”

Your mouth parts. “Why?”

“Because it’s been years since I’ve seen you,” he answers, moving up to kiss you softly. He speaks against your lips as he says, “And I’ve apparently only got one shot to do this right. So I’m gonna make this last.”

You roll your eyes at his terribly disguised jab. “You’re a dick,” you mutter against him.

“And you’re—” He cuts himself off and a gasp escapes your lips as he cups your core and rubs his palm against it. “Fuck, love. You’re really fucking wet.” He’s positioned on you so that you can feel him getting harder against you thigh. “This all for me, yeah?”

His voice is cocky, while still sounding awestruck. The remaining dignity you have left makes you roll your eyes, albeit a bit embarrassed. “It’s for whoever doesn’t take their fucking time to give me what I want,” you bite.

Jamie draws back from you with a full smirk on his face. “That so?” he asks. The hand against you starts creeping up to the band of your panties. “And what is it that you want? You still haven’t told me.”

You scoff. “I told you.”

He pulls your underwear down your legs and the air around you suddenly makes you realize just how exposed you are. You told yourself you’d never give him the satisfaction of seeing you like this again. But here you were.

His fingers brush against the inside of your thigh, and you shiver once more. “No,” he tells you gently. “You didn’t. You just said you wanted me to keep my promise. You didn’t tell me what you wanted.”

He’s moving closer and closer to the place you want him and you don’t know if you can take it anymore. You shift uncomfortably, as if that will cease the ache. But you know only one thing will.

So, you give him the answer he’s been waiting for this entire time. “You.” His gaze meets yours. “I want you, Jamie. Please.”

That breathtaking grin returns. “Just because you asked so nicely.”

And then he puts his mouth on you without warning.

You spasm at the contact, crying out as he uses both arms to hold you still. The second you calm down, one hand leaves your thigh and you feel him work two fingers into you. Fuck. He didn’t know that before.

And it’s not like he was ever bad in bed when you two were together. You’re not sure you would have stayed with him if that were the case. It’s just… he’s better now. He’s hitting everything nearly perfectly, not stumbling like he used to. He’s more confident. More assured. He knows what he’s doing.

And it’s fucking hot.

The sounds that fill his room are downright obscene. He’s gripping one side of you to keep you in place, splitting you open on his knuckles with the other. His mouth zeroes in on your clit, alternating between licking and sucking in a way that honestly has you close already.

“F-fuck,” you breathe. “Fuck, Jamie. Don’t st— shit. Don’t stop. Please.”

Of course, the fucking shit he is, stops. He grins up at you, but continues to slowly pump his fingers in and out. “You sound so fucking pretty begging like that,” he tells you. He’s just as out of breath as you are. He feels you clench around his fingers at the praise and it only eggs him on further. “Look so pretty too. Fucking gorgeous.”

“Jamie,” you whine again. He’s going too slow. Teasing. It’s not fucking fair. He’s supposed to be the one apologizing to you. “I need— Ngh. I need—”

“What do you need?” he asks. “Tell me.”

You think you’d kill him if you weren’t completely incapacitated. “More,” you manage to get out, wincing as he continues at his slow pace. You’re close. Embarrassingly close. “Just fucking more. Please. I’m—” You interrupt yourself with a moan as he shoves his fingers deeper into you.

“I know,” he nearly coos. “I’ve got you.”

And got you he does. Because not only does he pick up the pace, he stretches you with a third finger. The sting of it is momentary, and it subsides as soon as he bends down and swipes your clit with his tongue.

Your back arches. “Jesus fucking— Jamie. Oh, my God.”

He’s good. Of course, he’s fucking good. He’s Jamie Tartt. You’re not sure he’s ever been bad at anything physical in his life. Emotionally was another story. But that story didn’t matter right now. Not when he’s got you like this, and you’re teetering over the edge.

He pulls away from you, breath tickling your core as he speaks. “C’mon,” he chides. “I can feel it. You’re right there, aren’t you, love?” He takes your breathy silence as confirmation and nods to himself. “Yeah. You just need—”

He removes one finger and crooks the rest a certain way, deeper than before. Your heart may stop beating. He’s done something he did to you time and time again, something that he was actually really fucking good at, something he knew you liked years ago. When he looks up at you, he searches your eyes. And by the way they roll back, he knows he’s struck gold.

The smirk returns and he continues to work his fingers into you, smirk growing each time he hears you say his name. “Yeah,” he whispers. “That’s it. That’s still it.”

You could finish at any moment. The telltale heat is rising in your stomach, and you’re just waiting for the cord to snap. And then, as if your muscle memory takes over, you reach out for his arm.

But instead of letting you do it like before, he does something completely different. He intertwines his free hand with the back of yours and guides it to your stomach. And then he presses on your hand.

The pressure builds. You’re barely able to make any noise. And then—

“C’mon,” Jamie repeats. “Come for me, angel. I wanna see it.”

The cord snaps, and you do as you’re told. You come. Hard.

Jamie talks you through it, fingers still moving to coax your climax out of you. You’re sure you look pathetic, crying out and thrashing around in his bed, but you don’t care. You can barely fucking see right now.

It’s been a while for you. Or at least been a while since you’ve had anything that good. And it completely strips away any sort of attitude or frustration you had before.

When you finally come back down, you laugh softly, shaking your head and throwing your arm over your face. “Fuck,” you say through a chuckle.

You feel him shift, moving up the bed to hover over you once more. When he removes your arm from your eyes, you see that he’s smiling. “Nobody’s ever laughed after I’ve done that,” he tells you, a faux pout pulling at his lips. He bends down to press them to yours and you can taste yourself. “It better be a good fuckin’ sign.”

You laugh again, reaching up to cup his cheek and pull him into another kiss. “Very good sign,” you assure him. It’s muffled against him, but you think he gets the point. 

It’s then that you catch him by surprise and flip the two of you over, straddling him in a way that makes him release a breathy sound that you’d missed dearly. But, something feels off.

Your glance down at him, expecting to feel or see fabric once you reach his leg. But there’s not much. Only what feels like boxer shorts. It catches you off guard. When did he take off his—

It doesn’t matter. It’s easier for you now. Especially as your fingers move across his abdomen, biting back a grin at the way he shudders. He looks up at you from his pillow.

“What are you doing?” he asks leadingly.

You shrug innocently, fingers toying with the band hanging low on his hips. “Returning the favor,” you reply. 

Jamie makes a noise of disapproval, placing a hand on your thigh like that’ll stop you. “I’m supposed to be the one making it up to you,” he states, but his voice gets less firm as you cup him through the fabric. “Fuck. Y-You don’t owe me anythin’. No favors.”

You shake your head, pulling at his boxers so that he springs free from inside. Your eyes travel back to his as you reach out and gently grab his cock, staring down at him with a smirk dancing on your lips. “You sure?”

He looks pained. You don’t know why. You’re offering a way to take him out of his misery. But still, he shakes his head and moves his arm from your leg to your back. 

He takes his turn to flip you over next. He swears under his breath as he does so, shaking his head when you land on your back.

“I told you,” he says, taking his boxers all the way off now. “It’s about you. Not me.” He shakes his head again, but this time it’s a bit more frustrated. When he speaks, it’s mostly to himself. “Can’t believe I just fuckin’ said no to that.”

A snort escapes you. “You’re a changed man, Jamie Tartt,” you joke.

He shrugs before placing his arms on either side of you. His voice teeters on teasing and earnest. “I’ve been trying to tell ya that.”

You’re not sure if it’s him, or the situation, or the sex, but you think you believe him. It makes your chest heavy. But you can’t admit that. You won’t let yourself. So, you keep that feeling tucked away, way in the back of your mind for safekeeping. You know it’s better like that. For your emotional sake, at least.

You allow yourself to prop yourself up on your elbow and kiss him instead of responding to that, bringing him in closer. You can feel the length of him press against your stomach, and his groan vibrates against your lips. 

He pulls away, grinding into you. The heat of your body is making him go wild. “Can I—”

You know what he wants. And you want it too. “Please,” you say. 

He nods, moving to angle himself against you. You glance down to watch him, heat flooding your face as he strokes himself before glancing up at you. You nod in return, giving him the confirmation he needs. Jamie grins.

He slides in you slowly. The stretch is mild but grows as he hovers over you once more. It’s easy to adjust, having been warmed up moments before. But for Jamie, it’s not as easy.

He bottoms out almost immediately, tensing over you. His head bows, chin falling to his chest. “Fuck,” he curses. It’s quiet but straight-up sinful. “God, fucking— you’re so—” You grip onto his bicep as he steadies himself. “I’m sorry. It’s just— i-it’s been a minute. And you’re f-fucking tight. Jesus.”

You don’t mind. He feels good like this, despite the fact he’s not moving. Your hand travels from his arm to his hair, tucking a piece of it behind his ear before settling on his jaw. “It’s alright,” you tell him. “We’ve got time.”

Jamie’s eyes snap open at that, but he’s not looking at you like you thought he would. You were expecting a cheeky sort of smile, a smirk, something in that realm. But he’s not. He’s looking at you like…

It’s something you can’t define. Something you’ve never seen before. It churns your stomach yet makes your heart race. Neither of you says a word.

He just dips down to kiss you again and slowly begins to move inside you. Your lips part in a gasp, and he slides his tongue in your mouth. Your back arches into him.

Before you know it, he's breaking from you and is breathing heavy against your neck. “Shit,” he groans. “You’re just— fuck. You…” He trails off, mouth hovering over your collarbone. “You drive me f-fucking mad. God, everything about you. Y-you don’t even know, do you?”

The pace picks up. He’s thrusting into you harder now and your nails dig into his back. You hear him hiss at the contact, but neither of you seem to care. “Fuck.” It’s all you can say. “Fuck, Jamie.”

He’s clearly not done talking. “How’d I-I fuck this up? Huh?” You can’t tell if he’s talking to you or himself. His mouth is on your chest now and the feeling runs through you like fire. “Fucking idiot. Didn’t know what I had. Can’t believe I let you go.”

You clench around him and it throws him off kilter. You watch his jaw clench, hand beside you gripping the pillow you’re on. “You w-were an idiot.” Your agreement is much less effective when it’s closed out by a high-pitched moan.

“I know. Fuck, I know,” he says. “I’m sorry. Deserved better.” He continues to slam into you. “I wanna gi—” A strangled sound erupts from his lips. “Give you better. You’re so—” When he shakes his head, he looks wrecked. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

Something about that sends a shock to your system. It makes you cry out and you can feel it. Your legs tremble around him. You’re close again. You’re really fucking close. 

He kisses you once more, deeper than before. It’s more frantic. Everything about him is more erratic. You can tell he’s getting there too. “Couldn’t stop,” he manages to get out, hot against your lips. “Couldn’t s-stop thinking about you. I missed you.” 

You clench around him again, the admission inching you closer. “Shit,” you say. “Fuck, Jamie, keep going.”

And keep going he does. His hand moves down your stomach, fingers finding your clit. He rubs circles into it and that sends you into a fucking tailspin. He swallows the sound you make. 

“Missed you,” he says again, but it’s more helpless. Jamie fucking whimpers. “God, I f-fucking missed you, angel. Missed you so fucking much, I—”

You don’t hear the rest of what he says because you come the second he makes that sound. It’s white-hot. Blinding. Your legs twitch around him and you claw at him as he continues to rub your clit. You’re loud, but you don’t give a shit. It seems to spur him on.

He’s not far behind you. He spills into you with a groan, stomach flexing as he heaves over you, twitching inside of you. You’re still recovering from your own high as you open your eyes to watch him. You catch his expression for a moment before he’s collapsing into you.

You release a soft ‘oof’ at the sudden weight of him. He doesn’t say anything for a moment and neither do you. You just breathe together. But after a moment you allow yourself to put a hand in his hair.

“You’re fucking heavy,” you tell him, but there’s not much bite in it.

You feel him chuckle. “Give me second,” he says. “Not as fuckin’ agile as I used to be. Took a lot out of me, alright?”

You roll your eyes but continue to run your fingers through his hair. “You’re twenty-six and like, the face of the AFC,” you tell him. “Richmond might have to shorten your contract if you’re dying after that.”

He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Take that up with me Chairwoman then.”

You can’t help but laugh as you push him off of you, wincing as you feel him slip out. He lands with the same noise you did. “If she heard you complaining like that, she’d be on my side.”

Jamie grins at you, joining in on your laughter. He shifts toward you, grabbing your hand to play with your fingers. “You’re probably right. Shouldn’t be complainin’,” he says. He lifts your hand to his lips. “Not when you’re here.”

They’re sweet words. The casualty of them makes your heart swell. But that anxiety about him returns. One time thing, you tell yourself. Apology. One time. That’s all.

You pull your hand back softly and he glances over at you. There’s a hint of worry in his eyes, like that one movement set off alarm bells in his head. You give him an uneasy smile.

Before you can move to get up or say anything or do something, he’s talking. And you have to refrain from wincing. 

“I know…” He looks away from you. Shy. “I know you said one time,” he says, as if he can read your fucking mind. “And that’s… That’s okay. I get that, yeah? But I—” Jamie wipes a hand down his face, staring at the ceiling. “I meant what I said. I missed ya. Really.”

You missed him too. But your walls have been rising back up since he started talking again. “I don’t know what you want me to do with that,” you tell him, only partially lying.

You feel like an asshole when he winces. Maybe you were being an asshole. Maybe it was finally your turn to do so. 

“Just…” He finally looks at you. “If you ever… don’t want this to be just a one-time thing.” He waves it off in an attempt to look casual. You know he’s anything but. “You’ve got my number. Or whatever.”

The timidness in his voice makes your resolve soften. Even if you don’t see him again, you suppose you can let him down easy. He’s been kind enough tonight to deserve that. You nod at him as you sit up. “Okay,” you say. “I’ll let you know.”

It’s only slightly awkward as you get out of his bed and search for your clothes. He asks if he can call you an Uber home and you reject it, letting him know that you’ve got one on the way.

You can feel his eyes on you as you dress, ignoring the way they burn into you. You can tell he’s searching for something to say, or something to talk to you about but doesn’t know what.

You’re half-dressed before he can shoot himself in the foot and say something stupid. “Hey,” he finally says. You glance over your shoulder at him after you slip your sweatshirt on. “I’m really glad you texted me.”

The nice streak you’re riding on continues and you offer a small but genuine smile in return. “Me too,” you admit, ignoring the way that his own soft smile pulls at your heartstrings. 

Before you leave his room, you offer one more admission. You stop in the doorframe he hit you against, lips curling further upward. “It was really good to see you, Jamie.”

He props himself up on his elbow, smile growing. “Good,” he says, nodding. Then, like a prick, he winks at you. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

You physically cannot stop yourself from rolling your eyes and you hear him laugh to himself as you walkdown his hall. “Goodbye, asshole.”

He shouts a tired-sounding ‘bye!’ when you slip your shoes on, shaking your head as you look around his apartment once more. The candle on his counter is still burning, smelling of amber moss and palo santo.

You blow it out before you leave, knowing he’ll forget.

And as you do so, you feel yourself regress. Or grow. You’re not quite sure which one.

But it makes you curse under your breath and leave his flat immediately.

There is one more universal truth you forgot to mention. 

And that’s that the second you think you’re over Jamie Tartt, he comes back into your life and flips everything on its head. And it’s the only truth that’s been confirmed to you all week.

Because the second you arrive home and see that you have a text waiting for you, your heart picks up. You hate the way you get excited to see it.

I had a really good time tonight.

And the second he comes back into your life, you’re reminded that you’re not over him. Not even in the slightest. And it’s fucking debilitating. 

me too. 

And you know your friends are going to kill you the second you follow up with:

i’m free friday if you want to grab a drink.

[guitarstringed-scars]

the ravens eye diner- rintaro suna

masterlist

caprese sandwich

suna steps into the now familiar diner, smell of coffee greeting him. he steps up to the host stand, where an unfamiliar host stands. her long black hair is situated in a ponytail. ”hello, just one today?” she asks him as she grabs a menu and silverware for him.

he nods.

“yeah, could i request to not be in y/ns section?” he feels embarrassed asking, and even more embarrassed that he can’t get over this petty feud the two of you are caught up in.

the hostess looks a bit surprised. ”sure, but can i ask why? i’m the manager so i need to know if there is any issues.” she says.

now suna feels really embarrassed, and maybe a bit stressed. he wasn’t trying to get you fired or anything, he was just trying to avoid your slightly off putting stares and cold personality. usually the other hostess just nods, he had no idea this one was the manager.

she starts to lead him to a different corner of the room. ”just feels like she doesn’t really like me, i don’t wanna burden her.” he says, now trying to save your name.

“i’ll talk to her about that.” the manager says, a curious look on her face as she places his menu down on the booth table.

“oh, you really don’t have to.” he says sitting down, but when he looks up the manager is already gone. you are definitely going to hate him even more now.

“are you having problems with that customer?” kiyoko is standing behind you now, and you are caught off guard.

“what?” you say, turning from the toaster to face her.

“the guy? at table three? he asked to not be in your section and said that it was because you didn’t like him.”

no way this guy was claiming that the fighting was your fault.

“no, he’s the one who hates me.” you defend yourself.

kiyoko gives you a look of disappointment. you feel like you are being scolded by your mom for getting your nice clothes dirty.

“don’t you think you’re being a bit childish y/n? ” she asks pointedly.

you pout a bit. then you realize she’s right.

“maybe.”

“how do you know he hates you?” she asks.

“i don’t.”

“ok, then i’m gonna have you serve him today and you two are going to figure it out.” she says, starting to leave the kitchen. ”won’t he be mad?” you call after her.

“no, unless you treat him like you have been.”

then she’s gone and you are left alone in the kitchen with semi, who has been giggling to your conversation this whole time.

“shut up.” you say, rolling your eyes as you fill up sunas drink at the fountain.

“you already know what he wants to drink? enemies to lovers i guess.” semi jokes.

“seriously, shut up.” you leave the kitchen, face red at your coworkers comments.

you set down sunas drink on his table, careful not to spill anything. he looks up, surprised to see you.

“oh, i-” he starts.

“i’m sorry.” you cut in, not making direct eye contact. “i treated you badly because i thought you hated me.” his eyes widen.

“i don’t hate you, i thought you hated me.” he says.

“well i don’t hate you either.” you respond. you finally make eye contact and both of you give each other a smile.

“you kind of look like your mom just yelled at you and made you apologize.” he says, laughing a bit.

“if you change mom for manager then you’d be right.” you laugh with him. “did you want something to eat?”

“yeah, i’ll do the caprese sandwich.” he says.

“sounds good.” you say, scribbling down his order. when you ring it in, kiyoko comes up to you again.

“did you make up?” she asks you.

“yeah, you we’re right” you say, now in a much more cheerful mood. “i guess he doesn’t hate me.”

“funny how that works out.” kiyoko muses, giving you a knowing smile.

𖦹₊⊹fun facts⊹₊𖦹

-suna is glad kiyoko made y/n be his server

-even if he was really scared of her

-and really stressed he was going to get her fired.

taglist: @wyrcan @nbcvs @froyaoya @mylahrins @wizardhore

@chloiyoomi @causenessus @bubooo @lvtilzs @nishayuro

@diorzs @19calicos @seookki @chososcamgirl @euphorora

@hyenagoated @v1oletfury @mplesyrup @jojo23allegra @cherrypieyourface

@nayusw

[cupidcures]

When Tulips Kiss | Hwang Hyunjin SMAU

CHAPTERS: 𝜗𝜚 THIRTY-FIVE | THIRTY-SIX | 𝜗𝜚 THIRTY-SEVEN

WORD COUNT: 2.2k (not proofread)

better off

“Will you move over?” Beomgyu vocalized his agitation towards the young man in front of him, but he still didn’t budge from the spot.

The last thing either of them expected was to see one another here at Jisung’s place, yet here they both were, standing face to face.

“I’ll give her the flowers, thanks. What are you doing here, anyway?” Hyunjin grumbled and eyed him up and down in a somewhat indifferent way.

“No thanks man, I’d rather do it myself. Mind calling her down for me? I don’t wanna waste my time here talking to you when I could be with Y/N.” Beomgyu smiled fakely and tilted his head to look past his shoulder, making eye contact with Jeongin.

“Yo Jeongin!” He waved, “Mind getting this dude out of the way for me?”

Jeongin glanced between the two boys, deadpanning at their immature bickering.

‘There’s no way these two guys are grown…’ he thought to himself before shaking his head and exchanging a glance with Jisung, who was sitting across the couch opposite of him.

“You wanna go get your wife?” Jeongin joked as Jisung crackled in amusement before nodding his head.

“On it. Go take care of whatever is happening over there.” He pointed his lips toward the front door where Hyunjin and Beomgyu stood before making his way upstairs to grab you.

“Yo baby, I’m coming in, alright?” Jisung knocked on the door of his bedroom—where you were currently staying—before turning the knob and opening the door.

You were tucked inside the comforter of his bed, scrolling through your phone without a care in the world. You tore your gaze away from your phone and directed it to the quokka boy standing by the door.

“Sungie?” You mumbled and he grinned.

“Hey, wifey! The dude that’s courting you is downstairs to take you out. You should hurry, though. He and Hyunjin might kill each other with their glares.” Jisung approached you with light footsteps as you hooked your arm around his with a nod.

“Shall we?” You giggled and so did Jisung. “We shall!!!!!”

The two of you enthusiastically skipped out of the room and down the stairs, greeting the three boys (hehe Omar Apollo ref) downstairs with a princess wave. “Hey Jeongin! Beomgyu, Hyunjin!”

The arguing pair immediately stopped at the sound of your voice as they both turned their attentions to you, mesmerized and smitten.

“Y/N! Hey.” Hyunjin blushed and stood in front of Beomgyu, blocking your view of him.

“Hi Y/N. You look pretty.” Beomgyu pushed past Hyunjin and gave him a petty glare, which he returned with no hesitation. “I brought you some roses!”

White roses. Easy to spot due to their brightness and the way the light of the sun would easily reflect off of them. White roses symbolize purity and innocence. Beyond this, white roses are used in funerals because it is also a way to bid someone farewell. Being brought white roses was certainly new to you, but you appreciated the gesture nonetheless. It’s not like he knew and studied the flowers’ languages like you did.

Taking the flowers off of Beomgyu’s hand and bringing them to your chest, you thanked him graciously, “Thank you Gyu!”

He rubbed his sweaty palms on his shirt. “Of.. of course! Can I take you out?”

“Ooh actually… we’re all hanging out here you know… It’s a shame! Come back some other day.” Hyunjin responded for you, eye twitching in irritation.

The three other people in the room were caught off guard by his statement, and it bestowed an awkward silence in the tense atmosphere.

“Uh… yeah! Sorry Gyu, maybe next time?” You were confused, to say the least, it’s not like Hyunjin made plans SPECIFICALLY for everyone to hang out, the only plans that were made were between him and Jisung. But you still decided to hide his little lie nonetheless. You could always just ask him about it later, but you had a feeling you already knew what it was about.

“Oh. Okay, I see. Well, you guys have fun then!” Beomgyu offered a weak smile sided with a look of disappointment plastered on his delicate facial features.

“Actually! You could always just hang out with us, none of us have a problem with an extra person! Right, guys?” Jeongin spoke up before Beomgyu had the chance to leave, and his eyes lit up.

“Can I?” He asked for confirmation from everyone else. And by everyone else, he looked to you and Jisung, ignoring the look of disbelief on Hyunjin’s face.

“Uhh…” Jisung’s lips pressed together awkwardly, forming a thin line, inspecting everyone’s faces before hesitating, “I mean I guess it’s alright?”

“Great! It’s settled then, go ahead and sit down, Hyunjin was just about to put on a movie.” Jeongin grinned mischievously and ushered Beomgyu further into the house before closing the front door, making sure to lock it.

“Thanks for letting me stay over,” Beomgyu thanked enthusiastically and wrapped his arm around your shoulder, causing you to blush a little.

Hyunjin scoffed at the action and rolled his eyes, walking himself to the far end of the couch and picking up the remote to choose a movie to watch.

Jisung followed close behind and took a seat next to him, patting his back. Jeongin sat down on the other, smaller couch and reached for a blanket.

“What kind of movie are we feeling?” Hyunjin asked.

“Romance!” Beomgyu suggested as he sat down on the opposite side of the same couch Hyunjin and Jisung sat at, bringing you along beside him.

“Horror it is.” He decided with a monotone voice, resulting in Jisung choking back a laugh at his antics.

God, he was so petty. But it was humorous, who could get mad at that?

The movie started a little after Jisung turned the lights off to properly adjust the environment accordingly to the movie.

You were cuddled up against Beomgyu, more for warmth than anything. You couldn’t deny the attraction you had for the boy that pulled you in. You found yourself spacing out, deep in thought. This was something that occurred frequently whenever you were with Beomgyu. He made you dreamy and you would often drift away to your thoughts. He brought peace and serenity to you, so you were naturally much more comfortable around him. With his arms wrapped tightly around your waist and his head resting on top of yours, it felt like second nature.

All of the tension directed towards each other had died down, and it instead projected onto the movie. The jumpscares evoked jolts and screams now and then, often followed by the sound of laughter due to the high-pitched shrieks that would fill the air for a moment or two.

Everyone let loose and focused on the movie. Everyone but Hyunjin.

He did his best to enjoy the movie much like everyone else, but he would constantly find himself sparing glimpses into your direction.

He noticed the way you were snug against Beomgyu, and there was nothing he could do but stare and wish it was him you were with instead. He knew it sent pangs to his chest whenever you played with Beomgyu’s hair and held his hand, but still, he struggled with tearing his gaze off of you, and you never seemed to notice. You looked happy, comfortable. You were content, and maybe it would just be better off for everybody if he were to just back off and leave you be.

He was being immature, trying to keep the two of you apart—when it was clear that you and Beomgyu had something, even if it was only a little.

Hyunjin quietly dismissed himself to the kitchen to grab a drink of water with ice, his throat had gone dry as a consequence of watching the PDA you shared with Beomgyu.

“You good bro?” A hushed voice broke the silence in the kitchen as Hyunjin turned around to face whoever it was, the sound effects of the movie playing in the distance.

“Dry throat.” He responded as Jisung nodded slowly and skeptically.

“Uhuh… And you think I’m stupid enough to believe that? Don’t think I didn’t notice your little attempts at trying to inconvenience that dude she’s with. Beomgyu, is it?”

The two boys chuckled lightly. Hyunjin didn’t expect anyone to follow him, but he was glad that Jisung was there to prove him wrong and lighten the mood.

“You still in love with Y/N?” He pulled a bar chair from under the island and sat down, leaning himself on the table.

“Unfortunately.”

“Woah, unfortunately? It’s a privilege to love Y/N, buddy,” Jisung joked but cleared his throat right after noticing that he didn’t laugh along.

“Not when she doesn’t love you back,” Hyunjin took a sip out of his glass. “It’s hard. Unrequited love is hard.”

The faint buzzing and the bright light above stimulated his senses more than they should, inducing a headache.

“I was gonna try to win her back, not gonna lie,” he chuckled. “But who am I to do that?”

“What do you mean? Why give up?” Jisung pursed his lips and scrunched his face, confused.

“I lost her the first time because I was scared that someone was gonna take her away,” Hyunjin circled his glass around on the kitchen counter, creating a small vortex in an attempt to rush the ice’s process of making the water cold, just how he liked it. “I may not like Beomgyu—but to instill the same fear that I struggled with—in him, that’d be real fucking shitty, don’t you think? Now, I’m not saying he’s not secure in himself and in whatever they have going on, I’m almost sure he’s better than me when it comes to that. But just thinking of attempting to steal her away, when I know exactly how it feels to be scared of that happening, it doesn’t feel good. Makes me feel like shit.” Hyunjin inhaled deeply, watching as the ice cubes struggled to keep afloat with the miniature whirlpool dragging them down.

“Everything I’ve done for her, relating to her, it was all to do what’s best for me…” He trailed off and halted the movement of his hands, the whirlpool slowly dissipating. “I’ve been selfish and it has done nothing but drown me and add to my struggles.”

The ice cubes in the glass were finally resting on top of the surface, the water now still and calm, lacking disturbance.

“I love her. But I don't want to be selfish, not anymore. I want what’s best for her, even if it isn’t me. I need to learn to stop meddling with things just because I’m not satisfied with how it’s going. If it’s meant to be, it’ll happen. But I’m backing away, and I’ll do my best to move on.”

The outside of the glass was now moisturized with small droplets due to the coldness of the water meeting with the warmth of the air.

“I didn’t know that was how you felt.” Jisung grimaced at the thought of how he used to hate him for what he had done to you, when in reality, it probably affected him more. “I understand, honestly. I know what it feels like to have your fears and insecurities get the best of you. I think it’s really mature that you’re deciding to do this when you’re still in love with her.” Jisung got up from the stool and walked over to Hyunjin to pat his back.

“It’s good that you acknowledged your wrongs. Wanting to do better is already one step ahead, you’re already improving. I know we’re not close dude, but damn… am I proud of you. I would love to get closer. I appreciate all your efforts in trying to do what’s best for Y/N, it seriously warms my heart.” Jisung playfully placed his hand on his chest where his heart would be with a soft expression on his face—the two boys burst out in laughter after that.

“I love Y/N, platonically of course. And seeing how much you love her now? I was wrong about you,” Jisung hummed. “I’ll be right here for support! I have your back.”

He gave Hyunjin a thumbs-up, who then returned it with a smile.

“It’s gonna be hard to move on from her. THAT, I know. Especially since we’re still gonna be friends? Fuck, bro. I might just be setting myself up for failure.” Hyunjin laughed before bringing the glass of water to his lips and drinking it all, the cold water bringing a shiver down his spine. “But it’ll happen eventually. That way, everyone is happy. I should just leave it be. As long as she’s happy, no matter who she’s with, I’ll be happy too. It’s better off like this. And she’s better off with him.”

“That’s the spirit! Now come on, let’s go back to watch the movie.” Jisung placed his hand on the back of Hyunjin’s and pushed him towards the living room where the three others were.

a/n: THIS IS SO SHORT I’M SORRY LOL

𝜗𝜚 WTK series masterlist

TAGLIST (OPEN)! @jeonginplsholdmyhand @jeonginsgirl @mlrroh @mafiulaputaama @seungzsmin @hannie-bees @skz1lov @porang-poranglinos @sillyhal @mitchii @soulphoenix1618 @gnab-nahc @hyunjins-dimples @nappynapnaps @15092000volcano @livixcore @linocvp1d @yaorzu-blog @scallywag1299 @boo-ven9eance @lys4lix @kirbrary @4ln-stay8 @sellomaybe @aznstoner @saintcosette @starseungs @syedazarintasnim @elqivxstxr @ivydoesit23 @weirdowithaphone @hyuneee3 @nhyunn @velvetmoonlght @amarecerasus @skzstan12345 @ravengxbss @sweetbokji @wondering-out-loud @girlblogger-04 @soaplickerrr @oddracha @realrintaro @hyukazwifey @manuosorioh @qu4ckqu4ck

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - I'm All Over the Place, and so are the shows

Organized, in each category, by ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Nov 2023 Wk 5

Ongoing Series - Thai

Last Twilight (Fri YT) ep 4 of 12 - The Jasmine flirting thing was so darn cute, I can’t. I love these two so much. 

The Sign (Sat YT) ep 2 of 10 - Oh it’s great. Flirting. Fighting. Fate. Murder. Eventually we’ll add fucking. A trifffecta. I could do with a bit less training but whatever. And we have learned our boys are laboring under a geis. NO SINGING. Otherwise this ep was actually pretty flipping great. 

My Dear Gangster Oppa (Thurs iQIYI) ep 6 of 8 - Ooo kidnapping and the sides are suffering betrayal. Also Tew kills again. I like that they don’t shy away from the fact that he’s a killer and Guy was genuinely scared.  And then Tew had to break up with Guy to protect him in Noble Sacrifice (tm). How Cdrama of him. Rough ep all round. 

For Him (Thurs iQIYI) ep 1 of 10 - It’s not exactly good, but it’s better than I was expecting, and I tend to cut pulps a lot of slack out the gate. The plot is more interesting, Him is a sweetie (I like that in a seme) and our uke has both game and pluck. He’s a femme bitch, I LOVE that in a boy + we never get it femme in the lead. The acting is not great, sound all over the place, but there are no terrible sound effects, the soundtrack is okay, and our high heat came with a side of BJ + condoms, and no one has sung (yet), so I think I like it. It’s giving me Big Dragon vibes.

Linguistic moment: 

Him used Him/ter for pronouns & ha. Very flirty. Nail used rao back a little bit of a challenge. (No pom and didn’t use his own name either.) Gauntlet thrown. Our baby ends up with rao/kao but I don’t think that’ll stick. Him is getting Phi out of him if it's the last thing he does.

Bake Me Please (Mon Gaga) ep 2 of 6 - The characters’ shared backstory is no surprise but I do like this show. Those little private smiles as they find family. Those lingering gazes as they find romance. Lovely. Also Shin wants to marry into Peach's family so bad, I’m reminded of Laurie in Little Women. All that said, it’s never the top of my list to watch for some reason. 

Cooking Crush (Sun YT) 1 of 12 - How could I have forgotten how stunning Off is? Meanwhile… I love Gun’s character, he's so cute. But this show is a bit too comedic for me. I wish GMMTV were taking this script seriously. Sorry Neo et al I’m not sold on the sides. In general? I don’t love it. I don’t hate it either. In other news, I think I'll go make toast.

Pit Babe (Fri iQIYI) ep 3 of 14 - I love the sides and unholy amount and in general it was fine this week probably because I decided to do a trash watch.

Twins the series (Fri GaGa) ep 5 of 10 - I’m getting fatigued. Also holy random sex Batman. Where did these extra sides come from? I’m confused. Tonal pingpong going on, and not just in the shower.  

Middleman’s Love (Fri YT & iQIYI ep 4 of 8 - Finally a direct confession Jade can’t avoid. Will things get a bit more serious?

Absolute Zero (Weds iQIYI) ep 10 of 12 - I don’t know why I watch this show, the acting is great, but it just makes me cry.

Playboyy (Thurs Gaga) 3 of 14 eps - What a bonkers thing this is. Very kinky and also just odd. I do keep thinking about the pinks with it. Similarly, there doesn’t seem much glue holding this thing together, dried cum of course but not glue. And despite what some kinksters say, the one cannot replace the other.

My Universe (Sun iQIYI) Fake Love ep 15 of 24 - This is a weird installment. Too stalker and random blackmail for me. But not as bad as abuse and death, I guess? 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

A Breeze of Love (Korea iQIYI) eps 7-8fin - Not much of a love triangle in the end (you just found out he is actually gay and broken hearted = an opportunity not a tragedy). Meanwhile I like that the high school break up was just mr insomniac's fault. He got jealous and angry and petty. No miscommunication just an asshole kid. I did find this show a little slow, even though it was your standard length KBL. Odd that. They are very cute boyfriends tho. 

All in all:

Tsundere insomniac grump reunited with his sunshine jock ex (human sleeping pill) who now hates him. Basketball is also involved. While the simplicity of a reunion plot makes this more cohesive than most KBLs, it is a tad stiff and slow, never managing to lift itself out of "pretty and pretty enjoyable" - I liked it but I don’t think I’m going to remember much about it. 8/10

VIP Only (Taiwan Fri Gaga) ep 3 of 10 - It has the feel of a one act, with such a limited cast and location, which reminds me of KBL. Still watching these two quietly fall in love and process affection through their own art forms is sweet. This is a very soft gentle show. 

Sahara-sensei to Toki-kun (Japan Fri Gaga) - Toki, a delinquent but pure-hearted kid falls in love with his handsome phys-ed teacher, Sahara. This is very much my trope but very manga campy, which I don’t love. I’m quite torn. Toki is an idiot but a lovable one. But do I like it?

It's Airing But...

The Whisperer (Sun ????) 10 eps - Thai horror BL that ALSO involves cheating (what joy is mine). He has dimples (My Ride) but I don't think even dimples can motivate me to watch. You can tell me how this goes if you can find it.

SHADOW (Thai Gaga) 14 eps - I'm not wild about Thai horror (or horror at all) even one featuring Singto and Fluke. I'm holding off. If told it's good, I'll binge.

7 Days Before Valentine (Weds WeTV) 10 eps - Giving me Luminous Solution vibes, so I'm waiting to binge if told it's safe.

Beyond The Star (Weds iQIYI) 8 eps - House of Stars meets Boyband. I was NOT impressed with ep 1. Waiting to be told if I should bother.

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) 10 eps - I find this series more fun to binge, so I'm waiting until it completes its run.

In case you missed it

One Room Angel (Japan Gaga) finished. Adaptation of Harada’s manga (which I did not like) about a clerk who (nearly) dies and ends up cohabitating with an angel. I was warned that the ending would not work for me so I decided not to bother.

My Biker BL short movie from Wayu supposedly premiered Nov 27 on their YouTube Channel for Members to watch. I couldn't find anything further. The MDL description makes me think it's not for me so I bother.

Next Week Looks Like This

Short list of the December offerings.

12/9 Cherry Magic (Thai remake) YouTube 10 eps

12/9 Behind the Shadows (Korea movie) ??

12/14 Dear Kitakyushu (Thai/Japan movie) ??

12/23 Dead Friend Forever (Thai horror) iQIYI

Original 2023 forthcoming BL master post (see comments, some are inaccurate, NOT KEPT UPDATED). With the end of the year upon us I'll do an "announced for 2023 but never happened list" soon.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

I love these dudes so much, and make no mistake they def dudes. On point banter, my dudes. (Sign)

Yes they are cute but so far that's all this show has going for it. (Middleman's Love)

I'm a simple human, I just like seeing Off kneeing. (Cooking Crush)

(Last week)